[Numbers refer to checklist entries. All unpublished poems and fragments, except early or alternate drafts of published work (entries *34 and *48, the latter in places nearly illegible), have been included.]
30. [A time there was in days long past away]
A time there was in days long past away
Whereof the romance telleth when all laws
Were kept far better than they are today
That time no man escaped without due cause
That time as Gods knowing both good and ill
With unsealed eyes upon the judgement seat
Sat dukes and kings and wrought out all their will
And those were glad who sat beneath their feet
Yet verily as all the wise men say
Man may know much the high God knoweth all
Yea such a man a man [sic] was righteous yesterday
Today he sinneth let[?] the sword fall
So say they not being merciful like God
Who lets him live the next day and do well
So comes it many bones beneath the sod
Lie buried quietly whom the hangman fell
Had dealt with but that God the pitiful
At some bad times when they were full of fear
And all seemed failing made their judges dull [?]
Lo such a tale as this is written here
A knight there was and he was young enow
But battered in the wars of many lands
And likewise in estate was fallen so low
Nothing he had but what his sword and hands
Might win from year to year nevertheless
The maid at court of noble house and state
Gave him her love and in all recklessness
A desperate man he quite forgot his fate
And cherished it and warmed himself thereat
To mind today tomorrow God may mind
Look you it was high treat for one who sat
Not so high up above the salt to find
The silkwound vellum fall before his feet
While red as fire yet with what Count Guy
Had just now said or while his heart y beat
With smothered rage at Earl John's stations [?] high.
I say no wonder if he scarce could see
For giddy pleasure what fair words were writ
Upon the vellum flower and bird and tree
Danced in the merry sun because of it
I say no wonder if he found it sweet
After some foil in field or tournament
Kissing together to sit feet to feet
And ever round him her two long arms went
And ever surely twas a great content
Shortly no wonder and not too much blame
If he forgot how hard the times were then
If he forgot the wretchedness and shame
His love would surely win among all men
Yea he forgot that law so pitiless
Whereby as saith the romance what Lady
Of that court fell in sinful love no less
Than burnt she was without more remedy
And though no doubt a many times he thought
All this and more yet nonetheless because
While love and honour so hard in him fought
By no process of thinking might he pause
To leave the brawl and jungle of the hall
For quiet hours in the distant place
She and her ladies dwelt in and hear fall
The conduit in its basin: face to face
Meanwhile they sat and sang and stories old
Made them but mindful of their own delight
Forgetful of their troubles and so bold
And tender did his face seem in her sight
That all seemed won already and such love
From her compassionate eyes shone down on him
Twixt falling of the blossoms from above
That thought and memory both began to swim
In giddy dream and if he could have thought
Better is love than honour he had said
For unto another world love had them brought
And there they made their own laws by my head
Upon a day there came a time at last
When both to him and her was no return
Hands off with honour love had got him fast
For weal and woe in this flame him doth [?] burn
Alas she with him
Take notice though that being as they
Fair of good estate, right many men
Loved her in one way or another way
And often was she hard put to it when
They sought her love upon the bended knee
By due answer to hold her secret fast
In spite of all out would it certainly
Swathe a Snake up in wool, at last
Out comes the head with the black forked tongue
Quivering before it all was but in vain
And openly the bitter secret thing
In spite of all the watchfulness and pain
There was Sir Aloyse in that court [a] Knight
Of name and wealth a man of cruel heart
Cold you had said[,] who nonetheless took light
And burnt with love towards her for his part
But no wise might he win her cold and proud
She was to most, although for bitter care
She trembled at such praises loud
The more through heavy thoughts her beauty [?] where
Stood Sir Aloyse with roses in his hand
And fierce love at his heart: Kiss them he said
And give them back to me. Spring was on the land
And the may blossoms rained upon her head
The warm wind blew the medlar leaves apart
And shook the starred white flowers she looked round
At him first then about for help her heart
Almost stopped beating at the grating sound
And dainty seemed right dangerous and hard
And he who held him wise loved not with her
And evilly her would beloveds fared
Of those few words because indeed they meant
More than they said, his eager eye
His flushed face smiling proud and confident
Nought in the way now meant they certainly.
She stood a moment quivering with great fear
Then turned to run he caught her by the hand
With a great spring then said nay stop and hear
A story that I know sit while I stand
She sat upon the grass and over her
Feeling his cutlace edge stood Sir Aloyse
The sound of his slow speaking reached her ear
Dreadful and dreamlike as the constant noise
Of falling waters. So, he said time goes.
I knew you as a merry child one tide
And that is past great love for you arose
Within my heart since then set that aside
I thought I had a chance once let that go
But think Margaret how in the many fights
We men of war have been in that we know
Things women do not think of and see sights
Whereof they do not dream I saw one day
Upon a battle field [a] young knight dead
There with clenched hands throat cut wide he lay
And it was I who killed him by my head
Who was it but my brother times change much
Who would have thought that he of all other men
Should thwart and thwart me till I changed too such
Close friends we were once yet I killed him then
I was not sorry I had killed him though
But sorry we had quarrelled all alas
But as go other things so goes sorrow
I grieve. Alas you will not love me now time was
I would have served you well; but for Richard
I hold it pity that you should give up
Your life for him. [T]o die so young is hard
But who so casts aside a golden cup
Let him go drink grey waters from the brook
And foul his hosen with the mud thereof
I must away I fear much I must look
To hear strange tidings while my broken love
Makes me sit brooding in my hall alone
I judge that it might happen any day
Those dreadful laws may be fulfilled to the bone
And marrow I am sorry I must say
You seem to hate me why do you look so pale
I fear it is not that you pity me
Your own grief doubtless roused up by this tale
This string of words that minglingly [?]
I have been pouring out is it farewell
Will you live Margaret years and years and years
To help you help
With love and honor--now [?] you have a bell
With Richards arms upon it yes Cicel
I think her name is your own pretty maid
Gave it to me--ah not discreet enow Tis pretty
Cicely picked it up she said
In your own bower is it farewell now
Do you reach your hand to say good bye
No let me keep the bell and give me leave
To say be careful of the sweet Cicely
For keeping secrets she is like a sief
For holding water--well I must away
Alls ended [?] the end is just begun
Margaret farewell. She was as pale as clay
While he was speaking as when he was done.
And gone away she sat and held her knees
And for awhile in rocking to and fro
Now vaguely thought she of departed peace
And now half pondered what thing she might do
To save her body and her love from death
Whether he lied or not Sir Richard's bell
That went for nothing Cicely though her breath
Went when she thought of what she knew full well [?]
Hard was it to die young and hard to face
The bitter world with lies and lies and lies
And then she thought how well she knew the place
Where she was to be burnt with what surprise
Her kindred over sea would hear of it
And would they arm for vengeance or just take
Some pounds of gold and after that would sit
In some gilt chantrey silent for her sake
Wishing the mass well over giddily
She rose at last and in her bower she lay
Wishing that that spring day were all gone by
And night were come nought recked she of the day
That in the merry wind beat up and down
Nought recked she of the ousels how they sung
The short sweet laughter of the thrushes brown
There she lay quiet--but her hands she wrung
And softly lest that anyone should hear
And yet above her breath, she called on God
And sometimes half risen up she shook for fear
If any footstep in the passage trod
About sunset the minstrels in the hall
Blew up sweet tunes while lords and knights drank wine
And heavily then on sleep she gan to fall
And sleeping wept upon her fingers fine
But in the night she woke full of[t] and wept
For very pity that she found the tears
Still wet upon her cheeks and when she slept
She dreamt of all things happening bitter fear.
But hope with it and outlet due at last
The next day and the next she lay abed
Sick as her maids told those who asked for her
For Sir Aloyse went not as he had said
And till he had gone Margaret for pure fear
Durst not to send for Richard the third day
She heard the trumpets blow up merrily
Outside her heart beat quick as there she lay
She rose and crossed the room that she might see
The base court from the other window thence
Into a corner huddled stealthily
And God shall try it in the fenced lists
Twixt him and me and trust me to the word
Shall never leave my lips that have been kist
By yours Margaret she said one day I heard
Two knights who spoke of this thing and they said
They never yet of anyone who herein
Lived and came safe therefrom--by my head
God is a mighty Lord and he will win
Ah sweet I say whatever happeneth
The little word never shall be said by me
No doubt this is the worst--for you my death
Nought to fear afterwards Margaret for see:
The Commons love us let your squires sing
Your name aloud proved innocent by then
Think well the rough-joyed puisance [?] and goose wing*
May help you well among these cruel men.
That is the worst; but why should the worst come
Think of the best Sir Aloyse gibbeted
And we at peace among our folks at home
To love together till we both are dead
But in himself he thought yet she may die
Before her trial comes she is changed much
These last days Aloys[e] wrought us this misery
I wonder in God's name why he made such
As Aloyse and I are she started up and cried
Help me Richard so faint I feel and sick
Therewith she put her hand unto her side
And sank down swooning as a dog might lick
The face of his dead master, on his knees
Over and over kissed he her sweet face
Fixed and dead pale and art nowise at peace
For the brows frowned the half opened mouth showed trace
Of pain and struggling when she woke again
And now once more could speak she touched his wrist
And languidly beheld him as if fain
To say a thing but noting as he kissed
Her lips and eyes what look his own eyes had
She held her peace and silent there sat there
Lamenting in their thoughts these changes sad
Bitterly thinking of the times that where [sic]
Brooding they sat there in such kind of dream
As I have heard that dying men have oft
When pain is gone and life and sorrow seem
A tale well told. Sweet and soft
They heard the sobbing whistle of the thrush
They heard the kestrels cry from tower to tower
They heard outside the pink flowers may bough brush
Against the painted window of the bower
Over the yellow crowns of kings who sit
White robed betwixt the sun and yellow moon
Betwixt the flowers did the finches flit
And gently through the locks did the wind croon
And in their thoughts they wandered to and fro
Sometimes it seemed an easy thing to bear
Sometimes their hearts nigh broke for bitter woe
Unbearable, but there came hope and fear
At last and woke them up to their real pain
Then with slow sigh rose Sir Richard up
And said behold you Margaret we are fain
To put aside from us this bitter cup
That love holds out to us ah yet I knew
That sweet and bitter mingled bitterer is
Than any other surely unto you
My love has been a bitter Judas kiss.
And now I cannot die but you must die
I cannot give my life for you my sweet
How shall I pray your pardon and mercy
I can scarce speak it -- then said Margaret
My head whirls neither can I think at all
How much we may have sinned but if God gives
That we come safe out of our bitter fall
For his sake we will live such holy lives
As never men lived
* goose wing - arrow
31. [The Lady of Havering]
God save the Kings highness
And right well mote he be
It was when King Edward ruled this land
There lived a fair lady
She had no father or mother
She was the kings own ward
There sought her many a good knight
And many a rich lord
On a day the king sent for her
And said damsel I will ye wed
There she but hanged her face down
And right little she said
Like the red side of a ripe apple
The face grew of this maid;
Then said the king Say out your mind
And be ye not afraid
Then spake Sir Thomas Knolles
Under his breath right to her
My lord loveth all bright ladies
I rede you have no fear
Then she spake right sweetly
My good lord for to please you
I would wed three times over
Howsoever I might rue
But I have a vow to our lord God
Also to S. Lucy
That I would wed no man on earth
But if he brought me things three
And first from King Phillip of France
He must take the right hand glove
When I wear this on my right hand
So far he shall have my love
And next from King David of Scotland
He shall take the signet ring
He shall be nearer to my love
When he hath done this thing
The third he shall take the gold crown
From off the great souldan
When he hath done these three things
I shall hold him as my man
To that man who doeth this
Whomsoever he may be
Be he of high estate or low
I shall yield my body cheerfully
But no man shall lie with me
Be he Kaiser or King
Or any Lord that is on earth
Who feareth to do this thing
Thereat the king studied awhile
And he looked right grimly
Dame I count your wit but small
That ye speak thus to me
I rede you choose right speedily
One of these knights twaine
Either my own good knight Sir James
Or Sir John of Behnaine [?]
That Dame she waxed as deadly pale
As privet on a green bush
From her head to her yellow hair
She shook like any rush
Do ye doubt me nothing said the king
That ye say never a word
Ye are a hardy Damozel
By St. George our good lord
She brast out sore a weeping
By his foot she set her knee
Alas my fair lord and king
What will ye do with me
Of your might I have great doubt
But I doubt the Lord God more
I must needs say the same words again
I lightly said before
Then said Sir Walter of Mayar [?a variant of Manny?]
My lord this dame will not forswear
She had liefer to die in the pain dure
I rede you the better love her
Sir I hold her of right great faith
As was my lady St. Catherine
She is right tall and her colour is fair
As if it were snow and Guienne wine
I pray you give me license Sir King
The King of France dwells not in the moon
Nor is the Soldan in the Sun
By the help of God I shall come back soon
Me[d]dle no more Sir Walter Manny [?]
Ye be a good man with your glaive
But methinks your wit is grown but dull
Ho may the saints me save
If ye have made a fool oath
Ye shall keep it by Christ
Ye shall lie still in your shroud
Or ever your lips be kissed
Ho dame proud and insolent
Ye speak like the goddess Diane
Are ye not made like other women
That ye will not wed no man
Heed ye well Sir Scheneschal
Take good care of this lady
In the little red house by Havering
Let her abide both night and day
It standeth right pleasantly
At the skirt of Waltham Chase
Let her bide in that house and garden
She shall see no man's face
But she may have Damozels
To wait on her body
And all things fitting to her estate
Such as it should be
Right little time they lost I trow
In a barget they set her
With hale and how they set sail
Upon the Thames river
Right evil cheer had the Lady Anne
The wan water was but cold
But she said as she fell a weeping
I shall have no joy till I am old
But they went up the river of Thames on
Till to Barking town came they
And they mounted on goodly steeds
And gat them quick away
To the little red house by Havering
They rode through the green wood
When the door shut after that lady
Right cold became her blood
She would not put on gay gowns
But ever she went in black
She ate nought but bitter bread and water
Though of good meats there was no lack
She would not drink the red wine
Either of Almayne or Guienne
If I drink wine I shall live twelve months
I would live but ten
She took no joy in the yellow sun
Or in the sweet white moon
She had little joy but in sleeping
She said I shall die soon
And she said to her damozels
I pray you sweet sisters
Let me sleep what time I will
And cry not in my ears
For when I sleep I dream well
Of many a fair thing
I dream of being in a fair garden
Clipping and kissing
For wete you well my good maidens
My love is a poor knight
Yet I love him right sorely
For he is strong and whyht
It was but a short while agone
Since first he kissed me
And I loved him sorely for that same
None kissed me before but he
But I said fair knight have ye got broad lands
And many a rich fee
Have ye got kists with oer gilt lock [kists, chests]
To hold the red money
He said my lands are narrow lands
I have but o poor fee
I am no jew or Lombard carle
I have but scant money
I said have ye ridden among the Scots
Have ye borne your glaive in French land
Or have ye tilted in Paynimrie
Have ye smitten Mahomed with your hand
I have not ridden among the Scots
I have stayed at home in mine own land
I have not justed in Paynimrie
Or met a frenchman hand to hand
But I doubt not for your love
I shall do many a worthy deed
I shall seek for adventures
Whereas the Lord God may lead
It may chance to you fair love
To have an adventure ere you wot
He said fair love I must away
Although my love for you is so hot
I shall come back and do some deed
All men may well speak of
He kissed me often on the mouth
And said farewell mine Owen love
He held me out at his arms length
And looked hard into my face
He said I am a little afeard
This court is a great place
There be men over strong of might
A maid is but a weak thing
I said proudly by my fay
Another song I will make them sing
Since my will is good I shall keep it
Whatso sayeth carle or Lord
For no man will I forget you
Have here this last word
He took his hands about my head
And kissed me on the eyen twain
Many a time he kissed my mouth
I trow shall never be kissed again
He rade away with a little menee
He rode into the north country
He will be wood when he cometh back [wood, mad]
That never again he may see me.
End of fytte one-
36. The Sleeve of Gold
The first twenty-two and final six stanzas are from the B. L. Murray draft, the rest from the Fitzwilliam Morris autograph version.
It was when the thrushes sing their best
In the pleasant month of May
Fair Catherine looked from her window
With a weary thing to say.
Ye sing so sweet oh thrushes she said
But little to my liking
Are the blossoms sweet to smell
She said a bitter thing
She said; but if God loved me still
I should pray here to Him
That some cold winter wind might blow
And pierce me limb by limb
Unless God had forgotten me
I should kneel down and pray
That I might go quite cold and stiff
Ere the dawning of the day.
I pray that God may strike me dead
Ere July comes, said she
That my small bones may all be white
Ere apples are red on the tree
For two sorrows in one day
Made a grief great and sore
This child that will be born one time
And my love I see no more
At Christmas when the frost was here
But and the cold wan snow
In my bower he lay anight
This makes me bitter woe
When the moon set he rode away
Small noise his horse-hoofs made
I sat and wept on my fair-wrought bed
By myself I was afraid
But or ever he went he said to me:
My sweet child and fair may,
Pray you be as glad when I come back
As you weep now I go away.
Before three months are wholly gone
Fair may I shall come back
And instead of the green coat of Fierne [?]
I shall wear the grey steel jack
And instead of grey heron's feather
The salade on my head [salade, var. of sallet, helmet]
And instead of the serving-man's brass badge
My shield of white and red
I shall carry my shield of white and red
And the three hawks thereon
And whoever else shall have that same
It shall not be lightly won
And at my back shall men well see
Whether it be bright or mirk
The spears of my good men and true
As thick as these woods of birk
Now yonder lyeth on your fair bed
Your goodly gown of green
Thereto the sleeves of fine red gold
Are right richly beseen.
I pray you give me one of them
That I may bear it in every place
Between the hawks on my great helm
For simple joy of your sweet face
So that no man among the press
Whosoever he may be
But by great pain and much labour
May lightly win of me
So that no man be so hardy
But if he be right great of might
To meet me body to body
In clean armour for the fight.
It was mirk in the winter morning,
Small noise his lone hoofs made;
I sat and shivered till the light.
I was right bitterly afraid.
Among the ladies in the hall
I went that day in mortal dread
And whiles for fear my lips were white
And whiles for shame my cheeks were red.
They said; there goeth the sleeveless
She hath given away her sleeve,
To some leman we make no doubt,
Thereof shall she grieve
When he comes not back again,
Nor her fine sleeve of gold
Before a year is well passed over
She'll wish to be under the mould.
Yea so, my arm was bare and cold
All the wan winter long
And in the sweet May gardens
When the minstrels are at their song
The hot sun burns it bitterly
And my shame draws on apace
My feet feel weak on the daisies
The south wind chills my face
Fair Catherine bided at her window
Till the yellow moon shone fair
And she looked like Gods dear mother
For her fingers and her hair
But as it grew to the midnight
She heard one who went below
She deemed it was but the carle archer
At his watch walking slow.
Sleep you or wake you may Catherine
Have here your golden sleeve
Mount up behind may Catherine
And ask no mans leave
O Knight Richard my love Richard
How can I come to thee
There are thick walls and many things
Betwixt you and mee
Withouten a ladder shall I climb
Adown my fathers wall
Shall I swim the moat in my kirtle
Though I am proper and tall
Will the silk across my white breast
Serve for a jack of steel
To keep the steel bolt from my heart
That no leech then can heal
For every hour of the night
Six archers strong and tall
With winded arblasts and steel bolts [arbalest or arblas, field bow, used
to fire stone]
Go round the castle wall
O May Catherine O may Catherine
When shall I come back
And bring with me my true men
With spear and sword and jack
Knight Richard in o week from this,
Hay harvest will begin
Come to the wet croft with your true men
For I shall be therein
There all day long we maidens fair
Weave wreaths both fresh and sweet
Of Lady smock and the white daisies
That men clepe Marguerite
And all our men both carle and Lord
To the upland meads shall be gone
With the long scythe and the tedding fork
We dames shall be alone
Go hooly my knight I hear the watch
Cry out along the wall
Knight Richard swam the outer dyke
He was both strong and tall
Knight Richard loup the outer pale [loup, Morris' construction; M.E. "loupen,"
to leap]
Where the grass grew long
And he loup up to his bonny grey steed
That was both fair and strong
He weareth no arms but an old salade
Thereby I could not see his face
It was merry times [tunes?] in the good house
In that sweet month from day to day
Always was there fair sport
Deeds of arms or minstrels play
Knights and ladies deem'd that tide
The time went merry and fast enow
Fair Catherine thought by my fay
That the time never went so slow
Fair dames looked this way and that
At minstrel singing or clean armed knight
May Catherine on her part
Turned neither to the left or right
Those fair dames for play and joy
Held their faces red as rose
Fair Catherines face was grown as white
As any lily that blows
But when it came to hay harvest
To the wet croft they went to play
And all the men folk both Lord and carle
To the upland fields were away
And there they wove them fresh garlands
Of the Ladysmock so sweet
And of the little white daisies
That men clepe Margueruite [sic]
Fair Catherine drank the wan water
Many a time that day
For doubt her heart could scarce beat
While she seemed well to play
Catherine drank the wan water
She sickened from hour to hour
As she stooped over her golden shoes
To pull the bonny flower
The sun was down behind the birks
When Knight Richard came
My fair child and bonny May
I am here to bring you hame.
The sone was down behind the hils
Ere Knight Richard rode away
With the tall spears of his good men
About the bonny may.
My fair friends and good ladies
My sleeve is back ye see
And the stout arm of a good knight
Is a leal staff for me.
Say farewell to my father dear
And my mother the good dame
I shall soon be clean forgotten
For she has many more at home [hame?]
In the gloaming with horns blowing
So blithely they rode away
But or ever the yellow moon was up
They were met among the hay
Are our hands so light that we should flee
Said then the Knight Richard
Fair knight our hands are heavy enow
To give strokes full hard
Give back what you have stolen Sir Knight
And I will let you free
She shall go freely said Sir Richard
She shall choose twixt thee and me
I hold two things in my hand father
The one was given to me
The other I chose by mine own self
And mine shall it ever be
I rede you father go home again
And take Alice on your knee
Let my mother comb her yellow hair
But say farewell to me
Let all my sisters pray for me
Arow in the chapel fair
Go back without me father
With one lock of my gold hair
By God quoth he alive or dead
Spears for Lord Lawrence spare no soul
Verily then you might have seen
Many a man in the swathies [?] roll.
[swath - a measure of grass land, originally determined by the sweep of a scyth; swathy - a rare usage for swaths]
By Saint Mary the spear points
Rent her kirtle here and there
By God I swear that some mans sword
Cleft the coif above her hair
Strange husbandry they held by moonlight
In the uplands by my fay
And instead of the crutched tedding forks [crutched, crossed]
With strong spears they turned the hay
To have seen Sir Richard fight
A man would have had great joy
For he was more wood than Launcelot
Or Sir Hector of Troy.
This and that he ranged the field
He smote down many a man
And great wrath had the Lord Sir Lawrence
When that he saw nothing wan
But those that fight against maidens
May well feel faint of heart
They gat away right hastely [sic]
Who were of his part
Lo here is a hole in my coat of fenice
Some hammer hath made I wis
Thrust thy sword through Sir Richard I pray
And make a good end of this
So that my daughter Catherine
May dance with her fair feet
Over my bones at her wedding
Than to live this will be more sweet
My Lord to pray for her pardon
My May in sooth durst not come here
Though she thinks right nought but good
That you are crazed she hath great fear
Wherefore I kneel and pray for grace
This must be the good Lords will
That we should come together at last
Good Sir I pray our joy fulfill
My Lord I say by the Soldan
I was bound with an iron chain
Not for that I broke prison
I came to my may again.
And great rocks by Illyrica
I was wrecked in the salt sea
With many dangers of robbers
I came through Pruce and Bohemie
I think God took me out of the sea
I think also God broke my chain
It was Gods will no doubt
I should come to my may again.
You were an hundred to fourscore
And yet lo Sir your men are fled
If it had not been but by Gods help
I think we should have been but dead
Yea this is ever the way with maids
Under foot may she be trod
I trow they do right what they list
Then say this thing is of God
Lo Sir and is it the Lords will
I should curse her and thee
By God whosever will it is
I do it now right heartily.
Nathless they wed the morrow morn
Though she was but a cursed child
Sir Richard had a sorrowful weeping bride
Twas little that they smiled
But or ever the priest did on his cape
Lord Laurence came in there
Like a wood man he ran apace
Up to the altar fair
He spread out his arms wide
And took Catherine up therein
He put back her yellow hair
And kissed her cheek and chin
He yode to the Knight Richard
And kissed him on the mouth
Thereat came the priest forth
From the sacristy on the south
Shut up your book awhile Sir Priest
I have a thing to tell
That will be a right good sermon
In church it will go right well
As I lay abed last night
For pure rage I fell asleep
My lady wife lay there by me
And she did little but weep
Then as I slept I dreamed a dream
I was in church right fair
But by St. Mary good orange trees
And fair roses grew up there
And the altar was of red gold
And likewise the great pix thereon
That held Gods body seemed right well
To be cut out of a goodly stone
And there was music sung therein
More goodly than I ever heard
By the saints it was so over sweet
That I grew faint and sore afeard
And yet none sung this most sweet song
But red birds in the orange trees
I thought if the very thrushes of heaven
Sing such wonderful songs as these
How do the angels sing right so
They sung no more and I saw then
A man and a maid stand aright
As folks are married among men
A priest also I saw well
Who gave a ring in that mans hand
That he that marry that fair may
[By] The Saints I had no will to stand
Fair Catherine made as if she rowed
Upon the grass so green
Why do you sit as if you rowed and row Catherine
When no ship can be seen.
I sit and row me to my love
Though no boat can be seen
For summer is a-coming on
And all the grass is green.
We heard to-day and yesterday
Your father lyeth on bier
May God have mercy on his soul
Still have I got my dear
My true love draweth near.
We heard today and yesterday
That your true love is dead
Now will I lie down on the earth
And throw dust on my head
Rise up rise up fair Catherine
Here comes your father dear
Why should I stand upon my feet
Then may the good God keep him
While my love lies on his bier
Rise up rise up May Catherine
Your true [love] cometh near
Now shall I sit upon the grass
And get [?] kisses from my dear.
37. [The Lady of the Wasted Land]
Listen good folk to my ryme.
There was a house upon a time
Good and fair by a woodside
And this time it was Christmastide
Therein lived a fair lady
Fatherless I trow was she
And motherless: thereto perfay
She saw no man from day to day
Only dames might be with her
Old or young or foul or fair
So on a time as my song saith
This lady lay sick nigh to death
So she said in a fine voice
Clear though with so little noise
To her handmaidens and said
Sisters you deem I am but dead
But I trow the God of heaven
Such a grace to me has given
I shall not die all utterly
Before that my true love I see
Therefore I pray the[e]
Blanche my maid
Who art of few things afraid
Some token unto him to bear
Ho give me what lieth there
This same was a girdle fair
Wrought with gold in strange manner
And chiefly in the midst of it
Where the twyfold clasp did fit
Was a red heart and a sun
She handled it and one by one
Over the scales her fingers drew
Till she came to the clasps two
Then eft she essayed to speak
But wept as if her heart would break
And crossed her feet within the bed
And on the billow [pillow?] rolled her head
Then each to each her maids said
Right sorrowfully--Such fantasies
Hold her now as these and these
Alas before the more doubtless
She will die of this distress
And what can we. but then again
She spoke sobbing and with pain. .
Since this draft ends at the end of a page, the poem seems to have continued on.
Lo Sirs a desolate damozel
In all highways I made my moan
With words on parchment written well
To help men to get back mine own
And at the crossways that lead down
To either sea and the waste land
The forest and the golden town
I set a pursuivant to stand
Beside a cross of white and red
And each day many knights passed by
Some bravely were apparelled
And had most things that gold can buy
And some came poorly from the wars
With broken arms and visages
Scarred by the Saracen scimitars—
And unto each and all of these
My pursuivant cried loud and well
The words upon the parchment writ
By me the desolate Damozel—
Fair knights—I do you all to wit
My lady a most noble dame
A recent traitor hath appealed
And surely Sirs it were great blame
Such a fair noble dame to yield
Unto the fire Sirs I say
Before God she sweareth well
She hath the right by my fay
It were a hard thing to tell
How fair she is and Sirs therefore
My dame this goodly appellant
Being grieved by a strong traitor
Of some good knight hath great want
In the name of God some knight would say
How call you then the defendant
Sir John le blanc then by my fay
She is hardly an appellant—
How say you fellows which of you
Would arm for a fight such as this
For many a day he should rue
Who met Sir John le blanc I wiss
Some spake thus and some spake
With great ruth and courteously
But there was no Knight for my sake
Would meet such a man as he
Thus some spake and so some spake-
At last there came a goodly knight
A lion in a green brake
Would not be a fairer sight
When my herald had said his say
Quod He, they say among men of wit
Take that you long for while you may
Or you may chance to lose it
I may well say Sir pursuivant
That every day of this my life
This is the thing I most want
A most fair dame to be my wife
Therefore if she will wed with me
I will right joyfully do her will
And if will not then perdie
For Gods sake I will fight still
39. Introduction to the "Story of the Flower"
There were not ten men in all the house
Because of the deep peace in the land
Such honor this King Louis hath
None dares contrary his command
Upon the walls we lay one noon
Sweet Alice and I. St. James' tower
Kept off the hot September sun
We read the Story of the Flower
46. [Sir Richard]
The good Sir Richard slept right fast
But his damsel waked by his side
And O but she was sore adrad
And twas little but she cried
But whiles she thought it was the wind
Beat on the dormer pane
And while she thought it was the wind
Twisting the golden vane
And whiles when she strained hard to hear
The dogs below howled out
And still this fair dame quok for dread
Till she could never hear that shout
Rise up my Lord Sir Richard she said
They cry from street to street
Town won town won arm quick she said
Go down your foes to meet
Out out Good Squire Giles he said
There are many glories to win
Nay nay my Lord these traitor gascons
Have let the frenchmen in
There is no boot but to stay here
Within our fair great wall. . . .
[line crossed out]
Of the hard haps that us befall
Here is a fair child my lord
Shall do our message well
And these French thieves shall all be caught
Like toads in a dry well"
O hold me up my Squire he said
I doubt that I am slain
I shall never see merry England more
I shall die here in Maine
This steele quarrel grieves me so sore
Many an one shall die in fear
Of these false french if you die
Natheless but I hope better cheer
If you die here in Maine he said
I shall have small joy to live
I shall go among the press
Doughtly strokes for to give
I trow if my head today
Were but a silly eggshell
I should go out among these french
Many a man for to kill
They sound on a trumpet now fair lord
We will [?] crafty wiles
I shall be Sir Richard the good
And you shall be my squire Giles
I will do on your red tabard
And your basnet of gold clean to see
I will show myself little he said
There is none shall know me
We will not let these Frenchmen wit
That you here wounded lie
I shall speak from the wall with a great voice
And Sir Richard I shall well seem to be
I am the Vicount of Rohane
If you are Sir Richard of Corton
Yield up your tower now in haste
For we have the town well won
This is King Charles heritage
If you will not give it to me
I shall mightily brenn it up with fire
And hang you all on ae tree
Thou sayst false Sir Viscount of Rohane
I will not yield it up to you
All Maine longeth to Sir Edward
And so doth all Poictou
See here Sir Viscount of Rohane
If our stone walls were weaten [sic] bread
I would not give up my lords house
Till on the door step I lay dead
You may wish well then weaten [sic] bread
If we build sastides round about you
There will be no rat but you shall eat him
And your sword belts shall schew
My lord of Rohane thou art a false traitor villian
Two times thou hast turned thy coat
Thou deservest well to die
I would we were alone you and I.
I counsel you go back again
You shall be taken I you tell
Sir John Chandos shall catch you all
Like foul toads in a dry well
Then said Sir Reginald du Roy
Thou art a bold knave
But a false squire
So may God me save
Thou art not Sir Richard Corton
Said Sir Reginald du Roy
Lo Sirs Sir Richard now is dead their captain [sic]
Thereof have we great joy
That is false Sir Knight he said
In thy throat I give thee the lie
Thou art a false knave Sir Squire
I hope well to see thee die
I wonder muckle thou art so bold
But thou shalt not endure right long
When we pull this tower down
On a high tree thou shall hang.
Let us no more words said than [sic?] this good squire
Lo archers pulleth your bows
Whoso is a good man today
Nothing shall he lose.
Who putteth himself in jeopardy
He shall tyne naething I trow [tyne, from Scandinavian, to become lost, perish]
My lord Sir Edward shall make him rich
Who is right good at his bow.
They shot so well together then
These good yeoman [sic] bold
There was no ladder nor eke an axe
That a frenchman might hold
How does my lord Sir Richard Corton
I shall be hole of my hurt
In ae month the good leech saith
But the frenchmen tread us like dirt
But the frenchmen hung us on a tree
I shall be of right merry cheer
I would Sir Hugh Calverly
Or Sir John Chandos were come here
In there came uncle Peter
He was a yeoman bold
My lord these french all go aback
They may nothing hold
In there came uncle Peter
My Lord I fair pennon see
What [are] these bearings
Peter Tell that quick to me
In there came John blackbeard
He was a yeoman strong
My lord these french may do nothing
They will not habyde long
In there came Oliver Gurton
Of his speech he was sweet
My Lord I see a great rout
Fillen up all the street.
In came Gregory Evanton
My lord good news I bring
Our English ranks cometh hither
And right sweetly they sing
That is Hugh Calverly
A good knight of his hands
There is no knight is better
In King Edwards lands
What song sing they Gregory
Said my lord in a voice fine
My Lord they cry ever
Out out the Kentish kine
In there came uncle Peter
My Lord I fair pennon see
What [are] these bearing Peter
Tell that quick to me
My lord to say soothly
It was silver a red stake
That is Sir John Chandos
He is come quick for my sake
We shall hold high feast I trow tonight
In our great hall that is so fair
All the great French captains
Shall eat with us there
Though I may not drink wine
For the heating of my blood
Yet shall I drink sweet posset
And that taste as good
I am so full of joy
that this tower I have holden
That posset shall be better to me now
That wine if I had been yolden
Good sport had the Seneschal
And Sir Hugh Calvery I you tell
All these french were slain or taken
Like toads in a dry well
And those French lords that were taken
Ere they gat them away
Many florins for certain
They did pledge them to pay.
Then I trow Squire Giles
Won well in plain fight
The captain Sir Reginald du Roy
Though he was a good knight
47.
Dear friends, I lay awake in the night
When I sung of the willow-tree
And I thought, as I lay awake in the light,
Of what you had said to me.
For you remember how you had said,
That I should be a poet
Ah me: it almost made me sad,
As I lay in the light, to know it.
For I knew, as every poet does,
What a poet ought to be:
Straightway before me there uprose,
My hideous sins to me.
Sweet friends[,] I pray you pray for me
To Him Whose hands are pierced
That, as, on the breast of His Mother, He,
So I on His breast may be nursed.
William.
*50. Mad as I was I stopped
Mad as I was I stopped & thought there now
I knew that I had seen that place before
And those pavilions why twas even so
Last year; then some fear pierced my hearts core
I entered through that same close rose fence
And went toward the great pavilion whence
Some fear or horror [illegible] struck upon my sense
O pity me I pray you this is what I saw
A silken carpet lay upon the grass
And on a silken bed (on that whereon) lay Eleanore
I was in time to see the last breath pass