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 EGLAMOUR OF ARTOIS.

I.

Jhesu Lorde oure hevyn kynge, [f. 63] Graunt us alle thy dere blessynge, And bylde us in thy bowre! And yf ye ony yoye wylle here Of them that beforne us were, [ 5] That leved in grete honowre, Y schalle telle yow of a knyght, That was bothe hardy and wyght, And stronge in eche a stowre; Of dedes of armys there ye may here, [ 10] He wynnyth the gree with yurney clere, And in the fylde the flowre.

II.

In Artas he was geton and borne, And thus he holdyth hym beforne, Lystenyth, y schalle yow say. [ 15] To dedes of armes he ys wente, Wyth the Erle of Artas he ys lente, He faylyth hym not nyght nor daye.

Syr Prynsamowre the erle hyght, Syr Egyllamowre men calle the knyȝt, [ 20] That was evyr and aye; Whylle the erle had hym in holde, Of dedes of armes he was bolde, For no man seyde he naye.

III.

The erle had never chylde but oon, [ 25] That was a maydyn as whyte as fome, That hys ryght heyre schulde bee; The maydenys name was Crystyabelle, A feyre thynge of flesche and felle, Ther was none soche in Crystyanté. [ 30] Syr Egyllamowre so hym bare, That above alle erthely thynges sche lovyd hym mare, That lady bryght of blee; Certenly bothe day and nyght, So dud he hur that nobylle knyght, [ 35] That was the more peté!

IV.

The knyght was bothe bolde and stronge, Therfore the lady lovyd hym longe, Lystenyth, y schalle yow telle. Ther come lordys of ferre londe, [ 40] For to assay hur, y undurstonde, Wyth ferse folke and felle.

Syr Egyllamowre he dud to crye Of dedes of armys utturly, For the love of Crystyabelle. [ 45] What maner of man that hur wolde have, So sore strokes he them gave, For evyr he dud them to dwelle!

V.

Tylle hyt befelle upon a day, The knyght to hys squyer can say, [ 50] Yn hys chaumbur there he was at reste, "Belamye, and thou cowdyst hyt layne, A cownselle y wolde to the sayne, Thou walkyst bothe est and weste." "ȝys, syr, permafay, [ 55] What some ever that ye to me say, Y schalle hyt nevyr owte caste." "The erlys doghtyr, so God me save! The love of hur but y have, My lyfe dayes be at the laste!" [ 60]

VI.

The squyer seyde, "So muste y the, Ye have tolde me yowre prevyté, Y schalle gyf yow an answere; Ye are a knyght of lytylle londe, Take hyt not at evelle, y undurstonde, [ 65] For mekylle wolde have mare.

Yf y to that lady thys telle for thy sake, Peraventour on-henely sche wolde hyt take, And lyghtly let me fare." "Dere frende, y prey the that thou me behete, [ 70] That thou wylt that lady in thys maner grete, What some ever happe to be hur answere."

VII.

"Syr, than umbe-thenke on thys thyng, Ther woweth hur emperours and kynges, Erlys and barons done alsoo; [ 75] ȝyt wylle sche not have of thoo, But in godenes hur holdyth so, The whych y trowe ys for thy love and no mo. Sche wolde never a kynge forsake, And soche a sympulle knyght to take, [ 80] But yf thy love were in hur herte wroght; Y swere be God, heven kynge, Wyste hur fadur of soche a thynge, Fulle dere hyt schulde be boght!"

VIII.

The knyȝt answeryd with wordes mylde, [ 85] "My squyer, evyr syth thou were a chylde, Thou haste byn lente wyth me; At dedes of armes in many a stowre, Where wvste me ever have dyshonoure? Say on, so God save thee!" [ 90]

"Nay, syr, be Jhesu Cryste bryght, Ye are a nobylle knyght As any ys knowyn in Crystyanté! Yn dedes of armes, be God on lyve! Ye are countyd worthe odur v., [ 95] God a mercy, syr!" seyde hee.

IX.

The knyȝt answeryd and seyde, "Allas!" Mornyng to hys bedd he gays, That rychely was y-wroght. Bothe hys handys he caste up sone, [ 100] To Jhesu Cryste he made a boone, That Lorde that us hath boght; "The erlys doghtyr, that swete thynge, So mote hyt be at my ȝernynge, On hur ys alle my thoght, [ 105] That y myȝt wedde hur to my wyfe, And sethen reches in my lyfe, Owt of care then were y broght!"

X.

Upon the morowe the maydyn smalle, Sche wente before hur fadur in halle, [ 110] Amonge hur byrdys bryght; Of alle gentyls semyth none to hur but he, The lady seyde, "For Goddys peté, Where ys myn owne knyght?"

Hys squyer answeryd with sympulle chere, [ 115] "He ys syke and dedd fulle nere, He preyeth yow of a syght, For he ys caste in soche a care, But ye hym helpe he wylle forfare, He levyth not oon sevenyght!" [ 120]

XI.

The erle to hys doghtyr spake, "Doghtur," he seyde, "for hys sake, Lystenyth, y schalle yow say; Aftur mete do ye as hynde, To hys chaumbur loke ye wynde, [ 125] He hath servyd us many a day Fulle trewly in hys entente; Yn yustynge ne in turnament He seyde us nevyr nay. Alle dedes of armes that he may of here, [ 130] He wynnyth the gree with jurney clere, And my worschypp aye."

XII.

Aftur mete the lady gente Dede hur fadurs commaw[n]demente, Scho takyth hur wey to wynde; [ 135] Tylle hys chaumbur can sche goo, With hur sche toke but maydenys two, There the knyght can lende.

Then seyde that lady whyte as flowre, "How faryth my knyght syr Egyllamowre, [ 140] That doghty was evyr and hende?" His squyer seyde, "Make gode chere, Here comyth the erlys doghtyr dere, Y pray God that ye parte gode frende!"

XIII.

Then seyde thys lady whyte as lely flowre, [ 145] "How faryth my knyght syr Egyllamowre, That doghty ys ever and ware?" "Damycelle," he seyde, "as ye may see, Thus y am caste in care for love of the, In anger and yn care." [ 150] "Syr," the maydyn seyde, "so mote y thee, And ye had ony care for me, Myn herte wolde be fulle sore!" "And y myght turne to my lyfe, Y wolde wedde yow to my wyfe, [ 155] Yf that yowre wylle were."

XIV.

The lady sweryd be Crystys myght, "Syr, ye are a nobylle knyght, And comyn of gentylle blode; And ever trewly undur the schylde, [ 160] Thou wynnyst the gre in ylke a felde Worschypfully, be the rode!

Y wylle avyse me as tyte, And at my fadur wylle y wete, Gyf that hys wylle be goode; [ 165] As y am lady feyre and gente, [f. 64.] When my fadur and y be at assente, Y wylle not fayle the, be the rode!"

XV.

The knyght kepte no more blys, When he had geton graunt of thys, [ 170] But made hur fulle gode chere; He commawndyd a squyer for to go, And take an hundurd pownd or two, And gyf hur maydenys clere. "Damycelle," he seyde, "so God me save! [ 175] Thys to yowre maryage schalle ye have, Thys ys the fyrste tyme that ever ye come here." Sche thanked hym anon-ryght, Sche toke hur leve and kyssyd the knyght, And seyde, "Farewelle, my fere." [ 180]

XVI.

Crystyabelle hath takyn hur way To hur fadurs chaumbur there he lay, Was made of lyme and stone; And he seyde, "Welcome, as whyte as flowre! How faryth thy knyȝt, syr Egyllamowre?" [ 185] Sche answeryd hym anone,

"Grete othys to me he sware, That he was botyd of mekylle care, And gode comfort to hym hath tane; He tolde me and my maydenys hynde, [ 190] To-morowe he wolde over the rever wynde Wyth hys hawkys ylke a oon."

XVII.

The erle seyde, "As mote y the, Doghtyr, y schalle ryde to see them flee, For comforte of that knyght." [ 195] The erle buskyd and made hym yare For to ryde ovyr the revere, To see that semely syght. Alle the day he made gode chere; A wrath felle, as ye may here, [ 200] Anone betwene them twoo, Or hyt nyghed the myȝt fulle nere, That made them of stryvys were, And afturward dud them woo!

XVIII.

As he rode homeward be the way, [ 205] The knyght can to the erle say, Gode lorde, wylle ye me here?" "Ye," he seyde, "so mote y the, What some ever thou seyst to me, Hyt ys to me leve and dere; [ 210]

For oon the beste knyghtes art thou, That in thys londe ys levyd now, Awnturs ferre or nere." "Gode lorde, for charyté, Crystyabelle, yowre doghtur fre, [ 215] When schalle sche have a fere?"

XIX.

The erle seyde, "So God me save, Y knowe no man that hur schalle have, Sche ys so bryght of blee!" The knyght can to the erle pray, [ 220] "Lorde, y have servyd yow many a day, Vowche-safe ye hur on mee!" "Ye," he seyde, "be Crystys payne, Yf thou wynne hur, as y schalle ye sayne, In dedes of armes three, [ 225] Broke hur wele, my doghtyr dere, And alle Artas ferre and nere, Y holde ther-to," seyde hee.

XX.

The knyght sweryd, "As mote y thee, At my jurney wolde y bee, [ 230] And y wyste evyr whare." The erle seyde, "Here be weste Ther dwellyth a yeaunt in a foreste, Soche oon thou nevyr sayste are;

Cypur treys there growe owte longe, [ 235] Grete hertys there walke them amonge, The fayreste that on fote may fare: Go thedur and fett me oon away; Syr knyght, than dare y hardely say That thou haste byn thare." [ 240]

XXI.

Be Jhesu swere the knyght than, "Yf he be ony Crystyn-man, Y schalle hym nevyr forsake. Holde wele my lady and my londe." "ȝys," seyde the erle, "here myn honde!" [ 245] Hys trowthe to hym he strake.

XXII.

Aftur mete, os y yow telle, He takyth hys leve of Crystyabelle, Hys leve then takyth hee. "Damycelle," he seyde anon than, [ 250] "For thy love y have undurtane Dedes of armys thre." "Syr," sche seyde, "make yow gladd, For an hardere fytt never ye had, Be God in no cuntré! [ 255] Or that yurney be over passyd, For my love ye schalle sey fulle ofte allas! And so schalle y for thee.

XXIII.

"Syr knyght, when thou an-huntyng fowndes, Y schalle gyf the two greyhowndys, [ 260] As wyght as any roo; As y am trewe gentylwoman, Ther was never beste that on fote ran Awey fro them myght goo. A fulle gode swerde y schalle geve the, [ 265] Seynt Poule fonde hyt in the Grekes see, Of soche knowe y no moo. Ther was never helme of yron nor stele, And thou have to hytte hyt wele, But hyt wylle thorow hyt goo!" [ 270]

XXIV.

He seyde, "God ȝylde yow, lady gente!" He takyth hys leve and forthe he wente, Hys way now hath he tane; A brode wey he helde forthe faste Tylle he come to a foreste, [ 275] Soche oon sawe he nevyr none; Cypur treys were growyn owte, The wode was wallyd abowte, And wele corvyn wyth ryche ston. Forthe he wente, y undurstonde, [ 280] Tylle a brode yate that he fonde, Ther-ynne the knyght ys gone.

XXV.

He blewe hys horne in that tyde; Hertys reson on eche a syde, Wythowtyn any lesynge: [ 285] Then hys howndys began to baye, That harde the jeant there he laye, And he rysyth fro hys restynge. "Me thynkyth howndys that y here, Yondur ys a thefe to stele my dere, [ 290] He were welle bettur to be at the see! Be hym that lett me be geton and borne, Yn werse tyme blewe he never hys horne, Neythur hys bowe bende in no manys fee."

XXVI.

Anon the jeant hath take hys way [ 295] To the ȝate there he lay, Hys bakk he sett ther tylle. Then had syr Egyllamowre don to dedd A grete herte, and tan the hedd, The pryce he blewe fulle schylle! [ 300] He come where the yeant was, And seyde, "Gode syr, let me passe, Yf hyt be yowre wylle." "Nay, thefe traytur, thou art tan! My chefe herte thou haste slayn, [ 305] That schalt thou lyke fulle ylle!"

XXVII.

The yeant to the knyȝt ys gon, A clobb of yron in honde hathe tan, That was mekylle and fulle unwelde; Grete strokys the yeant gafe, [ 310] And to the erthe fley hys stafe Two fote on every syde. "Thefe traytur, what dost thou here Yn my foreste to stele my dere? Here, thefe, thou schalt abyde!" [ 315] Syr Egyllamowre hys swerde owt drowe, And to the yeant he gafe a sowe, And blyndyd hym in that tyde!

XXVIII.

That lorelle had loste hys syght, ȝyt he fyghtyth with that knyght [ 320] Alle that day fulle yare; Tylle on the todur day abowte prime, Syr Egyllamowre waytyd hys tyme, And to herte hym bare! He thanked God that weldyth thys worlde, [ 325] And at the yeant he smote harde, The thefe began to rore! Sythen he mett hym, os y say, [f. 65.] Upon the grownde there he lay, He was xl. fote and more. [ 330]

XXIX.

He thankyd God and hys knyfe, Therwith he berevyd the jeaunt hys lyfe; He thanked God hylye! Syr Egyllamowre wente hys way Wyth the yeauntes hedd, os y yow say, [ 335] To a castelle of stone there-by.

XXX.

The contré come hym abowte, To see the hedd that was grete and stowte, Soche a hedd sawe they never none. Before the erle he hyt bare, [ 340] "Lo! lorde, y have byn thare, And that bare ye wytnesse echon." Make we mery, so have we blys, Thys ys the furste fytt of thys That we have undurtane. [ 345]

XXXI.

"What!" seyde the erle, "Yf thys be done, Thou getyst anodur jeaunt sone, Buske the forthe to fare; In Sydon, in that ryche cuntré, There dar no man abyde nor bee [ 350] For drede of a wylde bare.

Beste and man alle sleyth hee, That ever he may wyth eye see, And grevyth them wondur sore; Hys toschys passen a fote longe, [ 355] The flesche that fastenyth them amonge They kever hyt nevyr more."

XXXII.

That nobylle knyȝt he seyde not naye; Upon the morowe, when hyt was day, Hys leve then takyth hee. [ 360] Forthe he wendyth, y understonde, A fowrtenyght jurney on the londe, And also mekylle on the see, Tylle ageynys the none-tyde, Yn a foreste there he can ryde [ 365] Where the bore had wonte to bee; Tydyngys of hym sone he fonde, Slayne men on every honde, That grymly was to see!

XXXIII.

Syr Egyllamowre restyd hym undur an oke; [ 370] Tylle on the morowe that he can wake, The sonne rose hye and schon; Swythe further in the foreste he drowe, On the see he harde a sowe, And thedurward the knyght ys gon. [ 375]

Bryght helmes he fonde strawed wyde, As men of armys had loste ther pryde, That wyckyd bore had them slayne! To a clyfe of ston than rydyth hee, And say the bore come fro the see, [ 380] Hys morne-drynke he had tane.

XXXIV.

The bore say hym there as he stode, And whettyd hys tuschys as he were wode, And to hym come asyde; Syr Egyllamowre wened welle to do, [ 385] And wyth a spere rode hym too As faste as he myght ryde. Gyf he rode nevyr so faste, Hys gode spere in sonder braste, The hedd wolde not in hym glyde; [ 390] He come to hym wyth a swowe, Hys gode stede undur hym he slowe, On fote the knyght muste abyde.

XXXV.

Tylle a banke he sett hys syde, Was undur a roche large and wyde, [ 395] Hys herte hyt was fulle sore. Hys nobylle swerde he drowe owte tho, And fyghtyth with the wylde swyne with woo Thre dayes and more;

Tylle on the iiij^the day abowte noon, [ 400] He thoght hys lyfe dayes were y-done, For fyght wyth that wylde bore. The knyght cowde no bettur redd, But stroke faste on the swynes hedd, Hys tuschys he brake thore. [ 405]

XXXVI.

He thankyd God that ylke stownde, And gaf the bore hys dethys wound, The boke of Rome thus can telle. The kyng of Sydon an-huntyng ys gon Wyth men of armys mony oon, [ 410] The bore then harde he ȝelle. He comawnded a squyer for to fare, "Some man ys fyghtyng with that bore, Y trowe fulle wele there he schalle dwelle." The squyer rydyth to a clefe of ston, [ 415] And say a knyght ley hym on Wyth a swerde scharpe and felle.

XXXVII.

The squyer hovyd and behelde them two, And ageyne to the kyng he can go, And seyde, "Lorde, the bore ys slayne!" [ 420] "Seynt Mary!" seyde the kyng, "who myȝt hyt bee?" "ȝys, syr, a knyght y see, To God y trowe be fulle bayne!

He beryth of golde a fulle feyre syght, A stede of aser and a knyght, [ 425] Alle armyd for to gone. That bryght upon hys hedd hyt ys A lady of golde in hur ryches, Hys sperys of sabulle everychone."

XXXVIII.

The kyng swere, "So mote y thee, [ 430] Hys gentylle armys wylle y see." And thedur he takyth hys way. Be that had syr Egyllamowre Ovyr-come alle hys styffe stowre, And to reste hym down he lay. [ 435] The kyng seyde, "God reste with the!" "Lorde, welcome mote yow bee, Of pese y yow pray; Y have so foghtyn with the bore, That be my feyth y may no more, [ 440] Thys ys the fourthe day!"

XXXIX.

The kynge seyde, "Be Goddys myght, Here schalle no man with the fyght, Grete synne hyt were the to tene! Thou haste ben ferre and wyde-where, [ 445] And now haste slayn the wylde bore, That many a mannys bane hath bene.

Worschypfully undur the schylde, Thou haste slayn thy foo and wonne the fylde, That we alle have seyn. [ 450] Y have wetyn, syth y was man of aray, He hath slayne syxty on a day, Welle armyd men and clene!"

XL.

Ryche metys forthe he broght, The ryche wyne forgetyth he noght, [ 455] And clothys there were spradd. The kynge swere, "So mote y thee, Y wylle dyne for love of thee, Thou haste byn strongly stadd." "Ye," he seyde, "permafay, [ 460] Now hyt ys the fyrste day That evyr oon fote y fledd." The kynge preyd that gentylle knyght For to be wyth hym alle nyght, And reste hym in a ryche bedd. [ 465]

XLI.

Aftur mete, as y yow say, The kynge can to the knyght pray Of what londe that he was. He seyde, "My name ys syr Awntour, Y dwelle with syr Prynsamowre, [ 470] The erle of Artas."

Knyghtys nere the kynge they drowe, "Yondur ys he that Arrok slowee, The yeauntys brodur Maras!" The kynge preyed the knyght so free, [ 475] Two dayes wyth hym to be, Or that he schoulde forthe passe.

XLII.

"Ther ys a jeaunt here besyde, That sorowe doyth ferre and wyde On us and odur moo, [ 480] That y dar no way ryde owt, But men of armys me abowte, Fulle seldone have y thus sene soo. Thys wylde bore that thou haste slayne here, [f. 66.] He hath fedd hym xv. yere, [ 485] Crystyn men for to sloo! Now ys he wente with care ynogh To berye hys brodur that thou slogh, That evyrmore be hym woo!"

XLIII.

To splatt the bore they wente fulle tyte, [ 490] Ther was no knyfe that wolde hym byte, So harde of hyde was hee. "Syr Awntour," seyde the kynge, "thou hym slowe, Y trowe thy knyfe be gode y-nogh, Gyf that thy wylle bee." [ 495]

The knyght to the bore ys gon, And clevyth hym be the rugge-bone, That grete yoye hyt was to see. "Lorde," seyde the knyght, "y dud hym falle, Gyf me the hedd and take thou alle, [ 500] Thou wottyst wele hyt ys my fee."

XLIV.

Aftur cartys can they sende, Ageyn none home with that they wende, The cyté was them nere; Alle the cuntré was fulle fayne [ 505] That the wekyd bore was slayne, They made hym fulle gode chere. The quene seyde, "God schylde us fro schame, When the jeaunt ys comyn home, Newe tydyngys gete we sone; [ 510] For he ys stronge and stowte, And therof y have mekylle dowte That he wylle do us grete dere or we have done."

XLV.

Syr Egyllamowre, that nobylle knyȝt, Was sett with the kynges doghtyr bryght, [ 515] For that he schoulde be blythe; The maydenys name was Organata so fre, Sche preyeth hym of gode chere to bee, And besechyd hym so many a sythe.

Aftur mete sche can hym telle [ 520] How that geant wolde them quelle: The knyght began to lagh anone. "Damyselle," he seyde, "so mote y thee, And he come whylle y here bee, Y schalle hym assay sone!" [ 525]

XLVI.

Ageyne the evyn the kyng can dyȝt A bath for that nobylle knyght, Of ȝerbys that were fulle gode; And alle the nyght ther-in he lay Tyl on the morowe that hyt was day, [ 530] That men to mete yode. Be the kynge he herde hys masse, The wekyd geant comyn was, And cryed as he were wode. "Syr kynge," he seyde, "sende thou to me [ 535] Organata thy doghtur free, Or thou schalt spylle thy blode!"

XLVII.

Syr Egyllamowre, that nobylle knyght, Armyd hym anon-ryght, And to the wallys wendyth hee. [ 540] The borys hedd he made forthe to bere, And sett hyt upon a spere, That Maras myght hym see.

The jeant lokyd upon the hedd, "Allas! my bore, art thou dedd? [ 545] My tryste was mekylle on the! Be that lay that y leve ynne, My lytylle spote hoglyn, Dere boght thy dethe schalle bee!"

XLVIII.

The yeant on the walle dange, [ 550] At eche stroke the fyre owt sprange, For nothyng wolde he spare! Yn-to the cyté he caste a crye, "Thevys, trayturs, ye schalle abye For sleyng of my bore! [ 555] Thys stone walle y schalle down dynge, And with myn hondys y schalle yow hynge Or that y hens fare!" With the grace of God, or hyt were nyght The yeant had hys fulle of fyght, [ 560] The boke seythe some dele more!

XLIX.

"Syr Awntur," seyde the kynge than, "Y rede we arme us ylke-oon, Thys fende wylle felly fyght." The knyght swere be the rode, [ 565] "Y schalle assay hym, thogh he were wode, Fulle mekylle ys Goddys myght!"

Syr Egyllamowre was not agaste, Of the helpe of God was alle hys tryste, And of hys swerde so bryght; [ 570] He rode a course to assay hys stede, He toke hys leve and forthe he yede, And alle prayed for that knyght.

L.

Syr Egyllamowre the felde hath tane; The geant say and tylle hym came, [ 575] And seyde, "Art thou comyn, my fere? Y trowe thou halpe to sle my bore, Thou schalt abye trewly therfore, Hyt schalle be boght fulle dere!" Syr Egyllamowre wened welle to do, [ 580] And wyth a spere rode hym too, As man of armes clere; The yeant buskyd and made hym bowne, Hors and man he stroke alle downe, The knyght was dede fulle nere. [ 585]

LI.

The knyght cowde no bettur redd, When hys nowbylle stede was dedd, But to hys fote he hath hym tane; Sethen so nere he can hym goo, Hys ryght arme he stroke hym froo, [ 590] Faste be the schouldur-bone.

Thowe the lorelle had loste hys hande, Alle day stondyth he faste fyghtande Tylle the sonne to reste was goon; Then was he so wery he myȝt not stonde, [ 595] The blode ran so faste fro hym on every honde, That lyfe dayes hadd he nevyr oon.

LII.

When the thefe began to rore, Alle that in that cyté wore For yoye the bellus can rynge. [ 600] Edmonde was the kynges name, "Awnturs," he seyde, "be seynt Jame, Here schalt thou be kynge! To-morowe schalle y crowne the, And thou schalt wedd Organata, my doghtur fre, [ 605] Wyth a fulle ryche rynge." The knyȝt answeryd with wordes mylde, "Syr, yf you yoye of yowre chylde, For here may y not lende."

LIII.

"Syr knyght, for thy nobylle dede, [ 610] Y schalle geve the a nobylle stede, Also redd as ony roone; Yn yustyng ne in turnement, Thou schalt never soffur dethys wound, Whylle thou syttyst hym upon." [ 615]

Seyde Organata that swete thynge, "Y schalle geve the a gode golde rynge, Wyth a fulle ryche stone; Whedur that ye be on water or on londe, And that rynge be upon yowre honde, [ 620] Ther schalle nothyng yow slon."

LIV.

He seyde, "God ȝylde yow, lady clere." "Syr, y schalle abyde yow thys xv. yere, Yf that ye wylle me wedd. Worschypfully, so God me save, [ 625] Kyng nor dewke schalle me not have, Thowe he be comely cladd." The knyght answeryd, "Permafay, Withyn thys xv. yere ye schalle here say How that y have spedde." [ 630] The knyght takyth hys leve and farys, Wyth the geauntys hedd and the borys, The weyes owre Lord wylle hym lede. Thys ys the seconde fytt of thys, Make we mery, so have we blys, [ 635] For ferre have we to rede.

LV.

Into the londe of Artas Syr Egyllamowre can passe, There the erlys were; Alle that cuntrey was fulle fayne, [ 640] That he homeward was comyn ageyne, Alle tho that he fonde there.

Crystyabelle herde telle of hys comyng home, [f. 67] Ageyne the knyght then ys sche gone, Sche buskyd and made hur ȝare. [ 645] "Syr," sche seyde, "how have ye faryn?" "Damycelle, wele, and in travelle byn To brynge us bothe owt of care."

LVI.

There he kyssyd the lady gente, And to halle they wente, [ 650] The erle there-wyth to tene. The hedys to hym there he down layde, "Lo! lorde," the knyght sayde, "In Sydon have y bene." Therfore was the erle fulle woo, [ 655] "Y trowe ther wylle no develle the sloo, Be Cryste, syr, so y wene; Thou art abowteward, y undurstonde, To wynne alle Artas of myn honde, And wynne my doghtyr schene." [ 660]

LVII.

The knyght seyde, "So mote y the, Noght but y worthy bee, Helpe God that ys beste!" The erle seyde, "ȝyt hyt schalle falle, That oon schalle come and pay for alle, [ 665] Thowe thou be nevyr so preste."

The knyght preyed the erle so free, "xij. wekys that ye wylle geve me, My boonys for to reste."

LVIII.

Aftur soper, as y yow telle, [ 670] He wendyd to chaumbur with Crystyabelle, There laumpus were brennyng bryght; That lady was not for to hyde, Sche sett hym on hur beddys syde, And welcomyd home that knyght. [ 675] "Damycelle," he seyde, "so have y spede, With the grace of God y schalle the wedd;" Therto ther trowthys they plyght. So gracyously he come hur tylle, Of poyntes of armys he schewyd hur hys fylle, [ 680] That there they dwellyd alle nyȝt.

LIX.

Be xij. wekys were comyn and gone, Crystyabelle as whyte as fome, Alle pale was hur hewe! Sche prayed hur gentylle women so fre, [ 685] That they wolde layne hur privyté, "To me that ye be trewe!" The erle brennyth for sorow and care, "Have doo, syr knyȝt, and make the yare, Thy jurnay comyth alle newe." [ 690]

When Crystyabelle herde ther-of say, Scho mornyd for hym bothe nyȝt and day, That sone myght hur rewe.

LX.

"Syr, at grete Rome, as y the telle, Ther lythe a dragon ferse and felle; [ 695] Herkenyth, y schalle yow say. The fende ys of so grete renowne, Ther dar no man come nere the town Be xv. myle of way. Arme the, syr knyȝt, and thedur wende, [ 700] And loke thou slee hym with thyn honde, Or ellys thou sey me nay." "Syr, that was never my purpos For to leve oon soche a trase, Be nyght nor be day. [ 705]

LXI.

"With the grace of God Almyght, Wyth the worme ȝyt schalle y fyght, Thowe he be nevyr so wylde." Afturward, as y yow telle, He takyth hys leve of Crystyabelle, [ 710] As fayre as floure in felde: "Damycelle," he seyde, "a poynt of armys ys ondone, Me be-hovyth to wende and come fulle sone, Wyth the helpe of Mary mylde!

A golde rynge y schalle geve the, [ 715] Kepe hyt wele, my lady free, Yf Cryste sende the a chylde."

LXII.

Forthe he wendyth, as y yow say, To grete Rome he takyth the way To seke the worme so bolde; [ 720] Tokenynges sone of hym he fonde, Slayne men on every honde, Be hunderdes he them tolde. Yf he were never so bolde a knyght, Of that worme when he had a syght [ 725] Hys herte began to folde; Hyt was no wondur thoghe he were wrothe, He stroke hym and hys stede bothe To the grounde so colde!

LXIII.

The knyȝt rose and hys schylde up sett, [ 730] That wyckyd worme ther-with mett Wyth byttur dynte and felle; He schett fyre ryght sore, Evyr nere the nyght the more, As the develle of helle. [ 735] Syr Egyllamowre, for sothe to say, Halfe the tonge he stroke away, That fende began to ȝelle!

And with the stompe that hym was levyd, He stroke the knyght in the hedd [ 740] A depe wounde and a felle.

LXIV.

The knyght seyde, "Now am y schente!" Nere that wyckyd worme he wente, Hys hedd he stroke away; And sythen so nere ys he gone, [ 745] He clevyd hym by the rugge-bone, The felde he wan that day. The emperoure stode in hys towre, And say the fyght of syr Egyllamowre, And to hys men can say, [ 750] "Do to crye in Rome the worme ys slayne, That hathe a knyȝt done hym selfe allone, Pertly be my fay!"

LXV.

Yn grete Rome they dyd to crye, Every offycer in hys bayly, [ 755] "The dragon hath tan hys ȝynde." The emperoure hath tan the way To the knyght, there as he lay Besyde the dylfulle thynge; And alle that ever myght ryde or goo [ 760] Come syr Egyllamowre unto, And wyth blysse home can hym brynge.

They were so fayne the worme was slayn, Wyth procescions hym comyng ageyn, They dydd the bellus to rynge. [ 765]

LXVI.

The emperoure hath a doghtyr bryght, Hath undurtane to hele that knyght, Hur name ys Dawntowre; Scho savys hym fro the dedd, And with hur handys sche helyth hys hedd [ 770] A twelmonyth in hur bowre.

LXVII.

The ryche emperoure of Rome, He sende aftur the dragon sone That in the felde was leyde; Hys syde was herde as any bras, [ 775] Hys whyngus grene as any gras, Hys hedd as fyre was redd. Hys body gretter then a tunne; The nobylle knyȝt the felde hath wonne, And slayn hym in that tyde; [ 780] The emperoure was mekylle of pryde, And made to bete hym bak and syde, Ryght thorowe hys owne rede.

LXVIII.

When they sye that grete beste, Mony a man was of hym agaste, [ 785] And fro hym flewe fulle sone;

Ther mett hym thre hundurd and moo, The emperoure badd they schulde hym take tho, Hys wylle to be done. To seynt Laurens kyrke they hym bare, [f. 68.] [ 790] There schalle he lye for evyrmare, That fowle worme withowten wone. When they remevyd that fowle thynge, Mony a man felle in dede swownyng, For stynke that fro hym come. [ 795]

LXIX.

Then come letturs to Artas, That the worme in Rome slayn was, A knyght then hath hym sloon. So longe at leche-crafte can he dwelle, A man-chylde had Crystyabelle, [ 800] As whyte as whallys boon. The erle had made to God a vowe, "Doghtur, in-to the see schalt thou Yn a schypp allone; And that bastard that to the ys dere, [ 805] Crystyndome schalle he non have here!" Hyr maydenys wepte everychon.

LXX.

Thowe sche were never so feyre a wyght, ȝyt was a schypp fulle redy dyght, That sche in forthe schulde fare. [ 810]

Sche lokyd on hur sone with hur eye, "Sone," sche seyde, "now schalle we dye, Thy fadur schalle see us no mare!" Hur chaumbur women that be hur can stonde, They weptyn faste and wrang ther hande, [ 815] They had fulle mekylle care. When they wyste that sche schoulde forthe passe, Then they cryed and seyde, "Allas! Now are we lafte fulle bare."

LXXI.

Thys lady was in care cladd, [ 820] To a schypp they have hur ladd, Alle and hur frely fode. Sche seyde, "Feyre fadur, y yow pray, Let a preste me a gospelle saye For fendys on the flode." [ 825] Sche preyd hur gentylwomen so free, "Grete wele my lorde, whan ye hym see." They weptyn as they were wode. Hur chaumbur women in swownyng dud falle, And so dud hur frendys alle, [ 830] That wolde hur ony gode.

LXXII.

The lady syghed with herte so sore, A wynde rose and to a roche hur bare, And there-up can sche londe.

Sche was fulle fayne, y undurstonde, [ 835] Sche wende there had be a kende londe, And thedurward can sche wende. Nothyng ellys fonde sche thare, But fowlys mony that wylde ware, Faght faste on every honde; [ 840] A grype come in alle hur care, Hur yonge sone awey he bare Yn-to a cuntré unkende.

LXXIII.

Than that lady seyde, "Allas! That ever y woman borne was, [ 845] My chylde ys thus rafte me froo!" Yn the londe of Ysraelle can he lyght, A gryffon seythe the boke he hyght That wroght the lady woo. The kyng of Israelle an-huntyng ys wente, [ 850] And say where the grype was lente, And thedurward can he goo; He stroke on the chylde with hys bylle, And the chylde cryed lowde and schylle, And he rose and levyd the chylde soo. [ 855]

LXXIV.

A squyer to the chylde can passe, Yn a scarlet mantelle fowndyn he was Wyth a fulle a ryche pane;

Yn a scarlet mantelle woundyn, And with a goldyn gyrdylle bowndyn, [ 860] Hys eyen grey as crystalle stone. Alle they sweryn be the rode, "Thys chylde ys comyn of gentylle blode, Where that ever that he was tane." For that he fro the gryffon felle, [ 865] They namyd the chylde syr Degrabelle, That welsome was of wone.

LXXV.

The kyng lafte huntyng at that tyde, And home with the chylde can he ryde, That fro the grype was hente. [ 870] "Dame," he seyde to the qwene, "Mekylle of solas have we sene, To day God hath me sente." Therof he was bothe glad and blythe, He sende aftur a norse swythe, [ 875] Hys sydes were bothe large and gente. Kepe we thys chylde of mekylle honowre, And speke we of hys modur whyte as flowre, What weyes oure Lord hath hur lente.

LXXVI.

Alle nyght in the roche sche laye, [ 880] A wynde rose ageynys day, And fro the londe hur dryvys.

Sche had neydur reste then odur, But eche storme gretter then odur, On God fulle faste scho cryes. [ 885] As the boke of Rome says, Sche was meteles vj. dayes, For care hur herte clevyth. Be the vij. day abowte none, Jhesu sende hur socowre sone, [ 890] Yn Egypt forthe sche ryvyth.

LXXVII.

The kyng of Egyp stode in a towre, He say that lady whyte as flowre, Was wrekyd on the sonde; He comawndyd a squyer for to go to the see, [ 895] And loke what in the yondur schyp may be, The wynde hath drevyn hur to the londe. To that schypp he come fulle tyte, Upon the syde then can he smyte, Than sche up can stonde. [ 900] For feyntnes sche myght not speke a worde, The lady leynyd hur on the borde, And made sygnys wyth hur hande. Make we mery for Goddys est, Thys ys the thrydd fytt of owre geste, [ 905] That dar y take an hande.

LXXVIII.

The squyer wyste not what she mente, Ageyne to the kyng he went, And knelyd downe on hys kne. "Lorde, in the yondur schyp nothyng ys, [ 910] But a woman in lyknes, Sche rose and lokyd on me. A fayrer thyng say y never none, That ever was made of flesche and bone, But hyt were Mary free! [ 915] Sche makyth me sygnes with hur honde, As sche were of an unknowen londe Beyonde the Grekys see."

LXXIX.

Be Jhesu swere that gentylle kynge, "Y wylle se that gentylle thynge," [ 920] And thedur he goyth apase. To the schyp he come anon; Ageyne the kyng sche rose sone, That lady that was so feyre of face: That damycelle that was so mylde, [ 925] So sore had gret for hur chylde, Sche was wexyn alle horse. To a chaumbur they hur ladd, Dylycyus metys they hur badd, Wyth gode wylle sche them tase. [ 930]

LXXX.

Aftur mete hur frayneth the kyng, "Of whens art thou, my swete thyng, For thou art bryght of blee?" Sche seyde, "Y was borne in Artas, Syr Prynsamowre my fadur was, [ 935] The lorde of that cuntré. Sythen hyt befelle upon a day, Y and my maydenys went to play Be the syde of the see. There was a lytylle bote stode, [ 940] Y and my squyer ther in yode, Un-Crystynman was hee.

LXXXI.

"On londe y lafte my maydenys alle, My squyer on slepyng can falle, A mantelle y ovyr hym drewe." [f. 69.] [ 945] The kyng seyde, "Make gode chere, Thou art my brothurs doghtyr dere." For yoye on hym sche logh. Kepe we thys lady whyte as flowre, And speke we of syr Egyllamowre, [ 950] Now comyth to hym care y-nogh.

LXXXII.

When syr Egyllamowre was hole and sounde, And wele recovyrd on hys wounde, He buskyd and made hym yare;

He thankyth the emperoure of thys, [ 955] Hys doghtur and the emperes, And alle that evyr ware thare. Crystabelle was in hys thoght, The dragonys hedd forgeteth he noȝt, Upon hys spere he hyt up bare; [ 960] Be xij. wekys were comyn to ȝende, Yn the londe of Artas can he londe, And to hym come letturs of care.

LXXXIII.

The cuntré herde telle, y undurstonde, That syr Egyllamowre was come to londe; [ 965] Grete yoye they made in dede. A squyer wente ageyne hym sone, "Lo! lorde, what the erle hath done! Fayre Crystyabelle ys dedd! A man-chylde had sche with hur borne, [ 970] The erle hath hys lyfe forlorne, He was bothe whyte and rede; Yn a schypp on the see he dud them two, And wyth wyndys let them goo!" The knyght swownyd in that tyde. [ 975]

LXXXIV.

"Lorde God!" seyde the knyght so free, "Where ever the gentylle women bee, Yn chambur that wyth hur was?"

The squyer answeryd hym fulle sone, "Lorde, when sche to the see was done, [ 980] Ylke oon toke ther wey to passe." Unto the halle than can he fare, Among the lordys that were thare Be the erle of Artas: "Have thou here thy dragonys hedd, [ 985] Alle ys myn that here ys levydd, Thou syttyst in my place."

LXXXV.

A grete rewthe hyt was to here, How he callyd Crystyabelle hys fere, And seyde, "Art thou gone to the see? [ 990] God that dyed on crosse verye, On thy soule have mercy, And on thy yong sone so free!" And for fere of syr Egyllamowre, The erle rose up and toke a towre, [ 995] There evyr more wo hym bee! "Gentylle men, so God me save, Alle that ordre of knyght wylle have, Ryse up and take hyt at me."

LXXXVI.

The gentyls that come hym tylle, [ 1000] Then they were fulle fayne to do hys wylle, He gave them ordurs sone;

Yn the halle that he there hadd, V. and thretty knyghtys he madd, Be that odur day abowte none; [ 1005] And he that was the porest of them alle, He gaf for Crystyabellys soule Londys to leve upon. A thousand, as y undurstonde, He toke with hym, and went into the Holy Londe, [ 1010] There God on cros was done.

LXXXVII.

Syr Egyllamowre, as ye may here, He dwellyd in the Holy Londe xv. yere, The hethen men amonge; Fulle doghtyly he hym bare, [ 1015] There ony dedes of armys ware, Ageyne them that levedd wronge. Be the xv. yerys were comyn and gone, The chylde that the grype hath tane Waxe bothe bolde and stronge; [ 1020] Yn yustyng ne yn turnament, Ther myȝt no man with-sytt hys dynte, But he to the erthe them thronge.

LXXXVIII.

Syr Degrabelle was wyse and wyght, The kyng of Ysraelle hath made hym knyȝt [ 1025] And prynce wyth hys honde.

Lystenyth, lordyngys, leve and dere, What armys that thys chylde bere, And ye wylle undurstonde.

LXXXIX.

He bare, Aserre, a grype of golde, [ 1030] Rychely beton on the molde, Yn hys clothys hangyng A chylde in a skarlet mantelle bounde, As he was broght to londe Thorowe that grype, withowt lesynge. [ 1035]

XC.

The kyng of Ysraelle waxe fulle olde, To Syr Degrabelle hys sone he tolde, "Y wolde thou haddyst a wyfe; For y trowe thou art me dere, When y am dedd, thou getyst no pere, [ 1040] Of ryches thou art so ryfe." A messengere come before the kyng, "Yn Egypt wonnyth a swete thyng, The feyrest that evyr bare lyfe; The kyng hath soche othys sworne, [ 1045] No man schalle have hur that ys borne, But he wynne hur wyth stryfe."

XCI.

The kynge swere, "And sche be gode, Therfore we wylle not let be the rode, Have done sone and buske the swythe." [ 1050]

And he comawndyd a messengere to gon, To bydd hys knyghtys everychon That they were there belyve. They buskyd them wyth ryalle fare, And to the see they went fulle yare, [ 1055] And passyd the watur lythe; Be th[r]e wekys were comyn to ȝende, Yn the londe of Egypt can they wende, Ther forsus for to knowe swythe.

XCII.

A messengere wente before to telle, [ 1060] "Here comyth the kyng of Ysraelle Wyth mony a man semelé; The prynce hys sone with many a knyȝt, For to wowe yowre doghtur bryght, Yf that yowre wylle bee." [ 1065] He seyde, "Be God, y hope y schalle Fynde redy yustyng for them alle, They be welcome to me; And yf they come on gode array, To ther mete y schalle them pray, [ 1070] As mote y thryve or the."

XCIII.

Trumpus in the topp-castelle rose, The ryche kyng to the londe gose Wyth hys knyghtys clad in palle;

The chylde, that was of xv. yere, [ 1075] Gothe them among, as ye may here, A fote above them alle; The kyng of Egypt ageyn hym wente, And sythen be the honde hym hente, And bad hym to the halle. [ 1080] "Y prey the thou gyf me a syght Of Crystyabelle, yowre doghtur bryght, As whyte as bone of whalle."

XCIV.

Owt of a chaumbur was sche broght, With mannys hondes as sche were wroght, [ 1085] Or corvyn on a tree; By rome some stode and hur behelde, "Wele were hym that hur myght welde," To hym-selfe seyde hee. The kyng of Ysraelle that lady can asche, [ 1090] Yf she myght the see ovyr-passe, Hys sonnys wyfe for to bee. Tho seyde sche, "Yf he may Gete me with hys schafte to-morowe at day, Thy askyng grawnte y the." [ 1095]

XCV.

Grete lordys were at the assent; Waytys blewe, to mete they wente Wyth a fulle ryalle chere.

Two kynges the deyse began, Syr Degrabelle and Crystyabelle than, [ 1100] Thowe they were sybbe fulle nere. Kynges wente to sytt y-wys, Ylke squyer in hys offyce To serve hys lorde fulle dere; Aftur mete than seyde they [ 1105] Deus pacis, clerkys cunne seye Yn the halle there men may hyt here. [f. 70.]

XCVI.

At morne when day sprange, Gentyl men to haruds thrange, Syr Degrabelle was dyght; [ 1110] Trumpus in the felde rose, Eche lorde to odur goys, That was a semely syght. Grete lordys made to crye, "What maner of man ys hee, [ 1115] That beryth the grype so bryght?" Harowdes of armes conne them telle, "That ys the prynce of Ysraelle, Be war, for he ys wyght!"

XCVII.

The kyng of Egypt hath take a schafte, [ 1120] The chylde satt and nere hym raght, Thogh he be nevyr so kene;

Ageyn the kyng the chylde can fare, Hors and man he bare downe thare Strongely on the grene. [ 1125] The kynge seyde, "So God me save, Thou art beste worthy hur to have." Thus seyn they alle-be-dene. Lordys they justyd there that day, The squyers on the morne, withowt nay, [ 1130] Doghty men and kene.

XCVIII.

Two kynges have there trowthe plyght To Crystyabelle that was so bryght, To the churche they conne hur lede. Thus gracyously he hath spedd, [ 1135] Hys owne modur he hath wedd, Thus harde y a clerke rede.

XCIX.

Hys armes they bere hym beforne, Sche thenkyth how hur chylde was awey borne, And grete sorow she made in thoght. [ 1140] "Lorde, in thyn armes a fowle y see, That sometyme rafte a chylde fro me, A knyght fulle dere hym boght." The kynge swere be Goddys myght, "In my foreste can he lyght, [ 1145] A grype to londe hym broght."

He comawndyd a squyer for to wende, And aftur hys cofur he hym sende, Ther in hyt was leyde so softe; There y wot he toke owte thare [ 1150] The mantelle and the gyrdylle bothe, That rychely was be-wroght.

C.

The lady seyde, "Fulle wo ys me, They were rafte fro me in the see!" On-swownyng downe sche brayde. [ 1155] "How longe sethen?" the kyng can say. "xv. yere, syr, permafay!" They grauntyd alle that sche sayde.

CI.

"Gode Lorde, we alle thou wys and rede, A sybbe maryage thys day have we made [ 1160] In the spryngyng of the mone; Y rede ye loke, so God me save, What maner of man that hur schalle have, That hyt were done full sone." "Ye, ffadur, y trowe, hyt be gode, [ 1165] And so dothe my modur, be the rode! But y weddyd hur before none; Therfore ther schalle no man have hur, be seynt Mary, But he hur wynne os doghtyly, As y myselfe have done." [ 1170]

CII.

Grete lordys conne to odur saye, "For hur love we wylle turnay, Wyth swerdus in owre honde; He that wynnyth that lady clere, He schalle wedd hur to hys fere, [ 1175] There hym lovyth beste to lende." Harowdes of armes than they wente, For to dyscrye thys turnayment In eche londys ȝende; Syr Egyllamowre was in that cuntré sone, [ 1180] And herde telle of thys grete renowne, And thedurward can he wende.

CIII.

For Crystyabelle was put in-to the see, Now soche armes beryth he, Lystenyth, y wylle yow dyscrye. [ 1185] He bare of Aser, a schyp of golde, A lady as sche dye schoulde, And a chylde lay hur bye; Hys maste of sylvyr and of golde, The chylde was but of oon nyght olde, [ 1190] And evyr in poynte to dye; And of redd golde was hys fane, Hys gabulle and hys ropys everechone Was portrayed verely.

CIV.

Gentylmen that herde of thys crye, [ 1195] Thedur come they redylye, Tho that doghty were; The kyng of Sydone came fulle sone Wyth mony knyghtys herde of bone, That yoly colourys bare. [ 1200] Schaftys they made in the felde, That grete lordys myght them welde, Fulle faste they turnayed thare; Syr Egyllamowre, thogh he come laste, ȝyt was he not awey caste, [ 1205] The knyght was cladd in care.

CV.

Crystyabelle, that lady smalle, Was broght to a corner of the walle, There the crye was made. The chylde that was of xv. yere elde, [ 1210] Was aventurs in the felde, And yn a stowre he rode; When he began to smyte, Fro hys handys they went not that tyde, Ther wolde none hys dyntys abyde; [ 1215] He sende a knyght anon fulle stylle Unto syr Egyllamowre, to wyt hys wylle, And seyde, "Wylle ye not ryde?"

CVI.

He seyde, "Syr recreawntes, I am fer comyn owt of hethennes, [ 1220] Grete synne hyt were me to tene!" Hys owne sone seyde, "So mote y the, Than schulde ye not have armyd be, More worschyp had hyt bene."

CVII.

The knyght answeryd, and on hym logh, [ 1225] "Haste thou not ȝyt askyd me y-nogh, But thou on me more praye?" "Syr, y am aventurs in thys stowre For a lady whyte as flowre, To wynne hur yf y may." [ 1230] "Be Jhesu," seyde the knyght then, "Y wylle loke yf y can For hur love onythyng turnay; Be God, sometyme have y sene, In as herde aventurs have y bene, [ 1235] And wonne fulle wele away."

CVIII.

Grete lordys with weponys longe, Gentylmen to horsus spronge, Doghty men echone; And syr Egyllamowre turnyd hys swerde flatt, [ 1240] And gafe hys sone soche a patte, That to the erthe he ys gone.

Alle they sweryd upon the molde, "He that beryth the schylde of golde Hath wonne hur hymselfe allone." [ 1245] The lady seyde, "Be Goddys peté, My sone ys dedd! fulle wo ys me! That kene knyght hath hym slone!"

CIX.

Harowdes of armes swore owt than, "Yf ther be ony gentylman, [ 1250] To make hys body gode." These grete lordys seyde now, "Beste worthy, syr knyght, art thou To wedd thys frely fode." To onarme hym the knyght goys, [ 1255] In cortyls, sorcatys and schorte clothys, That doghty weryn of dede. Two kyngys the deyse began, Syr Egyllamowre and Crystyabelle than, Jhesu us alle spede! [ 1260]

CX.

Sche askyth be what chesone he bare A schyp of golde, bothe maste and ore; He tolde hur, as he was hynde. He seyde, "For in the see was done My lemman and my yongest sone, [f. 71.] [ 1265] And there they made ther ȝende."

That lady lettyd for no schame, "Gode syr, what ys yowre name?" He tolde hur in that stownde, "Men calle me, there y borne was, [ 1270] Syr Egyllamowre of Artas, That with the worme was woundyd."

CXI.

There was many a robe of palle, The chylde servyd in the halle At the fyrste mete that day. [ 1275] Prevély scho to hym spake, "ȝondur ys thy fadur that the gate!" A grete yoye hyt was to see ay! When he knelyd downe on hys kne, There was mony an herte soré, [ 1280] Be God that dyed on a tree! Hyt ys sothe seyde, be God of heven, Mony metyn at on-sett stevyn; And so befelle hyt there!

CXII.

The kyng of Israelle can hym telle [ 1285] How he fonde syr Degrabelle, Knyghtys lystenyd ther-to than. Syr Egyllamowre knelyd on hys kne, "A! Lorde God, ȝylde hyt the, Thou haste made hym a man!" [ 1290]

The kynge seyde, "Y hym geve Halfe my kyngdome whylle y leve, My sone as whyte os swan." The kynge of Sydon seyde also, "And my doghtur Organata y gyf hym to, [ 1295] For my londys hys fadur wan."

CXIII.

Syr Egyllamowre prayed these lordys hynde, Home to Artas that they wolde wynde, At hys weddyng to bee. They grauntyd alle that there ware; [ 1300] They buskyd them with ryalle fare, And sone come ovyr the see.

CXIV.

Schyppus lay wrekyd on the sonde, Eche lorde toke odur be the honde, Pagys ther horsys conne dryve; [ 1305] Thys behelde syr Prynsamowre, He felle bakward ovyr a towre, And brake hys nekk belyve! A messengere come before to telle, What maner aventurs there befelle: [ 1310] Wyth God may no man stryve! Alle the nyght there they laye, Tylle on the morowe that hyt was day, To wedd that lady whyte belyve.

CXV.

Ther was many a lorde of pryde, [ 1315] A kynge ladde hur on eche a syde, Hyt was a semely syght;

Sythen a byschop can them wedde, Than thanked they God they had so spedd, And Mary mekylle of myght! [ 1320] Sethen to wedde them can they goo, Syr Degrabelle and Organata tho, He was a fulle feyre knyght. There was throwyn golde in that stounde, The mowntans of a thousand pounde, [ 1325] Gete hyt who so myght. The mynstrels that were of ferre londe, They had mony robys, y undurstonde, And mony a ryche gyfte. Sythen to the castelle they wente, [ 1330] To holde brydale they hente, Hyt lastyd a fourtenyght.

CXVI.

When the brydale was alle y-done, Eche oon toke ther leve to gone, There they were levest to lende. [ 1335] Mynstrels that there were in that stounde, Ther gyftys were worthe iij. c. pounde, The bettur myght they spende. In Rome thys geste cronyculd ys; Jhesu brynge us to that blys, [ 1340] That lastyth withowten ende!

Amen.

Here endyth syr Egyllamowre of Artas, and begynneth syr Tryamowre.