Berild gan him preie
Þat he scholde him seie,
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What his name were
& what he wolde þere.
'Cutberd,' he sede, 'ihc hote,
Icomen vt of þe bote,
Line 768
Wel feor fram biweste
To seche mine beste.'
Berild gan him nier ride
& tok him bi þe bridel;
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'Wel beo þu kniȝt ifounde!
Wiþ me þu lef astunde:
Also mote i sterue,
Þe king þu schalt serue;
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Ne saȝ i neure my lyue [folio 10a:2]
So fair kniȝt aryue.'
Cutberd heo ladde in to halle,
& he a kne gan falle:
Line 780
He sette him a knewelyng
& grette wel þe gode kyng.
Þanne sede Berild sone:
'Sire king, of him þu hast to done,
Line 784
Bitak him þi lond to werie,
Ne schal hit noman derie; [schal] schat MS.]
For he is þe faireste man
Þat eureȝut on þi londe cam.'
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¶ Þanne sede þe king so dere:
'Welcome beo þu here.
Go nu, Berild, swiþe,
& make him ful bliþe;
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And whan þu farst to woȝe, [farst] t above the line MS.]
Tak him þine gloue;
Iment þu hauest to wyue,
Awai he schal þe dryue;
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For Cutberdes fairhede,
Ne schal þe neure wel spede.'
HIt was at Cristesmasse,
Neiþer more ne lasse;
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