Pantheros
Pantheros is of various colors,—black, red, green, gray, purple, and rose color. All these shades appear in combination. Whoever sees it in the morning will not be defeated in battle, that day, nor in any other undertaking. In India there is a beast, of divers colors, called the panther, of whom other beasts are afraid, and this stone is named after him.
Symbolism of the Carbuncle[47]
The carbuncle is red, and surpasses the wonders of all other stones. The books tell us that the gentle carbuncle, fine and clear, is the lord of all stones, the gem of all gems, and has the virtue of precious stones, above all. It is of such superiority, that when he who wears it comes among people, all accord him honor and grace, and rejoice in his coming. The books tell us that the beasts who drink of the stream where carbuncles have been washed, are cured of their malady; and the wretched who in good faith look at this stone are comforted and forget their adversity. By the virtue which God has sent, it soothes the eyes, comforts the heart and the body, and gives man lordship more than do those stones which are larger. Carbuncles are found in Libya in the river of paradise. The book of Moses says that God commanded that the carbuncle should be first in the second row of twelve stones. By night and by day it illumines all, and restores and lightens the heart. Sunlight does not take away any of its great and joy-giving color. Moses tells us that it signifies Jesus Christ, who came into the world to lighten our darkness, and Saint John, speaking of the coming of Jesus Christ, said He is the true Light who gives light to all men and to all the world. Isaiah the prophet said of Him that the people who walked in darkness have seen a great Light. Saint John did not find the carbuncle among the foundations of the celestial kingdom of Jerusalem, for all who desire to behold the carbuncle and the clearness of the true sun must turn to the true light of Jesus Christ.
Symbolism of the Twelve Stones[48]
Twelve stones there are in this world which have great significance. I shall not fail briefly to say what each one signifies. Red jasper signifies love; the green, faith; the white, sweetness. Sapphire means that he who has faith shall reign together with God. Chalcedony, which is the color of fire, shows who will be neighbors with God. Emerald signifies the faith which the Christians have in Him; sardonyx, chastity and humility among the saints; sardius, the sorrows which they had on earth for their love of God; chrysolite, the life celestial that they have after the life terrestrial; beryl, purification, which the saints pronounce to the people. Topaz signifies to us the crown of holy life; chrysoprase, the reward which holy men will hold very dear; and jacinth is a sign of the light which the saints have from the Creator. Amethyst shows the martyrdom which God suffered.
Translated by M. H. S.
HOMILY
CONCERNING MIRACLE PLAYS, GAMES, AND MINSTRELSY
CONCERNING MIRACLE PLAYS, GAMES, AND MINSTRELSY[49]
It is forbidden a clerk in orders to perform or to see miracle plays, for they are sinful gatherings and sights. He may, in church, play the resurrection, showing how God rose, and thus make men believe faithfully that Christ rose in flesh and blood, and he may play without harm the part showing how God was born in Yule night, and thus teach men to believe steadfastly that Christ was born of the Virgin Mary. If he plays parts in the streets or in groves, it seems truly a sinful sight. Saint Isidore bears witness to this, for he says, "These men forsake what they accepted,—God and Christianity, when they take part in such things as miracle plays or in games or tournaments of great price." These are pomps that thou didst forsake when thou didst accept Christianity. At the font the ignorant man says, "I forsake thee, here, Satan, and all thy pomps and thy works." This is the instruction thou hast had as a clerk. Hast thou kept thy promise when thou dost take part in such performances? Thou hast broken thy covenant with God, and dost serve thy sire, Termagant. Saint Isidore says in his writings, "All those who delight in seeing such things, or who lend horse or harness for them, are perilously guilty." If a priest or a clerk lends a vestment which has been hallowed by the sacrament, he, more than others, is to be blamed, for he shall have the infamy which attends sacrilege, and shall be chastised as is right.
Dances, carols, and summer games bring shame in many ways; when thou dost plan to take part in these thou art slothful in God's service, and shalt be punished for thy sin.
What say you of minstrels, all of whom delight in such things? Their deeds are full of peril, and dear neither to God nor to God's house. They would rather hear of a dance or of deeds of boasting and of pride than any good of God in heaven, or other wisdom that may be named. In folly is spent all that they get,—on their dress, their drink, and their meat. And because of such things, I shall tell you what once befell a minstrel. Saint Gregory tells this story:
A minstrel, a goliardys,[50] came once to a bishop's house, and asked for charity. The porter let him enter. At meal time the board was laid; and when the benison should have been said, this minstrel made melody with music loud and high. By report, the bishop was a holy man. He sat down at the table, and should have blessed the food, with a word, but he was so disturbed by the noise of the minstrelsy that he did not say grace, as he usually did, very devoutly.
The bishop complained sorely, and said to all those who were there that he would not put the benison above the grace of charity. He saw well, in spirit, that vengeance was approaching speedily, and said, "Give him his alms, and let him go. Death approaches, which will slay him." The minstrel received charity, and then departed, and as he passed out of the gate, a stone fell down from the wall, and slew him there. That betokened that God was not pleased with what the minstrel did, when he disturbed the devotion of the good man.
This is told for the sake of gleemen, so that they will take some heed as to where it is proper to make music, and also for the sake of those who listen, so that they will not love minstrelsy too dearly, nor have for it such affection that they will worship heaven's King the less.
I shall tell you what I have heard of this bishop, Saint Robert, whose surname is Grossteste of Lincoln. He loved to hear the harp, for it makes the wit of man keen. Next his chamber, beside his study, was his harper's chamber. Many times, by night and by day, he found solace in notes and lays. Some one asked him why he had such delight in minstrelsy, and he told why he held the harper dear: "The virtue of the harp will destroy the fiend's might, and rightly the harp is likened to the cross. Another thing comforts me,—if God has given to a piece of wood the power to make men hear so much joy, even more joy, there must be where God Himself dwells. The harp often reminds me of the joy and bliss where God is. Therefore, good men, you should learn when you hear a gleeman, to worship God with all your might, according as David says in the Psalter, 'in harp, in tabor, and in symphony, worship God; in trumpets and psaltery, in stringed instruments and organs, and in bells ringing, in all these worship heaven's King.' If you do thus, I say boldly, you may hear your minstrelsy."
Translated by M. H. S.
SATIRE
THE SONG OF THE UNIVERSITY OF PARIS
THE LAND OF COCKAYGNE
THE COMPLAINT OF THE HUSBANDMAN
SIR PENNY
THE SONG OF THE UNIVERSITY OF PARIS[51]
Much argument is heard of late,
The subject I'll attempt to state,
A question for dispute, I fear,
That will hang on for many a year.
The student-folk of Paris town
(I speak of those in cap and gown,
Students of art, philosophy,—
In short, "the University,"
And not our old-time learned men)
Have stirred up trouble here again.
Nothing they'll gain, it seems to me,
Except more bitter enmity,
Till there is no peace, day or night.
Does such a state of things seem right?
To give his son a chance to stay
In Paris, growing wise each day,
Is some old peasant's one ambition.
To pay his bills and his tuition
The poor hard-working father slaves;
Sends him each farthing that he saves,
While he in misery will stay
On his scant plot of land to pray
That his hard toil may help to raise
His son to honor and to praise.
But once the son is safe in town
The story then reads upside down.
Forgetting all his pledges now,
The earnings of his father's plow
He spends for weapons, not for books.
Dawdling through city streets, he looks
To find some pretty, loitering wench,
Or idle brawl by tavern bench;
Wanders at will and pries about,
Till money fails and gown wears out.—
Then he starts fresh on the old round;
Why sow good seed on barren ground?
Even in Lent when men should do
Something pleasing in God's view,
Your students then elect to wear
For penitence, no shirts of hair,
But swaggering hauberks, as they sit
Drowning in drink their feeble wit;
While three or four of them excite
Four hundred students to a fight,
And close the University.
(Not such a great calamity!)
Yet, heavens, for one of serious mind
What life more pleasing can you find
Than earnest scholar's life may be?
More pains than precious gems has he,
And while he's struggling to grow wise,
Amusements he must sacrifice,—
Give up his feasting and his drinking,
And spend his time in sober thinking.
His life is just about as merry
As is a monk's in a monastery.
Why send a boy away to school
There to become an arrant fool?
When he should be acquiring sense,
He wastes his time and all his pence,
And to his friends brings only shame,
While they suppose him winning fame.
Translated by Marion E. Markley
THE LAND OF COCKAYGNE[52]
Far in the sea west of Spain is a land called Cockaygne. There is no land except the kingdom of heaven its equal in happiness and goodness; though paradise is joyful and bright, Cockaygne is still fairer. What is there in paradise but grass and flowers and green branches? Though joy and great pleasure are in paradise, yet there is no food but fruit; there is no hall, no bower, no bench, and nothing but water to quench one's thirst. Only two men live there, Enoch and Elias; a wretched life must they lead where no other men dwell.
In Cockaygne is meat and drink, without care or trouble or toil. The meat is dainty; the drink is pure wine at noon and at supper. This land has no peer on earth; verily there is no place under heaven so full of joy and bliss.
In that land is many a sweet sight; it is always day and never night; there is no strife nor quarrel; there is no death, but only lasting life; there is no lack of food nor dress; there is no angry man nor woman; there is no serpent, wolf, nor fox, horse nor colt, ox nor cow; there is no sheep nor swine nor goat nor steed nor stables. There are no flies nor fleas nor other insects in town or bed or house, no serpents nor snails, nor is there thunder, sleet, nor hail, storm, rain, nor wind; there is no blind man nor woman, but everywhere is jest and joy and glee. Well fares it with him who there may dwell.
Rivers flow there, wide and fair, of oil, of milk, of honey, and of wine. Water serves there only two uses,—to look at, and to use for washing. There are many kinds of fruit, and everywhere is solace and delight.
There is a fair abbey of white monks and of gray; there are bowers and halls; the walls are all of pasties, of flesh, of fish, and of rich meats,—the very best a man may eat. Flour cakes are the shingles of church, cloister, bower, and hall. The pinnacles are fat puddings, rich food for princes and kings; men may eat as much as they please, without any danger. All things are in common to both old and young, to strong and weak, to meek and bold.
There is a cloister fair and light, broad and long and beautiful. All the pillars of that cloister are of crystal, with bases and capitals of green jasper and red coral. In the meadow is a tree, most pleasing to the sight. The root is ginger and galingale; the shoots are all of zedoary; the finest maces are the flowers; the rind is sweet smelling cinnamon; and the fruit is clove of goodly taste. Cubebs are not lacking, either. There are roses red of hue, and lilies, also, fair to see. They never fade by day nor by night, this should be a pleasant sight. There are four wells in the abbey, made of triacle and aromatic plants, of balm and also of spiced wine, ever fed by underground streams. Precious stones and gold are there, sapphire, pearl, carbuncle, astrion, emerald, liguros and chrysoprase, beryl, onyx and topaz, amethyst and chrysolite, chalcedony and epetite. There are many birds,—the throstle, thrush, and nightingale, the lark and the woodpecker, and other birds without number, that never cease singing merrily day nor night.
More, however, there is to tell you; geese roasted on the spit fly to that abbey and cry: "Geese, all hot, all hot." They bring plenty of garlick, the best you could ever look for. The larks, that are familiar food, light in a man's mouth, all stewed daintily and powdered with clove and cinnamon. There is never any question of drink, but every one takes enough, yet does not toil.
When the monks go to mass, all the glass windows turn to bright crystal, to give the monks more light. When the masses are all said, the crystal turns again to glass, in the state that it was before.... [The rest of the poem satirizes the morals of the monks.]
Translated by M. H. S.
THE COMPLAINT OF THE HUSBANDMAN[53]
I heard men upon earth make many a moan,
Of how they were harried in their task of tilling:
Good years and grain are both of them gone,
We enjoy here no tales, and have no song to sing.
Now we must work, no way else is known,
I may no longer live by my gleaning.
Yet even a bitterer demand has upgrown,
For ever the fourth penny goes to the king.
Thus we complain of the king and have cares that are cold;
Though we dream of recovery we are ever downcast.
He who has any goods which he hoped he could hold
Learns that what we love most we must lose at the last.
Loath are we to lose what little there is,
And we have our henchmen who will for pay sue.
The hayward[54] bodes harm if we have aught of his,
The bailiff[55] with blows shows how well he can do,
The woodward[56] awaits in the watched wilderness:
Neither riches nor rest will arise for us few.
Thus they pillage the poor, who have little of bliss,
And must sweat at their toil and waste away too.
He must needs waste away, whatever he swore,
Who hath not a hood his own head to hide.
Thus will walks in the land, and law is no more,
And picked from the poor is the persecutor's pride.
Thus they pillage the poor and pick them all clean,
And the rich men are ruling without any right;
Their lands and their people all lie very lean,
Through demands of the bailiffs such sorrows alight.
Men of religion[57] are abject and mean
As are baron and bondman,[58] the clerk and the knight.
Thus will walks in the land and sorrow is seen,
Falsehood grows fat and mars all with his might.
He stands still in a spot and shows a stern soul,
Who makes beggars wander with long staves and bags;
Thus we are hunted from hall and from hole,
And those who wore robes are now wearing rags.
And then come the beadles[59] with many a boast:
"Supply me with silver for the green wax,[60]
Thou art set down in my writ as thou thyself know'st,"
Yet more than ten times have I paid my tax.
Then I must furnish hens for the roast,
And fairly, each fish day, have lamprey and lax.[61]
If I go to the market, I lose, at the most,
Though I sell my bill[62] and my big axe.
I may place my pledge well if I will,
Or sell my corn when it's green as the grass;
Yet I am a foul churl, though they have their fill;
What I've saved all the year I must spend at this pass.
Needs must I spend what I've saved from of yore,
Against the coming of catchpoles I must take care;
The master beadle comes in like a brutish boar
And says he will make my dwelling all bare,
So then I must bribe him, with one mark or more,
Although I at the set day should sell my own mare;
Thus the green wax grieves us neath our garments poor,
So that men hunt us as hound does the hare.
They hunt us as hound does a hare on a hill;
Since I took to the land such woe I've been taught.
The beadles have never had quite all their fill,
For they slip away, and it's we who are caught.
Thus I catch and I carry cares that are cold,
Since I have had cottage and reckoning to keep.
To seek silver for the king, my seed I have sold,
And my land has lain fallow and learned how to sleep.
Since they took my fair cattle away from the fold,
When I think of old joys I am ready to weep;
Thus are bred so many of these beggars bold,
And our rye is rotten and rank ere we reap.
Rank is our rye and rotten in the straw,
Because of foul weather by brook and by shore;
Thus wakes in this world the worst woe men e'er saw,
As well waste all away, as work thus evermore.
Translated by M. H. S.
SIR PENNY[63]
On earth there is a little thing
That reigns as does the richest king,
In this and every land;
Sir Penny is his name, we're told,
He compels both young and old
To bow unto his hand.
Popes and kings and emperors,
Bishops, abbots, too, and priors,
Parson, priest, and knight,
Barons, earls, and dukes, also,
Gladly in his service go,
Both by day and night.
Sir Penny changes a man's mood
And makes him, often, don his hood
And rise and stand again.
Men honor him with reverence
And give utmost obedience
Unto that little swain.
In the king's court it is no gain
Against Sir Penny to complain,
So great is he in might;
He is so witty and so strong
That be a matter ever so wrong
He will make it right.
With Penny women may be won
By those men they once did shun,
As often may be seen;
Long with him they will not chide,
For he can help them trail aside,
In good scarlet and green.
He may buy both heaven and hell
And everything there is to sell,
Such grace he has on earth.
He may loose and he may bind;
The poor are ever put behind,
When he comes to a place.
When he begins to take control,
He makes meek the cruel soul
And weak who bold has been;
All men's needs are quickly sped,
Without pledge or bail to dread,
Where he is go-between.
The justices he makes so blind
They are unable right to find
Or even truth to see;
To give judgment they are loath,
If it should make Sir Penny wroth,
For dear to them is he.
Where strife was, Penny soon makes peace;
From anger he will bring release,
As long as men will spend;
Of foes he makes friends most true,
His counsel they will never rue
Who have him for friend.
That lord is set above us all
And richly served within the hall
At the festal board;
The more he gives men plenteously,
The more beloved always is he,
And, by a host, adored.
He makes many be forsworn
Who in body and soul are made forlorn
By following after him.
Other god they will not have,
Except that little and round knave,
To end their sorrows grim.
On him alone they set their hearts,
And no man from his love departs,
Neither for good nor ill.
All that he will on earth have done
Is granted soon by everyone
According to his will.
Penny is a good fellow;
Men greet him in deed and word, also,
Whenever he comes near;
He is not welcomed as a guest,
But always served with what is best,
A soft seat and good cheer.
Whoever falls in any need,
With Penny's help will win good speed,
Whatever may betide;
He that is Penny's friend, withal,
Shall have his will in steed and stall
When others are set aside.
Sir Penny gives men richest weeds,
And many men may ride his steeds
In this world so wide.
In every game and every play
The mastery is given aye
To Penny for his pride.
Sir Penny always wins the prize
Wherever towers and castles rise
By town or country way;
Without either spear or shield
He is the best in wood or field,
Most stalwart in the fray.
In every place this truth is seen,
Sir Penny rules both great and mean;
Most masterful is he;
And all is as he does command;
Against his will no man dare stand,
Neither on land or sea.
Sir Penny's counsel gives great aid
To those who have his law obeyed,
As the assizes show.
He lengthens life and saves from death,
But love him not o'er well, God saith,
For covetousness is woe.
If thou shouldst chance treasure to win,
Delight thee not too much therein,
Nor proud nor haughty be;
But spend all as a Christian can,
So that thou mayst love God and man
In perfect charity.
God grant us grace, with heart and will,
The goods that he is giving, still
Well and wisely to spend;
And our lives here so to lead,
That we may have His bliss for meed,
Ever without an end.
Translated by M. H. S.
LAY
SIR ORFEO
SIR ORFEO[64]
Orfeo was a king,
In Inglond an heighe lording,
A stalworth man and hardi bo,[65]
Large and curteys, he was al so;
His fader was comen of king Pluto,
And his moder of king Juno,
That sum time were as godes y hold,
For aventours that thai dede and told.
This king sojurned in Traciens,
That was a cite of noble defens,
For Winchester was cleped[66] tho
Traciens, with outen no.
The king hadde a quen of priis,
That was y cleped dame Heurodis.
The fairest levedi[67] for the nones[68]
That might gon on bodi and bones,
Ful of love and godenisse
Ac no man may telle hir fairnise.
Bifel so in the comessing of May,
When miri and hot is the day,
And oway beth winter schours,
And everi feld is ful of flours,
And blosme breme[69] on everi bough,
Over al wexeth miri anough,
This ich[70] quen dame Heurodis,
Tok to maidens of priis,
And went in an undren tide[71]
To play bi an orchard side
To se the floures sprede and spring,
And to here the foules sing:
Thai sett hem doun al thre,
Under a fair ympe[72] tre,
And wel sone this fair quene,
Fel on slepe opon the grene.
The maidens durst hir nought awake,
Bot let hir ligge and rest take,
So sche slepe til after none,
That under tide was al y done;
Ac as sone as sche gan awake,
Sche crid and lothli bere gan make;
Sche froted[73] hir honden and hir fet,
And crached her visage, it blede wete,
Hir riche robe hye al to rett,[74]
And was reneyd[75] out of hir witt.
The two maidens hir biside
No durst with hir no leng abide,
But ourn[76] to the palays ful right,
And told bothe squier and knight,
That her quen awede[77] wold,
And bad hem go and hir at hold.
Knightes urn[76], and levedis al so,
Damisels sexti and mo,
In the orchard to the quen hye come,
And her up in her armes nome,[78]
And brought hir to bed attelast,
And held hir there fine fast;
Ac ever sche held in o cri
And wold up and owy.
When Orfeo herd that tiding
Never him nas wers for no thing;
He come with knightes tene
To chaumber right bifor the quene,
And biheld and seyd with grete pite:
O lef[79] liif, what is te,[80]
That ever yete hast ben so stille,
And now gredest[81] wonder schille[82];
Thi bodi, that was so white y core,[83]
With thine nailes is al to tore,
Allas! thi rode,[84] that was so red,
Is al wan as thou were ded;
And also thine fingres smale,
Beth al blodi and al pale;
Allas! thi lovesum eyghen[85] to
Loketh so man doth on his fo;
A dame, Ich biseche merci,
Let ben al this reweful cri,
And tel me what the is, and hou,
And what thing may the help now?
Tho lay sche stille attelast,
And gan to wepe swithe[86] fast,
And seyd thus the king to:
Allas! mi lord, sir Orfeo,
Seththen[87] we first to gider were,
Ones wroth never we nere,
Bot ever Ich have y loved the
As mi liif, and so thou me,
Ac now we mot[88] delen ato,
Do thi best, for y mot go.
Allas! quath he, forlorn Ich am,
Whider wiltow go and to wham?
Whider thou gost Ichil with the,
And whider Y go thou schalt with me.
Nay, nay, sir, that nought nis,
Ichil the telle al how it is:
As Ich lay this under tide,
And slepe under our orchard side,
Ther come to me to fair knightes
Wele y armed al to rightes,
And bad me comen an heighing,[89]
And speke with her lord the king;
And Ich answerd at wordes bold,
Y durst nought, no y nold.
Thai priked oghain[90] as thai might drive,
Tho com her king also blive,
With an hundred knightes and mo,
And damissels an hundred al so;
Al on snowe white stedes,
As white as milke were her wedes,
Y no seighe never yete bifore
So fair creatours y core!
The king hadde a croun on hed,
It nas of silver, no of gold red,
Ac it was of a precious ston;
As bright as the sonne it schon:
And as son as he to me cam,
Wold Ich, nold Ich, he me nam,
And made me with him ride,
Opon a palfray bi his side,
And brought me to his pallays,
Wele atird in ich ways;
And schewed me castels and tours,
Rivers, forestes, frith[91] with flours;
And his riche stedes[92] ichon,
And seththen me brought oghain hom,
In to our owhen orchard,
And said to me after ward:
Loke dame, to morwe thatow be
Right here under this ympe tre;
And than thou schalt with ous go
And live with ous ever mo,
And yif thou makest ous y let,
Where thou be, thou worst y fet[93]
And to tore thine limes al,
That nothing help the no schal,
And thei thou best so to torn
Yete thou worst with ous y born.
When king Orfeo herd this cas,
O we![94] quath he, allas! allas!
Lever me were to lete[95] mi liif,
Than thus to lese the quen mi wiif,
He asked conseyl at ich man,
Ac no man him help no can.
A morwe the under tide is come
And Orfeo hath his armes y nome,
And wele ten hundred knightes with him,
Ich y armed stout and grim;
And with the quen wenten he,
Right unto that ympe tre.
Thai made scheltrom[96] in ich aside,
And sayd thai wold ther abide,
And dye ther everichon,
Er the quen schuld fram hem gon:
Ac yete amiddes hem ful right,
The quen was oway y twight,[97]
With fairi forth y nome,
Men wist never wher sche was bicome.
Tho was ther criing, wepe and wo,
The king into his chamber is go,
And oft swoned opon the ston
And made swiche diol[98] and swiche mon,
That neighe his liif was y spent;
Ther was non amendement.
He cleped to gider his barouns,
Erls, lordes of renouns,
And when thai al y comen were:
Lordinges, he said, bifor you here
Ich ordainy min heigh steward
To wite[99] mi kingdom after ward,
In mi stede ben he schal,
To kepe mi londes over al,
For now Ichave mi quen y lore,[100]
The fairest levedi that ever was bore;
Never eft y nil no woman se,
Into wildernes Ichil te,[101]
And live ther ever more,
With wilde bestes in holtes[102] hore;
And when ye under stond that y be spent,
Make you than a parlement,
And chese you a newe king:
Now doth your best with al mi thing.
Tho was ther wepeing in the halle,
And grete cri among hem alle;
Unnethe[103] might old or yong
For wepeing speke a word with tong.
Thai kneled adoun al y fere,[104]
And praid him yif his wille were,
That he no schuld nought from hem go.
Do way! quath he, it schal be so:
All his kingdom he forsoke,
But a sclavin[105] on him he toke;
He no hadde kirtel, no hode,
Schert, no nother gode,
Bot his harp he toke algate,[106]
And dede him barfot out atte gate:
No man most with him go.
O way! what ther was wepe and wo,
When he that hadde ben king with croun,
Went so poverlich out of toun.
Thurch wode, and over heth,
Into the wildernes he geth,
Nothing he fint that him is ays,[107]
Bot ever he liveth in gret malais[108];
He that hadde y werd the fowe[109] and griis,[110]
And on bed the purper biis,[111]
Now on hard hethe he lith,
With leves and gresse he him writh[112]:
He that hadde castels, and tours,
River, forest, frith with flours;
Now, thei it commenci to snewe and frese,
This king mot make his bed in mese[113]:
He that had y had knightes of priis.
Bifor him kneland, and levedis,
Now seth he no thing that him liketh,
Bot wild wormes by him striketh:
He that had y had plente
Of mete and drink, of ich deynte,
Now may he al day digge and wrote,[114]
Er he finde his fille of rote;
In somer he liveth bi wild frut,
And berren, bot gode lite;
In winter may he no thing finde,
Bot rote, grases, and the rinde;
Al his bodi was oway dwine
For missays, and al to chine,[115]
Lord! who may telle the sore
This king sufferd ten yere and more:
His here of his berd, blac and rowe,[116]
To his girdel stede was growe;
His harp, where on was al his gle,
He hidde in an holwe tre;
And, when the weder was clere and bright,
He toke his harp to him wel right,
And harped at his owhen wille,
Into alle the wode the soun gan schille,
That alle the wilde bestes that ther beth,
For joie abouten him thai teth[117];
And all the foules that ther were,
Come and sete on ich a brere;
To here his harping a fine,[118]
So miche melody was ther in.
And when he his harping lete wold,
No best bi him abide nold.
He might se besides
Oft in hot under tides,
The king o fairy, with his rout,
Com to hunt him al about:
With dim cri and bloweing,
And houndes also with him berking;
Ac no best thai no nome,
No never he nist whider thai bi come.
And other while he might him se
As a gret ost bi him te,
Wele atourned[119] ten hundred knightes,
Ich y armed to his rightes;
Of cuntenaunce stout and fers,
With mani displaid baners;
And ich his swerd y drawe hold:
Ac never he nist whider thai wold.
And other while he seighe other thing:
Knightes and levedis com daunceing,
In queynt atire gisely,
Queyitt pas, and softly:
Tabours and trimpes yede him bi,
And al maner menstraci.
And on a day he seighe him biside
Sexti levdis on hors ride,
Gentil and jolif, as brid on ris[120];
Nought o man amonges hem ther nis;
And ich a faucoun on hond bere,
And riden on haukin bi o rivere,
Of game thai founde wel gode haunt,
Maulardes, hayroun, and cormeraunt;
The foules of the water ariseth,
The faucouns hem wele deviseth,
Ich faucoun his pray slough:
That seighe Orfeo, and lough.
Par fay, quath he, ther is fair game!
Thider Ichil bi Godes name,
Ich was y won[121] swiche werk to se.
He aros, and thider gan te;
To a levedi he was y come,
Biheld, and hath wele under nome,
And seth, bi al thing, that it is
His owhen quen dam Heurodis.
Yern he biheld hir, and sche him eke,
Ac noither to other a word no speke:
For messais that sche on him seighe,
That had ben so riche and so heighe,
The teres fel out of her eighe;
The other levedis this y seighe,
And maked hir oway to ride,
Sche most with him no lenger abide.
Allas! quath he, now me is wo!
Whi nil deth now me slo,
Allas! wroche, that Y no might
Dye now, after this sight!
Allas! to long last mi liif
When Y no dar nought with mi wiif,
No hye to me, o word speke,
Allas! whi nil min hert breke!
Parfay, quath he, tide what bitide,
Whider so this levedis ride,
The selve way Ichil streche,
Of liif, no deth, me no reche.
His sclavin he dede on, all so spac,[122]
And henge his harp upon his bac,
And had wel gode will to gon;
He no spard noither stub no ston.
In at a roche the levedis rideth,
And he after, and nought abideth;
When he was in the roche y go,
Wele thre mile, other mo,
He com in to a fair cuntray,
As bright so sonne on somers day,
Smothe, and plain, and al grene;
Hille, no dale nas ther non y sene;
Amidde the lond a castel he sighe,
Riche, and real,[123] and wonder heighe;
Al the ut mast wal,
Was cler and schine as cristal;
And hundred tours ther were about,
Degiselich[124] and bataild stout;
The butras com out of the diche,
Of rede gold y arched riche,
The bonsour[125] was avowed[126] al,
Of ich maner divers animal;
With in ther wer wide wones,[127]
Al of precious stones,
The werst piler on to biholde,
Was al of burnist gold;
Al that lond was ever light,
For when it schuld be therk[128] and night,
The riche stones[129] light gonne,
As bright as doth at none the sonne,
No man may telle, no thenche in thought,
The riche werk that ther was wrought,
Bi al thing, him think that it is
The proude court of paradis.
In this castel the levedis alight,
He wold in after, yif he might.
Orfeo knokketh atte gate,
The porter was redi ther ate,
And asked, what he wold have y do.
Parfay, quath he, Icham a minstrel lo,
To solas thi lord with my gle,
Yif his swete wille be.
The porter undede the gate anon,
And lete him in to the castel gon.
Than he gan bihold about al,
And seighe full liggeand[130] with in the wal,
Of folk that were thider y brought,
And thought dede and nare nought:
Sum stode with outen hade[131];
And sum on armes nade;[132]
And sum thurch the bodi hadde wounde;
And sum lay wode[133] y bounde;
And sum armed on hors sete;
And sum astrangled as thai ete;
And sum were in water adreynt[134];
And sum with fire al for schreynt[135];
Wives ther lay on child bedde;
Sum ded, and sum awedde[136];
And wonder fele ther lay bisides,
Right as thai slepe her under tides;
Eche was thus in this warld y nome,
With fairi thider y come.
Ther he seighe his owhen wiif,
Dame Heurodis his liif liif
Slepe under an ympe tre;
Bi her clothes he knewe that it was he.
And when he hadde bihold this mervails alle,
He went in to the kinges halle;
Then seighe he ther a semly sight,
A tabernacle blisseful and bright
Ther in her maister king sete,
And her quen fair and swete;
Her crounes, her clothes, schine so bright,
That unnethe bihold he hem might.
When he hadde biholden al that thing,
He kneled adoun bifor the king;
O Lord, he seyd, yif it thi wille were,
Mi menstraci thou schust y here.
The king answerd, what man artow,
That art hider y comen now?
Ich, no non that is with me,
No sent never after the.
Seththen that ich here regni gan,
Y no fond never so fole hardi man
That hider to ous durst wende,
Bot that Ichim walde of sende.
Lord, quath he, trowe ful wel,
Y nam bot a pover menstrel,
And, sir, it is the maner of us,
To seche mani a lordes hous,
Thei we nought welcom no be,
Yete we mot proferi forth our gle.
Bifor the king he sat adoun
And tok his harp so miri of soun,
And tempreth his harp as he wel can,
And blisseful notes he ther gan,
That al that in the paleys were,
Com to him for to here,
And liggeth adoun to his fete,
Hem thenketh his melody so swete.
The king herkneth, and sitt ful stille,
To here his gle he hath gode wille.
Gode bourde[137] he hadde of his gle,
The riche quen al so hadde he.
When he hadde stint[138] his harping,
Than seyd to him the king,
Menstrel, me liketh wele thi gle,
Now aske of me what it be,
Largelich Ichil the pay,
Now speke, and tow might asay.
Sir, he seyd, Ich beseche the,
Thatow woldest give me,
That ich levedi bright on ble,[139]
That slepeth under the ympe tre.
Nay, quath the king, that nought nere,
A sori couple of you it were,
For thou art lene, rowe, and blac,
And sche is lovesome with outen lac;
A lothlich thing it were forthi,[140]
To sen hir in thi compayni.
O sir, he seyd, gentil king,
Yete were it a wele fouler thing
To here a lesing[141] of thy mouthe,
So, sir, as ye seyd nouthe,[142]
What Ich wold aski have Y schold;
And nedes thou most thi word hold.
The king seyd, seththen it is so,
Take hir bi the hand, and go;
Of hir Ichil thatow be blithe.
He kneled adoun, and thonked him swithe.[143]
His wiif he tok bi the hond
And dede him swithe[144] out of that lond;
And went him out of that thede,[145]
Right as he came the way he yede.[146]
So long he hath the way y nome,
To Winchester he is y come,
That was his owhen cite,
Ac no man knewe that it was he,
No forther than the tounes ende,
For knoweleche no durst wende,
Bot with a begger y bilt ful narwe,
Ther he tok his herbarwe,[147]
To him, and to his owhen wiif,
As a minstrel of pover liif,
And asked tidings of that lond,
And who the kingdom held in hond.
The pover begger, in his cote,[148]
Told him everich a grot[149]
How her quen was stole owy,
Ten yer gon with fairy,
And how her king en exile yede,
Bot no man niste in wiche thede,
And how the steward the lond gan hold,
And other mani thinges him told.
A morwe ogain none tide
He maked his wiif ther abide,
The beggers clothes he borwed anon,
And heng his harp his rigg[150] opon,
And went him in to that cite,
That men might him bi hold and se.
Erls, and barouns bold,
Burjays, and levedis, him gun bi hold;
Lo! thai seyd, swiche a man,
Hou long the here hongeth him opan!
Lo! hou his berd hongeth to his kne,
He is y clongen[151] al so a tre.
And as he yede in the strete,
With his steward he gan mete,
And loude he sett on him a crie,
Sir steward, he seyd, merci,
Icham an harpour of hethenisse,
Helpe me now in this distresse!
The steward seyd, com with me, come,
Of that Ichave thou schalt have some;
Everich gode harpour is welcom me to,
For mi lordes love, sir Orfeo.
In the castel the steward sat atte mete,
And mani lording was bi him sete;
There were trompour and tabourers,
Harpours fele, and crouders,[152]
Miche melody thai maked alle,
And Orfeo sat stille in the halle,
And herkneth when thai ben al stille,
He toke his harp and tempred schille,
The blifulest notes he herped there,
That ever ani man y herd with ere,
Ich man liked wel his gle.
The steward biheld and gan y se,
And knewe the harp als blive;
Menstrel, he seyd, so mot thou thrive,
Where hadestow this harp, and hou?
Ypray that thou me telle now.
Lord, quath he, in uncouthe thede,
Thurch a wildernes as Y yede;
Ther Y founde in a dale,
With lyouns a man to torn smale,
And wolves him frete[153] with teth so scharp;
Bi him Y found this ich harp,
Wele ten yere it is y go.
O! quath the steward, now me is wo!
That was mi lord, sir Orfeo!
Allas! wreche what schall Y do,
That have swiche a lord y lore,[154]
A way, that Ich was y bore,
That him was so hard grace y yarked,[155]
And so vile deth y marked!
Adoun he fel aswon to grounde,
His barouns him tok up in that stounde,[156]
And telleth him hou it geth,
It is no bot[157] of mannes deth.
King Orfeo knewe wel bi than,
His steward was a trewe man,
And loved him as he aught to do,
And stont up, and seyt thus lo,
Steward, herkne now this thing,
Yif Ich were Orfeo the king,
And hadde y suffred ful yore,
In wildernisse miche sore;
And hadde y won mi quen owy,
Out of the lond of fairy;
And hadde y brought the levedi hende,[158]
Right here to the tounes ende,
And with a begger her in[159] y nome,
And were mi self hider y come,
Poverlich to the thus stille,
For to asay thi gode wille;
And Ich founde the thus trewe,
Thou no schust it never rewe,
Sikerlich for love, or ay,[160]
Thou schust be king after mi day,
And yif thou of my deth hadest ben blithe,
Thou schust have voided al so swithe.
Tho al tho that ther in sete,
That it was king Orfeo under gete,[161]
And the steward him wele knewe,
Over and over the bord[162] he threwe,
And fel adoun to his fet;
So dede everich lord that ther sete,
And al thai sayd at o criing,
Ye beth our lord, sir, and our king.
Glad thai were of his live,
To chaumber thai ladde him als bilive,[163]
And bathed him and schaved his berd,
And tired him as a king apert[164];
And seththen with gret processioun,
Thai brought the quen in to the toun,
With al maner menstraci;
Lord, ther was grete melody!
For joie thai wepe with her eighe;
That hem so sounde y comen seighe.
Now king Orfeo newe coround is,
And his quen dame Heurodis;
And lived long afterward;
And seththen was king the steward.
Harpours in Bretaine after than
Herd hou this mervaile bigan,
And made her of a lay of gode likeing,
And nempned[165] it after the king.
That lay Orfeo is y hote[166];
Gode is the lay, swete is the note.
Thus com sir Orfeo out of his care;
God graunt ous alle wele to fare! Amen.