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: That ever yete hast ben so stille, 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, 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,
|
  |
