Morte D Arthur
                          or
               The Mortality of Arthur
               or The Death of Arthur
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NOTE:  This is not a retelling in modern English.  It is
in middle English.  Middle English can be read by a modern
person, with a little patience (and a dictionary).  It 
should be remembered that "u" and "v" are used interchange-
ably, and that vowels such as "i" and "e" are sometimes 
interchanged.  This was long before the introduction of 
standardized spelling.  In general I find it no harder to 
read middle English than the writing of some people I know 
today.
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How grett glorious Godd, thurgh grace of Hym seluen,
And the precyous prayere of Hys prys Modyr,
Schelde vs fro schamesdede and synfull werkes,
And gyffe vs grace to gye and gouerne vs here,
In this wrechyd werld, thorowe vertous lywynge,
That we may kayre til Hys courte, the kyngdom of Hevyne,
When oure saules schall parte and sundyre fra the body,
Ewyre to belde and to byde in blysse wyth Hym seluen;
And wysse me to werpe owte som worde at this tym
That nothyre voyde be ne vayne, bot wyrchip till Hym selvyn,
Plesande and profitabill to the popule that them heres.
ye that liste has to lyth or luffes for to here
Off elders of alde tym and of theire awke dedys,
How they were lele in theire lawe and louede God Almyghty,
Herkynes me heyndly and holdys yow styll,
And I sall tell yow a tale that trewe es and nobyll,
Off the ryeall renkys of the Rownnde Table,
That chefe ware of cheualrye and cheftans nobyll,
Bathe ware in thire werkes and wyse men of armes,
Doughty in theire doyngs and dredde ay schame,
Kynde men and courtays and couthe of courte thewes;
How they whanne wyth were wyrchippis many,
Sloughe Lucyus the lythyre, that Lorde was of Rome,
And conqueryd that kyngryke thorowe craftys of armes;
Herkenes now hedyrwarde and herys this storye.
Qwen that the kyng Arthur by conqueste hade wonnyn
Castells and kyngdoms and contreez many,
And he had couerede the coroun of the kyth ryche,
Of all that Vter in erthe aughte in his tym:
Orgayle and Orkenay and all this owte iles,
Irelande vttirly, as occyane rynnys;
Scathyll Scottlande by skyll he skyftys as hym lykys,
And Wales of were he wane at hys will;
Bathe Flaundrez and Fraunce fre til him seluyn,
Holaund and Henawde they helde of hym bothen,
Burgoyne and Brabane and Bretayn the Lasse,
Gyan and Gothelande and Grace the ryche;
Bayon and Burdeux he beldytt full faire,
Turoyn and Tholus, with toures full hye;
Off Peyters and of Prouynce he was prynce holdyn,
Of Valence and Vyenne, off value so noble,
Of Ouergne and Anyou, thos erledoms ryche, 
By conqueste full cruell they knewe hym fore lorde;
Of Nauerne and Norwaye and Normaundye eke,
Of Almayne, of Estriche, and other ynowe; 
Danmarke he dryssede all by drede of hym seluyn,
Fra Swynn vnto Swetherwyke, with his swerde kene.
Qwenn he thes dedes had don, he doubbyd hys knyghtez,
Dyuysyde dowcherys and delte in dyuerse remmes,
Mad of his cosyns kyngys ennoyntede,
In kyth there they couaitte crounes to bere.
Whene he thys rewmes hade redyn and rewlyde the popule,
Then rystede that ryall and helde the Rounde Tabyll;
Suggeourns that seson to solace hym seluen
In Bretayn the Braddere, as hym beste lykes.
Sythyn wente into Wales with his wyes all,
Sweys into Swaldye with his snell houndes,
For to hunt at the hartes in thas hye laundes,
In Glamorgan with glee, thare gladchipe was euere.
And thare a citee he sette, be assentte of his lordys,
That Caerlyon was callid, with curius walles,
On the riche reuare that rynnys so faire,
There he myghte semble his sorte to see whenn hym lykede.
Thane aftyre at Carlele a Cristynmese he haldes,
This ilke kyde conquerour, and helde hym for lorde,
Wyth dukez and duspers of dyuers rewmes,
Erles and ercheuesqes and other ynowe,
Byschopes and bachelers and banerettes nobill,
that bowes to his banere, buske when hym lykys.
Bot on the Cristynmes Daye, when they were all semblyde,
That comlyche conquerour commaundez hym seluyn
that ylke a lorde sulde lenge and no lefe take
To the tende day fully ware takyn to the ende.
Thus on ryall araye he helde his Rounde Table,
With semblant and solace and selcouthe metes;
Whas neuer syche noblay in no manys tym
Mad in mydwynter in tha weste marchys.
Bot on the Newyere Daye, at the none euyne,
As the bolde at the borde was of brede seruyde,
So come in sodanly a senatour of Rome,
Wyth sexten knyghtes in a soyte, sewande hym one.
He saluyed the souerayne, and the sale aftyr,
Ilke a kyng aftyre kyng, and mad his enclines;
Gaynour in hir degre he grette as hym lykyde,
And syne agayne to the gome he gaffe vp his nedys:
"Sir Lucius Iberius, the Emperour of Rome,
Saluz the as sugett, vndyre his sele ryche;
It es credens, Sir Kyng, with cruell wordez;
Trow it for no trufles: his targe es to schewe.
Now in this Newyers Daye, with notaries synge,
I make the somouns in sale to sue for thi landys,
That on Lammesse Daye thare be no lette founden,
that thow bee redy at Rome with all thi Rounde Table,
Appere in his presens with thy price knyghtez,
At pryme of the daye, in payne of your lyvys,
In the kydd capytoile, before the kyng selvyn,
When he and his senatours bez sette as them lykes,
To ansuere anely why thow ocupyes the laundez
That awe homage of alde till hym and his eldyrs;
Why thow has redyn and raymede and raunsound the pople,
And kyllyde doun his cosyns, kyngys ennoynttyde;
Thare schall thow gyffe rekkynyng for all thy Round Table
Why thow arte rebell to Rome and rentez them wytholdez.
yiff thow theis somouns wythsytte, he sendes thie thies wordes:
He sall the seke ouer the see wyth sexten kynges,
Bryne Bretayn the Brade and bryttyn thy knyghtys,
And bryng the bouxsomly as a beste with brethe whare hym lykes,
That thow ne schall rowte ne ryste vndyr the heuene ryche,
thofe thow for reddour of Rome ryne to the erthe;
For if thow flee into Fraunce or Freselaund owther,
thou sall be feched with force and ouersette fore euer!
Thy fadyr mad fewtee, we fynde in oure rollez,
In the regestre of Rome, who-so ryghte lukez.
Withowttyn more trouflyng the trebute we aske
That Iulius Cesar wan with his ientill knyghttes."
The Kyng blyschit on the beryn with his brode eghn,
that full brymly for breth brynte as the gledys,
Keste colours as Kyng, with crouell lates,
Luked as a lyon, and on his lyppe bytes.
The Romaynes for radnesse ruschte to the erthe,
Fore ferdnesse of hys face, as they fey were;
Cowchide as kenetez before the Kyng seluyn:
Because of his contenaunce confusede them semede.
Then couerd vp a knyghte and criede ful lowde,
"Kyng corounede of kynd, curtays and noble,
Misdoo no messangere for menske of thi seluyn,
Sen we are in thy manrede and mercy the besekes.
We lenge with Sir Lucius, that Lorde es of Rome,
That es the meruelyousteste man that on molde lengez;
It is lefull till vs his likyng till wyrche;
We come at his commaundment; haue vs excusede."
Then carpys the Conquerour crewell wordez:
"Haa, crauaunde knyghte, a cowarde the semez!
thare Õiså some segge in this sale, and he ware sare greuede,
Thow durste noghte for all Lumberdye luke on hym ones."
"Sir," sais the Senatour, "so Crist mott me helpe,
the voute of thi vesage has woundyde vs all!
Thow arte the lordlyeste lede that euer I one lukyde;
By lukyng, withowttyn lesse, a lyon the semys!"
"Thow has me somond," quod the Kyng, "and said what the lykes;
Fore sake of thy soueraynge I suffre the the more;
Sen I Õwaså coround in kyth, wyth crysum enoyntede,
Was neuer creature to me that carpede so large.
Bot I sall tak concell at kynges enoyntede,
Off dukes and duspers and doctours noble,
Offe peres of the parlement, prelates and other,
Off the richeste renkys of the Rounde Table;
thus schall I take avisemente of valiant beryns,
Wyrke aftyre the wytte of my wyes knyghttes;
To warpe wordez in waste no wyrchip it were,
Ne wilfully in this wrethe to wreken my seluen.
Forthi sall thow lenge here and lugge wyth thise lordes,
This seuenyghte in solace, to suggourne your horses,
To see whatte lyfe that wee leede in thees lawe laundes,
Forby the realtee of Rome, that recheste was euere."
He command Sir Cayous, "Take kepe to thoos lordez,
To styghtyll tha steryn men as theire statte askys,
That they bee herberde in haste in thoos heghe chambres,
Sythin sittandly in sale seruyde theraftyr.
That they fynd na fawte of fude to thiere horsez,
Nowthire weyn, ne waxe, ne welthe in this erthe,
Spare for no spycerye, bot spende what the lykys,
That there be largesce on lofte and no lake founden.
If thou my wyrchip wayte, wy, be my trouthe,
thou sall haue gersoms full grett, that gayne sall the euere."
Now er they herberde in hey and in oste holden,
Hastyly wyth hende men within thees heghe wallez;
In chambyrs with chympnes they chaungen theire wedez,
And sythyn the chauncelere them fecchede with cheualrye noble.
Sone the Senatour was sett, as hym wele semyde;
At the Kyngez ownn borde twa knyghtes hym seruede,
Singulere sothely, as Arthure hym seluyn,
Richely on the ryghte hannde at the Round Table,
Be resoun that the Romaynes whare so ryche holden,
As of the realeste blode that reynede in erthe.
There come in at the fyrste course, befor the Kyng seluen,
Bareheuedys that ware bryghte, burnyste with syluer,
All with taghte men and town in togers full ryche,
Of saunke reall in suyte, sexty at ones;
Flesch fluriste of fermyson with frumentee noble,
Therto wylde to wale and wynlyche bryddes,
Pacokes and plouers in platers of golde,
Pygges of porke despyne that pasturede neuer,
Sythen herons in hedoyne, hyled full faire,
Grett swannes full swythe in silueryn chargeours,
Tartes of turky, taste wham them lykys, 
Gumbaldes grathely, full gracious to taste,
Seyne bowes of wylde bores with the braune lechyde,
Bernakes and botures in baterde dysches,
thareby braunchers in brede, bettyr was neuer, 
With brestez of barowes that bryghte ware to schewe;
Seyn come ther sewes sere, with solace therafter, 
Ownd of azure all ouer and ardant them semyde, 
Of ilke a leche the lowe launschide full hye,
that all ledes myghte lyke that lukyde them apon;
than cranes and curlues craftyly rosted,
Connygez in cretoyne, colourede full faire,
Fesauntez enflureschit on flammande siluer,
With dariells endoride and daynteez ynewe;
thane clarett and creette, clergyally rennen,
With condethes full curious, all of clene siluyre,
Osay aÕnåd algarde and other ynewe,
Rynisch wyne and rochell, richere was neuer, 
Vernage of Venyce vertuouse and Crete,
In faucetez of fyn golde, fonode whoso lykes.
The Kyngez cope-borde was closed in siluer,
In grete goblettez ouergylte, glorious of hewe;
There was a cheefe buttlere, a cheualere noble,
Sir Cayous the curtaise, that of the cowpe seruede:
Sexty cowpes of suyte fore the Kyng seluyn,
Crafty and curious, coruen full faire,
In euerilk a party pyghte with precyous stones,
That nan enpoyson sulde goo preuely thervndyre,
Bot the bryght golde for brethe sulde briste al to peces,
Or ells the venym sulde voyde thurghe vertue of the stones.
And the Conquerour hym seluen, so clenly arayede,
In colours of clene golde cleede, wyth his knyghttys,
Drissid with his dyademe on his deesse ryche,
Fore he was demyd the doughtyeste that duellyde in erthe.
Thane the Conquerour kyndly carpede to those lordes,
Rehetede the Romaynes with realle speche:
"Sirs, bez knyghtly of contenaunce, and comfurthes your seluyn;
We knowe noghte in this countre of curious metez,
In thees barayne landez, bredes none other;
Forethy, wythowttyn feynyng, enforce yow the more
To feede yow with syche feble as ye before fynde."
"Sir," sais the Senatour, "soo Criste motte me helpe,
There ryngnede neuer syche realtee within Rome walles!
There ne es prelatte, ne pape, ne prynce in this erthe,
That he ne myghte be wele payede of thees pryce metes."
Aftyre theyre welthe they wesche and went vnto chambyre,
this ilke kydde Conquerour, with knyghtes ynewe;
Sir Gaywayne the worthye Dame Waynour he ledys;
Sir Owghtreth on the tother syde, of Turry was lorde.
Thane spyces vnsparyly thay spendyde thereaftyre:
Maluesye and muskadell, thase meruelyous drynkes,
Raykede full rathely in rossete cowpes,
Till all the riche on rawe, Romaynes and other.
Bot the soueraingne sothely, for solauce of hym seluen,
Assingnyde to the Senatour certaygne lordes,
To lede to his leuere, whene he leue askes,
With myrthe and with melodye of mynstralsy noble.
Thane the Conquerour to concell cayres thereaftyre,
Wyth lordes of his lygeaunce that to hym selfe langys;
To the geauntes toure iolily he wendes,
Wyth justicez and iuggez and gentill knyghtes.
Sir Cador of Cornewayle to the Kyng carppes,
Lughe on hym luffly with lykande lates:
"I thanke Gode of that thraa that vs thus thretys!
yow moste be traylede, I trowe, bot yife ye trett bettyre.
the lettres of Sir Lucius lyghttys myn herte!
We hafe as losels liffyde many longe daye,
Wyth delyttes in this land with lordchipez many,
And forelytenede the loos that we are layttede;
I was abaischite, be oure Lorde, of oure beste bernes,
Fore gret dule of deffuse of dedez of armes.
Now wakkenyse the were! Wyrchipide be Cryste!
And we sall wynn it agÕaåyne be wyghtnesse and strenghe!"
"Sir Cadour," quod the Kyng, "thy concell es noble;
Bot thou arte a meruailous man with thi mery wordez;
For thow countez no caas, ne castes no forthire,
Bot hurles furthe appon heuede, as thi herte thynkes.
I moste trette of a trew towchande thise nedes,
Talke of thies tythdands that tenes myn herte:
thou sees that the Emperour es angerde a lyttill;
Yt semes be his sandismen that he es sore greuede;
His senatour has sommonde me and said what hym lykyde,
Hethely in my hall, wyth heynyous wordes,
In speche disspyszede me and sparede me lyttill, 
I myght noghte speke for spytte, so my herte trymblyde!
He askyde me tyrauntly tribute of Rome,
That tenefully tynt was in tym of myn elders,
There alyenes, in absence of all men of armes,
Couerd it of comons, as cronicles telles.
I have title to take tribute of Rome;
Myne ancestres ware emperours and aughte it them seluen,
Belyn and Brene and Bawdewyne the Thyrde;
They ocupyede the Empyre aughte score wynnttyrs,
Ilkane ayere aftyre other, as awlde men telles;
Thei couerde the capitoile and keste doun the walles,
Hyngede of theire heddys-men by hundrethes at ones.
Seyn Constantyne, our kynsmane, conquerid it aftyre,
that ayere was of Ynglande and Emperour of Rome,
He that conquerid the crosse be craftez of armes
That Criste was on crucifiede, that Kyng es of Heuen.
Thus hafe we euydens to aske the Emperour the same,
That thus regnez at Rome, whate ryghte that he claymes."
than answarde Kyng Aungers to Arthure hym seluyn,
Thow aughte to be ouerlynge ouer all other kynges,
Fore wyseste and worthyeste and wyghteste of hanndes,
The knyghtlyeste of counsaile that euer coron bare;
I dare saye fore Scottlande that we them schathe lympyde:
When the Romaynes regnede thay raunsound oure eldyrs,
And rade in theire ryotte and rauyschett oure wyfes,
Withowttyn reson or ryghte refte vs oure gudes.
And I sall make myn avowe deuotly to Criste,
And to the haly vernacle, vertuus and noble,
Of this grett velany I sall be vengede ones,
On yone venemus men, wyth valiant knyghtes!
I sall the forthire of defence, fosterde ynewe,
Fifty thowsande men, wythin two eldes,
Of my wage for to wende whare so the lykes,
To fyghte wyth thy faamen, that vs vnfaire ledes!
Thane the burelyche Beryn of Bretayne the Lyttyll
Counsayles Sir Arthure, and of hym besekys
To ansuere the alyenes wyth austeren wordes,
To entyce the Emperour to take ouere the mounttes.
He said, I make myn avowe verreilly to Cryste
And to the haly vernacle that voide schall I neuere,
For radnesse of na Romayne that regnes in erthe,
Bot ay be redye in araye and at areste founden.
No more dowtte the dynte of theire derfe wapyns,
than the dewe that es dannke when that it doun falles:
Ne no more schoune fore the swape of theire scharpe suerddes,
Then fore the faireste flour thatt on the folde growes!
I sall to batell the brynge of brenyede knyghtes
Thyrtty thosannde be tale, thryftye in armes,
Wythin a monethe daye into whatte marche
that thow wyll sothelye assygne, when thy selfe lykes.
A! A! sais the Walsche kyng, wirchipid be Criste!
Now schalle we wreke full wele the wrethe of oure elders!
In West Walys iwysse syche wonndyrs thay wroghte,
that all for wandrethe may wepe that on that were thynkes.
I sall haue the avanttwarde wytterly my seluen,
Tyll that I haue venquiste the Vicounte of Rome,
that wroghte me at Viterbe a velanye ones,
As I paste in pylgremage by the Pounte Tremble;
He was in Tuskayne that tyme and tuke of oure knyghttes,
Areste them vnryghttwyslye and raunsound tham aftyre;
I sall hym surelye ensure that saghetyll sall we neuer,
Are we sadlye assemble by oure selfen ones,
And dele dynttys of dethe with oure derfe wapyns!
And I sall wagge to that were, of wyrchipfull knyghtes,
Of Wyghte and of Walschelande and of the weste marches,
Twa thosande in tale, horsede one stedys,
Of the wyghteste wyes in all yone weste landys!"
Syre Ewan fytz Vryence thane egerly fraynez, 
Was cosyn to the Conquerour, corageous hym selfen, 
"Sir, and we wyste your wyll, we walde wirke theraftyre:
yif this journee sulde halde or be ajournede forthyre,
To ryde one yone Romaynes and ryott theire landez,
We walde schape vs therefore to schippe whene yow lykys."
"Cosyn," quod the Conquerour, "kyndly thou asches;
yife my concell accorde to conquere yone landez,
By the kalendez of Iuny we schall encountre ones,
Wyth full creuell knyghtez, so Cryste mot me helpe!
Thereto make I myn avowe devottly to Cryste,
And to the holy vernacle, vertuous and noble,
I sall at Lammesse take leue to lenge at my large
In Lorayne or Lumberdye, whethire me leue thynkys;
Merke vnto Meloyne and myne doun the wallez,
Bathe of Petyrsande and of Pys and of the Pounte Tremble;
In the Vale of Viterbe vetaile my knyghttes,
Suggourne there sex wokes and solace my selfen;
Send prekers to the price toun and plaunte there my segge,
Bot if thay profre me the pece be processe of tym."
"Certys," sais Sir Ewayn, "and I avowe aftyre,
And I that hathell may see euer with myn eghn,
that ocupies thin heritage, the Empyere of Rome,
I sall auntyre me anes hys egle to touche,
that borne es in his banere of brighte golde ryche,
And raas it from his riche men and ryfe it in sondyre,
Bot he be redily reschowede with riotous knyghtez!
I sall enforsse yowe in the felde with fresche men of armes,
Fyfty thosande folke apon faire stedys,
On thi foomen to foonde, there the faire thynkes,
In Fraunce or in Friselande, feghte when the lykes!
By oure Lorde, quod Sir Launcelott, now lyghttys myn herte!
I loue Gode of this loue this lordes has avowede.
Nowe may lesse men haue leue to say whatt them lykes,
And hafe no lettyng be lawe, bot lystynnys thise wordez:
I sall be at journee with gentill knyghtes,
On a jamby stede, full jolyly graythide,
Or any journee begane to juste with hym selfen,
Emange all his geauntez, Genyuers and other,
Stryke hym styfflye fro his stede, with strenghe of myn handys,
For all tha steryn in stour that in his stale houys!
Be my retenu arayede, I rekke bott a lyttill
To make rowtte into Rome with ryotous knyghtes;
Within a seuenyghte daye, with sex score helmes,
I sall be seen on the see, saile when the lykes!
Thane laughes Sir Lottez and all on lowde meles:
Me likez that Sir Lucius lannges aftyre sorowe;
Now he wylnez the were, hys wanedrethe begynnys!
It es owre weredes to wreke the wrethe of oure elders.
I make myn avowe to Gode and to the holy vernacle,
And I may se the Romaynes, that are so ryche halden,
Arayede in theire riotes on a rounde felde,
I sall at the reuerence of the Rounde Table,
Ryde thrughte all the rowtte, rerewarde and other,
Redy wayes to make and renkkes full rowme,
Rynnande on rede blode as my stede ruschez!
He that folowes my fare and fyrste commes aftyre
Sall fynde in my farewaye many fay leuyde!
Thane the Conquerour kyndly comforthes these knyghtes,
Alowes thaim gretly theire lordly avowes:
Alweldande Gode wyrchip yow all,
And latte me neuere wanntte yow, whylls I in werlde regne;
My menske and my manhede ye mayntene in erthe,
Myn honour all vtterly in other kyngys landes;
My wele and my wyrchipe, of all this werlde ryche,
ye haue knyghtly conqueryde, that to my coroun langes;
Hym thare be ferde for no faees that swylke a folke ledes,
Bot euer fresche for to fyghte in felde when hym lykes;
I acounte no kynge that vndyr Criste lyffes;
Whills I see yowe all sounde, I sette be no more."
Qwhen they tristily had tretyd, thay trumppede vp aftyre,
Descendyd doune with a daunce of dukes and erles.
Thane they semblede to sale and sowpped als swythe,
All this semly sorte, wyth semblante full noble.
Thene the roy reall rehetes thes knyghttys,
Wyth reuerence and ryotte of all his Rounde Table,
Till seuen dayes was gone, the Senatour askes
Answere to the Emperour with austeryn wordez.
Aftyre the Epiphanye, when the purpos was takyn,
Of peris of the parlement, prelates and other,
The Kyng in his concell, curtaise and noblee,
Vtters the alienes and ansuers hym seluen:
"Gret wele Lucius, thi lorde, and layne noghte thise wordes:
Ife thow be lygmane lele, late hym wiet sone
I sall at Lammese take leue and loge at my large
In delitte in his laundez, wyth lordes ynewe,
Regne in my realtee and ryste when me lykes,
By the reyuere of Reone halde my Rounde Table,
Fannge the fermes, in faithe, of all tha faire rewmes,
For all the manace of hys myghte and mawgree his eghne!
And merke sythen ouer the mounttez into his mayne londez,
To Meloyne the meruaylous, and myn doun the walles;
In Lorrayne ne in Lumberdye lefe schall I nowthire
Nokyn lede appon liffe that thare his lawes yemes;
And turne into Tuschayne, whene me tyme thynkys,
Ryde all thas rowme landes wyth ryotous knyghttes;
Byde hyÕmå make reschewes, fore menske of hym seluen,
And mette me fore his manhede in thase mayne landes.
I sall be foundyn in Fraunce, fraiste when hym lykes, 
The fyrste daye of Feueryere, in thas faire marches;
Are I be fechyde wyth force or forfette my landes,
the flour of his faire folke full fay sall be leuyde!
I sall hym sekyrly ensure, vndyre my seele ryche,
To seege the cetee of Rome wythin seuen wyntyre,
And that so sekerly ensege apon sere halfes,
That many a senatour sall syghe for sake of me one!
My sommons er certified, and thow arte full seruyde
Of cundit and credense, kayre the lykes;
I sall thi journaye engyste, enjoyne them my seluen,
Fro this place to the porte, there thou sall passe ouer;
Seuen dayes to Sandewyche I sette at the large,
Sexty myle on a daye, the somme es bott lyttill.
Thowe moste spede at the spurs and spare noghte thi fole;
Thow weyndez by Watlyng Strette and by no waye ells;
Thare thow nyghes on nyghte nedez moste thou lenge:
Be it foreste or felde, found thou no forthire;
Bynde thy blonke by a buske with thy brydill euen,
Lugge thi selfe vndyre lynde, as the leefe thynkes;
There awes none alyenes to ayer appon nyghttys,
With syche a rebawdous rowtte to ryot thy seluen.
Thy lycence es lemete in presence of lordys;
Be now lathe or lette, ryghte as the thynkes,
For bothe thi lyffe and thi lym lygges therappon,
thofe Sir Lucius had laide the lordchipe of Rome;
For the thow founden a fute withowte the flode merkes,
Aftyr the aughtende day, when vndroun es rungen,
thou sall be heuedede in hye and with horsse drawen,
And seyn heyly be hangede, houndes to gnawen!
The rente ne rede golde that vnto Rome langes
Sall noghte redily, renke, raunson thyn one!"
"Sir," sais the Senatour, "so Crist mot me helpe,
Might I with wirchip wyn awaye ones,
I sulde neuer fore emperour that on erthe lenges,
Efte vnto Arthure ayere on syche nedys;
Bot I am sengilly here, with sex sum of knyghtes;
I beseke yow, Sir, that we may sounde passe:
In any vnlawefull lede lette vs by the waye,
Within thy lycence, lorde, thy loosse es enpeyrede."
"Care noghte," quod the Kyng; "thy coundyte es knawen
Fro Carlele to the coste, there thy cogge lengges;
thoghe thy cofers ware full, cramede with syluer,
Thow myghte be sekyre of my sele sexty myle forthire."
They enclined to the Kyng, and counge thay askede,
Cayers owtt of Carelele, catchez on theire horsez;
Sir Cadore the curtayes kende them the wayes,
To Catrike them cunvayede and to Crist them bekennyde.
So they spede at the spoures, they sprangen theire horses,
Hyres them hakenayes hastyly thereaftyre;
So fore reddour they reden and risted them neuer,
Bot yif they luggede vndire lynd whills them lyghte failede;
Bot euere the Senatour forsothe soghte at the gayneste.
By the sevend day was gone the cetee thai rechide;
Of all the glee vndire Gode so glade ware they neuere,
As of the sounde of the see and Sandwyche belles.
Wythowttyn more stownntyng they schippide theire horsez,
Wery, to the wane see they went all att ones;
With the men of the walle they weyde vp theire ankyrs,
And fleede at the fore flude; in Flaundrez they rowede,
And thorughe Flaundres they founde, as them faire thoghte,
Till Akyn in Almayn, in Arthur landes;
Gosse by the Mount Goddarde full greuous wayes,
And so into Lumberddye, lykande to schewe.
They turne thurghe Tuskayne, with towres full heghe,
In Pis appairells them in precious wedez;
The Sonondaye in Suters thay suggourne theire horsez,
And sekes the seyntez of Rome, be assente of knyghtes;
Sythyn prekes to the pales, with portes so ryche,
thare Sir Lucius lenges, with lordes enowe;
Lowttes to hym lufly, and lettres hym bedes,
Of credence enclosyde, with knyghtlyche wordez.
Then the Emperour was egree and enkerly fraynes;
the answere of Arthure he askes hym sone,
How he arayes the rewme and rewlys the pople,
yif he be rebell to Rome whate ryghte that he claymes.
"Thow sulde his ceptre haue sesede and syttyn aboun,
Fore reuerence and realtee of Rome the noble;
By sertes thow was my sandes and senatour of Rome;
He sulde, fore solempnitee, hafe seruede the hym seluen!"
"That will he neuer for no wye of all this werlde ryche,
Bot who may wynn hym of werre, by wyghtnesse of handes;
Many fey schall be fyrste appon the felde leuyde,
Are he appere in this place profre when the likes.
I saye the, Sir, Arthure es thyn enmye fore euer,
And ettells to bee ouerlyng of the Empyre of Rome,
That alle his ancestres aughte, bot Vtere hym selfe.
Thy nedes this Newe yere I notifiede my selfen,
Before that noble of name and neynesom of kynges;
In the moste reale place of the Rounde Table,
I somounde hym solepnylye, one-seeande his knyghtez.
Sen I was formyde, in faythe, so ferde was I neuere,
In all the placez ther I passede of pryncez in erthe.
I wolde foresake all my suyte of segnourry of Rome,
Or I efte to that soueraygne whare sente one suyche nedes!
He may be chosyn cheftayne, cheefe of all other,
Bathe be chauncez of armes and cheuallrye noble,
For whyeseste and worthyeste and wyghteste of hanndez;
Of all the wyes thate I watte in this werlde ryche,
The knyghtlyeste creatoure in Cristyndome halden,
Of kyng or of conquerour crownede in erthe;
Of countenaunce, of corage, of crewelle lates,
The comlyeste of knyghtehode that vndyre Cryste lyffes.
He maye be spoken in dyspens despysere of syluere,
That no more of golde gyffes than of grette stones,
No more of wyne than of watyre that of the welle rynnys,
Ne of welthe of this werlde bot wyrchipe allone.
Syche contenaunce was neuer knowen in no kythe ryche,
As was with that conquerour in his courte halden;
I countede at this Crystynmesse of kyngez enoynttede
Hole ten at his table that tym with hym selfen.
He wyll werraye iwysse, be ware yif the lykes;
Wage many wyghtemen and wache thy marches,
That they be redye in araye and at areste foundyn;
For yife he reche vnto Rome, he raunsouns it for euere!
I rede thow dresce the therfore, and drawe no lytte langere;
Be sekyre of thi sowdeours and sende to the mowntes;
Be the quartere of this yere, and hym quarte stannde,
He wyll wyghtlye in a qwhyle on his wayes hye."
"Bee estyre," sais the Emperour, "I ettyll my selfen
To hostaye in Almayne with armede knyghtez;
Sende freklye into Fraunce, that flour es of rewmes,
Fande to fette that freke and forfette his landez;
For I sall sette kepers, full conaunde and noble,
Many geaunte of Geen, justers full gude,
To mete hym in the mountes and martyre hys knyghtes,
Stryke them doun in strates and struye them fore euere!
There sall appon Godarde a garette be rerede,
That schall be garneschte and kepyde with gude men of armes,
And a bekyn abouen to brynne when them lykys,
that nane enmye with hoste sall entre the mountes;
There schall one Mounte Bernarde be beyldede anothere,
Buschede with banerettes and bachelers noble;
In at the portes of Pavye schall no prynce passe,
Thurghe the perelous places, for my pris knyghtes."
Thane Sir Lucius lordlyche lettres he sendys
Onone into the Oryente, with austeryn knyghtez,
Till Ambyganye and Orcage and Alysaundyre eke,
To Inde and to Ermonye, as Ewfrates rynnys,
To Asye and to Affrike and Ewrope the large,
To Irritayne and Elamet and all thase owte ilez,
To Arraby and Egipt, till erles and other,
That any erthe ocupyes in thase este marches,
Of Damaske and Damyat, and dukes and erles,
For drede of his daungere they dresside them sone;
Of Crete and of Capados the honourable kyngys
Come at his commandmente clenly at ones,
To Tartary and Turky, when tythynngez es comen;
They turne in by Thebay, terauntez full hugge,
The flour of the faire folke of Amazonnes landes, 
All thate faillez on the felde be forfette fore euere!
Of Babyloyn and Baldake the burlyche knyghtes,
Bayous with theire baronage bydez no langere;
Of Perce and of Pamphile and Preter Iohne landes,
Iche prynce with his powere appertlyche graythede;
The Sowdane of Surrye assemblez his knyghtes,
Fra Nylus to Nazarethe, nommers full huge;
To Garyere and to Galele they gedyre all at ones,
The sowdanes that ware sekyre sowdeours to Rome;
They gadyrede ouere the Grekkes See with greuous wapyns,
In theire grete galays, wyth gleterande scheldez;
The kynge of Cyprys on the see the Sowdane habydes,
With all the realls of Roodes arayede with hym one.
They sailede with a syde wynde oure the salte strandez,
Sodanly the Sarezenes, as them selfe lykede;
Craftyly at Cornett the kynges are aryefede,
Fra the cete of Rome sexti myle large.
Be that the Grekes ware graythede, a full gret nombyre,
The myghtyeste of Macedone, with men of tha marches;
Pulle and Pruyslande presses with other,
The legemen of Lettow with legyons ynewe.
Thus they semble in sortes, summes full huge,
Sowdanes and Sarezenes owt of sere landes;
The Sowdane of Surry and sextene kynges,
At the cetee of Rome assemblede at ones.
Thane yschewes the Emperour, armede at ryghtys,
Arayede with his Romaynes appon ryche stedys;
Sexty geauntes before, engenderide with fendez,
With weches and warlaws to wacchen his tentys,
Ayware whare he wendes, wyntres and yeres.
Myghte no blonkes them bere, thos bustous churlles,
Bot couerde camellez of tourse, enclosyde in maylez.
He ayerez oute with alyenez, ostes full huge,
Ewyn into Almayne, that Arthure hade wonnyn;
Rydes in by the ryuere and ryottez hym seluen,
And ayerez with a huge wyll all thas hye landez.
All Westwale of werre he wynnys as hym lykes,
Drawes in by Danuby and dubbez hys knyghtez;
In the contre of Coloine castells enseggez,
And suggeournez that seson wyth Sarazenes ynewe.
At the vtas of Hillary, Syr Arthure hym seluen
In his kydde councell commande the lordes:
"Kayere to your cuntrez and semble your knyghtes,
And kepys me at Constantyne clenlyche arayede;
Byddez me at Bareflete apon tha blythe stremes,
Baldly within borde, with yowre beste beryns;
I schall menskfully yowe mete in thos faire marches."
He sendez furthe sodaynly sergeantes of armes
To all hys mariners on rawe, to areste hym schippys.
Wythin sexten dayes hys fleet whas assemblede,
At Sandwyche on the see, saile when hym lykes.
In the palez of yorke a parlement he haldez,
With all the perez of the rewme, prelates and other;
And aftyre the prechynge, in presence of lordes,
The Kyng in his concell carpys thes wordes:
"I am in purpos to passe perilous wayes,
To kaire with my kene men to conquere yone landes,
To owttraye myn enmy, yif auenture it schewe,
That ocupyes myn heritage, the Empyre of Rome.
I sett yow here a soueraynge, ascente yif yowe lykys, 
That es me sybb, my syster son, Sir Mordrede hym seluen,
Sall be my leuetenaunte, with lordchipez ynewe,
Of all my lele legemen that my landez yemes."
He carpes till his cosyne thane, in counsaile hym seluen:
"I make the kepare, Sir Knyghte, of kyngrykes manye,
Wardayne wyrchipfull, to weilde al my landes,
That I haue wonnen of werre, in all this werlde ryche.
I wyll that Waynour, my weife, in wyrchipe be holden,
That hire wannte noo wele ne welthe that hire lykes;
Luke my kydde castells be clenlyche arrayede,
There cho maye suggourne hire selfe wyth semlyche berynes;
Fannde my forestez be frythede o frenchepe for euere,
That nane werreye my wylde botte Waynour hir seluen,
And that in the seson whene grees es assignyde,
That cho take hir solauce in certayne tymms.
Chauncelere and chambyrleyn chaunge as the lykes;
Audytours and offycers ordayne thy seluen,
Bathe jureez and juggez and justicez of landes;
Luke thow justifye them wele that injurye wyrkes.
If me be destaynede to dye at Dryghtyns wyll,
I charge the my sektour, cheffe of all other,
To mynystre my mobles fore mede of my saule
To mendynauntez and mysese in myschefe fallen;
Take here my testament of tresoure full huge:
As I trayste appon the, betraye thowe me neuer!
As thow will answere before the austeryn Jugge,
That all this werlde wynly wysse as Hym lykes,
Luke that my laste wyll be lelely perfournede.
Thow has clenly the cure that to my coroune langez
Of all my werÕlådez wele, and my weyffe eke;
Luke thowe kepe the so clere there be no cause fonden
When I to contre come, if Cryste will it thole;
And thow haue grace gudly to gouerne thy seluen,
I sall coroune the, knyghte, kyng with my handez."
than Sir Modrede full myldly meles hym seluen,
Knelyd to the Conquerour and carpes thise wordez:
"I beseke yow, Sir, as my sybbe lorde,
that ye will for charyte cheese yow another;
For if ye putte me in this plytte, yowre pople es dyssauyde;
To presente a prynce astate my powere es symple.
When other of werre wysse are wyrchipide hereaftyre,
Than may I forsothe be sette bott at lyttill.
To passe in your presance my purpos es takyn,
And all my purueaunce apperte fore my pris knyghtez."
"Thowe arte my neuewe full nere, my nurree of olde,
That I haue chastyede and chosen, a childe of my chambyre;
For the sybredyn of me, foresake noghte this offyce;
That thow ne wyrk my will, thow watte whatte it menes."
Nowe he takez hys leue and lengez no langere,
At lordez at legemen, that leues hym byhynden.
And seyne that worthilyche wy went vnto chambyre,
For to comfurthe the Qwene, that in care lenges.
Waynour, waykly wepande, hym kyssiz,
Talkez to hym tenderly with teres ynewe:
"I may wery the wye thatt this werre mouede,
That warnes me wyrchippe of my wedde lorde;
All my lykyng of lyfe owte of lande wendez,
And I in langour am lefte, leue ye, for euere.
Whyne myghte I, dere lufe, dye in your armes,
Are I this destanye of dule sulde drye by myne one?"
"Grefe the noghte, Gaynour, fore Goddes lufe of Hewen,
Ne gruche noghte my ganggyng: it sall to gude turne.
Thy wonrydez and thy wepyng woundez myn herte;
I may noghte wit of this woo, for all this werlde ryche!
I haue made a kepare, a knyghte of thyn awen,
Ouerlyng of Ynglande, vndyre thy seluen,
And that es Sir Mordrede, that thow has mekyll praysede,
Sall be thy dictour, my dere, to doo whatte the lykes."
Thane he takes hys leue at ladys in chambyre,
Kysside them kyndlyche and to Criste beteches;
And then cho swounes full swythe, wheÕnå he hys swerde aschede,
Twys in a swounyng, swelte as cho walde.
He pressed to his palfray, in presance of lordes,
Prekys of the palez with his prys knyghtes;
Wyth a reall rowte of the Rounde Table
Soughte towarde Sandwyche, cho sees hym no more.
Thare the grete ware gederyde, wyth galyarde knyghtes,
Garneschit on the grene felde and graythelyche arayede;
Dukkes and duzseperez daynttehely rydes,
Erles of Ynglande, with archers ynewe;
Schirreues scharply schiftys the comouns,
Rewlys before the ryche of the Rounde Table;
Assingnez ilke a contree to certayne lordes,
In the southe on the see banke, saile when them lykes.
Thane bargez them buskez and to the baunke rowes,
Bryngez blonkez on bourde and burlyche helmes;
Trussez in tristly trappyde stedes,
Tentez and othire toylez and targez full ryche,
Cabanes and clathe-sekkes and coferez full noble,
Hekes and haknays and horsez of armez;
Thus they stowe in the stuffe of full steryn knyghtez.
Qwen all was schyppede that scholde they schounte no lengere,
Bot ventelde them tyte, as the tyde rynnez;
Coggez and crayers than crossez thaire mastez,
At the comandment of the Kynge vncouerde at ones.
Wyghtly on the wale thay wye vp thaire ankers,
By wytt of the watyre-men of the wale ythez;
Frekes on the forestavne faken theire coblez,
In floynes and fercostez and Flemesche schyppes;
Tytt saillez to the toppe and turnez the lufe,
Standez appon stere-bourde, sternly thay songen.
The pryce schippez of the porte prouen theire depnesse,
And fondez wyth full saile ower the fawe ythez;
Holly withowttyn harme thay hale in bottes;
Schipemen scharply schoten thaire portez,
Launchez lede apon lufe, lacchen ther depez;
Lukkez to the lade-sterne when the lyghte faillez,
Castez coursez be crafte when the clowde rysez,
With the nedyll and the stone one the nyghte tydez;
For drede of the derke nyghte thay drecchede a lyttill,
And all the steryn of the streme strekyn at onez.
The Kynge was in a gret cogge, with knyghtez full many,
In a cabane enclosede, clenlyche arayede;
Within on a ryche bedde rystys a littyll,
And with the swoghe of the see in swefnyng he fell.
Hym dremyd of a dragon, dredfull to beholde,
Come dryfande ouer the depe to drenschen hys pople,
Ewen walkande owte of the weste landez,
Wanderande vnworthyly ouere the wale ythez;
Bothe his hede and hys hals ware halely all ouer
Oundyde of azure, enamelde full faire;
His scoulders ware schalyde all in clene syluere,
Schreede ouer all the schrympe with schrinkande poyntez;
Hys wombe and hys wenges of wondyrfull hewes,
In meruaylous maylys he mountede full hye;
Whaym that he towchede he was tynt for euer.
Hys feete ware floreschede all in fyne sabyll,
And syche a vennymous flayre flowe fro his lyppez,
That the flode of the flawez all on fyre semyde.
Thane come of the oryente, ewyn hym agaynez,
A blake, bustous bere abwen in the clowdes,
With yche a pawe as a poste and paumes full huge,
With pykes full perilous, all plyande tham semyde;
Lothen and lothely lokkes and other,
All with lutterde legges, lokerde vnfaire,
Filtyrde vnfrely, with fomaunde lyppez,
The foulleste of fegure that fourmede was euer.
He baltyrde, he bleryde, he braundyschte therafter;
To bataile he bounnez hym with bustous clowez;
He romede, he rarede, that roggede all the erthe,
So ruydly he rappyd at to ryot hym seluen.
Thane the dragon on dreghe dressede hym ayaynez,
And with hys dÕiånttez hym drafe on dreghe by the walkyn;
He fares as a fawcon: frekly he strykez;
Bothe with feete and with fyre he feghttys at ones.
The bere in the bataile the bygger hym semyde,
And byttes hym boldlye wyth balefull tuskez;
Syche buffetez he hym rechez with hys brode klokes,
Hys brest and his brayell whas blodye all ouer.
He rawmpyde so ruydly that all the erthe ryfez,
Rynnande on reede blode as rayne of the heuen.
He hade weryede the worme by wyghtnesse of strenghte,
Ne ware it fore the wylde fyre that he hym wyth defendez.
Thane wandyrs the worme awaye to hys heghttez,
Commes glydande fro the clowddez and cowpez full euen,
Towchez hym wyth his talounez and terez hys rigg,
Betwyx the taile and the toppe ten fote large.
Thus he brittenyd the bere and broghte hym o lyfe, 
Lette hym fall in the flode, fleete whare hym lykes.
So they thryng the bolde kyng bynne the schippe-burde,
that nere he bristez for bale, on bede whare he lyggez.
Than waknez the wyese kyng, wery foretrauaillede,
Takes hym two phylozophirs that folowede hym euer,
In the seuyn scyence the suteleste fonden,
The conyÕnågeste of clergye vndyre Criste knowen.
He tolde them of hys tourmente that tym that he slepede:
"Drechede with a dragon, and syche a derfe beste,
Has mad me full wery; ye tell me my swefen,
Ore I mon swelte as swythe, as wysse me oure Lorde!"
"Sir," saide they son thane, thies sagge philosopherse,
"The dragon that thow dremyde of, so dredfull to schewe,
That come dryfande ouer the deepe to drynchen thy pople,
Sothely and certayne, thy seluen it es,
That thus saillez ouer the see with thy sekyre knyghtez;
The colurez that ware castyn appon his clere wengez,
May be thy kyngrykez all, that thow has ryghte wonnyn;
And the tatterede taile with tonges so huge,
Betakyns this faire folke that in thy fleet wendez;
The bere that bryttenede was abowen in the clowdez
Betakyns the tyrauntez that tourmentez thy pople;
Or ells with somme gyaunt some journee sall happyn,
In syngulere batell by youre selfe one,
And thow sall hafe the victorye, thurghe helpe of oure Lorde,
As thow in thy visione was opynly schewede.
Of this dredfull dreme ne drede the no more;
Ne kare noghte, Sir Conquerour, bot comforth thy seluen;
And thise that saillez ouer the see, with thy sekyre knyghtez."
With trumppez then trystly they trisen vpe thaire saillez,
And rowes ouer the ryche see, this rowtte all at onez;
The comely coste of Normandye they cachen full euen,
And blythely at Barflete theis bolde are arryfede,
And fyndys a flete there of frendez ynewe,
The floure and the faire folke of fyftene rewmez;
Fore kyngez and capytaynez kepyde hym fayre,
As he at Carelele commaundyde at Cristynmesse hym seluen.
Be they had taken the lande and tentez vpe rerede,
Comez a templere tyte and towchide to the Kynge:
"Here es a teraunt besyde that tourmentez thi pople,
A grett geaunte of Geen, engenderde of fendez;
He has fretyn of folke mo than fyfe hondrethe,
And als fele fawntekyns of freeborne childyre.
This has bene his sustynaunce all this seuen wyntteres,
And yitt es that sotte noghte sadde, so wele hym it lykez!
In the contree of Constantyne ne kynde has he leuede,
Withowttyn kydd castells enclosid wyth walles,
That he ne has clenly dystroyede all the knaue childyre,
And them caryede to the cragge and clenly deworyd!
The Duchez of Bretayne todaye has he takyn,
Beside Reynes as scho rade with hire ryche knyghttes;
Ledd hyre to the mountayne thare that lede lengez,
To lye by that lady aye whyls hir lyfe lastez.
We folowede o ferrom, moo then fyfe hundrethe
Of beryns and of burgeys and bachelers noble,
Bot he couerde the cragge, cho cryede so lowde,
The care of that creatoure couer sall I neuer!
Scho was flour of all Fraunce, or of fyfe rewmes,
And one of the fayreste that fourmede was euere,
The gentileste jowell ajuggede with lordes
Fro Geen vnto Geron, by Ihesu of Heuen!
Scho was thy wyfes cosyn, knowe it if the lykez, 
Comen of the rycheste that rengnez in erthe;
As thow arte ryghtwise Kyng, rewe on thy pople,
And fande for to venge them that thus are rebuykyde!"
"Allas!" sais Sir Arthure, "so lange haue I lyffede;
Hade I wyten of this, wele had me chefede;
Me es noghte fallen faire, bot me es foule happynede,
That thus this faire ladye this fende has dystroyede!
I had leuere thane all Fraunce this fyftene wynter
I hade bene before thate freke a furlange of waye,
When he that ladye had laghte and ledde to the montez;
I hadde lefte my lyfe are cho hade harme lymppyde.
Bot walde thow kene me to the crage thare that kene lengez;
I walde cayre to that coste and carpe wythe hym seluen,
To trette with that tyraunt fore treson of londes,
And take trewe for a tym, till it may tyde bettyr."
"Sire, see ye yone farlande, with yone two fyrez?
thar filsnez that fende, fraiste when the lykes, 
Appone the creste of the cragge, by a colde welle,
That enclosez the clyfe with the clere strandez;
Ther may thow fynde folke fay wythowttyn nowmer,
Mo florenez, in faythe, than Fraunce es in aftyre;
And more tresour vntrewely that traytour has getyn
Thane in Troye was, as I trowe, that tym that it was wonn."
Thane romyez the ryche kynge for rewthe of the pople,
Raykez ryghte to a tente and restez no lengere;
He welterys, he wristeles, he wryngez hys handez;
Thare was no wy of this werlde that wyste whatt he menede.
He calles Sir Cayous, that of the cowpe serfede,
And Sir Bedvere the bolde, that bare hys brande ryche:
"Luke ye aftyre euensang be armyde at ryghttez,
On blonkez by yone buscayle, by yone blythe stremez,
Fore I will passe in pilgremage preuely hereaftyre,
In the tyme of suppere, whene lordez are servede,
For to seken a saynte be yone salte stremes,
In Seynt Mighell Mount, there myraclez are schewede."
Aftyre euesange, Sir Arthure hym seÕlåfen
Wente to hys wardrop and warp of hys wedez,
Armede hym in a acton with orfraeez full ryche,
Abouen on that a jeryn of Acres owte ouer,
Abouen that a jesseraunt of jentyll maylez,
A jupon of Ierodyn, jaggede in schredez;
He brayedez one a bacenett, burneschte of syluer,
The beste that was in Basill, wyth bordurs ryche;
The creste and the coronall enclosed so faire
Wyth clasppis of clere golde, couched wyth stones;
The vesare, the aventaile, enarmede so faire,
Voyde withowttyn vice, with wyndowes of syluer;
His gloues gaylyche gilte and grauen at the hemmez,
With graynez and gobelets, glorious of hewe.
He bracez a brade schelde and his brande aschez,
Bounede hym a broun stede and on the bente houys;
He sterte till his sterep and stridez on lofte,
Streynez hym stowttly and sterys hym faire,
Brochez the baye stede and to the buske rydez,
And there hys knyghtes hym kepede full clenlyche arayede.
Than they roode by that ryuer that rynnyd so swythe,
thare the ryndez ouerrechez with reall bowghez;
The roo and the raynedere reklesse thare ronnen,
In ranez and in rosers, to ryotte tham seluen;
The frithez ware floreschte with flourez full many,
Wyth fawcouns and fesantez of ferlyche hewez;
All the feulez thare fleschez that flyez with wengez,
Fore thare galede the gowke one greuez full lowde:
Wyth alkyn gladchipe thay gladden them seluen;
Of the nyghtgale notez the noisez was swette, 
They threpide wyth the throstills, thre hundreth at ones;
that whate swowyng of watyr and syngyng of byrdez,
It myghte salue hym of sore that sounde was neuere.
Than ferkez this folke and on fotte lyghttez,
Festenez theire faire stedez o ferrom bytwene;
And thene the Kyng kenely comandyde hys knyghtez
For to byde with theire blonkez and bowne no forthyre:
"Fore I will seke this seynte by my selfe one,
And mell with this mayster mane that this monte yemez;
And seyn sall ye offyre, aythyre aftyre other,
Menskfully at Saynt Mighell full myghtty with Criste."
The Kyng coueris the cragge wyth cloughes full hye,
To the creste of the clyffe he clymbez on lofte;
Keste vpe hys vmbrer and kenly he lukes,
Caughte of the colde wynde to comforthe hym seluen.
Two fyrez fyndez, flawmande full hye;
The fourtedele a furlang betwene thus he walkes;
The waye by the welle strandez he wandyrde hym one,
To wette of the warlawe, whare that he lengez.
He ferkez to the fyrste fyre, and euen there he fyndez
A wery wafull wedowe, wryngande hire handez,
And gretande on a graue grysely teres;
Now merkyde on molde sen myddaye it semede.
He saluyede that sorowfull with sittande wordez,
And fraynez aftyre the fende fairely thereaftyre.
Thane this wafull wyfe vnwynly hym gretez,
Couerd vp on hire kneess and clappyde hire handez;
Said "Carefull careman, thow carpez to lowde;
May yone warlawe wyt, he worows vs all!
Weryd worthe the wyghte ay that the thy wytt refede,
That mase the to wayfe here in thise wylde lakes.
I warne the fore wyrchipe thou wylnez aftyr sorowe;
Whedyre buskes thow, berne? Vnblysside thow semes.
Wenez thow to britten hym with thy brande ryche?
Ware thow wyghttere than Wade or Wawayn owthire,
Thow wynnys no wyrchip, I warne the before.
Thow saynned the vnsekyrly to seke to these mountez;
Siche sex ware to symple to semble with hym one,
For and thow see hym with syghte, the seruez no herte
To sayne the sekerly, so semez hym huge!
Thow arte frely and faire and in thy fyrste flourez,
Bot thow arte fay, be my faythe, and that me forthynkkys.
Ware syche fyfty on a felde or one a faire erthe,
The freke walde with hys fyste fell yow at ones!
Loo, here the duchez dere, todaye was cho takyn, 
Depe doluen and dede, dyked in moldez;
He hade morthirede this mylde be myddaye war rongen,
Withowttyn mercy one molde, I not watte it ment.
He has forsede hir and fylede, and cho es fay leuede;
He slewe hir vnslely and slitt hir to the nauyll.
And here haue I bawmede hir and beryede theraftyr;
For bale of the botelesse, blythe be I neuer.
Of alle the frendez cho hade, there folowede none aftyre,
Bot I, hir foster modyr of fyftene wynter;
To ferke of this farlande, fande sall I neuer,
Bot here be founden on felde till I be fay leuede." 

Thane answers Sir Arthure to that alde wyf,
"I am comyn fra the Conquerour, curtaise and gentill,
As one of the hathelest of Arthur knyghtez,
Messenger to this myx, for mendemente of the pople,
To mele with this maister man that here this mounte yemez;
To trete with this tyraunt for tresour of landez,
And take trew for a tym, to bettyr may worthe."
"ya, thire wordis are bot waste," quod this wif thane,
"For bothe landez and lythes full lyttill by he settes;
Of rentez ne of rede golde rekkez he neuer,
For he will lenge owt of lawe, as hym selfe thynkes,
Withowten licence of lede, as lorde in his awen.
Bot he has a kyrtill one, kepide for hym seluen,
That was sponen in Spayne with specyall byrdez,
And sythyn garnescht in Grece full graythly togedirs.
It es hyded all with har hally al ouere,
And bordyrde with the berdez of burlyche kyngez,
Crispid and kombide, that kempis may knawe
Iche kyng by his colour, in kythe there he lengez;
Here the fermez he fangez of fyftene rewmez:
For ilke Esterne ewyn, howeuer that it fall,
They send it hym sothely for saughte of the pople,
Sekerly at that seson, with certayne knyghtez.
And he has aschede Arthure all this seuen wynntter:
Forthy hurdez he here, to owttraye hys pople,
Till the Bretons kyng haue burneschte his lyppys,
And sent his berde to that bolde wyth his beste berynes.
Bot thowe hafe broghte that berde, bowne the no forthire,
For it es buteless bale thowe biddez oghte ells;
For he has more tresour to take when hym lykez
Than euere aughte Arthure or any of hys elders;
If thowe hafe broghte the berde he bese more blythe
Thane thowe gafe hym Burgoyne or Bretayne the More.
Bot luke nowe for charitee thow chasty thy lyppes,
That the no wordez eschape, whateso betydez;
Luke thi presante be priste, and presse hym bott lytill,
For he es at his sowper, he will be sone greuyde;
And thow my concell doo, thow dosse of thy clothes,
And knele in thy kyrtyll, and call hym thy lorde.
He sowppes all this seson with seuen knaue childre,
Choppid in a chargour of chalke-whytt syluer,
With pekill and powdyre of precious spycez,
And pyment full plenteuous of Portyngale wynes;
Thre balefull birdez his brochez they turne,
that byddez his bedgatt, his byddyng to wyrche;
Siche foure scholde be fay within foure hourez,
Are his fylth ware filled that his flesch yernes."
"ya, I haue broghte the berd," quod he, "the bettyr me lykez;
Forthi will I boun me, and bere it my seluen;
Bot, lefe, walde thow lere me whare that lede lengez,
I sall alowe the and I liffe, oure Lorde so me helpe."
"Ferke fast to the fyre," quod cho, "that flawmez so hye;
Thare fillis that fende hym, fraist when the lykez;
Bot thowe moste seke more southe, sydlyngs a lyttill,
For he will hafe sent hym selfe sex myle large."
To the sowthe of the reke he soghte at the gayneste,
Sayned hym sekerly with certeyne wordez,
And sydlyngs of the segge the syghte had he rechid,
How vnsemly that sott satt sowpand hym one;
He lay lenand on lang, lugand vnfaire,
the thee of a manns lymme lyfte vp by the haunche;
His bakke and his bewschers and his brode lendez
He bekez by the bale-fyre, and breklesse hym semede.
thare ware rostez full ruyd and rewfull bredez,
Beerynes and bestaile brochede togeders,
Cowle full cramede of crysmed childyre,
Sum as brede brochede, and bierdez tham tournede.
And than this comlych kyng, bycause of his pople,
His herte bledez for bale, one bent ware he standez.
Thane he dressede one his schelde, schuntes no lengere,
BraundeschÕtåe his bryghte swerde by the bryghte hiltez,
Raykez towarde the renke reghte with a ruyd will,
And hyely hailsez that hulke with hawtayne wordez:
"Now allweldand Gode, that wyrscheppez vs all,
Giff the sorowe and syte, sotte, there thow lygges,
For the fulsomeste freke that fourmede was euere;
Foully thow fedys the, the Fende haue thi saule!
Here es cury vnclene, carle, be my trowthe,
Caffe of creatours all, thow curssede wriche!
Because that thow killide has thise cresmede childyre,
Thow has marters made, and broghte oute of lyfe,
that here are brochede on bente and brittened with thi handez,
I sall merke the thy mede, as thou has myche serfed,
Thurghe myghte of Seynt Mighell, that this monte yemes;
And for this faire ladye, that thow has fey leuyde,
And thus forced one foulde, for fylth of thi selfen.
Dresse the now, dogge-sone, the Deuell haue thi saule, 
For thow sall dye this day, thurghe dynt of my handez!"
Than glopned the gloton and glored vnfaire;
He grenned as a grewhounde, with grysly tuskes;
He gaped, he groned faste, with grucchand latez,
For grefe of the gude kyng that hym with grame gretez.
His fax and his foretoppe was filterede togeders,
And owte of his face come ane halfe fote large;
His frount and his forheued all was it ouer,
As the fell of a froske, and fraknede it semede;
Huke-nebbyde as a hawke, and a hore berde,
And herede to the hole eyghn with hyngande browes;
Harske as a hunde-fisch hardly whoso lukez,
So was the hyde of that hulke hally al ouer.
Erne had he full huge and vgly to schewe,
With eghne full horreble and ardauunt forsothe;
Flatt-mowthede as a fluke, with fleryand lyppys,
And the flesche in his fortethe fowly as a bere.
His berde was brothy and blake, that till his brest rechede,
Grassede as a mereswyne, with corkes full huge,
And all falterd the flesche in his foule lippys,
Ilke wrethe as a wolfe-heuede, it wraythe owtt at ones.
Bulle-nekkyde was that bierne and brade in the scholders,
Brok-brestede as a brawne, with brustils full large,
Ruyd armes as an ake with rusclede sydes,
Lym and leskes full lothyn, leue ye forsothe.
Schouell-foted was that schalke, and schaylande hyn semyde,
With schankez vnschaply, schowand togedyrs;
Thykke theese as a thursse, and thikkere in the hanche,
Greesse growen as a galte, full gryÕsålych he lukez.
Who the lenghe of the lede lelly accountes,
Fro the face to the fote was fyfe fadom lange.
Thane stertez he vp sturdely on two styffe schankez,
And sone he caughte hym a clubb all of clene yryn;
He walde hafe kyllede the Kyng with his kene wapen,
Bot thurghe the crafte of Cryste yit the carle failede;
The creest and the coronall, the claspes of syluer,
Clenly with his clubb he crassched doune at onez.
The Kyng castes vp his schelde and couers hym faire,
And with his burlyche brande a box he hym reches;
Full butt in the frunt the fromonde he hittez,
That the burnyscht blade to the brayne rynnez.
He feyed his fysnamye with his foule hondez,
And frappez faste at his face fersely theraftyre;
The Kyng chaungez his fote, eschewes a lyttill, 
Ne had he eschapede that choppe, cheuede had euyll;
He folowes in fersly and festenesse a dynte
Hye vpe on the hanche with his harde wapyn,
That he hillid the swerde halfe a fote large, 
The hott blode of the hulke vnto the hilte rynnez;
Ewyn into inmette the gyaunt he hyttez,
Iust to the genitales and jaggede tham in sondre.
Thane he romyed and rared, and ruydly he strykez
Full egerly at Arthur, and on the erthe hittez;
A swerde lenghe within the swarthe he swappez at ones,
That nere swounes the Kyng for swoughe of his dynnttez.
Bot yit the Kyng sweperly full swythe he byswenkez,
Swappez in with the swerde that it the swange brystedd;
Bothe the guttez and the gorr guschez owte at ones,
that all englaymez the gresse one grounde ther he standez.
Thane he castez the clubb and the Kyng hentez:
On the creeste of the cragg he caughte hym in armez,
And enclosez hym clenly, to cruschen hys rybbez, 
So hard haldez he that hende that nere his herte brystez.
thane the balefull bierdez bownez to the erthe,
Kneland and cryande, and clappide theire handez:
"Criste comforthe yone knyghte, and kepe hym fro sorowe,
And latte neuer yone fende fell hym o lyfe."
yitt es the warlow so wyghte, he welters hym vnder,
Wrothely thai wrythyn and wrystill togederz,
Welters and walowes ouer within thase buskez,
Tumbellez and turnes faste and terez thaire wedez;
Vntenderly fro the toppe thai tiltin togederz,
Whilom Arthure ouer and otherwhile vndyre;
Fro the heghe of the hyll vnto the harde roche,
They feyne neuer are they fall at the flode merkes.
Bot Arthur with ane anlace egerly smyttez,
And hittez euer in the hulke vp to the hiltez;
the theefe at the dede-thrawe so throly hym thryngez,
that three rybbys in his syde he thrystez in sunder.
Then Sir Kayous the kene vnto the Kyng styrtez:
Said "Allas, we are lorne, my lorde es confundede;
Ouerfallen with a fende, vs es full hapnede!
We mon be forfeted, in faith, and flemyde for euer!"
thay hafe vp hys hawberke than and handilez thervndyr
His hyde and his haunche eke, on heghte to the schuldrez,
His flawnke and his feletez and his faire sydez,
Bothe his bakke and his breste and his bryghte armez;
thay ware fayne that they fande no flesche entamed,
And for that journee made joye, thir gentill knyghttez.
"Now certez," saise Sir Bedwere, "it semez, be my Lorde,
He sekez seyntez bot selden, the sorer he grypes,
that thus clekys this corsaunt owte of thir heghe clyffez,
To carye forthe siche a carle at close hym in siluer.
Be Myghell, of syche a makk I hafe myche wondyre
That euer owre soueraygne Lorde suffers hym in Heuen;
And all seyntez be syche that seruez oure Lorde,
I sall neuer no seynt bee, be my fadyre sawle!"
Thane bourdez the bolde kyng at Bedvere wordez:
"this seynt haue I soghte, so helpe me owre Lorde!
Forthy brayd owtte thi brande, and broche hym to the herte;
Be sekere of this sergeaunt, he has me sore greuede.
I faghte noghte wyth syche a freke this fyftene wyntyre;
Bot in the montez of Araby I mett syche another:
He was the forcyer be ferre that had I nere funden, 
Ne had my fortune bene faire, fey had I leuede.
Onone stryke of his heuede, and stake it thereaftyre,
Gife it to thy sqwyere, fore he es wele horsede,
Bere it to Sir Howell, that es in harde bandez,
And byd hym herte hym wele, his enmy es destruede.
Syne bere it to Bareflete, and brace it in yryne,
And sett it on the barbycane, biernes to schewe.
My brande and my brode schelde apon the bent lyggez,
On the creeste of the cragge, thare fyrste we encontrede,
And the clubb tharby, all of clene iren,
that many Cristen has kyllyde in Constantyne landez;
Ferke to the farlande, and fetche me that wapen,
And late founde till oure flete, in flode thare it lengez.
If thow wyll any tresour, take whate the lykez;
Haue I the kyrtyll and the clubb, I coueite noghte ells."
Now they caire to the cragge, thise comlyche knyghtez,
And broghte hym the brade schelde and his bryghte wapen,
the clubb and the cotte alls, Syr Kayous hym seluen,
And kayres with Õtheå Conquerour, the kyngez to schewe
That in couerte the Kyng helde closse to hym seluen,
Whills clene day fro the clowde clymbyd on lofte.
Be that to courte was comen clamour full huge;
And before the comlyche kyng they knelyd all at ones:
"Welcom, our liege lorde, to lang has thow duellyde, 
Gouernour vndyr Gode, graytheste and noble,
To wham grace es graunted and gyffen at His will;
Now thy comly come has comforthede vs all.
Thow has in thy realtee reuengyde thy pople;
Thurghe helpe of thy hande, thyne enmyse are struyede,
That has thy renkes ouerronne and refte them theire childyre;
Whas neuer rewme owte of araye so redyly releuede!"
Than the Conquerour Cristenly carpez to his pople:
"Thankes Gode," quod he, "of this grace, and no gome ells,
For it was neuer manns dede, bot myghte of Hym selfen,
Or myracle of Hys Modyr, that mylde es till all."
He somond than the schippemen scharpely theraftyre,
To schake furthe with the schyremen to schiffe the gudez,
All the myche tresour that traytour had wonnen,
To comouns of the contre, clergye and other:
"Luke it be done and delte to my dere pople,
That none pleyn of theire parte, o peyne of your lyfez."
He comande hys cosyn, with knyghtlyche wordez,
To make a kyrke on the cragg, ther the corse lengez,
And a couent therein, Criste for to serfe,
In mynde of that martyre, that in the monte rystez.
Qwen Sir Arthur the Kyng had kylled the gyaunt,
Than blythely fro Bareflete he buskes on the morne;
With his batell on brede, by tha blythe stremes,
Towarde Castell Blanke he chesez hym the waye;
Thurghe a faire champayne, vndyr schalke hyllis,
The Kyng fraystez a furth ouer the fresche strandez,
Foundez with his faire folke ouer as hym lykez;
Furthe stepes that steryn and strekez his tentis
One a strenghe by a streme, in thas straytt landez.
Onone aftyre myddaye, in the mene-while,
thare comez two messangers of tha fere marchez,
Fra the Marschall of Fraunce, and menskfully hym gretes,
Besoghte hym of sucour and saide hym thise wordez:
"Sir, thi marschall, thi mynistre, thy mercy besekez,
Of thy mekill magestee, fore mendement of thi pople,
Of thise marchez-men, that thus are myskaryede,
And thus merred amang, maugree theire eghne.
I witter the the Emperour es entirde into Fraunce,
With ostes of enmyse, orrible and huge;
Brynnez in Burgoyne thy burghes so ryche,
And brittenes thi baronage, that bieldez tharein;
He encrochez kenely by craftez of armez,
Countrese and castells that to thy coroun langez,
Confoundez thy comouns, clergy and other:
Bot thow comfurth them, Sir Kyng, couer sall they neuer!
He fellez forestez fele, forrayse thi landez,
Frysthez no fraunchez, bot fraiez the pople;
thus he fellez thi folke and fangez theire gudez:
Fremedly the Franche tung fey es belefede.
He drawes into douce Fraunce, as Duchemen tellez,
Dresside with his dragouns, dredfull to schewe;
All to dede they dyghte with dynnttys of swerddez,
Dukez and dusperes that dreches tharein.
Forthy the lordez of the lande, ladys and other,
Prayes the for Petyr luffe, the Apostyll of Rome,
Sen thow arte presant in place, that thow will profyre make
To that perilous prynce, be processe of tym.
He ayers by yone hilles, yone heghe holtez vndyr,
Hufes thare with hale strenghe of haythen kyngez;
Helpe nowe for His lufe, that heghe in Heuen sittez,
And talke tristly to them that thus vs destroyes."
The Kyng biddis Sir Boice, "Buske the belyfe;
Take with the Sir Berill and Bedwere the ryche,
Sir Gawayne and Sir Geryn, these galyarde knyghtez,
And graythe yowe to yone grene wode, and gose on ther nedes:
Saise to Syr Lucius, to vnlordly he wyrkez,
Thus letherly agaynes law to lede my pople;
I lette hym or oghte lange, yif me the lyffe happen,
Or many lyghte sall lawe that hym ouere lande folowes.
Comande hym kenely wyth crewell wordez,
Cayre owte of my kyngryke with his kydd knyghtez:
In caase that he will noghte, that cursede wreche,
Com for his curtaisie, and countere me ones.
Thane sall we rekken full rathe whatt ryghte that he claymes,
Thus to ryot this rewme and raunsone the pople.
Thare sall it derely be delte with dynttez of handez, 
The Dryghtten at Domesdaye dele as Hym lykes!"
Now thei graythe them to goo, theis galyarde knyghttez,
All gleterande in golde, appon grete stedes,
Towarde the grene wode, with grownden wapyn,
To grete wele the grett lorde, that wolde be grefede sone.
Thise hende houez on a hill by the holte eyues,
Behelde the howsyng full hye of hathen kynges:
They herde in theire herbergage hundrethez full many
Hornez of olyfantez full helych blawen;
Palaisez proudliche pyghte, that palyd ware ryche,
Of pall and of purpure, with precyous stones;
Pensels and pomell of ryche prynce armez,
Pighte in the playn mede, the pople to schewe.
And than the Romayns so ryche had arayede their tentez,
On rawe by the ryuer, vndyr the round hillez,
The Emperour for honour ewyn in the myddes,
Wyth egles al ouer, ennelled so faire;
And saw hym and the Sowdane, and senatours many
Seke towarde a sale with sextene kyngez,
Syland softely in, swettly by them selfen,
To sowpe withe that soueraygne full selcouthe metez.
Nowe they wende ouer the watyre, thise wyrchipfull knyghttez,
Thurghe the wode to the wone there the wyese rystez;
Reght as they weschen and went to the table,
Sir Wawayne the worthy vnwynly he spekes:
The myghte and the maiestee that menskes vs all,
That was merked and made thurghe the myghte of Hym seluen,
Gyffe yow sytte in your sette, Sowdane and other,
That here are semblede in sale, vnsawghte mott ye worthe!
And the fals heretyke that Emperour hym callez,
That ocupyes in erroure the Empyre of Rome,
Sir Arthure herytage, that honourable kyng,
That all his auncestres aughte but Vtere hym one,
That ilke cursynge that Cayme kaghte for his brothyre
Cleffe on the, cukewalde, with croune ther thow lengez,
For the vnlordlyeste lede that I on lukede euer!
My lorde meruailles hym mekyll, man, be my trouthe,
Why thow morthires his men, that no mysse serues,
Comouns of the countre, clergye and other,
that are noghte coupable therin, ne knawes noght in armez.
Forthi the comelyche kynge, curtays and noble,
Comandez the kenely to kaire of his landes,
Ore ells for thy knyghthede encontre hym ones;
Sen thow couettes the coroune, latte it be declarede!
I hafe dyschargide me here, chalange whoo lykez, 
Before all thy cheualrye, cheftaynes and other;
Schape vs an ansuere, and schunte thow no lengere,
that we may schifte at the schorte and schewe to my lorde.
The Emperour ansuerde wyth austeryn wordez:
ye are with myn enmy, Sir Arthur hym seluen;
It es non honour to me to owttray hys knyghttez,
thoghe ye bee irous men that ayres on his nedez;
Bot say to thy soueraygne I send hym thes wordez,
Ne ware it for reuerence of my ryche table,
thou sulde repent full rathe of thi ruyde wordez, 
Siche a rebawde as thowe rebuke any lordez,
Wyth theire retenuz arrayede, full reall and noble, 
Here will I suggourne whills me lefe thynkes,
And sythen seke in by Sayne with solace theraftere,
Ensegge al tha cetese be the salte strandez,
And seyn ryde in by Rone, that rynnez so faire,
And of all his ryche castells rusche doun the wallez;
I sall noghte lefe in Paresche, by processe of tyme,
His parte of a pechelyne, proue when hym lykes!"
"Now certez," sais Sir Wawayne, "myche wondyre haue I
that syche an alfyn as thow dare speke syche wordez!
I had leuer then all Fraunce, that heuede es of rewmes,
Fyghte with the faythefully on felde be oure one."
Thane answers Sir Gayous full gobbede wordes, 
Was eme to the Emperour and erle hym selfen, 
"Euere ware thes Bretouns braggers of olde!
Loo, how he brawles hym for hys bryghte wedes,
As he myghte bryttyn vs all with his brande ryche;
yitt he berkes myche boste, yone boy there he standes!"
Than greuyde Sir Gawayne at his grett wordes,
Graythes towarde the gome with grucchande herte;
With hys stelyn brande he strykes of hys heuede,
And sterttes owtte to hys stede, and with his stale wendes.
Thurghe the wacches they wente, thes wirchipfull knyghtez,
And feyndez in theire farewaye wondyrlyche many;
Ouer the watyre they wente by wyghtnesse of horses,
And tuke wynde as they walde by the wodde hemmes.
Thane folous frekly one fote frekkes ynewe,
And of the Romayns arrayed appon ryche stedes,
Chasede thurghe a champayne oure cheualrous knyghtez,
Till a cheefe forest, on scalke-whitte horses.
Bot a freke all in fyne golde, and fretted in sable,
Come forthermaste on a freson, in flawmande wedes;
A faire floreschte spere in fewtyre he castes,
And folowes faste on owre folke and freschelye ascryez.
Thane Sir Gawayne the gude, appone a graye stede,
He gryppes hym a grete spere and graythely hym hittez;
Thurghe the guttez into the gorre he gyrdes hym ewyn,
That the grounden stele glydez to his herte;
The gome and the grette horse at the grounde lyggez,
Full gryselyche gronande, for grefe of his woundez.
thane presez a preker in, full proudely arayede,
That beres all of pourpour, palyde with syluer;
Bryggly on a broune stede he profers full large, 
He was a paynyme of Perse that thus hym persuede.
Sir Boys, vnabaiste all, he buskes hym agaynes,
With a bustous launce he berez hym thurghe,
that the breme and the brade schelde appon the bente lyggez;
And he bryngez furthe the blade and bownez to his felowez.
Thane Sir Feltemour of myghte, a man mekyll praysede,
Was mouede on his manere and manacede full faste;
He graythes to Sir Gawayne graythely to wyrche,
For grefe of Sir Gayous, that es on grounde leuede.
Than Sir Gawayne was glade: agayne hym he rydez,
Wyth Galuth his gude swerde graythely hym hyttez;
The knyghte on the coursere he cleuede in sondyre, 
Clenlyche fro the croune his corse he dyuysyde,
And thus he killez the knyghte with his kydd wapen.
Than a ryche man of Rome relyede to his byerns:
"It sall repent vs full sore and we ryde forthire!
yone are bolde bosturs that syche bale wyrkez;
It befell hym full foule that tham so fyrste namede."
Thane the riche Romayns retournes thaire brydills
To thaire tentis in tene, telles theire lordez
How Sir Marschalle de Mowne es on the monte lefede,
Forejustyde at that journee for his grett japez.
Bot thare chasez on oure men cheuallrous knyghtez,
Fyfe thosande folke appon faire stedes,
Faste to a foreste ouer a fell watyr,
That fillez fro the falow see fyfty myle large.
Thare ware Bretons enbuschide, and banarettez noble,
Of the cheualrye cheefe of the kyngez chambyre,
Seese them chase oure men and changen theire horsez,
And choppe doun cheftaynes that they moste chargyde.
Thane the enbuschement of Bretons brake owte at ones,
Brothely at baner, and Bedwyne knyghtez
Arrestede of the Romayns that by the fyrthe rydez
All the realeste renkes that to Rome lengez;
Thay iche on the enmyse and egerly strykkys,
Erles of Ingland, and "Arthure!" ascryes;
Thrughe brenes and bryghte scheldez brestez they thyrle,
Bretons of the boldeste, with theire bryghte swerdez.
Thare was Romayns ouerredyn and ruydly wondyde,
Arrestede as rebawdez with ryotous knyghttez;
The Romaynes owte of araye remouede at ones,
And rydes awaye in a rowtte, for reddoure it semys.
To the Senatour Petyr a sandesmane es commyn,
And saide "Sir, sekerly, your seggez are supprysside."
Than ten thowsande men he semblede at ones,
And sett sodanly on our seggez, by the salte strandez;
Than ware Bretons abaiste and greuede a lyttill,
Bot yit the banerettez bolde and bachellers noble
Brekes that battailes with brestez of stedes;
Sir Boice and his bolde men myche bale wyrkes.
The Romayns redyes tham, arrayez tham better,
And al toruscheez oure men withe theire ryste horsez,
Arestede of the richeste of the Rounde Table,
Ouerrydez oure rerewarde and grette rewthe wyrkes.
Thane the Bretons on the bente habyddez no lengere,
Bot fleede to the foreste and the feelde leuede;
Sir Beryll es born down and Sir Boice taken,
The beste of our bolde men vnblythely wondyde;
Bot yitt our stale on a strenghe stotais a lyttill,
All tostonayede with the stokes of tha steryn knyghtez;
Made sorowe fore theire soueraygne, that so thare was nomen,
Besoughte Gode of socure, sende whene Hym lykyde.
Than commez Sir Idrus, armede vp at all ryghttez,
Wyth fyue hundrethe men appon faire stedes;
Fraynez faste at oure folke freschely thareaftyre,
yif ther frendez ware ferre, that on the felde foundide.
Thane sais Sir Gawayne, "So me God helpe,
We hafe bene chased todaye and chullede as hares,
Rebuyked with Romaynes appon theire ryche stedez,
And we lurkede vndyr lee as lowrande wreches!
I luke neuer on my lorde the dayes of my lyfe,
And we so lytherly hym helpe that hym so wele lykede."
Thane the Bretons brothely brochez theire stedez,
And boldly in batell appon the bent rydes;
All the ferse men before frekly ascryes,
Ferkand in the foreste, to freschen tham selfen.
The Romaynes than redyly arrayes them bettyre,
One rawe on a rowm felde, reghttez theire wapyns,
By the ryche reuere, and rewles the pople;
And with reddour Sir Boice es in areste halden.
Now thei semblede vnsaughte by the salte strandez:
Saddly theis sekere menn settys theire dynttez;
With lufly launcez on lofte they luyschen togedyres,
In lorayne so lordlye on leppande stedes.
Thare ware gomes thurghegirde with grundyn wapyns,
Grisely gayspand with grucchande lotes;
Grete lordes of Greke greffede so hye.
Swyftly with swerdes they swappen thereaftyre,
Swappez doun full sweperlye swelltande knyghtez,
That all swellttez one swarthe that they ouerswyngen;
So many sweys in swoghe, swounande att ones.
Syr Gaweayne the gracyous full graythelye he wyrkkes:
The gretteste he gretez wyth gryselye wondes;
Wyth Galuth he gyrdez doun full galyard knyghtez, 
Fore greefe of the grett lorde so grymlye he strykez.
He rydez furthe ryallye and redely thereaftyre,
Thare this reall renke was in areste halden;
He ryfez the raunke stele, he ryghttez theire brenez,
And refte them the ryche man and rade to his strenghes.
The Senatour Peter thane persewede hym aftyre,
Thurghe the presse of the pople, wyth his pryce knyghttes;
Appertly fore the prysonere proues his strenghes,
Wyth prekers the proudeste that to the presse lengez.
Wrothely on the wrange hande Sir Gawayne he strykkes,
Wyth a wapen of were vnwynnly hym hittez;
The breny one the bakhalfe he brystez in sondyre, 
Bot yit he broghte forthe Sir Boyce, for all theire bale biernez.
Thane the Bretons boldely braggen theire tromppez,
And fore blysse of Sir Boyce was broghte owtte of bandez,
Boldely in batell they bere doun knyghtes;
With brandes of broun stele they brettened maylez;
thay stekede stedys in stour with stelen wapyns,
And all stewede with strenghe that stode them agaynes.
Sir Idrus fitz Ewayn than "Arthur!" ascryeez,
Assemblez on the Senatour wyth sextene knyghttez,
Of the sekereste men that to oure syde lengede.
Sodanly in a soppe they sett in att ones,
Foynes faste att the forebreste with flawmande swerdez,
And feghttes faste att the fronte freschely thareaftyre,
Felles fele on the felde appon the ferrere syde,
Fey on the faire felde by tha fresche strandez.
Bot Sir Idrus fytz Ewayn anters hym seluen,
And enters in anly and egyrly strykez,
Sekez to the Senatour and sesez his brydill;
Vnsaughtely he saide hym these sittande wordez:
"yelde the, Sir, yapely, yife thou thi lyfe yernez;
Fore gyftez that thow gyffe may thou yeme now the selfen.
Fore dredlez dreche thow or droppe any wylez,
Thow sall dy this daye thorowe dyntt of my handez!"
"I ascente," quod the Senatour, "so me Criste helpe;
So that I be safe broghte before the Kyng seluen,
Raunson me resonabillye, as I may ouerreche
Aftyre my renttez in Rome may redyly forthire."
Thane answers Sir Idrus with austeryn wordez:
"Thow sall hafe condycyon, as the Kyng lykes,
When thow comes to the kyth there the courte haldez,
In caase his concell bee to kepe the no langere,
To be killyde at his commandment his knyghttez before."
thay ledde hym furthe in the rowte and lached ofe his wedes,
Lefte hym wyth Lyonell and Lowell, hys brothire.
O lawe in the launde than, by the lythe strandez,
Sir Lucius lyggemen loste are fore euer.
The Senatour Peter es prysoner takyn;
Of Perce and of Porte Iaffe full many price knyghtez,
And myche pople wythall perischede tham selfen, 
For presse of the passage they plungede at onez.
Thare myghte men see Romaynez rewfully wondyde,
Ouerredyn with renkes of the Round Table.
In the raike of the furthe they righten theire brenys,
that rane all on reede blode redylye all ouer.
They raughte in the rerewarde full ryotous knyghtez
For raunsone of rede golde and reall stedys;
Radly relayes and restez theire horsez,
In rowtte to the ryche kynge they rade al at onez.
A knyghte cayrez before and to the Kynge telles,
"Sir, here commez thy messangerez with myrthez fro the mountez;
thay hafe bene machede todaye with men of the marchez,
Foremaglede in tha marras with meruailous knyghtez.
We hafe foughten, in faithe, by yone fresche strandez,
With the frekkeste folke that to thi foo langez;
Fyfty thosaunde on felde of ferse men of armez,
Wythin a furlange of waye, fay ere bylefede.
We hafe eschewede this chekke thurghe chance of oure Lorde,
Of tha cheualrous men that chargede thy pople.
The cheefe chaunchelere of Rome, a cheftayne full noble,
Will aske the chartyre of pesse, for charitee, hym selfen.
And the Senatour Petire to presoner es takyn;
Of Perse and of Porte Iaffe paynymmez ynewe
Commez prekande in the presse with thy prysse knyghttez,
With pouerte in thi preson theire paynez to drye.
I beseke yow, Sir, say whate yowe lykes,
Whethire ye suffyre them saughte or sone delyuerde.
ye may haue fore the Senatour sextie horse chargede
Of siluer be Seterdaye, full sekyrly payede;
And for the cheefe chauncelere, the cheualere noble,
Charottez chokkefull charegyde with golde;
The remenaunt of the Romaynez be in areste halden,
Till thiere renttez in Rome be rightewissly knawen.
I beseke yow, Sir, certyfye yone lordez,
yif ye will send tham ouer the see or kepe tham your selfen.
All your sekyre men, forsothe, sounde are byleuyde,
Saue Sir Ewayne fytz Henry es in the side wonddede."
"Crist be thankyde," quod the Kyng, "and hys clere Modyre,
That yowe comforthed and helpede be crafte of Hym selfen;
Skilfull skomfyture he skiftez as Hym lykez;
Is none so skathlye may skape ne skewe fro His handez.
Desteny and doughtynes of dedys of armes,
All es demyd and delte at Dryghtynez will.
I kwn the thanke for thy come, it comfortes vs all.
Sir Knyghte," sais the Conquerour, "so me Criste helpe,
I yif the for thy thyyandez Tolouse the riche,
The toll and the tachementez, tauernez and other,
the town and the tenementez, with towrez so hye,
That towchez to the temporaltee, whills my tym lastez.
Bot say to the Senatour I sende hym thes wordez:
Thare sall no siluer hym saue bot Ewayn recouer;
I had leuer see hym synke on the salte strandez,
Than the seegge ware seke, that es so sore woundede.
I sall disseuere that sorte, so me Criste helpe,
And sett them full solytarie, in sere kyngez landez.
Sall he neuer sownde see his seynowres in Rome,
Ne sitt in the assemble in syghte wyth his feris;
For it comes to no kyng that Conquerour es holden,
To comon with his captifis fore couatys of siluer.
It come neuer of knyghthede, knawe if yif hym lyke, 
To carpe of coseri when captyfis ere takyn;
It aughte to no presoners to prese no lordez,
Ne come in presens of pryncez whene partyes are mouede.
Comaunde yone constable, the castell that yemes,
That he be clenlyche kepede, and in close halden;
He sall haue maundement tomorne, or myddaye be roungen,
To what marche thay sall merke, with mauger to lengen."
thay conuaye this captyfe with clene men of armez,
And kend hym to the constable, alls the Kynge byddez;
And seyn to Arthure they ayr and egerly hym towchez
The answere of the Emperour, irows of dedez.
Thane Sir Arthur, on erthe atheliste of othere,
At euen at his awen borde auantid his lordez:
"Me aughte to honour them in erthe ouer all other thyngez
that thus in myn absens awnters them selfen;
I sall them luffe whylez I lyffe, so me our Lorde helpe,
And gyfe them landys full large whare them beste lykes;
Thay sall noghte losse on this layke, yif me lyfe happen,
that thus are lamede for my lufe be this lythe strandez."
Bot in the clere daweyng, the dere kynge hym selfen
Comaundyd Sir Cadore, with his dere knyghttes,
Sir Cleremus, Sir Cleremonde, with clene men of armez,
Sir Clowdmur, Sir Clegis, to conuaye theis lordez;
Sir Boyce and Sir Berell, with baners displayede,
Sir Bawdwyne, Sir Bryane, and Sir Bedwere the ryche,
Sir Raynalde and Sir Richere, Rawlaund childyre,
To ryde with the Romaynes in rowtte wyth theire feres.
"Prekez now preualye to Parys the ryche,
Wyth Petir the pryssonere and his price knyghttez;
Beteche tham the proueste, in presens of lordez,
O payne and o perell that pendes theretoo;
That they be weisely wachede and in warde holden,
Warded of warantizez with wyrchipfull knyghttez,
Wagge hym wyghte men, and woonde for no siluyre, 
I haffe warnede that wy, be ware yif hym lykes."
Now bownes the Bretons, als the Kynge byddez,
Buskez theire batells, theire baners displayez;
Towardez Chartris they chese, thes cheualrous knyghttez,
And in the champayne lande full faire thay eschewede:
For the Emperour of myghte had ordand hym selfen
Sir Vtolfe and Sir Ewandyre, two honourable kyngez,
Erles of the Orient, with austeryn knyghttez,
Of the awntrouseste men that to his oste lengede,
Sir Sextynour of Lyby and senatours many,
The Kyng of Surrye hym selfe, with Sarzynes ynowe,
The Senatour of Sutere, wyth sowmes full huge,
Whas assygnede to that courte be sent of his peres,
Traise towarde Troys the treson to wyrke,
To hafe betrappede with a trayne oure traueland knyghttez,
That hade persayfede that Peter at Parys sulde lenge,
In presonne with the prouoste, his paynez to drye.
Forthi they buskede them bownn, with baners displayede,
In the buskayle of his waye, on blonkkes full hugge;
Planttez them in the pathe with powere arrayede,
To pyke vp the presoners fro oure pryse knyghttez.
Syr Cadore of Cornewalle comaundez his peris,
Sir Clegis, Sir Cleremus, Sir Cleremownnde the noble,
"Here es the close of Clyme, with clewes so hye:
Lokez the contree be clere, the corners are large;
Discoueres now sekerly skrogges and other,
That no skathell in the skroggez skorne vs hereaftyre;
Loke ye skyfte it so that vs no skathe lympe,
For na skomfitoure in skoulkery is skomfite euer."
Now they hye to the holte, thes harageous knyghttez,
To herken of the hye men, to helpen theis lordez;
Fyndez them helmede hole and horsyde on stedys,
Houande on the hye waye by the holte hemmes.
With knyghttly contenaunce Sir Clegis hym selfen
Kryes to the companye and carpes thees wordez:
"Es there any kyde knyghte, kaysere or other,
Will kyth for his kyng lufe craftes of armes?
We are comen fro the Kyng of this kythe ryche,
That knawen as for conquerour, corownde in erthe,
His ryche retenuz here all of his Round Table,
To ryde with that reall rowtt where hym lykes;
We seke justyng of werre, yif any will happyn,
Of the jolyeste men ajuggede be lordes,
If here be any hathell man, erle or other,
That for the Emperour lufe will awntere hym selfen."
And ane erle thane in angere answeres hym son:
"Me angers at Arthure, and att his hathell bierns,
That thus in his errour ocupyes theis rewmes,
And owtrayes the Emperour, his erthely lorde.
The araye and the ryalltez of the Rounde Table
Es wyth rankour rehersede in rewmes full many;
Of oure renttez of Rome syche reuell he haldys,
He sall yife resoun full rathe, yif vs reghte happen,
That many sall repente that in his rowtte rydez,
For the reklesse roy so rewlez hym selfen!"
"A!" sais Sir Clegis than, "so me Criste helpe,
I knawe be thi carpyng a cowntere the semes!
Bot be thou auditoure or erle or Emperour thi selfen,
Appon Arthurez byhalue I answere the sone:
The renke so reall that rewllez vs all,
The ryotous men and the ryche of the Rounde Table,
He has araysede his accownte and redde all his rollez,
For he wyll gyfe a rekenyng that rewe sall aftyre,
That all the ryche sall repente that to Rome langez,
Or the rereage be requit of rentez that he claymez.
We crafe of your curtaisie three coursez of werre,
And claymez of knyghthode, take kepe to your selfen!
ye do bott trayne vs todaye wyth trofeland wordez;
Of syche trauaylande men trecherye me thnykes.
Sende owte sadly certayne knyghttez,
Or say me sekerly sothe, forsake yif yowe lykes."
thane sais the Kynge of Surry, "Alls saue me oure Lorde,
yif thow hufe all the daye, thou bees noghte delyuerede,
Bot thow sekerly ensure with certeyne knyghtez,
that thi cote and thi breste be knawen with lordez,
Of armes of ancestrye entyrde with londez."
"Sir Kyng," sais Sir Clegys, "full knyghttly thow askez;
I trowe it be for cowardys thow carpes thes wordez.
Myn armez are of ancestrye enueryd with lordez,
And has in banere bene borne sen Sir Brut tyme;
At the cite of Troye that tymme was ensegede,
Ofte seen in asawtte with certayne knyghttez,
Fro the Borghte broghte vs and all oure bolde elders
To Bretayne the Braddere, within chippe-burdez."
"Sir," sais Sir Sextenour, "saye what the lykez,
And we sall suffyre the, als vs beste semes;
Luke thi troumppez be trussede, and trofull no lengere,
For thoghe thou tarye all the daye, the tyddes no bettyr.
For there sall neuer Romayne that in my rowtt rydez
Be with rebawdez rebuykyde whills I in werlde regne!"
Thane Sir Clegis to the Kyng a lyttill enclinede,
Kayres to Sir Cadore and knyghtly hym tellez,
"We hafe founden in yone firthe, floresched with leues,
the flour of the faireste folke that to thi foo langez:
Fifty thosandez of folke of ferse men of armez,
that faire are fewteride on frounte vndyr yone fre bowes;
They are enbuschede on blonkkes, with baners displayede,
In yone bechen wode appon the waye sydes.
Thay hafe the furthe forsette all of the faire watyre,
That fayfully of force feghte vs byhowys;
For thus vs schappes todaye, schortly to tell,
Whedyre we schone or schewe, schyft as the lykes."
"Nay," quod Cador, "so me Criste helpe,
It ware schame that we scholde schone for so lytyll.
Sir Lancelott sall neuer laughe, that with the Kyng lengez,
That I sulde lette my waye for lede appon erthe;
I sall be dede and vndone ar I here dreche,
For drede of any doggeson in yone dym schawes!"
Syr Cador thane knyghtly comforthes his pople,
And with corage kene he karpes thes wordes:
"Thynk on the valyaunt prynce that vesettez vs euer
With landez and lordcheppez, whare vs beste lykes;
That has vs ducheres delte and dubbyde vs knyghttez,
Gifen vs gersoms and golde and gardwynes many,
Grewhoundez and grett horse and alkyn gamnes,
That gaynez till any gome that vndyre God leuez.
Thynke on riche renoun of the Rounde Table,
And late it neuer be refte vs fore Romayne in erthe;
Feyne yow noghte feyntly, ne frythes no wapyns,
Bot luke ye fyghte faythefully, frekes, your selfen;
I walde be wellyde all qwyke and quarterde in sondre,
Bot I wyrke my dede, whils I in wrethe lenge."
Than this doughtty duke buddyd his knyghttez,
Ioneke and Askanere, Aladuke and other,
That ayerez were of Esex and all thase este marchez,
Howell and Hardelfe, happy in armez,
Sir Heryll and Sir Herygall, thise harageouse knyghttez.
Than the souerayn assignede certayne lordez,
Sir Wawayne, Sir Vryell, Sir Bedwere the ryche,
Raynallde and Richeere and Rowlandez childyre:
"Takez kepe on this prynce with youre price knyghtez,
And yife we in the stour withstonden the better,
Standez here in this stede, and stirrez no forthire;
And yif the chaunce falle that we bee ouercharggede,
Eschewes to som castell, and chewyse your selfen,
Or ryde to the riche Kyng, yif yow roo happyn,
And bidde hym com redily to rescewe hys biernez."
And than the Bretons brothely enbrassez theire scheldez,
Braydez one bacenetez and buskes theire launcez;
Thus he fittez his folke and to the felde rydez,
Fif hundreth on a frounte fewtrede at onez.
With trompes thay trine, and trappede stedes,
With cornettes and clarions and clergiall notes;
Schokkes in with a schakke and schontez no langere,
There schawes ware scheen vndyr the schire eyuez.
And thane the Romaynez rowtte remowes a lyttill,
Raykes with a rerewarde thas reall knyghttez;
So raply thay ryde thare that all the rowte ryngez
Of ryues and raunke stele and ryche golde maylez.
Thane schotte owtte of the schawe schiltrounis many,
With scharpe wapynns of were schotand at ones;
The Kyng of Lebe before the wawarde he ledez,
And all his lele ligemen o laundon ascriez.
Thane this cruell kyng castis in fewtire,
Kaghte hym a couerde horse and his course haldez,
Beris to Sir Berill and brathely hym hittes, 
Throwghe golet and gorger he hurtez hym ewyne;
The gome and the grette horse at the ground liggez,
And gretez graythely to Gode and gyffes Hym the saule.
Thus es Berell the bolde broghte owtte of lyue,
And byddez aftyre beryell that hym beste lykez.
And thane Sir Cador of Cornewayle es carefull in herte,
Because of his kynysemane, that thus es myscaryede;
Vmbeclappes the cors and kyssez hym ofte,
Gerte kepe hym couerte with his clere knyghttez.
Thane laughes the Lebe Kyng and all on lowde meles,
"yone lorde es lyghttede, me lykes the bettyre;
He sall noghte dere vs todaye, the Deuyll haue Õhiså bones!"
"yone kyng," said Cador, "karpes full large,
Because he killyd this kene, Criste hafe thi saule:
He sall hafe corne-bote, so me Criste helpe;
Or I kaire of this coste, we sall encontre ones.
So may the wynde weile turnne, I quytte hym or ewyn,
Sothely hym selfen or summ of his ferez."
Thane Sir Cador the kene knyghttly he wyrkez,
Cryez "A Cornewale!" and castez in fewtere,
Girdez streke thourghe the stour on a stede ryche;
Many steryn mane he steride by strenghe of hym one.
Whene his spere was sprongen, he spede hym full yerne,
Swappede owtte with a swerde that swykede hym neuer,
Wroghte wayes full wyde and wounded knyghttez,
Wyrkez in his wayfare full werkand sydez,
And hewes of the hardieste halsez in sondyre,
That all blendez with blode thare his blanke rynnez.
So many biernez the bolde broughte owt of lyfe,
Tittez tirauntez doun and temez theire sadills,
And turnez owte of the toile when hym tyme thynkkez.
Thane the Lebe Kynge criez full lowde
One Sir Cador the kene, with cruell wordez,
"Thowe hase wyrchipe wonne and wondyde knyghttez;
Thowe wenes for thi wightenez the werlde es thy nowen.
I sall wayte at thyne honnde, wy, be my trowthe;
I haue warnede the wele, be ware yif the lykez!"
With cornuse and clariones theis newe-made knyghttez
Lythes vnto the crye and castez in fewtire;
Ferkes in on a frounte one feraunte stedez,
Fellede at the fyrste come fyfty att ones.
Schotte thorowe the schiltrouns and scheuerede launcez,
Laid doun in the lumppe lordly biernez.
And thus nobilly oure newe men notez theire strenghez, 
Bot new notte es onon that noyes me sore.
The Kyng of Lebe has laughte a stede that hym lykede,
And comes in lordely in lyonez of siluere,
Vmbelappez the lumpe and lattes in sondre, 
Many lede with his launce the liffe has he refede.
Thus he chaces the childire of the Kyngez chambire,
And killez in the champanyse cheualrous knyghttez;
With a chasyng spere he choppes doun many.
Thare was Sir Alyduke slayne and Achinour wondyde,
Sir Origg and Sir Ermyngall hewen al to pecez.
And ther was Lewlyn laughte and Lewlyns brothire,
With lordez of Lebe, and lede to theire strenghez.
Ne hade Sir Clegis comen and Clemente the noble,
Oure newe men hade gone to noghte and many ma other.
thane Sir Cador the kene castez in fewtire
A cruell launce and a kene and to the Kynge rydez,
Hittez hym heghe on the helme with his harde wapen,
That all the hotte blode of hym to his hande rynnez.
The hethen harageous kynge appon the hethe lyggez,
And of his hertly hurte helyde he neuer.
Thane Sir Cador the kene cryez full lowde,
"Thow has corne-botte, Sir Kyng, thare God gyfe the sorowe;
Thow killyde my cosyn, my kare es the lesse.
Kele the nowe in the claye, and comforthe thi selfen!
Thow skornede vs lang ere with thi skornefull wordez,
And nowe has thow cheuede soo, it es thyn awen skathe.
Holde at thow hente has, it harmez bot lyttill,
For hethynge es hame-holde, vse it who-so will."
The Kyng of Surry than es sorowfull in herte,
For sake of this soueraygne, that thus was supprissede;
Semblede his Sarazenes and senatours manye:
Vnsaughtyly they sette thane appon oure sere knyghttez.
Sir Cador of Cornewaile he cownterez them sone,
With his kydde companye clenlyche arrayede;
In the frount of the fyrthe, as the waye forthis,
Fyfty thosande of folke was fellide at ones.
Thare was at the assemble certayne knyghttez
Sore wondede sone appone sere halfes;
The sekereste Sarzanez that to that sorte lengede,
Behynde the sadylls ware sette sex fotte large.
They scherde in the schiltrone scheldyde knyghttez,
Schalkes they schotte thrughe schrenkande maylez,
Thurghe brenys browden brestez they thirllede,
Brasers burnyste bristez in sondyre,
Blasons blode and blankes they hewen,
With brandez of browne stele brankkand stedez.
The Bretons brothely brittenez so many,
The bente and the brode felde all on blode rynnys.
Be thane Sir Cayous the kene a capitayne has wonnen,
Sir Clegis clynges in and clekes another,
The capitayne of Cordewa, vndire the Kynge selfen,
That was keye of the kythe of all that coste ryche;
Vtolfe and Ewandre Ioneke had nommen,
With the Erle of Affryke and other grette lordes;
The Kyng of Surry the kene to Sir Cador es yelden,
the Synechall of Soter to Segramoure hym selfen.
When the cheualrye saw theire cheftanes were nommen,
To a cheefe foreste they chesen theire wayes,
And felede them so feynte, they fall in the greues,
In the ferynne of the fyrthe, fore ferde of oure pople.
Thare myght men see the ryche ryde in the schawes,
To rype vpe the Romaynez ruydlyche wondyde;
Schowttes aftyre men, harageous knyghttez,
Be hunndrethez they hewede doun be the holte eyuys.
Thus oure cheualrous men chasez the pople;
To a castell they eschewede, a fewe that eschappede.
Thane relyez the renkez of the Rounde Table,
For to ryotte the wode ther the duke restez;
Ransakes the ryndez all, raughte vp theire feres,
That in the fightyng before fay ware byleuyde.
Sir Cador garte chare theym and couere them faire,
Kariede them to the Kyng with his beste knyghttez;
And passez vnto Paresche with presoners hym selfen,
Betoke theym the proueste, pryncez and other;
Tase a sope in the toure and taryez no langere,
Bot tournes tytte to the Kynge and hym wyth tunge telles.
"Syr," sais Sir Cador, "a caas es befallen;
We hafe cowntered today, in yone coste ryche
With kyngez and kayseres, krouell and noble,
And knyghtes and kene men, clenlych arayede.
They hade at yone foreste forsette vs the wayes,
At the furthe in the fyrthe, with ferse men of armes;
Thare faughtte we, in faythe, and foynede with sperys,
One felde with thy foomen and fellyd them on lyfe.
The Kyng of Lebe es laide and in the felde leuyde,
And manye of his legemen that thare to hym langede.
Other lordez are laughte of vncouthe ledes;
We hafe lede them at lenge, to lyf whilles the lykez.
Sir Vtolfe and Sir Ewaynedyr, theis honourable knyghttez,
Be a nawntere of armes Ioneke has nommen,
With erlez of the Oryentte and austeren knyghttez,
Of awncestrye the beste men that to the oste langede;
The Senatour Carous es kaughte with a knyghtte,
The Capitayne of Cornette, that crewell es halden,
The Syneschall of Suter vnsaughte wyth thes other,
The Kyng of Surry hym selfen and Sarazenes Õynoweå.
Bot fay of ours in the felde a fourtene knyghttez,
I will noghte feyne ne forbere, bot faythfully tellen;
Sir Berell es one, a banerette noble,
Was killyde at the fyrste come with a kyng ryche;
Sir Alidoyke of Towell, with his tende knyghtez,
Emange the Turkys was tynte and in tym fonden;
Gude Sir Mawrell of Mauncez and Mawren his brother,
Sir Meneduke of Mentoche, with meruailous knyghttez."
Thane the worthy Kyng wrythes and wepede with his eughne,
Karpes to his cosyn Sir Cador theis wordez:
"Sir Cador, thi corage confundez vs all!
Kowardely thow castez owtte all my beste knyghttez.
To putte men in perille, it es no pryce holden,
Bot the partyes ware puruayede and powere arayede;
When they ware stade on a strenghe, thou sulde hafe withstonden,
Bot yif thowe wolde all my steryn stroye for the nonys!"
"Sir," sais Sir Cador, "ye knowe wele your selfen
ye are kyng in this kythe, karpe whatte yow lykys;
Sall neuer vpbrayde me, that to thi burde langes,
That I sulde blyn fore theire boste thi byddyng to wyrche;
When any stirttez to stale, stuffe tham the bettere,
Ore thei will be stonayede and stroyede in yone strayte londez.
I dide my delygens todaye, I doo me one lordez,
And in daungere of dede fore dyuerse knyghttez;
I hafe no grace to thi gree, bot syche grett wordez, 
yif I heuen my herte, my hape es no bettyre."
thofe Sir Arthure ware angerde, he ansuers faire;
"Thow has doughttily donn, Sir Duke, with thi handez,
And has donn thy deuer with my dere knyghttez;
Forthy thow arte demyde, with dukes and erlez,
For one of the doughtyeste that dubbede was euer.
Thare es non ischewe of vs on this erthe sprongen;
Thow arte apparant to be ayere, are one of thi childyre, 
Thow arte my sister sone, forsake sall I neuer."
Thane gerte he in his awen tente a table be sette,
And tryede in with tromppez trauaillede biernez;
Serfede them solempnely with selkouthe metez,
Swythe semly in syghte with sylueren dischees.
Whene the senatours harde saye that it so happenede,
They saide to the Emperour, "Thi seggez are suppryssede;
Sir Arthure, thyn enmy, has owterayede thi lordez,
That rode for the rescowe of yone riche knyghttez.
Thow dosse bot tynnez thi tym and turmenttez thi pople;
Thow arte betrayede of thi men that moste thow on traystede,
That schall turne the to tene and torfere for euer."
Than the Emperour irus was angerde at his herte,
For oure valyant biernez siche prowesche had wonnen.
With kyng and with kaysere to consayle they wende,
Souerayngez of Sarazenez and senatours manye;
Thus he semblez full sone certayne lordez,
And in the assemble thane he sais them theis wordez:
"My herte sothely es sette, assente yif yowe lykes, 
To seke into Sexon, with my sekyre knyghttez,
To fyghte with my foomen, if fortune me happen,
yif I may fynde the freke within the four haluez;
Or entir into Awguste, awnters to seke,
And byde with my balde men within the burghe ryche;
Riste vs and reuell and ryotte oure selfen,
Lende thare in delytte in lordechippez ynewe,
To Sir Leo be comen with all his lele knyghtez,
With lordez of Lumberdye, to lette hym the wayes."
Bot owre wyese Kyng es warre to waytten his renkes,
And wysely by the woddez voydez his oste;
Gerte felschen his fyrez, flawmande full heghe,
Trussen full traystely and treunt thereaftyre.
Sethen into Sessoyne he soughte at the gayneste,
And at the surs of the sonne disseuerez his knyghttez;
Forsette them the cite appon sere halfez,
Sodaynly on iche halfe, with seuen grett stales.
Anely in the vale a vawewarde enbusches:
Sir Valyant of Vyleris, with valyant knyghttez,
Before the Kyngez visage made siche avowez
To venquyse by victorie the Vescownte of Rome;
Forthi the Kyng chargez hym, what chaunce so befall,
Cheftayne of the cheekke, with cheualrous knyghttez.
And sythyn meles with mouthe, that he moste traistez;
Demenys the medylwarde menskfully hym selfen:
Fittes his fotemen alls hym faire thynkkes,
On frounte in the forebreste the flour of his knyghtez;
His archers on aythere halfe he ordaynede theraftyre
To schake in a sheltrone, to schotte when tham lykez. 
He arrayed in the rerewarde full riall knyghtez,
With renkkes renownnd of the Round Table,
Sir Raynalde, Sir Richere, that rade was neuer,
The riche Duke of Rown wytÕhå ryders ynewe.
Sir Cayous, Sir Clegis, and clene men of armes,
The Kyng casts to kepe be thaa clere strandes;
Sir Lott and Sir Launcelott, thise lordly knyghttez,
Sall lenge on his lefte hande, with legyones ynewe,
To meue in the morne-while, yif the myste happynne;
Sir Cador of Cornewaile and his kene knyghtez,
To kepe at the karfuke, to close in ther othere;
He plantez in siche placez pryncez and erlez,
That no powere sulde passe be no preue wayes.
Bot the Emperour onone, with honourable knyghtez
And erlez enteres the vale, awnters to seke,
And fyndez Sir Arthure with hostez arayede;
And at his income, to ekken his sorowe,
Oure burlyche bolde Kyng appon the bente howes,
With his bataile on brede and baners displayede.
He hade the cete forsett appon sere halfes,
Bothe the clewez and the clyfez with clene men of armez,
The mosse and the marrasse, the mounttez so hye,
With gret multytude of men, to marre hym in the wayes.
When Sir Lucius sees, he sais to his lordez,
"This traytour has treunt this treson to wyrche;
He has the cete forsett appon sere halfez,
All the clewez and the cleyffez with clene men of armez;
Here es no waye, iwys, ne no wytt ells,
Bot feghte with oure foomen, for flee may we neuer."
Thane this ryche mane rathe arayes his byernez,
Rewlede his Romaynez and reall knyghtez;
Buschez in the avawmewarde the Vescounte of Rome,
Fro Viterbe to Venyse theis valyante knyghtez;
Dresses vp dredfully the dragone of golde,
With egles alouer, enamelede of sable;
Drawen dreghely the wyne and drynkyn thareaftyre,
Dukkez and dusseperez, dubbede knyghtez;
For dauncesyng of Duchemen and dynnyng of pypez,
All dynned fore dyn that in the dale houede.
And thane Sir Lucius on lowde said lordlyche wordez:
"Thynke on the myche renownn of your ryche fadyrs,
And the riatours of Rome, that regnede with lordez,
And the renkez ouerrane all that regnede in erthe,
Encrochede all Cristyndome be craftes of armes, 
In eueriche a viage the victorie was halden;
Insette all the Sarazenes within seuen wyntter,
The parte fro the Porte Iaffe to Paradyse yatez.
Thoghe a rewme be rebelle, we rekke it bot lyttill;
It es resone and righte the renke be restreynede.
Do dresse we tharefore and byde we no langere,
Fore dredlesse withowttyn dowtte, the daye schall be ourez!"
Whene theise wordez was saide, the Walsche kyng hym selfen
Whas warre of this wyderwyn that werrayede his knyghttez;
Brothely in the vale with voyce he ascryez,
"Viscownte of Valewnce, enuyous of dedys,
The vassallage of Viterbe todaye schall be reuengede;
Vnuenquiste fro this place voyde schall I neuer!"
Thane the Vyscownte valiante, with a voute noble,
Auoyeddyde the avawewarde, enuerounde his horse;
He drissede in a derfe schelde, endenttyd with sable,
With a dragone engowschede, dredfull to schewe,
Deuorande a dolphyn with dolefull lates,
In seyne that oure soueraygne sulde be distroyede,
And all don of dawez with dynntez of swerddez, 
For thare es noghte bot dede thare the dragone es raissede.
Thane the comlyche kyng castez in fewtyre,
With a crewell launce cowpez dull euen,
Abowne the spayre a spanne, emange the schortte rybbys,
That the splent and the spleen on the spere langez;
The blode sprente owtte and sprede as the horse spryngez,
And he sproulez full spakely, bot spekes he no more.
And thus has Sir Valyantt halden his avowez,
And venqwyste the Viscownte, thate victor was halden.
Thane Sir Ewayne fitz Vriene full enkerlye rydez
Onone to the Emperour, his egle to towche;
Thrughe his brode bataile he buskes belyfe,
Braydez owt his brande with a blyth chere,
Reuerssede it redelye and awaye rydys;
Ferkez in with the fewle in his faire handez,
And fittez in freely one frounte with his feris.
Now buskez Sir Launcelot and braydez full euen
To Sir Lucius the lorde and lothelye hym hyttez;
Thurghe pawnce and platez he percede the maylez,
That the prowde pensell in his pawnche lengez;
The hede hayled owtt behynde ane halfe fote large,
Thurghe hawberke and hanche, with the harde wapyn,
The stede and the steryn mane strykes to the grownde,
Strake down a standerde and to his stale wendez.
"Me lykez wele," sais Sir Loth, "yone lordez are delyuerede!
The lott lengez nowe on me, with leue of my lorde;
Today sall my name be laide and my life aftyre,
Bot some leppe fro the lyfe that on yone lawnde houez!"
Thane strekez the steryn and streynys his brydyll,
Strykez into the stowre on a stede ryche,
Enjoynede with a geaunt and jaggede hym thorowe;
Jolyly this gentill forjustede another,
Wroghte wayes full wyde, werrayande knyghtez,
And wondes all wathely that in the waye stondez;
Fyghttez with all the frappe a furlange of waye,
Felled fele appon felde with his faire wapen,
Venqwiste and has the victorie of valyaunt knyghtez,
And all enverounde the vale and voyde when hym likede.
Thane bowmen of Bretayne brothely thereaftyre
Bekerde with bregaundez of ferre in tha laundez;
With flonez fleterede thay flitt full frescly ther frekez,
That flowe o ferrome in flawnkkes of stedez.
Fichene with fetheris thurghe the fyne maylez, 
Siche flyttyng es foule that so the flesche derys.
Dartes the Duchemen dalten ayaynes,
With derfe dynttez of dede dagges thurghe scheldez;
Qwarells qwayntly swappez thorowe knyghtez,
With iryn so wekyrly, that wynche they neuer:
So they scherenken fore schotte of the scharppe arowes,
That all the scheltron schonte and schoderide at ones,
Thane riche stedes rependez and rasches on armes, 
The hale howndrethe on hye appon heythe lygges;
Bott yitte the hathelieste on hy, haythen and other,
All hoursches ouer hede harmes to wyrke.
And all theis geauntez before, engenderide with fendez,
Ioynez on Sir Ionathal and gentill knyghtez;
With clubbez of clene stele clenkkede in helmes,
Craschede doun crestez and craschede braynez,
Kyllede couÕråsers and couerde stedes,
Choppode thurghe cheualers on chalke-whytte stedez;
Was neuer stele ne stede mighte stande them ayaynez,
Bot stonays and strykez doun that in the stale houys,
Till the Conquerour come with his kene knyghttez,
With crewell contenaunce he cryede full lowde,
"I wende no Bretons walde bee basschede for so lyttill,
And fore barelegyde boyes that on the bente houys!"
He clekys owtte Collbrande, full clenlyche burneschte,
Graythes hym to Golapas, that greuyde moste,
Kuttes hym euen by the knees clenly in sondyre.
"Come down," quod the Kyng, "and karpe to thy ferys;
Thowe arte to hye by the halfe, I hete the in trouthe:
Thow sall be handsomere in hye, with the helpe of my Lorde!"
With that stelen brande he strake ofe his hede.
Sterynly in that stoure he strykes another;
Thus he settez on seuen with his sekyre knyghttez, 
Whylles sexty ware seruede soo ne sessede they neuer.
And thus at the joynynge the geauntez are distroyede,
And at that journey forjustede with gentill lordez.
Than the Romaynes and the rennkkez of the Rounde Table
Rewles them in arraye, rerewarde ande other;
With wyghte wapynez of werre thay wroghten on helmes,
Rittez with raunke stele full ryalle maylez.
Bot they fitt them fayre, thes frekk byernez,
Fewters in freely one feraunte stedes,
Foynes ful felly with flyschande speris,
Freten of orfrayes feste appon scheldez;
So fele fay es in fyghte appon the felde leuyde,
That iche a furthe in the firthe of rede blode rynnys.
By that swyftely one swarthe the swett es byleuede,
Swerdez swangen in two sweltand knyghtez,
Lyes wyde opyn, welterande on walopande stedez;
Wondes of wale men, werkande sydys,
Facez fetteled vnfaire in filterede lakes,
All craysed, fortrodyn with trappede stedez,
The faireste on folde that fygurede was euer,
Alls ferre alls a furlang, a thosande at ones.
Be than the Romaynez ware rebuykyde a lyttill,
Withdrawes theym drerely and dreches no lengare;
Oure prynce with his powere persewes theyme aftyre,
Prekez on the proudeste with his price knyghttez.
Sir Kayous, Sir Clegis, Sir Cleremond the noble
Enconters them at the clyffe with clene men of armes;
Fyghttes faste in the fyrth, frythes no wapen,
Felled at the firste come fyfe hundrethe at ones.
And when they fande theym foresett with oure fers knyghtez,
Fewe men agayne fele mot fyche them bettyre,
Feghttez with all the frappe, foynes with speres,
And faughte with the frekkeste that to Fraunce langez.
Bot Sir Kayous the kene castis in fewtyre,
Chasez one a coursere and to a kyng rydys;
With a launce of Lettowe he thirllez his sydez,
That the lyuer and the lunggez on the launce lengez;
The schafte scÕhåodyrde and schott in the schire byerne,
And soughte thorowowte the schelde and in the schalke rystez.
Bot Kayous at the income was kepyd vnfayre
With a cowarde knyghte of the kythe ryche;
At the turnyng that tym the traytoure hym hitte,
In thorowe the felettes, and in the flawnke aftyre,
That the boustous launce the bewells attamede,
that braste at the brawlyng and brake in the myddys.
Sir Kayous knewe wele, be that kyde wounde,
That he was dede of the dynte and don owte of lyfe;
Than he raykes in arraye and one rawe rydez,
One this reall his dede to reuenge;
"Kepe the, cowarde," he calles hym sone,
Cleues hym wyth his clere brande clenliche in sondire.
"Hadde thow wele delte thy dynt with thi handes,
I hade forgeffen the my dede, be Crist now of Hewyn."
He weyndes to the wyese kyng and wynly hym gretes:
"I am wathely woundide, waresche mon I neuer;
Wirke nowe thi wirchipe, as the worlde askes,
And brynge me to beryell, byd I no more.
Grete wele my ladye, the Qwene, yife the werlde happyne,
And all the burliche birdes that to hir boure lengez,
And my worthily weife, that wrethide me neuer,
Bid hire, fore hir wyrchipe, wirke for my saulle."
The Kyngez confessour come, with Criste in his handes,
For to comforthe the knyghte, kende hym the wordes;
The knyghte coueride on his knees with a kaunt herte,
And caughte his Creatoure, that comfurthes vs all.
Thane remmes the riche kynge fore rewthe at his herte,
Rydes into rowte, his dede to reuenge;
Presede into the plumpe, and with a prynce metes,
That was ayere of Egipt in thos este marches,
Cleues hym with Collbrande clenlyche in sondyre;
He broches euen thorowe the byerne and the sadill bristes,
And at the bake of the blonke the bewells entamede.
Manly in his malycoly he metes another,
The medill of that myghtty, that hym myche greuede;
He merkes thurghe the maylez the myddes in sondyre,
That the myddys of the mane on the mounte fallez,
the tother halfe of the haunche on the horse leuyde, 
Of that hurte, alls I hope, heles he neuer.
He schotte thorowe the schiltrouns with his scharpe wapen,
Schalkez he schrede thurghe and schrenkede maylez,
Baneres he bare downne, bryttenede scheldes,
Brothely with brown stele his brethe he thare wrekes;
Wrothely he wryththis by wyghtnesse of strenghe,
Woundes these whydyrewyns, werrayede knyghttes,
Threppede thorowe the thykkys thryttene sythis,
Thryngez throly in the thrange and chis euen aftyre.
Thane Sir Gawayne the gude, with wyrchipfull knyghttez,
Wendez in the avawewarde be tha wodde hemmys;
Was warre of Sir Lucius, one launde there he houys,
With lordez and liggemen that to hym selfe lengede.
Thane the Emperour enkerly askes hym sonne,
"What will thow, Gawayne, wyrke with thi wapyn?
I watte be thi waueryng thow willnez aftyre sorowe;
I sall be wrokyn on thi wrethe, fore all thi grete wordez!"
He laughte owtte a lange swerde and luyschede one faste,
And Sir Lyonell in the launde lordely he hym strykes:
Hittes hym on the hede, that the helme bristis,
Hurttes his herne-pane an hannde-brede large.
Thus he layes one the lumppe and lordlye them serued,
Wondide worthily wirchipfull knyghttez;
Fighttez with Florent, that beste es of swerdez,
Till the fomande blode till his fyste rynnes.
Thane the Romayns releuyde, that are ware rebuykkyde,
And all torattys oure men with theire riste horsses;
Fore they see thaire cheftayne be chauffede so sore,
They chasse and choppe doun oure cheualrous knyghttes.
Sir Bedwere was borne thurghe, and his breste thyrllede,
With a burlyche brannde, brode at the hiltes;
The ryall raunke stele to his herte rynnys,
And he rusches to the erthe, rewthe es the more.
Thane the Conquerour tuke kepe and come with his strenghes
To reschewe the ryche men of the Rounde Table,
To owttraye the Emperour, yif auntire it schewe,
Ewyn to the egle, and "Arthure!" askryes.
The Emperour thane egerly at Arthure he strykez,
Awkwarde on the vmbrere and egerly hym hittez;
The nakyde swerde at the nese noyes hym sare,
The blode of Õtheå bolde kyng ouer the breste rynnys,
Beblede at the brode schelde and the bryghte mayles.
Oure bolde kyng bowes the blonke be the bryghte brydyll,
With his burlyche brande a buffette hym reches,
Thourghe the brene and the breste with his bryghte wapyn:
O slante doun fro the slote he slyttes at ones.
Thus endys the Emperour of Arthur hondes,
And all his austeryn oste thareofe ware affrayede.
Now they ferke to the fyrthe, a fewe that are leuede,
For ferdnesse of oure folke, by the fresche strandez;
The floure of oure ferse men one ferant stedez
Folowes frekly on the frekes, thate frayede was neuer.
Thane the kyde conquerour cryes full lowde,
"Cosyn of Cornewaile, take kepe to thi selfen
That no captayne be kepyde for non siluer,
Or Sir Kayous dede be cruelly vengede."
"Nay," sais Sir Cador, "so me Cryste helpe,
Thare ne es kaysere ne kyng that vndire Criste ryngnes
that I ne schall kill colde dede be crafte of my handez!"
Thare myghte men see chiftaynes on chalke-whitte stedez
Choppe doun in the chaas cheualrye noble;
Romaynes the rycheste and ryall kynges
Braste with ranke stele theire rybbys in sondyre;
Braynes forebrusten thurghe burneste helmes,
With brandez forbrittenede one brede in the laundez;
They hewede doun haythen men with hiltede swerdez
Be hole hundrethez on hye, by the holte eyuyes.
Thare myghte no siluer thaym saue ne socoure theire lyues,
Sowdane ne Sarazene ne senatour of Rome.
Thane releuis the renkes of the Rounde Table
Be the riche reuare that rynnys so faire;
Lugez thaym luflye by tha lyghte strandez,
All on lawe in the lawnde, thas lordlyche byernes.
Thay kaire to the karyage and tuke whate them likes,
Kamells and cokadrisses and cofirs full riche,
Hekes and hakkenays and horses of armes,
Howsyng and herbergage of heythen kyngez;
They drewe owt of dromondaries dyuerse lordes,
Moyllez mylke whitte and meruayllous bestez,
Olfendes and arrabys and olyfauntez noble,
ther are of the Oryent, with honourable kynges.
Bot Sir Arthure onone ayeres theraftyre
Ewyn to the Emperour, with honourable kyngis;
Laughte hym vpe full louelyly with lordlyche knyghttez,
And ledde hym to the layere thare the Kyng lygges.
Thane harawdez heghely, at heste of the lordes,
Hunttes vpe the haythemen that on heghte lygges:
The Sowdane of Surry and certayne kynges,
Sexty of the cheefe senatours of Rome.
Thane they bussches and bawmede thaire honourliche kyngis,
Sewed them in sendell sexti-faulde aftire,
Lappede them in lede, lesse that they schulde
Chawnge or chawffe, yif thay myghte escheffe;
Closed in kystys clene vnto Rome,
With theire baners abowne, theire bagis therevndyre,
In whate countre thay kaire that knyghttes myghte knawe
Iche kynge be his colours, in kyth whare Õheå lengede.
Onone on the secounde daye, sone by the morne,
Twa senatours ther come, and certayne knyghttez,
Hodles fro the hethe, ouer the holte eyues,
Barefote ouer the bente, with brondes so ryche;
Bowes to the bolde kyng and biddis hym the hiltes,
Whethire he will hang theym or hedde or halde theym on lyfe.
Knelyde before the Conquerour in kyrtills allone;
With carefull contenaunce thay karpide these wordes:
"Twa senatours we are, thi subgettez of Rome,
That has sauede oure lyfe by theise salte strandys,
Hyd vs in the heghe wode, thurghe the helpyng of Criste,
Besekes the of socoure, as Soueraygne and Lorde;
Grante vs lyffe and lym with leberall herte,
For His luffe that the lente this lordchipe in erthe."
"I graunte," quod Õtheå gude kyng, "thurghe grace of my selfen:
I giffe yowe lyffe and lyme and leue for to passe,
So ye doo my message menskefully at Rome,
That ilke charge that I yow yiffe here before my cheefe knyghttez."
"yis," sais the senatours, "that sall we ensure,
Sekerly be oure trowhes thi sayenges to fullfill;
We sall lett for no lede that lyffes in erthe,
Fore pape, ne for potestate, ne prynce so noble,
That ne sall lelely in lande thi letteres pronounce,
For duke ne for dussepere, to dye in the payne."
Thane the banerettez of Bretayne broghte them to tentes,
There barbours ware bownn, with basyns on lofte,
With warme watire, iwys, they wette them full son;
They schouen thes schalkes schappely theraftyre,
To rekken theis Romaynes recreaunt and yolden;
Forthly schoue they them to schewe, for skomfite of Rome.
They coupylde the kystys on kameles belyue,
On asses and arrabyes theis honourable kynges, 
The Emperoure for honoure all by hym one,
Euen appon an olyfaunte, hys egle owtt ouere, 
Bekende them the captyfis, the Kynge dide hym selfen,
And all byfore his kene men karpede thees wordes:
"Here are the kystis," quod the Kyng, "kaire ouer the mownttez:
Mette full monee, that ye haue mekyll yernede,
The taxe and the trebutte of tene schore wynteres,
That was tenefully tynte in tym of oure elders;
Saye to the Senatoure the cete that yemes,
That I sende hym the somme, assaye how hym likes.
Bott byde them neuere be so bolde, whylls my blode regnes,
Efte for to brawlle them for my brode landez,
Ne to aske trybut ne taxe be nakyn tytle,
Bot syche tresoure as this, whilles my tym lastez."
Nowe they raike to Rome the redyeste wayes,
Knylles in the Capatoylle and comowns assembles,
Souerayngez and senatours the cete that yemes,
Bekende them the caryage, kystis and other,
Alls the Conquerour comaunde with cruell wordes.
"We hafe trystily trayuellede this tributte to feche,
The taxe and the trewage of fowre score wynteris,
Of IÕnåglande, of Irelande, and all thir owtt illes,
That Arthure in the Occedente ocupyes att ones.
He byddis yow neuere be so bolde, whills his blode regnes,
To brawle yowe fore Bretayne ne his brode landes,
Ne aske hym trebute ne taxe be nonkyns title,
Bot syche tresoure as this, whills his tyme lastis.
We haffe foughtten in France, and vs es foule happenede,
And all oure myche faire folke faye are byleuede;
Eschappide there ne cheuallrye, ne cheftaynes nother,
Bott choppede downn in the chasse, syche chawnse es befallen.
We rede ye store yowe of stone and stuffen your walles:
yow wakkens wandrethe and werre, be ware yif yow lykes."
In the kalendez of Maye this caas es befallen:
The roy ryalle renownde, with his Rownde Table,
One the coste of Costantyne, by the clere strandez,
Has the Romaynes ryche rebuykede for euer.
Whene he hade foughtten in Fraunce and the felde wonnen,
And fersely his foomen fellde owtte of lyfe,
He bydes for the beryenge of his bolde knyghtez
That in batell with brandez ware broughte owte of lyfe.
He beryes at Bayone Sir Bedwere the ryche;
The cors of Kayon the kene at Came es beleuefede,
Koueride with a crystall clenly all ouer, 
His fadyre conqueride that kyth knyghtly with hondes.
Seyn in Burgoyne he bade to bery mo knyghttez,
Sir Berade and Bawdwyne, Sir Bedwar the ryche,
Gud Sir Cador at Came, as his kynde askes.
Thane Sir Arthure onone, in the Auguste theraftyre,
Enteres to Almayne wyth ostez arrayed;
Lengez at Lusscheburghe, to lechen hys knyghttez,
With his lele liggemen, as lorde in his awen.
And on Christofre Daye a concell he haldez,
Withe kynges and kaysers, clerkkes and other;
Comandez them kenely to caste all theire wittys,
How he may conquere by crafte the kythe that he claymes.
Bot the Conquerour kene, curtais and noble,
Karpes in the concell theys knyghtly wordez:
"Here es a knyghte in theis kleuys, enclosside with hilles,
That I haue cowayte to knawe, because of his wordez:
That es Lorayne the lele, I kepe noghte to layne;
The lordchipe es louely, as ledes me telles.
I will ducherye devyse and dele as me lykes,
And seyn dresse wyth the Duke, if destyny suffre;
The renke rebell has bene vnto my Rownde Table,
Redy aye with Romaynes to ryotte my landes;
We sall rekken full rathe, if reson so happen,
Who has ryghte to that rente, by ryche Gode of Heuen!
Than will I by Lumbardye, lykande to schawe,
Sett lawe in the lande, that laste sall euer;
The tyrauntez of Tuskayn tempeste a littyll,
Talke with the temperall, whills my tym lastez.
I gyffe my protteccione to all the Pope landez,
My ryche pensell of pes my pople to schewe;
It es a foly to offende oure fadyr vndire Gode,
Owther Peter or Paule, tha postles of Rome.
yif we spare the spirituell, we spede bot the bettire;
Whills we haue for to speke, spille sall it neuer."
Now they spede at the spurres, withowttyn speche more,
To the marche of Meyes, theis manliche knyghtez,
That es Õinå Lorrayne alofede, as London es here,
Cete of that seynyowre, that soueraynge es holden.
The Kyng ferkes furthe on a faire stede,
With Ferrer and Ferawnte and other foure knyghtez;
Abowte the cete tha seuen they soughte at the nextte,
To seke them a sekyre place to sett withe engeynes.
Thane they bendyde in burghe bowes of vyse,
Bekyrs at the bolde kyng with boustouse lates;
Allblawsters at Arthure egerly schottes,
For to hurte hym or his horse with that hard wapen.
The Kynge schonte for no schotte, ne no schelde askys,
Bot schewes hym scharpely in his schene wedys;
Lenges all at laysere and lokes on the wallys,
Whare they ware laweste the ledes to assaille.
"Sir," said Sir Ferrer, "a foly thowe wirkkes,
Thus nakede in thy noblaye to neghe to the walles,
Sengely in thy surcotte, this cete to reche,
And schewe the within, there to schende vs all.
Hye vs hastylye heynne, or we mon full happen,
For hitt they the or thy horse, it harmes for euer."
"Ife thow be ferde," quod the Kyng, "I rede thow ryde vttere,
Lesse that they rywe the with theire rownnd wapyn!
Thow arte bot a fawntkyn, no ferly me thynkkys,
thou will be flayede for a flye that on thy flesche lyghttes.
I am nothyng agaste, so me Gode helpe:
thof siche gadlynges be greuede, it greues me bot lyttill;
Thay wyn no wirchipe of me, bot wastys theire takle, 
They sall wante or I weende, I wagen myn hevede.
Sall neuer harlott haue happe, thorowe helpe of my Lorde,
To kyll a corownde kyng with krysom enoynttede!"
Thane come the herbariours, harageous knyghtez,
The hale batells on hye harrawnte theraftyre;
And oure forreours ferse, appon fele halfes,
Come flyeande before one ferawnte stedes,
Ferkande in arraye theire ryall knyghttez,
The renkez renownde of the Rounnd Table.
All the frekke men of Fraunce folowede thareaftyre,
Faire fittyde on frownte, and on the felde houys.
Thane the schalkes scharpelye scheftys theire horsez,
To schewen them semly in theire scheen wedes;
Buskes in batayle with baners displayede,
With brode scheldes enbrassede and burlyche helmys,
With penouns and pensells of ylke prynce armes,
Appayrellde with perrye and precious stones;
The lawnces with loraynes and lemande scheldes,
Lyghtenande as the leuenyng and lemand al ouer.
Thane the price men prekes and proues theire horsez,
Satills to the cete appon sere halfes;
Enserches the subbarbes sadly thareaftyre,
Discoueris of schotte-men and skyrmys a lytill;
Skayres thaire skottefers and theire skowtte-waches,
Brittenes theire barrers with theire bryghte wapyns,
Bett down a barbycan and the brygge wynnys;
Ne hade the garnyson bene gude at the grete yates,
Thay hade wonn that wone be theire awen strenghe.
Than withdrawes oure men and drisses them bettyre,
For dred of the drawe-brigge dasschede in sondre;
Hyes to the harbergage thare the Kyng houys,
With his batell on heghe, horsyde on stedys.
Thane was the Prynce puruayede and theire places nommen,
Pyghte pauyllyons of palle and plattes in seegge;
Thane lenge they lordly, as them leefe thoghte,
Waches in ylke warde, as to the werre falles,
Settes vp sodaynly certayne engynes.
One Sonondaye be the soone has a flethe yolden,
The Kyng calles on Florente, that flour was of knyghttez:
"The Fraunchemene enfeblesches, ne farly me thynkkys;
They are vnfondyde folke in the faire marches,
For them wantes the flesche and fude that them lykes.
Here are forestez faire appon fele halues,
And thedyre feemen are flede with freliche bestes.
Thow sall foonde to the fell and forraye the mountes;
Sir Forawnt and Sir Florydas sall folowe thi brydyll.
Vs moste with some fresche mette refresche oure pople,
That are feedde in the fyrthe with the froyte of the erthe.
Thare sall weende to this viage Sir Gawayne hym selfen,
Wardayne full wyrchipfull, and so hym wele semes;
Sir Wecharde, Sir Waltyre, theis wyrchipfull knyghtes,
With all wyseste men of the weste marches;
Sir Clegis, Sir Clarybalde, Sir Clarymownde the noble,
The Capytayne oo Cardyfe clenlyche arrayede.
Goo now, warne all the wache, Gawayne and other,
And weendes furthe on your waye withowttyn moo wordes."
Now ferkes to the fyrthe thees fresche men of armes,
To the fell so fewe, theis fresclyche byernes,
Thorowe hopes and hymland, hillys and other,
Holtis and hare woddes with heslyn schawes,
Thorowe marasse and mosse and montes so heghe;
And in the myste Õofå mornyng one a mede falles,
Mawen and vnmade, maynoyrede bott lyttyll,
In swathes sweppen down, full of swete floures.
Thare vnbrydills theis bolde and baytes theire horses,
To the grygynge of the daye, that byrdez gan synge,
Whylls the surs of the sonne, that sonde es of Cryste,
That solaces all synfull that syghte has in erthe.
Thane weendes owtt the wardayne, Sir Gawayne hym selfen,
Alls he that weysse was and wyghte, wondyrs to seke;
Than was he warre of a wye, wondyre wele armyde,
Baytand on a wattire banke by the wodde eyuis,
Buskede in brenyes bryghte to behalde,
Enbrassede a brode schelde on a blonke ryche,
Withowttyn ony berne, bot a boye one,
Houes by hym on a blonke and his spere holdes.
He bare gessande in golde thre grayhondes of sable,
With chapes and cheynes of chalke-whytte slyuer,
A charebocle in the cheefe, chawngawnde of hewes,
And a cheefe anterous, chalange who lykes.
Sir Gawayne glyftes on the gome with a glade will;
A grete spere fro his grome he grypes in hondes,
Gyrdes ewen ouere the streme on a stede ryche,
To that steryn in stour, one strenghe thare he houys.
Egerly one Inglisce "Arthure!" he askyres;
The tother irouslye ansuers hym sone,
On a launde of Lorrayne with a lowde steuen,
That ledes myghte lysten the lenghe of a myle:
"Whedyr prykkes thow, pilouur, that profers so large?
Here pykes thowe no praye, profire when the lykes!
Bot thow in this perell put of the bettire,
Thow sall be my presonere, for all thy prowde lates!"
"Sir," sais Sir Gawayne, "so me Gode helpe,
Siche glauerande gomes greues me bot lyttill!
Bot if thowe graythe thy gere, the will grefe happen,
Or thowe goo of this greue, for all thy grete wordes!"
Than theire launces they lachen, thes lordlyche byernez,
Laggen with longe speres one lyarde stedes;
Cowpen at awntere be kraftes of armes,
Till bothe the crowell speres brousten att ones.
Thorowe scheldys they schotte and scherde thorowe maÕyåles,
Bothe schere thorowe schoulders a schaftmonde large.
Thus worthylye thes wyes wondede ere bothen, 
Or they wreke them of wrethe awaye will they neuer.
Than they raughte in the reyne and agayne rydes,
Redely theis rathe mene rusches owtte swerdez,
Hittes one hellmes full hertelyche dynttys,
Hewes appon hawberkes with full harde wapyns;
Full stowttly they stryke, thire steryn knyghttes,
Stokes at the stomake with stelyn poyntes,
Feghtten and floresche withe flawmande swerdez,
Till the flawes of fyre flawmes one theire helmes.
Thane Sir Gawayne was greuede and grychgide full sore;
With Galuthe his gude swerde grymlye he strykes:
Clefe the knyghttes schelde clenliche in sondre, 
Who lukes to the lefte syde when his horse launches
With the lyghte of the sonne men myghte see his lyuere.
Thane granes the gome fore greefe of his wondys,
And gyrdis at Sir Gawayne, as he by glentis;
And awkewarde egerly sore he hym smyttes:
An alet enamelde he oches in sondire,
Bristes the rerebrace with the bronde ryche,
Kerues of at the coutere with the clene egge,
AneÕnåtis the avawmbrace, vayllede with siluer.
Thorowe a dowble vesture of veluett ryche
With the venymous swerde a vayne has he towchede,
That voydes so violently that all his witte changede;
The vesere, the aventaile, his vesturis ryche,
With the valyant blode was verrede all ouer.
Thane this tyrante tite turnes the brydill,
Talkes vntendirly and sais "thow arte towchede;
Vs bus haue a blode-bande or thi ble change,
For all the barbours of Bretayne sall noghte thy blode stawnche;
For he that es blemeste with this brade brande blyne schall he neuer."
"ya," quod Sir Gawayne, "thow greues me bot lyttill;
Thowe wenys to glopyne me with thy gret wordez;
Thow trowes with thy talkyng that my harte talmes.
Thow betydes tourfere or thowe hyen turne,
Bot thowe tell me tytte, and tarye no lengere,
What may staunche this blode that thus faste rynnes."
"yise, I say the sothely, and sekire the my trowthe:
No surgyon in Salarne sall saue the bettyre;
Withthy that thowe suffre me, for sake of thy Cryste,
To schewe schortly my schrifte and schape for myn ende."
"yis," quod Sir Gawayne, "so me God helpe,
I gyfe the grace and graunt, thofe thou hafe grefe seruede,
Withthy thowe say me sothe what thowe here sekes,
Thus sengilly and sulayne all thi selfe one;
And whate laye thow leues one, layne noghte the sothe,
And whate legyaunce and whare thow arte lorde."
"My name es Sir Priamus; a prynce es my fadyre,
Praysede in his partyes with prouede kynges;
In Rome thare he regnes he es riche halden.
He has bene rebell to Rome and reden theire landes,
Werreyand weisely wyntters and yeres;
Be witt and be wyssdome and be wyghte strenghe,
And be wyrchipfull werre, his awen has he wonn.
He es of Alexandire blode, ouerlyng of kynges,
The vncle of his ayele, Sir Ector of Troye;
And here es the kynreden that I of come,
And Iudas and Iosue, thise gentill knyghtes.
I ame apparaunt his ayere, and eldeste of other,
Of Alexandere and Aufrike and all tha owte landes;
I am in possessione and plenerly sessede
In all the price cetees that to the porte langes;
I sall hafe trewly the tresour and the londes,
And bothe trebute and taxe whills my tym lastes.
I was so hawtayne of herte, whills I at home lengede,
I helde nane my hippe heghte vndire heuen ryche;
Forthy was I sente hedire with seuen score knyghttez,
To asaye of this werre, be sente of my fadire,
And I am for cirqwitrye schamely supprisede,
And be awÕnåtire of armes owtrayede fore euere.
Now hafe I taulde the the kyne that I ofe come,
Will thow, for knyghthede, kene me thy name?"
"Be Criste," quod Sir Gawayne, "knyghte was I neuer;
With the kydde Conquerour a knafe of his chambyre,
Has wroghte in his wardrope wynters and yeres,
One his long armour that hym beste lykid;
I poyne all his pavelyouns that to hym selfe pendes,
Dyghttes his dowblettez for dukes and erles,
Aketouns auenaunt fore Arthure hym selfen,
That he vsede in werre all this aughte wyntter.
He made me yomane at yole, and gafe me gret gyftes,
And c. pound and a horse and harnayse full ryche;
Gife I happe to my hele that hende for to serue,
I be holpen in haste, I hette the forsothe."
"Giffe his knafes be syche, his knyghttez are noble!
There es no kyng vndire Criste may kemp with hym on;
He will be Alexander ayre, that all the erthe lowttede,
Abillere than euer was Sir Ector of Troye.
Now fore the krisome that thou kaghte that day thou was crystenede,
Whethire thowe be knyghte or knaffe, knawe now the sothe."
"My name es Sir Gawayne, I graunt the forsothe,
Cosyn to the Conquerour, he knawes it hym selfen;
Kydd in his kalander a knyghte of his chambyre,
And rollede the richeste of all the Rounde Table.
I ame the dussepere and duke he dubbede with his hondes,
Deynttely on a daye before his dere knyghtes;
Gruche noghte, gude sir, thofe me this grace happen:
It es the gifte of Gode, the gree es Hys awen."
"Petire!" sais Priamus, "Now payes me bettire
Thane I of Provynce warre prynce and of Paresche ryche;
Fore me ware leuer preuely by prykkyd to the harte,
Than euer any prikkere had siche a pryse wonnyn.
Bot here es herberde at hand, in yone huge holtes,
Halle bataile one heyghe, take hede yif the lyke, 
The Duke of Lorrayne the derfe, with his dere knyghtes,
The doughtyest of Dolfinede and Duchemen many,
The lordes of Lumbardye, that leders are halden,
The garnyson of Godard gaylyche arrayede,
The wyese of the Westuale, wirchipfull biernez,
Of Sessoyn and Surylande Sarazenes enewe;
They are nowmerde full neghe and namede in rollez,
Sexty thowsande and ten, forsothe, of sekyre men of armez;
Bot yif thow hye fro this hethe, it harmes vs bothe,
And bot my hurtes be son holpen, hole be I neuer.
Take heede to this hanseman that he no horne blawe,
Are thowe heyly in haste beese hewen al to peces;
For they are my retenuz, to ryde whare I wyll,
Es non redyare renkes regnande in erthe;
Be thow raghte with that rowtt, thow rydes no forther,
Ne thow bees neuer rawnsonede for reches in erthe."
Sir Gawayn wente or the wathe com whare hym beste lykede,
With this wortheliche wye, that wondyd was sore;
Merkes to the mountayne there oure men lenges,
Baytaynde theire blonkes ther on the brode mede:
Lordes lenande lowe on lemand scheldes,
With lowde laghttirs on lofte for lykyng of byrdez,
Of larkes, of lynkwhyttez, that lufflyche songen;
And some was sleghte one slepe with sleyghte of the pople,
that sange in the seson in the schenne schawes,
So lawe in the lawndez so lykand notes.
Thane Sir Whycher whas warre thaire wardayne was wondyde,
And went to hym wepand and wryngande his handes;
Syr Wycherd, Sir Walthere, theis weise men of armes,
Had wondyre of Sir Gawayne, and wente hym agayns,
Mett hym in the mydwaye and meruaile them tÕhåoghte
How he maisterede that man, so myghtty of strenghes.
Be all the welthe of the werlde, so woo was them neuer:
"For all oure wirchipe, iwysse, awaye es in erthe!"
"Greue yow noghte," quod Gawayne, "for Godis luffe of Heuen;
For this es bot gosomer and gyffen on erles;
thoffe my schouldire be schrede and my schelde thyrllede,
And the wielde of myn arme werkkes a littill,
This prissonere, Sir Priamus, that has perilous wondes,
Sais that he has saluez sall soften vs bothen."
Thane stirttes to his sterape sterynfull knyghttez,
And he lordely lyghttes and laghte of his brydill,
And lete his burlyche blonke baite on the flores;
Braydes of his bacenette and his ryche wedis,
Bownnes to his brode schelde and bowes to the erthe, 
In all the bodye of that bolde es no blode leued.
Than preses to Sir Priamous precious knyghtes,
Auyssely of his horse hentes hym in armes;
His helme and of his hawberke thay taken of aftyre,
And hastily for his hurtte all his herte chawngyd,
They laide hym down in the lawndez and laghte of his wedes,
And he lenede hym on lange, or how hym beste lykede
A fyole of fyne golde they fande at his gyrdill,
that es full of the flour of the fouur well,
that flowes owte of Paradice when the flode ryses,
That myche froyt of fallez, that feede schall vs all;
Be it frette on his flesche, thare synues are entamede,
The freke schalle be fische-halle within fowre howres.
They vncouere that cors with full clene hondes;
With clere watire a knyghte clensis theire wondes,
Keled theym kyndly and comforthed ther hertes.
And whene the carffes ware clene, thay clede them ayayne;
Barell-ferrers they brochede and broghte them the wyne,
Bothe brede and brawn and bredis full ryche.
When thay hade eten anon they armede after;
Thane tha awntrende men "As armes!" askryes.
With a claryoune clere thire knyghtez togedyre,
Callys to concell and of this case tellys:
"yondyr es a companye of clene men of armes,
The keneste in contek that vndir Criste lenges;
In yone oken wode an oste are arrayede,
Vndirtakande men of thiese owte londes,
As sais vs Sir Priamous, so helpe Seynt Peter!
Go men," quod Gawayne, "and grape in youre hertez,
Who sall graythe to yone greue to yone gret lordes;
yif we gettlesse goo home, the Kyng will be greuede,
And say we are gadlynges, agaste for a lyttill,
We are with Sir Florente, as todaye falles,
That es floure of Fraunce, for he fleede neuer;
He was chosen and chargegide in chambire of the Kyng,
Chiftayne of this journee with cheualrye noble;
Whethire he fyghte or he flee, we sall folowe aftyre;
Fore all the fere of yone folke forsake sall I neuer!"
"Fadyre," sais Sir Florent, "full faire ye it tell.
Bot I ame bot a fawntkyn, vnfraystede in armes;
yif any foly befall, the fawte sall be owrs,
And fremdly o Fraunce be flemede for euer.
Woundes noghte, your wirchip, my witte es bot symple;
ye are owre wardayne, iwysse, wyrke as yowe lykes;
ye are at the ferreste noghte passande fyve hundrethe,
And that es fully to fewe to feghte with them all,
Fore harlottez and hansemene sall helpe bott littill, 
They will hye theym hyen, for all theire gret wordes.
I rede ye wyrke aftyre witte, as wyesse men of armes,
And warpes wylily awaye, as wirchipfull knyghtes."
"I grawnte," quod Sir Gawayne, "so me Gode helpe;
Bot here are galyarde gomes that of the gre seruis,
The kreuelleste knyghttes of the Kynges chambyre,
That kane carpe with the coppe knyghtly wordes, 
We sall proue todaye who sall the prys wyn."
Nowe ferriours fers vnto the fyrthe rydez,
And fongez a faire felde and on fotte lyghttez;
Prekes aftyre the pray, as pryce men of armes.
Florent and Floridas, with fyve score knyghttez,
Folowede in the foreste, and on the way fowndys,
Flyngande a faste trott, and on the folke dryffes.
Than felewes fast to oure folke wele a fyve hundreth
Of freke men to the fyrthe, appon fresche horses;
One Sir Feraunt before, apon a fayre stede,
Was fosterede in Famacoste, the Fende was his fadyre.
He flenges to Sir Florent, and pristly he kryes,
"Why flees thow, falls knyghte? The Fende hafe thi saule!"
Thane Sir Florent was fayne, and in fewter castys;
One Fawuell of Fryselande to Feraunt he rydys,
And raghte in the reyne on the stede ryche,
And rydes towarde the rowte, restes he no lengere:
Full butt in the frounte he flysches hym euen,
And all disfegoures his face with his fell wapen;
Thurghe his bryghte bacenette his brayne has he towchede,
And brusten his neke-bone, that all his breste stoppede.
Thane his cosyn askryede and cryede full lowde,
"Thowe has killede colde dede the kynge of all knyghttes!"
He has bene fraistede on felde in fyftene rewmes;
He fonde neuer no freke myghte feghte with hym one.
Thow schall dye for his dede with my derfe wapen,
And all the doughtty for dule that in yone dale houes!"
"Fy," sais Sir Floridas, "thow fleryande wryche!
Thow wenes for to flay vs, floke-mowthede schrewe!"
Bot Floridas with a swerde, as he by glenttys,
All the flesche of the flanke he flappes in sondyre,
That all the filthe of the freke and fele of the guttes
Foloes his fole fotte, whene he furthe rydes.
Than rydes a renke to reschewe that byerne,
that was Raynalde of the Rodes and rebell to Criste,
Peruertede with paynyms that Cristen persewes;
Presses in prowdly, as the praye wendes,
Fore he hade in Prewsslande myche pryce wonnen, 
Forthi in presence thare he profers so large.
Bot thane a renke, Sir Richere of the Rounde Table,
One a ryall stede rydes hym ayaynes;
Thorowe a rownnde rede schelde he ruschede hym sone,
That the rosselde spere to his herte rynnes;
The renke relys abowte and rusches to the erthe,
Roris full ruydlye, bot rade he no more.
Now all that es fere and vnfaye of thes fyve hundreth
Falles on Sir Florent, a fyve score knyghttes;
Betwyx a plasche and a flode, appon a flate lawnde,
Oure folke fongen theire felde and fawghte them agaynes.
Than was lowde appon lofte "Lorrayne!" askryede,
When ledys with longe speris lasschen togedyrs,
And "Arthure!" on our syde, when theyme oghte aylede.
Than Sir Florent and Floridas in fewtyre they caste,
Fruschen on all the frape and biernes affrayede,
Fellis fyve at the frounte thare they fyrste enteride,
And, or they ferke forthire, fele of these othere.
Brenyes browdden they briste, brittenede scheldes,
Bettes and beres down the best that them byddes;
All that rewlyd in the rowtte they ryden awaye,
So rewdly they rere theys ryall knyghttes.
When Sir Priamous, that prince, persayuede theire gamen,
He hade pete in herte that he ne durste profire;
He wente to Sir Gawayne and sais hym these wordes:
"Thi price men fore thy praye putt are all vndyre;
They are with Sarazenes ouersette, mo than seuen hundreth
Of the Sowdanes knyghtes owt of sere londes;
Walde thow suffire me, Sir, for sake of thi Criste,
With a soppe of thi men suppowell theym ones?"
"I grouche noghte," quod Gawayne, "the gree es thaire awen!
They mon hafe gwerddouns full grett graunt of my lorde;
Bot the freke men of Fraunce fraiste them selfen, 
Frekes faughte noghte theire fill this fyftene wynter.
I will noghte stire with my stale halfe a stede lenghe,
Bot they be stedde with more stuffe than on yone stede houys."
Than Sir Gawayne was warre, withowttyn the wode hemmes,
Wyes of the Westfale appon wyght horsez,
Walopande wodely, as the waye forthes,
With all the wapyns, iwys, that to the werre longez.
The erle Antele the Olde the avawmwarde he buskes,
Ayerande on ayther hande heghte thosande knyghtez;
His pelours and pauysers passede all nombyre
That euer any prynce lede puruayede in erthe.
Than the Duke of Lorrayne dresesse thareaftyre,
With dowbill of the Duchemen, that doughtty ware holden;
Paynymes of Pruyslande, prekkers full noble,
Come prekkande before with Priamous knyghttez.
Than saide the erle Antele to Algere, his brother,
"Me angers ernestly at Arthure knyghtez,
Thus enkerly on an oste awnters them selfen;
They will be owttrayede anon, are vndron ryng,
Thus folily on a felde to fyghte with vs all;
Bot they be fesede in faye ferly me thynkes.
Walde they purposse take and passe on theire wayes,
Prike home to theire prynce and theire pray leue,
They myghte lenghen theire lyefe and lossen bott littill, 
It wolde lyghte my herte, so helpe me oure Lorde!"
"Sir," sais Sir Algere, "thay hafe littill vsede
To be owttrayede withe oste, me angers the more;
The fayreste schall be full feye that in oure floke ryddez
Alls fewe as they bene, are they the felde leue."
Than gud Gawayne, gracious and noble,
All with glorious gle he gladdis his knyghtes:
"Gloppyns noghte, gud men, for gleterand scheldes,
thofe yone gadlyngez be gaye on yone gret horses;
Banerettez of Bretayne, buskes vp your hertes!
Bees noghte baiste of yone boyes, ne of thaire bryghte wedis.
We sall blenke theire boste for all theire bolde profire,
Als bouxom as birde es in bede to hir lorde.
yeffe we feghte todaye, the felde schall be owrs,
The fekill faye sall faile and falssede be distroyede!
yone folk is one frountere, vnfraistede theym semes;
Thay make faythe and faye to the Fend seluen!
We sall in this viage victoures be holden,
And avauntede with voycez of valyant biernez,
Praysede with pryncez in presence of lordes,
And luffede with ladyes in dyuerse londes;
Aughte neuer siche honoure none of oure elders, 
Vnwyn ne Absolon ne non of thies other.
When we are moste in destresse Marie we mene,
That es oure maisters seyne, that he myche traistez,
Melys of that mylde Qwene that menskes vs all, 
Who-so meles of that Mayde myskaries he neuer."
Be these wordes ware saide, they ware noghte ferre behynd
Bot the lenghe of a launde, and "Lorayne!" askryes.
Was neuer siche a justyng at journe in erthe,
In the Vale of Iosephate, as gestes vs telles,
When Iulyus and Ioatall ware juggede to dy,
As was when the ryche men of the Rownde Table
Ruschede into the rowte one ryall stedes;
For so raythely thay rusche with roselde speris,
That the raskaille was rade, and rane to the grefes,
And karede to that courte as cowardes for euer.
"Peter!" sais Sir Gawayne; "This gladdez myn herte,
That yone gedlynges are non that made gret nowmbre;
I hope that thees harlottez sall harme vs bot littill,
Fore they will hyde them in haste within yone holte euis.
Thay are fewere one felde than thay were fyrste nombird,
Be fourtty thousande, in faythe, for all theyre faire hostes!"
Bot one Iolyan of Iene, a geante full howge,
Has jonede on Sir Ierant, a justis of Walis;
Thorowe a jerownde schelde he jogges hym thorowe,
And a fyn gesserawnte of gentill mayles, 
Ioynter and gemows he jogges in sondyre.
One a jambe stede this jurnee he makes;
Thus es the geante forjuste, that errawnte Iewe,
And Gerard es jocunde, and joyes hym the more.
Than the genatours of Genne enjoynes att ones,
And frykis on the frowntere well a fyve hundreth;
A freke highte Sir Federike, with full fele other,
Ferkes on a frusche and fresclyche askryes,
To fyghte with oure forreours, that on felde houis.
And thane the ryalle renkkes of the Rownde Table
Rade furth full ernestly and rydis them agaynes,
Mellis with the medillwarde, bot they ware ill machede,
Of siche a grett multytude was meruayle to here.
Seyne at the assemble the Sarazenes discoueres
The soueraygne of Sessoyne, that saluede was neuer;
Gyawntis forjustede with gentill knyghtes,
Thorowe gesserawntes of Iene jaggede to the herte.
They hewe thorowe helmes hawtayne biernez,
that the hiltede swerdes to thaire hertes rynnys.
Than the renkes renownd of the Rownd Table
Ryffes and ruyssches down renayede wreches;
And thus they dreuen to the dede dukes and erles,
All the dreghe of the daye, with dredfull werkes.
Than Sir Priamous the prynce, in presens of lordes,
Presez to his penown and pertly it hentes,
Reuertede it redily and awaye rydys,
To the ryall rowte of the Rownde Table;
And heyly his retenus raykes hym aftyre,
For they his reson had rede on his schelde ryche.
Owte of the scheltrone they schede, as schepe of a folde,
And steris furth to the stowre and stode be theire lorde.
Seyne they sent to the Duke and saide hym thise wordes:
"We hafe bene thy sowdeours this sex yere and more;
We forsake the todaye be serte of owre lorde;
We sewe to oure soueraynge in sere kynges londe.
Vs defawtes oure feez of this foure wyntteres:
Thow arte feble and false and noghte bot faire wordes.
Oure wages are werede owte and thi werre endide;
We maye with oure wirchipe weend whethire vs lykes.
I red thowe trette of a trewe and trofle no lengere,
Or thow sall tyne of thi tale ten thosande or euen."
"Fy a debles!" saide the Duke; "The Deuell haue your bones! 
The dawngere of yon doggez drede schall I neuer.
We sall dele this daye, be dedes of armes,
My dede, and my ducherye, and my dere knyghtes.
Siche sowdeours as ye I sett bot att lyttill,
That sodanly in defawte forsakes theire lorde."
The Duke in his scheltrone dreches no lengere,
Drawes hym a dromedarie, with dredfull knyghtez;
Graythes to Sir Gawayne, with full gret nowmbyre
Of gomes of Gernaide, that greuous are holden;
Thas fresche horsede men to the frownt rydes,
Felles of oure forreours be fourtty at ones, 
They hade foughtten before with a fyve hundrethe;
It was no ferly, in faythe, thofe they faynt waxen.
Thane Sir Gawayne was grefede and grypys his spere,
And gyrdez in agayne with galyarde knyghttez;
Metes the Marches of Mees and melles hym thorowe,
As man of this medill-erthe that moste hade greuede.
Bot on Chastelayne, a childe of the Kynges chambyr,
Was warde to Sir Wawayn of the weste marches,
Cheses to Sir Cheldrike, a cheftayne noble,
With a chasyng he chokkes hym thurghe, 
This chekke hym eschewede be chauncez of armes.
So thay chase that childe, eschape may he neuer;
Bot on Swyan of Swecy, with a swerde egge,
The swyers swyre-bane he swappes in sondyre;
He swounande diede and on the swarthe lengede,
Sweltes ewynne swiftly, and swanke he no more.
than Sir Gawayn gretes with his gray eghne, 
The guyte was a gude man, begynnande of armes;
Fore the charry childe so his chere chawngide,
That the chillande watire on his chekes rynnyde.
"Woo es me," quod Gawayne, "that I ne weten hade;
I sall wage for that wye all that I welde,
Bot I be wroken on that wye that thus has hym wondyde."
He dresses hym drerily and to the Duke rydes,
Bot one Sir Dolphyn the derfe dyghte hym agaynes,
And Sir Gawayne hym gyrd with a grym launce,
That the grounden spere glade to his herte.
And egerly he hente owte and hurte another,
An haythen knyghte, Hardolfe, happye in armes;
Sleyghly in at the slotte slyttes hym thorowe,
That the slydande spere of his hande sleppes.
Thare es slayne in that slope, be sleyghte of his hondes,
Sexty slongen in a slade of sleghe men of armes.
thofe Sir Gawaynne ware wo, he wayttes hym by,
And was warre of that wye that the childe wondyde,
And with a swerde swiftly he swappes hym thorowe,
That he swyftly swelte and on the erthe swounes.
And thane he raykes to the rowte and ruysches one helmys,
Riche hawberkes he rente and rasede schyldes,
Rydes on a rawndoune and his rayke holdes,
Thorowowte the rerewarde he holdes wayes;
And thare raughte in the reyne this ryall the ryche,
And rydez into the rowte of the Rownde Table.
thane oure cheualrous men changen theire horsez,
Chases and choppes down cheftaynes noble,
Hittes full hertely on helmes and scheldes,
Hurtes and hewes down haythen knyghtez;
Ketell-hattes they cleue euen to the scholdirs, 
Was neuer siche a clamour of capitaynes in erthe.
Thare was kynges sonnes kaughte, curtays and noble,
And knyghtes of the contre, that knawen was ryche;
Lordes of Lorayne and Lumbardye bothen
LaughÕtåe was and lede in with oure lele knyghttez.
Thas that chasede that daye, theire chaunce was bettire, 
Swiche a cheke at a chace escheuede theym neuer.
When Sir Florent be fyghte had the felde wonen,
He ferkes ine before with fyve score knyghttez;
Theire prayes and theire presoneres passes one aftyre,
With pylours and pauysers and pryse men of armes.
Thane gudly Sir Gawayne gydes his knyghttez,
Gas in at the gayneste, as gydes hym telles,
Fore greffe on a garysone of full gret lordes
Sulde noghte gripe vpe his gere, ne swyche grame wirche.
Forethy they stode at the straytez and with his stale houede,
Till his prayes ware paste the pathe that he dredis;
When they the cete myghte see that the Kyng seggede, 
Sothely the same daye was witÕhå asawte wonnen, 
An hawrawde hyes before, the beste of the lordes,
Hom at the herbergage, owt of tha hyghe londes,
Tornys tytte to the tente and to the Kyng telles
All the tale sothely, and how they hade spede:
"All thy forreours are fere, that forrayede withowttyn,
Sir Florent and Sir Floridas and all thy ferse knyghttez;
Thay hafe forrayede and foghten with full gret nowmbyre,
And fele of thy foomen has broghte owt of lyffe.
Oure wirchipfull wardayne es wele escheuyde,
For he has wonn todaye wirchip for euere;
He has Dolfyn slayne and the Duke takyn;
Many dowghty es dede be dynt of his hondes.
He has presoners price, pryncez and erles,
Of the richeste blode that regnys in erthe;
All thy cheuallrous men faire are eschewede;
Bot a childe Chasteleynne myschance es befallen."
"Hawtayne," sais the Kyng, "harawde, be Criste,
Thow has helyd myn herte, I hete the forsothe;
I yife the in Hamptone a hundreth pownde large."
The Kynge than to assawte he sembles his knyghtez,
With somercastell and sowe appon sere halfes;
Skyftis his skotiferis and skayles the wallis,
And iche wache has his warde with wiese men of armes.
Thane boldly thay buske and bendes engynes,
Payses in pylotes and proues theire castes;
Mynsteris and masondewes they malle to the erthe,
Chirches and chapells chalke-whitte blawnchede.
Stone Õsåtepells full styffe in the strete ligges,
Chawmbyrs with chymnes and many cheefe inns;
Paysede and pelid down playsterede walles, 
The pyne of the pople was pete for to here.
Thane the Duchez hire dyghte with damesels ryche,
The Cowntas of Crasyn, with hir clere maydyns,
Knelis down in the kyrnelles thare the Kyng houede,
On a couerede horse comlyli arayede.
They knewe hym by contenaunce and criede full lowde,
"Kyng crownede of kynde, take kepe to these wordes!
We beseke yow, Sir, as soueraynge and lorde,
That ye safe vs todaye, for sake of youre Criste;
Send vs some socoure and saughte with the pople,
Or the cete be sodaynly with assawte wonnen."
He weres his vesere with a vowt noble;
With vesage vertouous, this valyante bierne
Meles to hir myldly with full meke wordes:
"Sall no mysse do yow, ma dame, that to me lenges;
I gyf yow chartire of pes, and youre cheefe maydens,
The childire and the chaste men, the cheualrous knyghtez;
The Duke es in dawngere, dredis it bott littyll.
He sall be demyd full wele, dout yow noghte elles."
Thane sent he on iche a syde to certayne lordez,
For to leue the assawte, the cete was yolden;
With the Erle eldeste son he sent hym the kayes,
And seside the same nyghte, be sent of the lordes.
The Duke to Douere es dyghte, and all his dere knyghtez,
To duelle in dawngere and dole the dayes of hys lyue.
Thare fleede at the ferrere yate folke withowttyn nombyre,
For ferde of Sir Florent and his fers knyghtez;
Voydes the cete and to the wode rynnys,
With vetaile and vessell and vestoure so ryche.
Thay buske vpe a banere abown the brode yates, 
Of Sir Florent, in fay, so fayne was he neuer;
The knyghte houys on a hyll, behelde to the wallys,
And saide, "I see be yone syngne the cete es oures."
Sir Arthure enters anon, with hostes arayede,
Euen at the vndrone etles to lenge.
In iche leuere on lowde the Kynge did crye,
Of payne of lyf and lym and lesyng of londes,
That no lele ligemane, that to hym lonngede,
Sulde lye be no ladysse, no be no lele maydyns,
Ne be no burgesse wyffe, better ne werse,
Ne no biernez mysebide, that to the burghe longede.
When the Kyng Arthure had lely conquerid,
And the castell couerede of the kythe riche,
All the crowell and kene, be craftes of armes,
Captayns and constables knewe hym for lorde.
He deuysede and delte to dyuerse lordez
A dowere for the Duchez and hir dere childire;
Wroghte wardaynes by wytte to welde all the londez,
That he had wonnen of werre, thorowe his weise knyghtez.
Thus in Lorayne he lenges, as lorde in his awen,
Settez lawes in the lande, as hym leefe tÕhåoghte.
And one the Lammese Day to Lucerne he wendez,
Lengez thare at laysere with lykyng inowe;
Thare his galays ware graythede, a full gret nombyre,
All gleterand as glase, vndire grene hyllys,
With cabanes couerede for kynges anoyntede,
With clothes of clere golde for knyghtez and other,
Sone stowede theire stuffe and stablede theire horses,
Strekes streke ouer the strem into the strayte londez.
Now he moues his myghte with myrthes of herte,
Ouere mowntes so hye, thase meruailous wayes;
Gosse in by Goddarde, the garett he wynnys,
Graythes the garnison grisely wondes.
When he was passede the heghte, than the Kyng houys
With his hole bataylle, behaldande abowte,
Lukand one Lumbarddye, and one lowde melys,
"In yone lykand londe, lorde be I thynke."
Thane they cayre to Combe, with kyngez anoyntede,
That was kyde of the coste, kay of all other.
Sir Florent and Sir Floridas than fowndes before,
With freke men of Fraunce well a fyve hundreth;
To the cete vnsene thay soghte at the gayneste,
And sett an enbuschement, als them selfe lykys.
Thane ischewis owt of that cete, full sone be the morne,
Slely discouerours, skyftes theire horses;
Than skyftes thes skouerours and skippes on hyllis,
Diskoueres for skulkers that they no skathe lymppen.
Pouerall and pastorelles passede on aftyre,
With porkes to pasture at the price yates;
Boyes in the subarbis bourden full heghe,
At a bare synglere that to the bente rynnys.
Thane brekes oure buschement and the brigge wynnes,
Brayedez into the burghe with baners displayede;
Stekes and stabbis thorowe that them ayaynes-stondes;
Fowre stretis or thay stynte they stroyen fore euere.
Now es the Conquerour in Combe and his courte holdes
Within the kyde castelll, with kynges enoynttede;
Reconsaillez the comouns that to the kyth lengez,
Comfourthes the carefull with knyghtly wordez;
Made a captayne kene a knyghte of hys awen,
Bot all the contre and he full sone ware accordide.
The Syre of Melane herde saye the cete was wonnen,
And send to Arthure sertayne lordes,
Grete sommes of golde, sexti horse chargegid,
Besoghte hym as souerayne to socoure the pople,
And saide he wolde sothely be sugette for euer,
And make hym seruece and suytte for his sere londes;
For Plesaunce, for Pawnce, and for Pownte Tremble,
For Pyse, and for Pavy, he profers full large,
Bothe purpur and palle and precious stonys,
Palfrayes for any prynce and prouede stedes;
And ilke a yere for Melan a melion of golde,
Mekely at Martynmesse to menske with his hordes;
And euer withowttyn askyng he and his ayers
Be homagers to Arthure, whills his lyffe lastis.
The Kyng be his concell a condethe hym sendis,
And he es comen to Combe, and knewe hym as lorde.
Into Tuskane he tournez, when thus wele tymede,
Takes townnes full tyte, with towrres full heghe;
Walles he welte down, wondyd knyghtez,
Towrres he turnes and turmentez the pople,
Wroghte wedewes full wlonke wrotherayle synges,
Ofte wery and wepe and wryngen theire handis;
And all he wastys with werre, thare he awaye rydez,
Thaire welthes and theire wonnyÕnåges, wandrethe he wroghte.
Thus they spryngen and sprede and sparis bot lyttill,
Spoylles dispetouslye and spillis theire vynes,
Spendis vnsparely that sparede was lange,
Spedis them to Spolett with speris inewe.
Fro Spayne into Spruyslande the worde of hym sprynges,
And spekynngs of his spencis, disspite es full hugge.
Towarde Viterbe this valyant avires the reynes;
Avissely in that vale he vetailles his biernez,
With vernage and other wyne and venyson baken;
And one the Vicounte londes he visez to lenge.
Vertely the avawmwarde voydez theire horsez,
In the Vertennon Vale, the vines imangez;
Thare suggeournes this souerayne with solace in herte,
To see when the senatours sent any wordes.
Reuell with riche wyne, riotes hym selfen,
This roy with his ryall men of the Rownde Table,
With myrthis and melodye and manykyn gamnes, 
Was neuer meriere men made on this erthe.
Bot one a Seterdaye at none, a seuenyghte thareaftyre,
The konyngeste cardynall that to the courte lengede,
Knelis to the Conquerour and karpes thire wordes:
Prayes hym for the pes and profyrs full large,
To hafe pete of the Pope, that put was atvndyre;
Besoghte hym of surrawns, for sake of oure Lorde,
Bot a seuenyghte daye to thay ware all semblede,
And they schulde sekerlye hym see the Sonondaye theraftyre,
In the cete of Rome, as soueraynge and lorde;
And crown hym kyndly with krysomede hondes,
With his ceptre and swerde, as soueraynge and lorde.
Of this vndyrtakyng ostage are comyn,
Of ayers full auenaunt awughte score childrenne,
In toges of tarsse full richelye attyryde,
And betuke them the Kynge and his clere knyghttes.
When they had tretide thiere trewe, with trowmpynge therafter,
They tryne vnto a tente, whare tables whare raysede;
The Kynge hym selfen es sette, and certayne lordes,
Vndyre a sylure of sylke, sawghte at the burdez;
All the senatours are sette sere be tham one,
Serfed solemply with selcouthe metes.
The Kyng myghtty of myrthe, with his mylde wordes,
Rehetez the Romaynes at his riche table,
Comforthes the Cardynall so knyghtly hym seluen;
And this roye ryall, as romawns vs tellis,
Reuerence the Romayns in his riche table.
The tawghte men and the conynge, when them tym thoghte,
Tas theire lefe at the Kynge and tornede agayne:
To the cete that nyghte thaye soughte at the gayneste,
And thus the ostage of Rome with Arthure es leuede.
Than this roy royall rehersys theis wordes:
"Now may we reuell and riste, fore Rome es oure awen!
Make oure ostage at ese, thise auenaunt childyren,
And luk ye honden them all that in myn oste lengez.
The Emperour of Almayne and all theis este marches,
We sall be ouerlynge of all that on the erthe lengez!
We will by the Crosse Dayes encroche theis londez,
And at the Crystynmesse Daye be crowned theraftyre;
Ryngne in my ryalltes, and holde my Rownde Table,
Withe the rentes of Rome, as me beste lykes;
Syne graythe ouer the grette see with gud men of armes,
To reuenge the Renke that on the Rode dyede."
Thane this comlyche Kynge, as cronycles tellys,
Bownnys brathely to bede with a blythe herte;
Of he slynges with sleghte and slakes gyrdill,
And fore slewthe of slomowre on a slepe fallis.
Bot be ane aftyre mydnyghte all his mode changede:
He mett in the morne-while full meruaylous dremes.
And when his dredefull drem whas drefen to the ende,
The Kynge dares for dowte, dye as he scholde;
Sendes aftyre phylosophers, and his affraye telles:
"Sen I was formede, in fayth, so ferde whas I neuer!
Forthy rawnsakes redyly and rede me my swefennys,
And I sall redily and ryghte rehersen the sothe.
Me thoughte I was in a wode willed myn one,
That I ne wiste no waye whedire that I scholde,
Fore woluez and whilde swynne and wykkyde bestez
Walkede in that wasternne, wathes to seche;
Thare lyouns full lothely lykkyde theire tuskes,
All fore lapynge of blude of my lele knyghtez.
Thurghe that foreste I flede, thare floures whare heghe,
For to fele me for ferde of tha foule thyngez;
Merkede to a medowe with montayngnes enclosyde,
The meryeste of medillerthe that men myghte beholde.
The close was in compas castyn all abowte
With clauer and clereworte clede euen ouer;
The vale was enuerownde with vynes of siluer,
All with grapis of golde, gretter ware neuer;
Enhorilde with arborye and alkyns trees,
Erberis full honeste and hyrdez therevndyre;
All froytez foddenid was that floreschede in erthe,
Faire frithed in frawnke appon tha free bowes;
Whas thare no downkynge of dewe that oghte dere scholde:
With the drowghte of the daye all drye ware the flores.
Than discendis in the dale, down fra the clowddez,
A duches dereworthily dyghte in dyaperde wedis,
In a surcott of sylke selkouthely hewede,
All with loyotour ouerlaide lowe to pe hemmes,
And with ladily lappes the lenghe of a yerde,
And all redily reuersside with rebanes of golde;
Bruchez and besauntez and other bryghte stonys
With hir bake and hir breste was brochede all ouer;
With kelle and with corenall clenliche arrayede,
And that so comly of colour on knowen was neuer.
Abowte cho whirllide a whele with hir whitte hondez,
Ouerwhelme all qwayntely the whele as cho scholde;
The rowell whas rede golde with ryall stonys,
Raylide with reches and rubyes inewe;
The spekes was splentide all with speltis of siluer,
The space of a spere lenghe springande full faire;
Thereone was a chayere of chalke-whytte siluer,
And chekyrde with charebocle, chawngynge of hewes.
Appon the compas ther clewide kyngis one rawe,
With corowns of clere golde that krakede in sondire;
Sex was of that setill full sodaynliche fallen,
Ilke a segge by hym selfe, and saide theis wordez:
'That euer I rengnede on thir roo me rewes it euer!
Was neuer roye so riche that regnede in erthe;
Whene I rode in my rowte, roughte I noghte ells,
Bot reuaye and reuell and rawnson the pople;
And thus I drife forthe my dayes, whills I dreghe myghte,
And therefore derflyche I am dampnede for euer.'
The laste was a lityll man that laide was benethe;
His leskes laye all lene and latheliche to schewe,
The lokkes lyarde and longe, the lenghe of a yerde,
His lire and his lygham lamede full sore;
the tone eye of the byeryn was brighttere than siluer,
The tother was yalowere then the yolke of a naye.
'I was lorde,' quod the lede, 'of londes inewe,
And all ledis me lowttede that lengede in erthe;
And nowe es lefte me no lappe my lygham to hele,
Bot lightly now am I loste, leue iche mane the sothe.'
The secunde sir, forsothe, that sewede them aftyre,
Was sekerare to my sighte and saddare in armes;
Ofte he syghede vnsownde and said theis wordes:
'On yone see hafe I sitten als souerayne and lorde,
And ladys me louede to lappe in theyre armes;
And nowe my lordchippes are loste and laide for euer.'
The thirde thorowely was throo and thikke in the schuldyrs,
A thra man to thrette of, there thretty ware gaderide;
His dyadem was droppede down, dubbyde with stonys,
Endente all with diamawndis and dighte for the nonis;
'I was dredde in my dayes,' he said, 'in dyuerse rewmes,
And now dampnede to the dede, and dole es the more.'
The fourte was a faire mane and forsy in armes,
the fayreste of fegure that fourmede was euer:
'I was frekke, in my faithe,' he said, 'whills I one fowlde regnede,
Famows in ferre londis and floure of all knyges;
Now es my face defadide, and foule es me hapnede,
For I am fallen fro ferre and frendles byleuyde.'
The fifte was a faire man than fele of thies other,
A forsy man and a ferse, with fomand lippis;
He fongede faste on the feleyghes and falded his armes,
Bot yit he failede and fell a fyfty fote large;
Bot yit he sprange and sprente and spradden his armes,
And one the spere-lenghe spekes, he spekes thire wordes:
'I was in Surrye a syr and sett be myn one,
As souerayne and seyngnour of sere kynges londis;
Now of my solace I am full sodanly fallen,
And for sake of my syn, yone sete es me rewede.'
The sexte hade a sawtere semliche bownden,
With a surepel of silke sewede full faire,
A harpe and a hande-slynge with harde flynte stones;
What harmes he has hente he halowes full sone:
'I was demede in my dayes,' he said, 'of dedis of armes,
One of the doughtyeste that duellede in erthe;
Bot I was merride one molde in my moste strenghethis,
With this mayden so mylde, that mofes vs all.'
Two kynges ware clymbande and clauerande one heghe.
The creste of the compas they couette full yerne;
'This chaire of charbokle,' they said, 'we chalange hereaftyre,
As two of the cheffeste chosen in erthe.'
The childire ware chalke-whitte, chekys and other,
Bot the chayere abownne cheuede they neuer;
The forthirmaste was freely, with a frount large,
The faireste of fyssnamy that fourmede was euer;
And he was buskede in a blee of a blewe noble,
With flourdelice of golde floreschede al ouer;
The tother was cledde in a cote all of clene siluer,
With a comliche crosse coruen of golde,
Fowre crosselettes krafty by the crosse ristes,
And therby knewe I the kyng, that crystnede hym semyde.
Than I went to that wlonke and wynly hire gretis,
And cho said, 'Welcom iwis; wele arte thow fownden;
The aughte to wirchipe my will, and thow wele cowthe,
Of all the valyant men that euer was in erthe;
Fore all thy wirchipe in werre by me has thow wonnen.
I hafe bene frendely, freke, and fremmede till other,
That has thow fownden in faithe, and fele of thi biernez:
Fore I fellid down Sir Frolle with frowarde knyghtes;
Forethi the fruytes of Fraunce are freely thynne awen.
Thow sall the chayere escheue, I chese the my selfen,
Before all the cheftaynes chosen in this erthe.'
Scho lifte me vp lightly with hir lene hondes,
And sette me softely in the see, the septre me rechede;
Craftely with a kambe cho kembede myn heuede,
That the krispane kroke to my crownne raughte;
Dressid one me a diademe that dighte was full faire,
And syne profres me a pome pighte full of faire stonys,
Enamelde with azoure, the erth thereon depayntide,
Serkylde with the salte see appone sere halfes,
In sygne that I sothely was souerayne in erthe.
Than broght cho me a brande with full bryghte hiltes,
And bade me 'Brawndysche the blade, the brande es myn awen;
Many swayn with the swynge has the swÕeåtte leuede,
For whills thow swanke with the swerde, it swykkede the neuer.'
Than raykes cho with roo and riste when hir likede,
To the ryndes of the wode, richere was neuer;
Was no pomarie so pighte of pryncez in erthe,
Ne nonne apparayll so prowde, bot Paradys one.
Scho bad the bewes scholde bewe down and bryng to my hondes
Of the beste that they bare one brawnches so heghe;
Than they heldede to hir heste all holly at ones,
The hegheste of iche a hirste, I hette yow forsothe.
Scho bade me fyrthe noghte the fruyte, bot fonde whills me likede:
'Fonde of the fyneste, thow frelich byerne,
And reche to the ripeste and ryotte thy seluen.
Riste, thow ryalle roye, for Rome es thyn awen!
And I sall redily roll the roo at the gayneste,
And reche the the riche wyne in rynsede coupes.'
Thane cho wente to the welle by the wode euis,
That all wellyde of wyne and wondirliche rynnes;
Kaughte vy a coppe-full and couerde it faire;
Scho bad me dereliche drawe and drynke to hir selfen.
And thus cho lede me abowte the lenghe of an owre,
With all likyng and luffe that any lede scholde;
Bot at the myddaye full ewyn all hir mode chaungede,
And mad myche manace with meruayllous wordez.
When I cryede appon hire, cho kest down hir browes:
'Kyng, thow karpes for noghte, be Criste that me made!
For thow sall lose this layke and thi lyfe aftyre;
Thow has lyffede in delytte and lordchippes inewe!'
Abowte scho whirles the whele and whirles me vndire,
Till all my qwarters that whille whare qwaste al to peces,
And with that chayere my chyne was chopped in sondire!
And I hafe cheueride for chele sen me this chance happenede.
Than wakkenyde I iwys, all wery fordremyde,
And now wate thow my woo, worde as the lykes.
Freke, sais the philosophre, thy fortune es passede;
For thow sall fynd hir thi foo, frayste when the lykes.
Thow arte at the hegheste, I hette the forsothe;
Chalange nowe when thow will, thow cheuys no more.
Thow has schedde myche blode and schalkes distroyede,
Sakeles, in cirquytrie, in sere kynges landis.
Schryfe the of thy schame and schape for thyn ende;
Thow has a schewynge, Sir Kynge, take kepe yif the lyke;
For thow sall fersely fall within fyve wynters.
Fownde abbayes in Fraunce, the froytez are theyn awen, 
Fore Froill and for Ferawnt and for thir ferse knyghttis,
That thowe fremydly in Fraunce has faye beleuede.
Take kepe yitte of other kynges and kaste in thyne herte,
That were conquerours kydde and crownnede in erthe:
The eldeste was Alexandere, that all the erthe lowttede,
The tother Ector of Troye, the cheualrous gume;
The thirde Iulyus Cesare, that geant was holden,
In iche jorne jentill, ajuggede with lordes;
The ferthe was Sir Iudas, a justere full nobill,
The maysterfull Makabee, the myghttyeste of strenghes;
The fyfte was Iosue, that joly mane of armes,
that in Ierusalem oste full myche joye lymppede;
The sexte was Dauid the dere, demyd with kynges
One of the doughtyeste that dubbede was euer;
For he slewe with a slynge, be sleyghte of his handis,
Golyas the grette gome, grymmeste in erthe,
Syne endittede in his dayes all the dere psalmes,
that in the sawtire ere sette with selcouthe wordes;
The two clymbande kynges, I knawe it forsothe,
Sall Karolus be callide, the kyng son of Fraunce;
He sall be crowell and kene, and conquerour holden,
Couere be conqueste contres ynewe;
He sall encroche the crowne that Crist bare hym selfen,
And that lifeliche launce that lepe to his herte,
When he was crucyfiede one Crose, and all the kene naylis,
Knyghtly he sall conquere to Cristyn men hondes.
The tother sall be Godfraye, that Gode schall reuenge
One the Gud Frydaye with galyarde knyghtes;
He sall of Lorrayne be lorde, be leefe of his fadire,
And syne in Ierusalem myche joye happyn,
For he sall couer the Crosse be craftes of armes,
And synne be corownde kynge with krysome enoynttede;
Sall no duke in his dayes siche destanye happyn,
Ne siche myschefe dreghe when trewthe sall be tryede.
Forethy Fortune the fetches to fulfill the nowmbyre,
Alls nynne of the nobileste namede in erthe:
This sall in romance be redde with ryall knyghttes,
Rekkenede and renownde with ryotous kynges,
And demyd on Domesdaye, for dedis of armes,
For the doughtyeste that euer was duelland in erthe;
So many clerkis and kynges sall karpe of youre dedis,
And kepe youre conquestez in cronycle for euer.
Bot the wolfes in the wode and the whilde bestes,
Are some wikkyd men that werrayes thy rewmes,
Es entirde in thyn absence to werraye thy pople,
And alyenys and ostes of vncouthe landis.
Thow getis tydandis, I trowe, within ten dayes,
That some torfere es tydde, sen thow fro home turnede;
I rede thow rekkyn and reherse vnresonable dedis,
Ore the repenttes full rathe all thi rewthe werkes.
Mane, amende thy mode, or thow myshappen,
And mekely aske mercy for mede of thy saule.
Thane rysez the riche Kyng and rawghte on his wedys,
A reede acton of rosse, the richeste of floures,
A pesane and a paunson and a pris girdill;
And one he henttis a hode of scharlette full riche,
A pauys pillion hatt, that pighte was full faire
With perry of the Oryent and precyous stones;
His gloues gayliche gilte and grauen by the hemmys
With graynes of rubyes full gracious to schewe.
His bede grehownde and his bronde ande no byerne ells,
And bownnes ouer a brode mede, with breth at his herte;
Furth he stalkis a stye by tha still euys,
Stotays at a hey strette, studyande hym one.
Att the surs of the sonne he sees there commande,
Raykande to Romewarde the redyeste wayes,
A renke in a rownde cloke with righte rowmme clothes,
With hatte and with heyghe schone homely and rownde;
With flatte ferthynges the freke was floreschede all ouer,
Manye schredys and schragges at his skyrttes hynnges;
With scrippe ande with slawyn and skalopis inewe,
Both pyke and palme alls pilgram hym scholde.
The gome graythely hym grette and bade gode morwen;
The Kyng lordelye hym selfe, of langage of Rome,
Of Latyn corroumppede all, full louely hym menys:
Whedire wilnez thowe, wye, walkande thyn one?
Qwhylls the werlde es o werre, a wawhte I it holde.
Here es ane enmye with oste vndire yone vynes:
And they see the, forsothe, sorowe the betyddes;
Bot yif thow hafe condethe of the Kynge selfen,
Knaues will kill the and keppe at thow haues;
And if thou halde the hey waye, they hente the also,
Bot if thow hastyly hafe helpe of his hende knyghttes.
Than karpes Sir Cradoke to the Kynge selfen:
I sall forgyffe hym my dede, so me Gode helpe,
Onye grome vndire Gode that one this grownde walkes.
Latte the keneste come that to the Kyng langes,
I sall encountire hym as knyghte, so Criste hafe my sawle!
For thow may noghte reche me, no areste thy selfen,
thoffe thou the richely arayede in full riche wedys.
I will noghte wonde for no werre to wende whare me likes,
Ne for no wy of this werlde that wroghte es on erthe!
Bot I will passe in pilgremage this thas vnto Rome,
To purchese me pardone of the Pape selfen,
And of paynes of Purgatorie be plenerly assoyllede.
Thane sall I seke sekirly my souerayne lorde,
Sir Arthure of Inglande, that auenaunt byerne;
For he es in this empire, as hathell men me telles,
Ostayande in this Oryente with awfull knyghtes.
Fro qwyn come thou, kene man, quod the Kynge than,
That knawes Kynge Arthure and his knyghttes also?
Was thou euer in his courte, qwylls he in kyth lengede?
Thow karpes so kyndly, it comforthes myn herte.
Well wele has thou wente and wysely thou sechis,
For thou arte Bretowne bierne, as by thy brode speche.
Me awghte to knowe the Kynge: he es my kydde lorde,
And I calde in his courte a knyghte of his chambire;
Sir Craddoke was I callide in his courte riche,
Kepare of Karlyon vndir the Kynge selfen:
Nowe am I cachede owtt of kyth with kare at my herte,
And that castell es cawghte with vncowthe ledys.
Than the comliche kynge kaughte hym in armes,
Keste of his ketill-hatte and kyssede hym full sone,
Saide, Welcom, Sir Craddoke, so Criste mott me helpe!
Dere cosyn of kynde, thowe coldis myn herte;
How faris it in Bretayne, with all my bolde beryns?
Are they brettenede or brynte or broughte owte of lyue?
Ken thou me kyndely whatte caase es befallen;
I kepe no credens to crafe, I knawe the for trewe.
Sir, thi wardane es wikkede and wilde of his dedys,
For he wandreth has wroghte sen thou awaye passede:
He has castells encrochede and corownde hym seluen,
Kaughte in all the rentis of the Rownde Tabill;
He devisede the rewme and delte as hym likes,
Dubbede of the Danmarkes dukes and erlles,
Disseueride them sondirwise and cites dystroyede.
To Sarazenes and Sessoynes appon sere halues,
He has semblede a sorte of selcouthe berynes;
Soueraynes of Surgenale and sowdeours many,
Of Peyghtes and paynyms and prouede knyghttes,
Of Irelande and Orgaile owtlawede berynes.
All thaa laddes are knyghttes that lange to the mowntes,
And ledynge and lordechipe has all, alls them selfe likes;
And there es Sir Childrike a cheftayne holdyn,
That ilke cheualrous man, he chargges thy pople;
They robbe thy religeous and ravische thi nones,
And redy ryddis with his rowtte to rawnsone the pouere;
Fro Humbyre to Hawyke he haldys his awen,
And all the cowntre of Kentt be couenawnte entayllide;
The comliche castells that to the corown langede,
The holttes and the hare wode and the harde bankkes, 
All that Henguste and Hors hent in theire tym;
Att Southampton on the see es seuen skore chippes,
Frawghte full of ferse folke owt of ferre landes,
For to fyghte with thy frappe when thow them assailles.
Bot yitt a worde witterly, thowe watte noghte the werste:
He has weddede Waynore, and hir his wieffe holdis,
And wonnys in the wilde bowndis of the weste marches,
And has wroghte hire with childe, as wittnesse tellis.
Off all the wyes of this worlde, woo motte hym worthe,
Alls wardayne vnworthye women to yeme.
Thus has Sir Modrede merrede vs all!
Forthy I merkede ouer thees mowntes to mene the the sothe.
Than the burliche kynge, for brethe at his herte,
And for this botelesse bale, all his ble chaungede.
By the Rode, sais the Roye, I sall it revenge!
Hym sall repente full rathe all his rewthe werkes!
All wepande for woo he went to his tentis;
Vnwynly this wyesse kynge he wakkenysse his beryns,
Clepid in a clarioune kynges and othire,
Callys them to concell and of this cas tellys:
I am with treson betrayede, for all my trewe dedis;
And all my trauayle es tynt, me tydis no bettire!
Hym sall torfere betyde this tresone has wroghte,
And I may traistely hym take, as I am trew lorde.
This es Modrede, the mane that I moste trystede,
Has my castells encrochede and corownde hym seluen,
With renttes and reches of the Rownde Table;
Has made all hys retenewys of renayede wrechis,
And devysed my rewme to dyverse lordes,
To sowdeours and to Sarazenes owtte of sere londes.
He has weddyde Waynore and hyr to wyefe holdes;
And a childe es eschapede, the chaunce es no bettire.
They hafe semblede on the see seuen schore chippis,
Full of ferrom folke to feghte with myn one;
Forthy to Bretayne the Brode buske vs byhouys,
For to brettyn the beryne that has this bale raysede.
Thare sall no freke men fare bott all one fresche horses,
That are fraistede in fyghte and floure of my knyghttez;
Sir Howell and Sir Hardolfe here sall beleue,
To be lordes of the ledis that here to me lenges;
Lokes into Lumbardye that thare no lede chaunge,
And tendirly to Tuskayne take tente alls I byde;
Resaywe the rentis of Rome qwen thay are rekkenede;
Take sesyn the same daye that laste was assygnede,
Or elles all the ostage withowttyn the wallys,
Be hynggyde hye appon hyghte all holly at ones.
Nowe bownes the bolde kynge with Õhiså beste knyghtes,
Gers trome and trusse and trynes forth aftyre;
Turnys thorowe Tuskayne, taries bot littill,
Lyghte noghte in Lumbarddye bot when the lyghte failede;
Merkes ouer the mowntaynes full mervaylous wayes,
Ayres thurghe Almaygne evyne at the gayneste,
Ferkes evyne into Flawndresche with hys ferse knyghttes.
Within fyftene dayes his flete es assemblede,
And thane he schoupe hym to chippe and schownes no lengere,
Scherys with a charpe wynde ouer the schyre waters.
By the roche with ropes he rydes on ankkere,
Thare the false men fletyde and one flode lengede,
With chefe chaynes of chare chokkode togedyrs,
Charggede evyn chekeful of cheualrous knyghtes,
And in the hynter one heghte helmes and crestes;
Hatches with haythen men hillyd ware tharevndyre,
Prowdliche purtrayede with payntede clothys,
Iche a pece by pece prykkyde tyll other, 
Dubbyde with dagswaynnes dowblede they seme;
And thus the derfe Danamarkes had dyghte all theyre chippys,
That no dynte of no darte dere them ne schoulde.
Than the Roye and the renkes of the Rownde Table
All ryally in rede arrayes his chippis;
That daye ducheryes he delte and doubbyde knyghttes,
Dresses dromowndes and dragges and drawen vpe stonys;
The toppe-castells he stuffede with toyelys, as hym lykyde.
Bendys bowes of vys brothly thareaftyre;
Tolowris tentyly takell they ryghtten,
Brasen hedys full brode buskede one flones,
Graythes for garnysons gomes arrayes;
Gryme gaddes of stele, ghywes of iryn,
Stiyttelys steryn one steryne with styffe men of armes;
Mony lufliche launce appon lofte stondys,
Ledys one leburde, lordys and other,
Pyghte payvese one porte, payntede scheldes,
One hyndire hurdace one highte helmede knyghtez.
Thus they scheften fore schotys one thas schire strandys,
Ilke schalke in his schrowde, full scheen ware theire wedys.
The bolde kynge es in a barge and abowtte rowes,
All bare-heuvede for besye with beueryn lokkes,
And a beryn with his bronde and ane helme betyn,
Mengede with a mawntelet of maylis of siluer,
Compaste with a coronall and couerde full riche;
Kayris to yche a cogge to comfurthe his knyghttes:
To Clegys and Cleremownde he cryes one lowde,
O Gawayne, O Galyran, thies gud mens bodyes.
To Loth and to Lyonell full louefly he melys,
And to Sir Lawncelot de Lake lordiche wordys:
Lat vs couere the kythe, the coste es owre ownn, 
And gere them brotheliche blenke, all yone blod-hondes,
Bryttyn them within bourde and brynne them thareaftyre;
Hewe down hertly yone heythen tykes!
Thay are harlotes halfe, I hette yow myn honnde!
Than he coueres his cogge and caches one ankere,
Kaughte his comliche helme with the clere maylis,
Buskes baners one brode, betyn of gowles,
With corowns of clere golde, clenliche arraiede;
Bot thare was chosen in the chefe a chalke-whitte Mayden,
And a Childe in hir arme, that Chefe es of Hevyne;
Withowtten changyng in chace, thies ware the cheefe armes
Of Arthure the auenaunt, qwhylls he in erthe lengede.
Thane the marynerse mellys and maysters of chippis;
Merily iche a mate menys till other:
Of theire termys they talke, how thay ware tydd,
Towyn trvssell one trete, trvssen vpe sailes,
Bet bonettez one brede, bettrede hatches,
Brawndeste brown stele, braggede in trompes,
Standis styffe one the stamyn, steris one aftyre,
Strekyn ouer the streme thare stryvynge begynnes.
Fro the wagande wynde owte of the weste rysses,
Brethly bessomes with byrre in beryns sailles;
With hir bryngges one burde burliche cogges,
Qwhylls the bilyge and the beme brestys in sondyre;
So stowttly the forsterne one the stam hyttis,
that stokkes of the stere-burde strykkys in peces.
Be than cogge appon cogge, krayers and other,
Castys crepers one crosse als to the crafte langes.
Thane was hede-rapys hewen that helde vpe the mastes;
Thare was conteke full kene and crachynge of chippys:
Grett cogges of kampe crasseches in sondyre;
Mony kaban clevede, cabills destroyede.
Knyghtes and kene men killide the braynes;
Kidd castells were corven with all theire kene wapen,
Castells full comliche that coloured ware faire.
Vptyhes eghelyng thay ochen thareaftyre:
With the swynge of the swerde sweys the mastys,
Ovyrefallys in the firste frekis and othire;
Frekke in the forchipe fey es byleuefede.
Than brothely they bekyre with boustouse tacle;
Bruschese boldlye on burde brynyede knyghtes,
Owt of botes one burd was buskede with stonys,
Bett down of the beste, brystis the hetches;
Som gomys thourghegyrde with gaddys of yryn:
Gomys gayliche clede englaymes wapen.
Archers of Inglande full egerly schottes,
Hittis thourghe the harde stele full hertly dynttis.
Sone hotchen in holle the hethene knyghtes, 
Hurte thourghe the harde stele, hele they neuer.
Than they fall to the fyghte, foynes with sperys,
All the frekkeste one frownte that to the fyghte langes;
And ilkon frechely fraystez theire strenghes,
Were to fyghte in the flete with theire fell wapyn.
Thus they dalte that daye, thire dubbide knyghtes,
Till all the Danes ware dede and in the depe throwen.
Than Bretons brothely with brondis they hewen,
Lepys in vpone lofte lordeliche berynes;
When ledys of owt-londys leppyn in waters,
All oure lordes one lowde laughen at ones.
Be thane speris whare sprongen, spalddyd chippys,
Spanyolis spedily sprentyde ouer burdez;
All the kene men of kampe, knyghtes and other,
Killyd are colde dede and castyn ouer burdez.
Theire swyers sweyftly has the swete leuyde;
Hethen heuande on hatche in ther hawe ryses,
Synkande in the salte see seuen hundrethe at ones.
Thane Sir Gawayne the gude, he has the gree wonnen,
And all the cogges grete he gafe to his knyghtes,
Sir Geryn and Sir Grisswolde and othir gret lordes,
Garte Galuth, a gud gome, girde of thaire hedys.
Thus of the false flete appon the flode happenede,
And thus theis feryne folke fey are beleuede.
yitt es the traytoure one londe with tryede knyghttes,
And all trompede they trippe one trappede stedys,
Schewes them vndir schilde one the schire bankkes, 
He ne schownttes for no schame but schewes full heghe.
Sir Arthure and Gawayne avyede them bothen,
To sexty thosandez of men that in theire syghte houede.
Be this the folke was fellyde, thane was the flode passede;
Thane was it slyke a slowde in slakkes full hugge,
That let the Kyng for to lande in the lawe watyre;
Forthy he lengede on laye for lesyng of horsys,
To loke of his legemen and of his lele knyghtes,
yif any ware lamede or loste, life yife they scholde.
Than Sir Gawayn the gude a galaye he takys,
And glides vp at a gole with gud men of armes;
When he growndide, for grefe he gyrdis in the watere,
That to the girdyll he gos in all his gylte wedys;
Schottis vpe appon the sonde in syghte of the lordes,
Sengly with hys soppe, my sorowe es the more.
With baners of his bagys, beste of his armes,
He braydes vp on the banke in his bryghte wedys;
He byddys his baneoure, Buske thow belyfe
To yone brode batayle that one yone banke houes,
And I ensure yow sothe I sall yowe sewe aftyre.
Loke ye blenke for no bronde, ne for no bryghte wapyn,
Bot beris down of the beste and bryng them o dawe;
Bees noghte abayste of theire boste, abyde on the erthe.
ye haue my baneres borne in batailles full hugge;
We sall fell yone false, the Fende hafe theire saules!
Fightes faste with the frape, the felde sall be owres;
May I that traytoure ouertake, torfere hym tyddes,
That this treson has tymbyrde to my trewe lorde.
Of siche a engendure full littyll joye happyns,
And that sall in this journee be juggede full euen.
Now they seke ouer the sonde this soppe at the gayneste,
Sembles one the sowdeours and settys theire dyntys:
Thourghe the scheldys so schene schalkes they towche,
With schaftes scheueride schorte of thas schene launces;
Derfe dynttys they dalte with daggande sperys.
One the danke of the dewe many dede lyggys:
Dukes and duszeperis and dubbide knyghttys;
The doughttyeste of Danemarke vndone are for euer.
Thus thas renkes in rewthe rittis theire brenyes,
And rechis of the richeste vnreken dynttis;
Thare they thronge in the thikke and thristis to the erthe
Of the thraeste men thre hundrethe at ones.
Bot Sir Gawayne for grefe myghte noghte agayne-stande,
Vmbegrippys a spere and to a gome rynnys,
that bare of gowles full gaye with gowtes of syluere;
He gyrdes hym in at the gorge with his grym launce,
that the grownden glayfe graythes in sondyre;
With that boystous brayde he bownes hym to dye, 
the Kyng of Gutlande it was, a gude man of armes.
Thayre avawwarde than all voydes thareaftyre,
Alls venqueste verrayely with valyant beryns.
Metis with medilwarde, that Modrede ledys;
Oure men merkes them to, as them myshappenede.
For hade Sir Gawayne hade grace to halde the grene hill,
He had wirchipe, iwys, wonnen for euer.
Bot than Sir Gawayne, iwysse, he waytes hym wele
To wreke hym on this werlaughe that this werre mouede;
And merkes to Sir Modrede amonge all his beryns,
With the Mownttagus and other gret lordys.
than Sir Gawayne was greuede and with a gret wyll
Fewters a faire spere and freschely askryes:
Fals fosterde foode, the Fende haue thy bonys!
Fy one the, felone, and thy false werkys!
Thow sall be dede and vndon for thy derfe dedys,
Or I sall dy this daye, yif destanye worthe!
Thane his enmye, with oste of owtlawede beryns,
All enangylls abowte oure excellente knyghttez,
That the traytoure be tresone had tryede hym seluen;
Dukes of Danemarke he dyghttes full sone,
And leders of Lettowe, with legyons inewe;
Vmbylappyde oure men with launcez full kene.
Sowdeours and Sarazenes owte of sere landys,
Sexty thosande men semlyly arrayede,
Sekerly assembles thare one seuen schore knyghtes,
Sodaynly in dischayte by tha salte strandes.
Thane Sir Gawayne grette with his gray eghen,
For grefe of his gud men that he gyde schulde;
He wyste that thay wondyde ware and wery forfoughtten,
And what for wondire and woo, all his witte faylede.
And thane syghande he saide, with sylande terys,
We are with Sarazenes besett appon sere halfes.
I syghe noghte for my selfe, sa helpe oure Lorde;
Bot for to Õseeå vs supprysede, my sorowe es the more.
Bes dowghtty todaye, yone dukes schall be youres;
For dere Dryghttyn this daye, dredys no wapyn.
We sall ende this daye alls excellent knyghttes,
Ayere to endelesse joye with angells vnwemyde.
thofe we hafe vnwittyly wastede oure selfen,
We sall wirke all wele in the wirchipe of Cryste.
We sall for yone Sarazenes, I sekire yow my trowhe,
Souppe with oure Saueoure solemply in Heuen,
In presence of that precious Prynce of all other,
With prophetes and patriarkes and apostlys full nobill,
Before His freliche face that fourmede vs all.
yondire to yone yaldsons, he that yeldes hym euer,
Qwhylls he es qwykke and in qwerte, vnquellyde with handis,
Be he neuer mo sauede, ne socourede with Cryste,
Bot Satanase his sawle mowe synke into Helle!
Than grymly Sir Gawayne gryppis hys wapyn;
Agayne that gret bataille he graythes hym son:
Radly of his riche swerde he reghttes the cheynys,
In he schokkes his schelde, schountes he no lengare;
Bot alls vnwyse, wodewyse, he wente at the gayneste,
Wondis of thas wedirwyns with wrakfull dynttys, 
All wellys full of blode thare he awaye passes;
And thofe hym ware full woo, he wondys bot lyttill,
Bot wrekys at his wirchip the wrethe of hys lorde.
He stekys stedis in stoure and sterenefull knyghttes,
That steryn men in theire sterapes stone-dede thay lygge;
He ryvys the ranke stele, he rittes the mayles, 
Thare myghte no renke hym areste, his reson was passede.
He fell in a fransye for fersenesse of herte;
He feghttis and fellis down that hym before standis, 
Fell neuer fay man siche fortune in erthe.
Into the hale bataile hedlyngs he rynys,
And hurtes of the hardieste that one the erthe lenges.
Letande alls a lyon he lawnches them thorowe,
Lordes and ledars that one the launde houes.
yit Sir Gawayne for wo wondis bot lyttill,
Bot woundis of thas wedirwyns with wondirfull dyntes,
Alls he that wold wilfully wasten hym selfen;
And for wondsom and will all his wit failede,
That wode alls a wylde beste he wente at the gayneste;
All walewede one blode, thare he awaye passede, 
Iche a wy may be warre be wreke of another.
than he moues to Sir Modrede amange all his knyghttes,
And mett hym in the myde-schelde and mallis hym thorowe;
Bot the schalke for the scharpe he schownttes a littill,
He schare hym one the schorte rybbys a schaftmonde large:
The schafte schoderede and schotte in the schire beryn,
that the schadande blode ouer his schanke rynnys,
And schewede on his schynbawde, that was schire burneste.
And so they schyfte and schove, he schotte to the erthe;
With the lussche of the launce he lyghte one hys schuldyrs,
Ane akere lenghe one a launde, full lothely wondide.
Than Gawayne gyrde to the gome and one the groffe fallis, 
Alls his grefe was graythede, his grace was no bettyre, 
He schokkes owtte a schorte knyfe schethede with siluere,
And scholde haue slottede hym in, bot no slytte happenede:
His hand sleppid and solde o slante one the mayles,
And the tother slely slynges hym vndire;
With a trenchande knyfe the traytoure hym hyttes,
Thorowe the helme and the hede, one heyghe one the brayne:
And thus Sir Gawayne es gon, the gude man of armes,
Withowttyn reschewe of renke and rewghe es the more;
Thus Sir Gawayne es gon, that gyede many othire, 
Fro Gowere to Gernesay, all the gret lordys,
Of Glamour, of Galys londe, this galyarde knyghtes,
For glent of gloppynyng glade be they neuer.
Kyng Froderike of Fres faythely thareaftyre
Fraynes at the false mane of owre ferse knyghte:
Knew thow euer this knyghte in thi kithe ryche,
Of whate kynde he was comen? Beknowe no the sothe;
Qwat gome was he this with the gaye armes,
With this gryffoune of golde, that es one growffe fallyn?
He has grettly greffede vs, so me Gode helpe,
Gyrde down oure gude men and greuede vs sore;
He was the sterynneste in stoure that euer stele werryde,
Fore he has stonayede oure stale and stroyede for euer!
Than Sir Mordrede with mouthe melis full faire:
He was makles one molde, mane, be my trowhe;
This was Sir Gawayne the gude, the gladdeste of othire,
And the graciouseste gome that vndire God lyffede,
Mane hardyeste of hande, happyeste in armes,
And the hendeste in hawle vndire heuen riche,
the lordelieste of ledyng qwhylls he lyffe myghte,
Fore he was lyone allossede in londes inewe; 
Had thow knawen hym, Sir Kyng, in kythe thare he lengede,
His konynge, his knyghthode, his kyndly werkes,
His doyng, his doughtynesse, his dedis of armes,
Thow wolde hafe dole for his dede the dayes of thy lyfe.
yit that traytour alls tite teris lete he fall,
Turnes hym furthe tite, and talkes no more,
Went wepand awaye and weries the stowndys,
that euer his werdes ware wroghte siche wandrethe to wyrke.
Whene he thoghte on this thynge, it thirllede his herte:
For sake of his sybb blode sygheande he rydys;
When that renayede renke remembirde hym seluen
Of reuerence and ryotes of the Rownde Table,
He remyd and repent hym of all his rewthe werkes;
Rode awaye with his rowte, ristys he no lengere,
For rade of oure riche kynge, ryve that he scholde.
Thane kayres he to Cornewaile, carefull in herte,
Because of his kynsemane that one the coste ligges;
He taries tremlande ay, tydandis to herken.
Than the traytoure treunted the Tyseday thareaftyre,
Trynnys in with a trayne treson to wirke;
And by the Tambire that tide his tentis he reris,
And thane in a mette-while a messangere he sendes,
And wraite vnto Waynor how the werlde chaungede,
And what comliche coste the Kyng was aryuede,
One floode foughten with his fleete and fellyd them o lyfe;
Bade hir ferken oo ferre and flee with hir childire,
Whills he myghte wile hym awaye and wyn to hir speche,
Ayere into Irelande, into thas owte-mowntes,
And wonn thare in wildernesse, within tha wast landys.
Than cho yermys and yeyes at yorke in hir chambire,
Gronys full grysely with gretand teres,
Passes owte of the palesse with all hir pryce maydenys,
Towarde Chestyre in a charre thay chese hir the wayes,
Dighte hir ewyn for to dye, with dule at hir herte;
Scho kayres to Karelyone and kawghte hir a vaile,
Askes thare the habite in the honoure of Criste,
And all for falsede and frawde and fere of hir louerde.
Bot whene oure wiese kyng wiste that Gawayne was landede,
He al towrythes for woo, and, wryngande his handes,
Gers lawnche his botes appon a lawe watire,
Londis als a lyon with lordliche knyghtes,
Slippes in in the sloppes o slante to the girdyll,
Swalters vpe swyftly with his swerde drawen,
Bownnys his bataile and baners displayes,
Buskes ouer the brode sandes with breth at his herte,
Ferkes frekkly one felde thare the feye lygges.
Of the traytours men one trappede stedis,
Ten thosandez ware tynte, the trewghe to acownt,
And certane on owre syde seuen score knyghtes,
In soyte with theire souerayne vnsownde are beleuede.
the Kyng comly ouerkeste knyghtes and othire,
Erlles of Awfrike and Estriche berynes,
Of Orgaile and Orekenay, the Iresche kynges,
The nobileste of Norwaye, nowmbirs full hugge,
Dukes of Danamarke and dubbid knyghtes;
And the Guthede kynge in the gay armes
Lys gronande on the grownde and girde thorowe even.
The riche kynge ransakes with rewthe at his herte,
And vp rypes the renkes of all the Rownde Tabyll;
Ses them all in a soppe in sowte by them one,
With the Sarazenes vnsownde enserclede abowte;
And Sir Gawayne the gude in his gaye armes,
Vmbegrippede the girse and one grouffe fallen,
His baners brayden down, betyn of gowlles,
His brand and his brade schelde all blody beronen;
Was neuer oure semliche kynge so sorowfull in herte,
Ne that sanke hym so sade bot that sighte one.
Than gliftis the gud kynge and glopyns in herte,
Gronys full grisely with gretande teris;
Knelis down to the cors and kaught it in armes,
Kastys vpe vmbrere and kyssis hym sone,
Lokes one his eye-liddis, that lowkkide ware faire,
His lippis like to the lede and his lire falowede.
than the corownde kyng cryes full lowde,
Dere kosyn o kynde, in kare am I leuede,
For nowe my wirchipe es wente and my were endide;
Here es the hope of my hele, my happynge of armes, 
My herte and my hardynes hale one hym lengede,
My concell, my comforthe, that kepide myn herte.
Of all knyghtes the kynge that vndir Criste lifede,
thou was worthy to be kyng, thofe I the corown bare;
My wele and my wirchipe of all this werlde riche
Was wonnen thourghe Sir Gawayne and thourghe his witt one.
Allas! saide Sir Arthure, Nowe ekys my sorowe;
I am vttirly vndon in myn awen landes.
A, dowttouse, derfe dede, thou duellis to longe!
Why drawes thou so one dreghe? Thow drownnes myn herte!
Than sweÕlåtes the swete kyng and in swoun fallis,
Swafres vp swiftely and swetly hym kysses,
Till his burliche berde was blody berown,
Alls he had bestes birtenede and broghte owt of life;
Ne had Sir Ewayne comen and othire grete lordys,
His bolde herte had brousten for bale at that stownde.
Blyne, sais thies bolde men, thow blondirs thi selfen;
this es botles bale, for bettir bees it neuer.
It es no wirchipe, iwysse, to wryng thyn hondes;
To wepe als a woman it es no witt holden.
Be knyghtly of contenaunce, als a kyng scholde,
And leue siche clamoure, for Cristes lufe of Heuen!
For blode, said the bolde kyng, blyn sall I neuer,
Or my brayne tobriste, or my breste other!
Was neuer sorowe so softe that sanke to my herte;
Itt es full sibb to my selfe, my sorowe es the more.
Was neuer so sorowfull a syghte seyn with myn eyghen;
He es sakles supprysede for syn of myn one.
Down knelis the Kyng and kryes full lowde;
With carefull contenaunce he karpes thes wordes:
O rightwis, riche Gode, this rewthe Thow beholde,
this ryall, rede blode ryn appon erthe;
It ware worthy to be schrede and schrynede in golde,
For it es sakles of syn, sa helpe me oure Lorde.
Down knelis the Kyng with kare at his herte,
Kaughte it vpe kyndly with his clene handis,
Keste it in a ketill-hatte and couerde it faire,
And kayres furthe with the cors in kyghte thare he lenges.
Here I make myn avowe, quod the Kynge than,
To Messie, and to Marie, the mylde Qwene of Heuen,
I sall neuer ryvaye, ne raches vncowpyll
At roo ne raynedere that rynnes appone erthe;
Neuer grewhownde late glyde, ne gossehawke latt flye,
Ne neuer fowle see fellide that flieghes with wenge;
Fawkon ne formaylle appon fiste handill,
Ne yitt with gerefawcon rejoyse me in erthe;
Ne regne in my royaltez, ne halde my Rownde Table,
Till thi dede, my dere, be dewly reuengede;
Bot euer droupe and dare, qwylls my lyfe lastez,
Till Drighten and derfe dede hafe don qwate them likes.
Than kaughte they vpe the cors with kare at theire hertes,
Karyed one a coursere with the Kynge selfen;
The waye vnto Wynchestre thay wente at the gayneste,
Wery and wandsomdly, with wondide knyghtes.
Thare come the prior of the plas and professide monkes,
Apas in processione and with the Prynce metys;
And he betuke tham the cors of the knyghte noble.
"Lokis it be clenly kepyd," he said, "and in the kirke holden,
Done for derygese, as to the ded fallys,
Menskede with messes for mede of the saule;
Loke it wante no waxe, ne no wirchipe ells,
And at the body be bawmede and one erthe holden;
yiff thou kepe thi couent encroche any wirchipe
At my comyng agayne, yif Crist will it thole,
Abyde of the beryeng till they be broughte vndire,
that has wroghte vs this woo and this werre mouede."
than sais Sir Wychere the wy, a wyese mane of armes,
"I rede ye warely wende and wirkes the beste;
Soiorne in this cete and semble thi berynes,
And bidde with thi bolde men in thi burghe riche;
Get owt knyghttez of contres that castells holdes,
And owt of garysons grete gude men of armes,
For we are fraithely to fewe to feghte with them all,
that we see in his sorte appon the see bankes."
With krewell contenaunce thane the Kyng karpis theis wordes:
"I praye the, kare noghte, Sir Knyghte, ne caste thou no dredis;
Hadde I no segge bot my selfe one vndir sone,
And I may hym see with sighte or one hym sette hondis,
I sall even amange his mene malle hym to dede!
Are I of the stede styre halfe a stede lenghe,
I sall Õstrykeå hym in his stowre and stroye hym for euer;
And thareto make I myn avowe devottly to Cryste,
And to Hys Modyre Marie, the mylde Qwene of Heuen,
I sall neuer soiourne sounde, ne sawghte at myne herte,
In cete ne in subarbe sette appon erthe,
Ne yitt slomyre ne slepe with my slawe eyghne,
Till he be slayne that hym slowghe, yif any sleyghte happen;
Bot euer pursue the payganys that my pople distroyede,
Qwylls I may pare them and pynne, in place thare me likes."
Thare durste no renke hym areste of all the Rownde Table,
Ne none paye that Prynce with plesande wordes,
Ne none of his ligemene luke hym in the eyghne,
So lordely he lukes for losse of his knyghttes.
Thane drawes he to Dorsett and dreches no langere,
Derefull dredlesse with drowppande teris;
Kayeris into Kornewayle with kare at his herte:
The trays of the traytoure he trynys full euene,
And turnys in be the Treyntis the traytoure to seche,
Fyndis hym in a foreste the Frydaye thereaftire;
The Kyng lyghttes one fott and freschely askryes,
And with his freliche folke he has the felde nomen.
Now isschewis his enmye vndire the wode eyuys,
With ostes of alynes full horrebill to schewe.
Sir Mordrede the Malebranche, with his myche pople,
Foundes owt of the foreste appon fele halfes,
In seuen grett batailles semliche arrayede,
Sexty thowsande men, the syghte was full hugge, 
All fyghtande folke of the ferre laundes,
Faire fettede one frownte be tha fresche strondes.
And all Arthurs oste was amede with knyghtes,
Bot awghtene hundrethe of all, entrede in rolles;
This was a mache vnmete, bot myghttis of Criste,
To melle with that multitude in thase man londis.
Than the royall roy of the Rownde Table
Rydes one a riche stede, arrayes his beryns,
Buskes his avawmwarde, als hym beste likes;
Sir Ewayne and Sir Errake and othire gret lordes,
Demenys the medilwarde menskefully thareaftyre,
With Merrake and Meneduke, myghtty of strenghes;
Idirous and Alymere, thire auenaunt children,
Ayers with Arthure, with seuen score of knyghtes;
He rewlis the rerewarde redyly thareaftyre,
The rekeneste redy men of the Rownde Table,
And thus he fittis his folke and freschely askryes,
And syen comforthes his men with knyghtlyche wordes:
I beseke yow, Sirs, for sake of oure Lorde,
That ye doo wele todaye and dredis no wapen;
Fighttes fersely nowe and fendis youre seluen,
Fellis down yone feye folke, the felde sall be owrs;
They are Sarazenes, yone sorte, vnsownde motte they worthe!
Sett one them sadlye, for sake of oure Lorde.
yif vs be destaynede to dy todaye one this erthe,
We sall be hewede vnto Heuen, or we be halfe colde.
Loke ye lett for no lede lordly to wirche:
Layes yone laddes lowe be the layke ende.
Take no tente vnto me, ne tale of me rekke;
Bes besy one my baners with youre brighte wapyns,
That they be strenghely stuffede with steryn knyghtes,
And holden lordly one lofte, ledys to schewe;
yif any renke them arase, reschowe them sone.
Wirkes now my wirchipe, todaye my werre endys;
ye wotte my wele and my woo, wirkkys as yow likys.
Crist comly with crown comforthe yow all,
For the kyndeste creatours that euer kynge ledde;
I gyffe yow all my blyssyng with a blithe will,
And all Bretowns bolde, blythe mote ye worthe.
They pype vpe at pryme tyme, approches them nere:
Pris men and priste proues theire strenghes;
Bremly the brethemen bragges in troumppes,
In cornettes comlyly, when knyghttes assembles,
And thane jolyly enjoynys theis jentyll knyghttes;
A jolyere journe ajuggede was neuer,
Whene Bretons boldly enbraces theire scheldes,
And Cristyn encroyssede them and castis in fewtire.
than Sir Arthure oste his enmye askryes,
And in they schokke theire scheldes, schontes no lengare;
Schotte to the schiltrons and schowttes full heghe,
Thorowe scheldis full schene schalkes they touche.
Redily thas rydde men of the Rownde Table
With ryall raunke stele rittys theire mayles;
Bryneys browdden they briste and burneste helmys,
Hewes haythen men down, halses in sondre.
Fyghtande with fyne stele, the feye blod rynnys;
Of the frekkeste of frounte, vnfers ere belevede.
Ethyns of Argayle and Irische kynges
Enverounes oure avawmwarde with venymos beryns;
Peghttes and paynymes with perilous wapyns,
With speres disspetousely disspoylles oure knyghttes,
And hewede down the hendeste with hertly dynttys;
Thorow the holle batayle they holden theire wayes.
thus fersly they fyghte appon sere halfes,
That of the bolde Bretons myche blode spillis;
Thare durste non rescowe them for reches in erthe,
the steryn ware thare so stedde and stuffede witÕhå othire;
He durste noghte stire a steppe, bot stodde for hym seluen,
Till thre stalis ware stroyede be strenghe of hym one.
Idrous, quod Arthure, ayre the byhoues;
I see Sir Ewayne ouersette with Sarazenes kene.
Redy the for rescows, arraye thee sone;
Hye the with hardy men in helpe of thy fadire.
Sett in one the syde and socoure yone lordes:
Bot they be socourrede and sownde, vnsawghte be I euer.
Idrous hym ansuers ernestly thareaftyre:
He es my fadire, in faithe, forsake sall I neuer;
He has me fosterde and fedde and my faire bretheren.
Bot I forsake this gate, so me Gode helpe,
And sothely all sybredyn bot thy selfe one;
I breke neuer his biddyng for beryn one lyfe,
Bot euer bouxvm as beste blethely to wyrke.
He comande me kyndly, with knyghtly wordes,
That I schulde lelely one the lenge and one noo lede ells;
I sall hys comandement holde, yif Criste wil me thole.
He es eldare than I, and ende sall we bothen:
He sall ferkke before, and I sall come aftyre;
yiffe hym be destaynede to dy todaye one this erthe,
Criste comly with crown take kepe to hys saule.
than remys the riche kyng with rewthe at his herte,
Hewys hys handys one heghte and to the heuen lokes:
Qwythen hade Dryghttyn destaynede at his dere will,
that he hade demyd me todaye to dy for yow all;
That had I leuer than be lorde all my lyfe tym
Off all that Alexandere aughte qwhills he in erthe lengede.
Sir Ewayne and Sir Errake, thes excellente beryns,
Enters in one the oste and egerly strykes;
The ethenys of Orkkenaye and Irische kynges,
thay gobone of the gretteste with growndene swerdes,
Hewes one thas hulkes with theire harde wapyns,
Layed down thas ledes with lothely dynttys;
Schuldirs and scheldys thay schrede to the hawnches,
And medills thourghe mayles thay merken in sondire, 
Siche honoure neuer aughte none erthely kyng
At theire endyng daye, bot Arthure hym seluen.
So the droughte of the daye dryede theire hertes,
That bothe drynkles they dye, dole was the more.
Now mellys oure medillwarde and mengen togedire
Sir Mordrede the Malebranche, with his myche pople;
He had hide hym behynde within thas holte eyuys,
With halle bataile on hethe, harme es the more;
He hade sene the conteke al clene to the ende,
How oure cheualrye cheuyde be chaunces of armes;
He wiste oure folke was forfoughtten, that thare was feye leuede;
To encowntere the Kyng he castes hym sone.
Bot the churles chekyn hade chaungyde his armes:
He had sothely forsaken tha sawturoure engrelede,
And laughte vpe thre lyons all of whitte siluyre,
Passande in purpre of perrie full riche,
For the Kyng sulde noghte knawe the cawtelous wriche;
Because of his cowardys he keste of his atyre,
Bot the comliche kyng knewe hym full swythe,
Karpis to Sir Cadors thes kyndly wordez:
I see the traytoure come yondyr trynande full yerne:
yone ladde with the lyones es like to hym selfen;
Hym sall torfere betyde, may I touche ones,
For all his treson and trayne, alls I am trew lorde.
Today Clarente and Caliburne sall kythe them togedirs,
Whilke es kenere of kerfe or hardare of eghge;
Fraiste sall we fyne stele appone fyne wedis.
Itt was my derlyng daynteuous and full dere holden,
Kepede fore encorownmentes of kynges enoynttede;
One dayes when I dubbyde dukkes and erlles,
It was burliche borne be the bryghte hiltes;
I durste neuer dere it in dedis of armes,
Bot euer kepide clene, because of my seluen.
For I see Clarent vnclede, that crowne es of swerdes,
My wardrop of Walyngfordhe I wate es distroyede;
Wist no wy wone bot Waynor hir seluen;
Scho hade the kepynge hir selfe of that kydde wapyn,
Off cofres enclosede that to the crown lengede,
With rynges and relikkes and the Regale of Fraunce,
That was fownden on Sir Froll when he was feye leuyde.
Than Sir Marrike in malyncoly metys hym sone,
With a mellyd mace myghtyly hym strykes;
The bordour of his bacenett he bristes in sondire,
that the schire rede blode ouer his brene rynnys.
The beryn blenkes for bale, and all his ble chaunges,
Bot yitt he byddys as a bore and brymly he strykes;
He braydes owte a brande, bryghte als euer ony syluer,
that was Sir Arthure awen and Vtere his fadirs,
In the wardrop of Walyngfordhe was wonte to be kepede;
tharewith the derfe dogge syche dynttes he rechede,
the tother withdrewe one dreghe and durste do non other;
For Sir Marrake was man merrede in elde,
And Sir Mordrede was myghty and Õinå his moste strenghis;
Come non within the compas, knyghte ne non other,
Within the swyng of swerde, that ne he the swete leuyd.
that persayfes oure Prynce and presses to faste,
Strykes into the stowre by strenghe of hys handis,
Metis with Sir Mordrede, he melis vnfaire:
Turne, traytoure vntrewe, the tydys no bettyre;
Be gret Gode, thow sall dy with dynt of my handys!
The schall rescowe no renke, ne reches in erthe.
The Kyng with Calaburn knyghtly hym strykes:
the cantell of the clere schelde he kerfes in sondyre,
Into the schuldyre of the schalke a schaftmonde large,
that the schire rede blode schwede one the maylys.
He schodirde and schrenkys and schontes bott lyttill,
Bott schokkes in scharpely in his schene wedys:
The felone with the fyn swerde freschely he strykes;
The felettes of the ferrere syde he flassches in sondyre,
Thorowe jopown and jesserawnte of gentill mailes, 
The freke fichede in the flesche an halfe fotte large;
That derfe dynt was his dede, and dole was the more
That euer that doughtty sulde dy, bot at Dryghttyns wyll.
yitt with Calyburn his swerde full knyghttly he strykes,
Kastes in his clere schelde and coueres hym full faire;
Swappes of the swerde hande, als he by glentes:
Ane inche from the elbowe he ochede it in sondyre,
that he swounes one the swarthe and one swym fallis;
Thorowe bracer of brown stele and the bryghte mayles,
That the hilte and the hande appon the hethe ligges.
Thane frescheliche the freke the fente vpe rerys,
Brochis hym in with the bronde to the bryghte hiltys,
And he brawles one the bronde and bownes to dye.
In faye, says the feye kynge, sore me forthynkkes
That euer siche a false theefe so faire an ende haues.
Qwen they had fenyste this feghte, thane was the felde wonen,
And the false folke in the felde feye are byleuede;
Till a foreste they fledde and fell in the greuys,
And fers feghtande folke folowes them aftyre,
Howntes and hewes down the heythen tykes,
Mourtherys in the mowntaygnes Sir Mordrede knyghtes;
Thare chapyde neuer no childe, cheftayne ne other,
Bot choppes them down in the chace, it chargys bot littyll.
Bot when Sir Arthure anon Sir Ewayne he fyndys,
And Errake the auenaunt and other grett lordes,
He kawghte vp Sir Cador with care at his herte,
Sir Clegis, Sir Cleremonde, thes clere men of armes,
Sir Lothe and Sir Lyonell, Sir Lawncelott and Lowes,
Marrake and Meneduke, that myghty ware euer.
With langoure in the launde thare he layes them togedire,
Lokede on theyre lighames and with a lowde steuen,
Alls lede that liste noghte lyfe and loste had his myrthis,
Than he stotays for made and all his strenghe faylez,
Lokes vpe to the lyfte and all his lyre chaunges,
Downne he sweys full swythe and in a swoun fallys,
Vpe he coueris one kneys and kryes full often:
"Kyng comly with crowne, in care am I leuyde;
All my lordchipe lawe in lande es layde vndyre,
That me has gyfen gwerdons, br grace of Hym seluen,
Mayntenyde my manhede be myghte of theire handes,
Made me manly on molde and mayster in erthe,
In a tenefull tym this torfere was reryde,
That for a traytoure has tynte all my trewe lordys.
Here rystys the riche blude of the Rownde Table,
Rebukkede with a rebawde, and rewthe es the more!
I may helples one hethe house be myn one,
Alls a wafull wedowe that wannttes hir beryn;
I may werye and wepe and wrynge myn handys,
For my wytt and my wyrchipe awaye es for euer;
Off all lordchips I take leue to myn ende.
Here es the Bretons blode broughte owt of lyfe,
And nowe in this journee all my joy endys."
Thane relyes the renkes of all the Rownde Table:
To the ryall roy thay ride tham all;
Than assembles full sone seuen score knyghtes,
In sighte to thaire souerayne, that was vnsownde leuede.
Than knelis the crownede kynge and kryes one lowde,
"I thanke the, Gode, of Thy grace, with a gud wyll,
That gafe vs vertue and witt to vencows this beryns;
And vs has grauntede the gree of theis gret lordes.
He sent vs neuer no schame, ne schenchipe in erthe,
Bot euer yit the ouerhande of all other kynges.
We hafe no laysere now these lordys to seke,
For yone laythely ladde me lamede so sore;
Graythe vs to Glasthenbery, vs gaynes non other, 
Thare we may ryste vs with roo and raunsake oure wondys.
Of this dere day werke, the Dryghtten be loued,
That vs has destaynede and demyd to dye in oure awen."
Thane they holde at his heste hally at ones,
And graythes to Glassthenberye the gate at the gayneste;
Entres the Ile of Aueloyne, and Arthure he lyghttes,
Merkes to a manere there, for myghte he no forthire;
A surgyn of Salerne enserches his wondes,
The Kyng sees be asaye that sownde bese he neuer,
And sone to his sekire men he said theis wordes:
"Doo calle me a confessour, with Criste in his armes;
I will be howselde in haste, whate happe so betyddys.
Constantyn, my cosyn, he sall the corown bere,
Alls becomys hym of kynde, yife Criste will hym thole;
Beryn, fore my benyson, thowe berye yone lordys,
That in baytaille with brondez are broghte owte of lyfe;
And sythen merke manly to Mordrede children,
That they bee sleyghely slayne and slongen in watyrs;
Latt no wykkyde wede waxe, no wrythe one this erthe, 
I warne fore thy wirchipe, wirke alls I bydde.
I foregyffe all greffe, for Cristez lufe of Heuen;
yife Waynour hafe wele wroghte, wele hir betydde."
He saide In manus with mayne one molde whare he ligges,
And thus passes his speryt, and spekes he no more.
The baronage of Bretayne thane, bechopes and othire,
Graythes them to Glasthenbery with gloppynnande hertes,
To bery thare the bolde kynge and bryng to the erthe,
With all wirchipe and welthe that any wy scholde.
Throly belles thay rynge and Requiem syngys,
Dosse messes and matyns with mournande notes:
Relygeous reueste in theire riche copes,
Pontyficalles and prelates in precyouse wedys,
Dukes and dusszeperis in theire dule-cotes,
Cowntasses knelande and claspande theire handes,
Ladys languessande and lowrande to schewe;
All was buskede in blake, birdes and othire,
That schewede at the sepulture, with sylande teris, 
Whas neuer so sorowfull a syghte seen in theire tym.
Thus endis Kyng Arthure, as auctors alegges,
That was of Ectores blude, the kynge son of Troye,
And of Sir Pryamous the prynce, praysede in erthe;
Fro thythen broghte the Bretons all his bolde eldyrs
Into Bretayne the Brode, as the Bruytte tellys.