Nachträge zu den legenden / [ed. C. Horstmann].

c) Aus Ms. Cbr. Ff. II, 38.

Pryncis þat be prowde in prese, I wyll þat (!) þat ys no lees. yn Cysyll was a nobull kynge, Fayre & stronge & some dele ȝynge. He had a brodur in grete Rome [ 5] That was pope of all Crystendome; Of Almayne hys odur brodur was Emperowre, Thorow crystendome he had honowre. The kynge was calde kynge Roberde; Neuer man in hys tyme wyste hym aferde, [ 10] He was kynge of grete valowre, And also callyd conquerowre; Nowhere in no lande was hys pere, Kynge nor dewke, ferre nor nere, And also he was of cheualrye þe flowre; [ 15] And hys odur brodur was Emperowre, Hys oon brodur in ȝorthe godys ge∣nerall vykere, Pope of Rome, as ye may here. Thys Pope was callyd pope Vrbane, For (!) hym louyd bothe god and mane; [ 20] The Emperowre was callyd Vala∣mownde: A strawnger warreowre was none fownde Aftur hys brodur, the kyng of Cysyle, Of whome y thynke to speke a whyle. The kynge thoght he had no pere [ 25] For to acownte, nodur fer nor nere; And þorow hys þoght he had a pryde, For he had no pere, he þoȝt, on no syde. And on a nyght of seynt Johne Thys kynge to þe churche come, [ 30] For to here hys euynsonge. Hys dwellynge þoȝt he þere to longe: He þoght more of worldys honowre Then of Cryste, hys saueowre. In magnificat he harde a vers: [ 35] He made a clerke to hym hyt to re∣herse In þe langage of hys owne tonge— For in latene wyste he not what þey songe. The verse was thys, as y telle the: Deposuit potentes de sede [ 40] Et exaltavit humiles— Thys was þe verse wythowten lees. The clerke seyde anon ryghte: "Syr, soche ys godys myghte That he make may hye lowe [ 45] And lowe hye, in a lytyll throwe— God may do wythowten lye Hys wylle in þe twynkelyng of an ye." The kyng seyde þan wyth þoȝt vn∣stabull: "Ye synge þys ofte, and all hys a fabull: [ 50] What man hath that powere To make me lowear & in dawngere? I am flowre of cheualrye; All myn enmyes I may dystroye; Ther leuyth no-man in no lande [ 55] That my myght may wythstande. Then ys yowre songe a songe of noght." Thys arrowre had he in hys thoght. And in hys thoght a slepe hym toke In hys closet, so seyth the boke. [ 60] When euynsonge was all done, A kynge hym lyke owte can come, And all men wyth hym can wende— And kynge Roberde lefte behynde. The newe kynge was, y yow telle, [ 65] Godys aungell, hys pryde to felle. The aungell in þe halle yoye made, And all men of hym were glade. Kynge Roberde wakenyd þat was in þe kyrke: Hys men he þoȝt woo forto wyrke [ 70] For he was lefte there allone And merke nyght felle hym vpone. He begane to crye vpon hys mene: But þere was none þat answeryd þene— But þe sexten at the ende [ 75] Of þe kyrke, & to hym can wende And seyde: "lurden, what doyst þou here? Thou art a þefe, or þefeys fere! Thou arte here sykerlye

Thys churche to robbe wyth felonye." [ 80] He seyde: "fals þefe & fowle gadlyng, Thou lyest falsely—y am þy kynge. Opyn the churche-dore anone, That y may to my pales gone!" The sexesten went well than [ 85] That he had be a wode mane, And of hym he had ferlye, And wolde delyuer the churche in hye: And openyd þe dore ryȝt sone in haste. The kyng begane to renne owte faste, [ 90] As a man that was nere wode, And at hys pales ȝate he stode And callyd þe portar: "gadlyng, be gone," And bad hym come faste & hye hym soone, "Anon the ȝates that þou vndoo." [ 95] The portar askyd, who bad soo. And he answeryd ryght soone anone: "Thou schalt wytt, or y hens gone. Thy lorde y am: þat schalt þou knowe. In pryson schalt þou lye full lowe [ 100] And bothe be hangyd & be drawe, And odur moo, as be the lawe. I schall yow teche me for to knawe, And brynge yow fro yowre lyfe-dawe. Thou schalt wyt þat y am kynge. [ 105] Do opyn þe ȝatys, þou false gadlynge!" The porter seyde: "forsothe, y telle þe, The kyng ys in þe halle wyth hys meyne; Well y wote wythowten dowte The kynge ys not þus late owte" [ 110] The porter went in-to the halle, And before the kynge can falle And seyde: "ther ys, lorde, at þe ȝate A nyce fole comyn ther to late, And seyth he ys here lorde & kynge [ 115] And callyþ me false & fowle gadlynge. Lorde, what wyll ye that y doo? Let hym yn or let hym goo?" The aungell seyde to hym in haste: "Let hym in come swythe faste! [ 120] For my fole y schall hym make." The portar came vn-to þe ȝate And calde hym swyþe yn þer-ate. And he began for to debate, He smote þe porter, when he came yn, [ 125] That þe blode braste owt at mowþe & chyne. The portar ȝalde hym hys trauayle: He smote hym agayne wythowten fayle, That mowþe & nose braste on blode. And þen he semyd almoost wode. [ 130] The porter and hys men in haste Kynge Roberde in a podell caste; Vnsemely was hys body than, That he was lyke no nodur mane. Then broȝt þey hym before þe kynge [ 135] And seyde: "lorde, thys gadlynge Me hath smetyn wythowten deserte And seyþ þat he ys owre kynge aperte; He seyde y schulde be drawe & honge. Hys owne dome ys ryght he fonge. [ 140] To me he seyde no nodur worde But þat he was bothe kynge & lorde. The traytur schulde for hys sawe Be þe lawe bothe be hangyd & drawe." The aungell seyde to kyng Roberde: [ 145] "Thou art a foole, that art not aferde My men to do soche velanye. That ylke trespas thou muste abye. What art thou?" seyde the aungell. Tho seyde Roberde: "thou schalt wyt well: [ 150] I am kynge, and kynge wyll bee; Wyth wrange þou haste my dygnyte. The pope of Rome ys my brodur, The Emperowre Valamownde ys þe todur: He wyll me a-wreke, y dar well telle, [ 155] I wot he wyll not longe dwelle." "Thou art a fole," seyde the aungell, "Thou schalt be schauyn ouyr ylke a dele Lyke a fole and a fole to bee, Thy babull schall be thy dygnyte. [ 160] Thy crowne schall be newe schorne, For thy crowne of golde ys lorne; Thy councellere schall be an ape, And in a clothyng ye schall be schape, And he schall be thyn owne fere— [ 165] Some wytt of hym ȝyt may þou lere; He schall be cladde ryght as þy brodur Of oon cloþyng—hyt schall be no nodur. Howndys, how so hyt befalle, Schall ete wyth the in the halle; [ 170] Thou schalt ete on the grownde, Thyn assayar schall be an hownde To assaye thy mete before the, For thou art a kynge of dygnyte." They broght a barbur hym beforne, [ 175] That as a fole schulde be shorne All arownde lyke a frere, And þen ouyrthwart to eydur ere,

And on þe crowne hym make a crosse. Then he began to crye & make noyse; [ 180] He sware þat þey schulde all dye That dud hym soche velanye, And euer he seyde he was þer lorde— And all men scornyd hym for þat worde, And euery man seyde þat he was wode [ 185] That prouyd wele he cowde no gode. For he wende on no kyns wyse That myghtfull god cowde deuyse Hym to brynge to lowar estate— And wyth a draght he was chek∣mate: [ 190] At lowar degre he myght not bee Then become a fole, as thynkyth me; And euery man made scornynge Of hym þat afore was a nobull kynge. Lo, how soone be goddys myght [ 195] He was lowe—& that was ryght. He was euyr so harde bestadde That mete nor drynke noone he had; But hys babull was in hys hande. The aungell before hym made hym to stande [ 200] And seyde: "fole, art þou kynge?" He seyde: "ye, wythowte lesynge, And here-aftur kynge wyll bee." The aungell seyde: "so semyth the." Honger and thurste he had full grete, [ 205] For he myght no mete ete But howndys ete of hys dysche, Whedur hyt were flesche or fysche; When þat þe howndys had etyn þer fylle, Then myȝt he ete at hys wylle. [ 210] He was to dethe nere broght For honger, or he wolde ete oght; But when hyt wolde no nodur be, He ete wyth howndys grete plente, Wyth þe howndys þat were in þe halle— [ 215] How myȝt to hym barder befalle? Bettur he were, to yow sey y, So to do þen for hunger dye. Ther was not in þe court grome ne page But þey of þe kyng made game & rage— [ 220] For no-man myght hym not knowe: He was so dysfygerde in a throwe. Wyth howndys euery nyght he laye, And ofte he cryed wellawaye That euer ȝyt þat he was borne. [ 225] Hys ryalte he had forlorne, He was to all men vndurlynge— So lowe was neuer ȝyt no kynge. Yf pryde had not bene, y vndur∣stande, A wyser kynge was neuer in lande; [ 230] Wyth hys pryde god can hym greve: God boȝt hym dere & wolde hym not leve: God made hym to knowe hys chas∣tysyng(e), To be a fole þat afore was kynge. The aungell was kyng full longe: [ 235] But in hys tyme was neuer no wrong(e), Trechery, falsehed, nor no gyle Done in þe lande of Cysyle; Of all gode þere was plente, Amonge men loue & charyte, [ 240] And in hys tyme was neuer stryfe Nodur betwene man nor wyfe, But euery man louyd well odur, Bettur loue was neuer of brodur. Then was þat a yoyfull thynge [ 245] In londe to haue soche a kynge! Kynge he was III yere & more— And Roberde as a fole ȝede þore. The aungell askyd hym euery day: "Fole, art thou kyng? þou me say!" [ 250] He seyde: "ye, þat well y knowe: My brodur schall brynge þe full lowe." "That semyþ the wele, seyde þe aungell, The crowne semyþ þe no-þyng well."

Than ser Valamownde, þe emper∣owre, [ 255] Sende lettyrs of grete honowre To hys brodur, of Cysyle þe kynge, To come to hym wythowte lettynge, That þey myght bothe in same Wende to þer brodur, þe pope of Rome, [ 260] To see hys nobull & ryall arraye In Rome on halowe-thursdaye. The aungell welcomyd þe messengerys And clad them all in cloþys of pryse, And furryd them wyth armyne— [ 265] Ther was neuer ȝyt pellere half so fyne, And all was set wyth perrye— Ther was neuer no bettur in crystyante;

Soche cloþyng, & hyt were to dyght, All crysten men hyt make ne myght; [ 270] Where soche clothys were to selle Nor who þem made, can no - man telle; On þat wondyrd all þat lande Who wroȝt þose cloþys wyth any hande. The messengerys went wyth þe kynge [ 275] To grete Rome wythowte lesynge. The fole Roberde wyth hym went, Clad in a full sympull garment, Wyth foxe tayles to renne (!) abowte— Men myght hym knowe in all þe rowte! [ 280] A babull he bare agenste hys wylle, The aungels harte to fulfylle. To Rome came the aungell soone: So ryall a kyng came neuer in Rome; All men wondurde, fro whens he came— [ 285] So well hys rayment sate hym one. The aungell was clad all in whyte: Ther was neuer in ȝerthe snowe hyt lyke, And all was cowchyd wyth perlys ryche: Bettur were neuyr, nor noone þem lyche. [ 290] All was whyte, atyre & stede; The sted was feyre, where þat he yede; So feyre a stede as he on rode, Was neuer man þat euer be-strode. And so was all hys apparell dyght— [ 295] The ryches can not telle no wyght. Of clothys, gyrdyls & odur thynge Euery squyer semyd a kynge. All they rode in ryche arraye— But kyng Roberde, y dar wele saye; [ 300] For all men on hym can pyke, For he rode no nodur lyke. But ofte he made sory chere, That schulde be kyng & kyngys fere, That rode in Rome & bare an ape [ 305] And hys clothyng full euyll schape; That so be foly a fole was made, A wondur hyt were yf he were glade. The Pope & the Emperowre also And odur barons many moo [ 310] Welcomyd þe aungell as for kynge, And made yoye for hys comynge. Forþe þen came stertyng kyng Ro∣berde, As fole & man þat was not aferde, And lowde on hym he began to speke [ 315] And seyde: hys bredyrne schulde hym awreke Of hym that hath wyth queynt gyle Hys crowne & lande of Cysyle. Pope, Emperowre, nor no nodur The fole knewe not for þer brodur— [ 320] God put hym in odur lyknes For hys grete vnbuxvmnes. A mekyll fole he was holde More then þare be an C folde: To calle soche a brodurhede [ 325] Hyt was holdyn a folys dede. Tho thre bredyr made grete com∣fort— The aungell was made brodur be sorte; Wele was þe Pope & þe Emperowre That had a brodur of soche hon∣owre. [ 330] Kynge Roberde began to make care, Mekyll more þen he can are: For he trowyd of all thynge Hys bredur schulde haue made hym kynge; And when hys hope was all awaye, [ 335] He seyde allas and weleaway.— The Pope, þe Emperowre & þe kynge Fyve wekys made þey þer dwellynge. And when þe V^the weke was all done, To þer owne londys went þey home, [ 340] Bothe þe Emperowre and þe kynge— Ther was a feyre departynge. When euery-oon of odur leeve can take, The fole Robert grete sorow can make; When no brodur hym can knowe, [ 345] "Allas, he seyde, now am y lowe!" He þoght mekyll in þat case How he was lowe. he seyde allas. He þoght vpon Nabegodhonosore: A nobull kynge was he before, [ 350] In all þe worlde was not hys pere For to acownt, nodur far nor nere; Wyth hym was ser Olyverne, Prynce of knyghtys, stowte & sterne; Olyverne sware euyrmore [ 355] Be god Nabegodhonosore, For he helde no god in lande But Nabegodhonosore, y vnderstande; Nabegodhonosore was þen full gladde, When he þe name of god hadde, [ 360] And louyd Olyverne well þe more. And syþen hyt greuyd þem boþe full sore: Olyverne dyed in grete dolowre, For he was slayne in a harde schowre; Nabegodhonosore was in deserte— [ 365]

He durste not nowhere be aperte; Fyftene yere he leuyd thare Wyth rotys & grasse & euyll fare, And all of mosse hys cloþyng was: And þat came all be godys grace— [ 370] For pryde was þat euery dele, Ther-wyth lykyd hym noþyng wele. He cryed mercy wyth sory chere: And god hym restored as he was ere. "And now y am in soche a case, [ 375] Ye, & in well warse þen euer he was, When god me gave soche honowre That y was callyd conquerowre, In euery lande of Crystendome Of me þey spake boþe all & some [ 380] And seyde nowhere ys my pere In no lande, nodur farre nor nere; And þorow þat worde y felle in pryde, As the aungell þat can of heuyn glyde; And wyth þe twynklyng of an eye [ 385] God fordud all that maystrye— And so hath he done my forgylte (!). Now am y of my lande pylte. And þat ys ryght that y so bee, For, lorde, y leeuyd not on the. [ 390] I had an errowre in my harte, And þat errowre haþ made me to smarte: When y seyde in my sawe That noþynge myght make me lawe, And holy wrytt dyspysed wyth-all. [ 395] And for-þy "wrech of wrechys" men me calle. And fole of all folys y am ȝyt, For he ys a fole, god wottyþ well hyt, That turneth hys wytt vnto folye: So haue y done. mercy y crye. [ 400]

Now mercy, lorde, for þy pyte! aftur my gylte geue not me, let me abye hyt in my lyve þat y haue synned wyth wyttys fyve! For hyt ys ryght, a fole that I bee— [ 405] Now, lorde, of þy fole þou haue pyte! Ryght so, how þat hyt befalle, I ete wyth þe howndys in þe halle And leue so here for euyrmore As leuyd Nabegodhonosore." [ 410] When he to Cryste þus can calle, Downe in swowne can he falle, And euyr he seyde wyth mylde mode: "I thanke the, lorde, þat ys so gode. Of my kyngdome me greuyþ noȝt, [ 415] Hyt ys for my gylt & leder þoght. Euyr thy fole, lorde, wyll y bee, Now, lorde, of þy fole þou haue pyte!" The aungell came into Cysyle, He & hys men, wythynne a whyle. [ 420] When he came into the halle, The fole he gart before hym calle, And seyde: "Fole, art þou kynge?" "Nay, ser, he seyde, wythowte les∣ynge." "What art þou?" seyde the aungell. [ 425] "Syr, a Fole, þat wote ye well, And more þen a fole, & hyt may bee— I kepe no nodur dygnyte." The aungell þen to chaumbur went And aftur the Fole anon he sente; [ 430] He bad hys men forþe of þe chaum∣bur to gone: There was lefte noone but he allone And þe fole that stode hym by. To hym he seyde: "þou haste mercye: God hath forgeuyn þe þy mysdede. [ 435] And euer here-aftur loke þou hym drede! Thynke how þou was owte pylte Of thy lande for thy mysgylte, To þe lowest state þat ys in lande: That ys a fole, y vndurstande; [ 440] A fole þou were to heuyn kynge, And þerfore þou art an vndurlynge. I am an aungell of renowne, Sente to kepe thy regyowne; More blysse me schall befalle [ 445] In heuyn amonge my ferys all, Ye, in oon owre of a day Then in erthe, y dar well saye, In an hundurd thousande yere, Thogh all þe worlde far & nere [ 450] Were all myn at my lykynge. I am an aungell, & þou art kynge." He went in þe twynklyng of an yee— No more of hym there was sye. Kyng Roberd came into þe halle. [ 455] Hys men he gart before hym calle: And all þey were at hys wylle As to þer lorde, for hyt was skylle. He loueyd God & holy kyrke, And euyr he thoght well to wyrke. [ 460] He leuyd aftur two yere & more, And loouyd god & all hys lore. The aungell gaf hym in warnynge Of the tyme of hys leuynge. When þe tyme came of hys day soone, [ 465] He made to wryte ryght anone How god be hys mekyll myght Made hym lowe, as hyt was ryght.

For he wende he myght not be Thorow godys myȝt at lowar degre, [ 470] He was made lowe in a lytyll þrowe, And þat was kyd & full well knowe: To be a fole to euery knave, More schame myght he not haue; He ete & laye wyth howndys eke; [ 475] Thogh he were prowde, hyt wolde hym meke; To all men he was scornynge. Loo, here was a dolefull thynge That he schulde so for hys pryde Soche happe among hys men be∣tyde. [ 480] Well may ye wete, hyt dyd hym gode: Hyt made hym meke þat arst was wode, Hyt made hym to knowe god all∣myght, That hym broght to heuyn lyght. Thys story he sente euery dele [ 485] To hys brodur vndur hys sele. And to þe tyme of hys laste day (!), For þat tyme he dyed, as he can saye. Hys bredur þoght wele on þe Fole That cryed to þem wyth mekyll dole: [ 490] And wyste wele þat he was þer brodur, And knewe sothely hyt was no nodur. In Cysyle knewe hyt many moo That were wyth hym, when hyt was soo. The Pope of Rome here-of can preche, [ 495] And the pepull he can teche That þer pryde þey schulde forsake And to gode vertues þey schulde þem take; And seyde, hys brodur, þat was kynge, For hys pryde was an vndurlynge. [ 500] For pryde ys ferre fro god allmyght, Hyt may not come in hys syght; For pryde wolde, yf hyt myght bee, Ouyrmownte goddys dygnyte, And all at hys owne wylle: [ 505] Thus þorow pryde may man hym spylle. Thys storye ys wythowten lye At Rome wretyn in memorye, At seynt Petur kyrke, hyt ys knawe. And that ys Crystys owne lawe [ 510] That lowe be hye at godys wylle, And hye lowe, thogh hyt be ylle. Prey we now to god in Trynyte, That ys so gode in dygnyte, That he graunt vs þat ylk blysse [ 515] That he haþ ordeyned for all hys.

Amen.

Notes

• 199 vgl.
• 160-281; dieser Zusatz ist aus Ha. geflossen.
• 387 l. for my gylte.
• 393 Ms. for when.