King Ryence's Challenge
As it fell out on a Pentecost day,
King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,
With his faire queen dame Guenever the gay,
And many bold barons sitting in hall,
With ladies attired in purple and pall,
And heraults in hewkes, hooting on high,
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.
A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;
With steven fulle stoute amids all the preas,
Say'd, 'Nowe Sir King Arthur, God save thee and see!
Sir Ryence of North-Gales greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.
'For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,
With eleven kings beards bordered about,
And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out.
This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable,
Maugre the teethe of all thy Round Table.'
When this mortal message from his mouthe past,
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:
The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;
Princes puff'd; barons blustred; lords began lower;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower;
Pages and yeoman yell'd out in the hall;
Then in came Sir Kay, the 'king's' seneschal.
'Silence, my soveraignes,' quoth this courteous knight,
And in that stound the stowre began still:
'Then' the dwarfe's diner full deerely was dight;
Of wine and wassel he had his wille,
And when he had eaten and drunken his fill,
An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold
Were given this dwarf for this message bold.
'But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf,' quoth the king,
'That for his bold message I do him defye,
And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-Gales; where he and I
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye,
Whether he, or King Arthur, will prove the best barbor:'
And therewith he shook his good sword Escalabor.
*******
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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King Ryence's Challenge
As it fell out on a Pentecost day,
King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,
With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay,
And many bold barons sitting in hall,
With ladies attired in purple and pall,
And heraults in hewkes, hooting on high,
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.
A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;
With steven fulle stoute amids all the preas,
Say'd, "Nowe Sir King Arthur, God save thee and see!
Sir Ryence of North-Gales greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws hewill it off rend.
"For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,
With eleven kings beards bordered about,
And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out.
This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable,
Maugre the teethe of all thy Round Table."
When this mortal message from his mouthe past,
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:
The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;
Princes puff'd; barons blustred; lords began lower;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower;
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall;
Then in came Sir Kay, the king's seneschal.
"Silence, my soveraignes," quoth this courteous knight,
And in that stound the stowre began still:
Then the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight;
Of wine and wassel he had his wille,
And when he had eaten and drunken his fill,
An hundred pieces of fine coynd gold
Were given this dwarf for his message bold.
"But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf," quoth the king,
"That for his bold message I do him defye,
And shortlyewith basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-Gales; where he and I
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye,
Whether he, or King Arthur, will prove the best barbor:"
And therewith he shook his good sword Escalàbor.
poem by Thomas Percy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Boy and the Mantle
In the third day of May,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.
A kirtle and a mantle
This child had uppon,
With brouches and ringes
Full richelye bedone.
He had a sute of silke
About his middle drawne;
Without he cold of curtesye,
He thought itt much shame.
"God speed thee, King Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate:
And the goodly Queene Guénever
I cannott her forgett.
"I tell you, lords, in this hall,
I hett you all to heede,
Except you be the more surer,
Is you for to dread."
He plucked out of his poterner,
And longer wold not dwell;
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.
"Have thou here, King Arthur,
Have thou heere of mee;
Give itt to thy comely queene,
Shapen as itt is alreadye.
"Itt shall never become that wiffe,
That hath once done amisse:-"
Then every knight in the kings court
Began to care for his.
Forth came dame Guénever;
To the mantle shee her hied;
The ladye shee was newfangle,
But yett shee was affrayd.
When shee had taken the mantle,
She stoode as shee had beene madd:
It was from the top to the toe
As sheeres had itt shread.
One while was it gule,
Another while was itt greene;
Another while was it wadded;
Ill itt did her beseeme.
Another while was it blacke,
And bore the worst hue:
"By my troth," quoth King Arthur,
"I thinke thou be not true."
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a rudd redd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
She curst the weaver and the walker
That clothe that had wrought,
And bade a vengeance on his crowne
That hither hath itt brought.
"I had rather be in a wood,
Under a greene tree,
Then in King Arthurs court
Shamed for to bee."
Kay called forth his ladye,
And bade her come neere;
Saies, "Madam, and thou be guiltye,
I pray thee hold thee there."
Forth came his ladye,
Shortlye and anon;
Boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And cast it her about,
Then was shee bare
Before all the rout.
Then every knight,
That was in the kings court,
Talked, laughed, and showted
Full oft att that sport.
She threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a red rudd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
Forth came an old knight
Pattering ore a creede,
And he proferred to this little boy
Twenty markes to his meede,
And all the time of the Christmasse,
Willinglye to ffeede;
For why this mantle might
Doe his wiffe some need.
When she had tane the mantle,
Of cloth that was made,
Shee had no more left on her,
But a tassell and a threed:
Then every knight in the kings court
Bade evill might shee speed.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
And fast, with a redd rudd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
Craddocke called forth his ladye,
And bade her come in;
Saith, "Winne this mantle, ladye,
With a litle dinne.
"Winne this mantle, ladye,
And it shal be thine,
If thou never did amisse
Since thou wast mine."
Forth came Craddockes ladye,
Shortlye and anon;
But boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And cast it her about,
Upp att her great toe
It began to crinkle and crowt:
Shee said, "Bowe downe, mantle,
And shame me not for nought.
"Once I did amisse,
I tell you certainlye,
When I kist Craddockes mouth
Under a greene tree;
When I kist Craddockes mouth
Before he marryed mee."
When shee had her shreeven,
And her sines shee had tolde,
The mantle stoode about her
Right as shee wold,
Seemelye of coulour,
Glittering like gold:
Then every knight in Arthurs court
Did her behold.
Then spake dame Guénever
To Arthur our king;
"She hath tane yonder mantle
Not with right, but with wronge.
"See you not yonder woman,
That maketh her self soe cleane?
I have seene tane out of her bedd
Of men fiveteene;
"Priests, clarkes, and wedded men
From her, bedeene:
Yett shee taketh the mantle,
And maketh her self cleane."
Then spake the little boy,
That kept the mantle in hold;
Sayes, "King, chasten thy wiffe,
Of her words shee is to bold:
"Shee is a bitch and a witch,
And a whore bold:
King, in thine owne hall
Thou art a cuckold."
The little boy stoode
Looking out a dore;
And there as he was lookinge
He was ware of a wyld bore.
He was ware of a wyld bore,
Wold have werryed a man:
He pulld forth a wood kniffe,
Fast thither that he ran:
He brought in the bores head,
And quitted him like a man.
He brought in the bores head,
And was wonderous bold:
He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe
Carve itt that cold.
Some rubbed their knives
Uppon a whetstone:
Some threw them under the table,
And said they had none.
King Arthur and the child
Stood looking upon them;
All their knives edges
Turned backe againe.
Craddocke had a little knive
Of iron and of steele;
He britled the bores head
Wonderous weele,
That every knight in the kings court
Had a morssell.
The little boy had a horne,
Of red gold that ronge:
He said there was "noe cuckolde
Shall drinke of my horne,
But he shold it sheede,
Either behind or beforne."
Some shedd on their shoulder,
And some on their knee;
He that cold not hitt his mouthe,
Put it in his eye:
And he that was a cuckold
Every man might him see.
Craddocke wan the horne,
And the bores head:
His ladie wan the mantle
Unto her meede.
Everye such a lovely ladye
God send her well to speede.
poem by Thomas Percy
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Sir Lancelot Du Lake
When Arthur first in court began,
And was approved king,
By force of armes great victorys wonne,
And conquest home did bring;
Then into England straight he came
With fifty good and able
Knights that resorted unto him,
And were of the Round Table.
And many justs and turnaments
Whereto were many prest,
Wherein some knights did farr excell,
And eke surmount the rest.
But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Who was approved well,
He for his deeds and feates of armes
All others did excell.
When he had rested him a while,
In play, and game, and sportt,
He said he wold goe prove himselfe,
In some adventurous sort.
He armed rode in forrest wide,
And met a damsell faire,
Who told him of adventures great,
Whereto he gave good eare.
'Why shold I not?' quoth Lancelott tho,
'For that cause came I hither.'
'Thou seemst,' quoth she, 'a knight full good,'
And I wll bring thee thither,
'Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell,
That now is of great fame;
Therfore tell me what knight thou art,
And what may be thy name.'
'My name is Lancelot du Lake.'
Quoth she, 'It likes me than;
Here dwelles a knight who never was
Yet matcht with any man;
'Who has in prison threescore knights
And four, that he did wound;
Knights of King Arthurs court they be,
And of his Table Round.'
She brought him to a river side,
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung,
And many shields to see.
He struck soe hard, the bason broke:
And Tarquin soon he spyed:
Who drove a horse before him fast,
Whereon a knight lay tyed.
'Sir Knight,' then sayd Sir Lancelott,
'Bring me that horse-load hither,
And lay him downe, and let him rest;
Weel try our force together.
'For, as I understand, thou hast,
Soe far as thou art able,
Done great despite and shame unto
The knights of the Round Table.'
'If thou be of the Table Round,'
Quoth Tarquin, speedilye,
'Both thee and all thy fellowship
I utterly defye.'
'That's over much,' quoth Lancelott tho,
'Defend thee by and by.'
They sett their speares unto their steeds,
And each att other flye.
They coucht their speares, (their horses ran,
As though there had been thunder);
And strucke them each immidst their shields,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.
Their horsses backes brake under them,
The knights were both astound;
To avoyd their horsses they made great haste,
And light upon the ground.
They tooke them to their shields full fast,
Their swords they drew out than;
With mighty strokes most eagerlye
Each at the other ran.
They wounded were, and bled full sore,
They both for breath did stand,
And leaning on their swordes awhile,
Quoth Tarquine, 'Hold thy hand,
'And tell to me what I shall aske;'
'Say on,' quoth Lancelot tho.
'Thou art,' quoth Tarquine, 'the best knight
That ever I did know;
'And like a knight that I did hate;
Soe that thou be not hee,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee.'
'That is well sayd,' quoth Lancelott tho,
'But with it must be soe,
What knight is that thou hatest thus?
I pray thee to me show.'
'His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother deere;
Him I suspect of all the rest;
I would I had him here.'
'Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne;
I am Lancelot du Lake,
Now knight of Arthurs Table Round;
King Hauds son of Schuwake;
'And I desire thee do thy worst.'
'Ho, ho,' quoth Tarquin tho,
'One of us two shall end our lives,
Before that we do go.
'If thou be Lancelot du Lake
Then welcome shalt thou bee;
Wherfore see thou thyself defend,
For now defye I thee.'
They buckled then together so,
Like unto wild boares rashing,
And with their swords and shields they ran
At one another slashing.
The ground besprinkled was with blood,
Tarquin began to yield;
For he gaveb acke for wearinesse,
And lowe did beare his shield.
This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,
He leapt upon him then,
He pull'd him downe upon his knee,
And rushing off his helm,
Forthwith he strucke his necke in two;
And when he had soe done,
From prison, threescore knights and four
Delivered everye one.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sir Lancelot Du Lake
When Arthur first in court began,
And was approvèd king,
By force of armes great victorys wonne,
And conquest home did bring;
Then into England straight he came
With fifty good and able
Knights that resorted unto him,
And were of the Round Table.
And many justs and turnaments
Whereto were many prest,
Wherein some knights did farr excell,
And eke surmount the rest.
But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Who was approvèd well,
He for his deeds and feates of armes
All others did excell.
When he had rested him a while,
In play, and game, and sportt,
He said he wold goe prove himselfe,
In some adventurous sort.
He armèd rode in forrest wide,
And met a damsell faire,
Who told him of adventures great,
Whereto he gave good care.
"Why shold I not?" quoth Lancelott tho,
"For that cause came I hither."
"Thou seemst," quoth she, "a knight full good,"
And I will bring thee thither,
"Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell,
That now is of great fame;
Therefore tell me what knight thou art,
And what may be thy name."
"My name is Lancelot du Lake."
Quoth she, "It likes me than;
Here dwelles a knight who never was
Yet matcht with any man;
"Who has in prison threescore knights
And four, that he did wound;
Knights of King Arthurs court they be,
And of his Table Round."
She brought him to a river side,
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung,
And many shields to see.
He struck soe hard, the bason broke:
And Tarquin soon he spyed:
Who drove a horse before him fast,
Whereon a knight lay tyed.
"Sir Knight," then sayd Sir Lancelòtt,
"Bring me that horse-load hither,
And lay him downe, and let him rest;
Weel try our force together.
"For, as I understand, thou hast,
Soe far as thou art able,
Done great despite and shame unto
The knights of the Round Table."
"If thou be of the Table Round,"
Quoth Tarquin, speedilye,
"Both thee and all thy fellowship
I utterly defye."
"That's over much," quoth Lancelott tho,
"Defend thee by and by."
They sett their speares unto their steeds,
And each att other flye.
They coucht their speares, (their horses ran,
As though there had been thunder);
And strucke them each immidst their shields,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.
Their horsses backes brake under them,
The knights were both astound;
To avoyd their horsses they made great haste,
And light upon the ground.
They tooke them to their shields full fast,
Their swords they drew out than;
With mighty strokes most eagerlye
Each at the other ran.
They wounded were, and bled full sore,
They both for breath did stand,
And leaning on their swordes awhile,
Quoth Tarquine, "Hold thy hand,
"And tell to me what I shall aske;"
"Say on," quoth Lancelot tho.
"Thou art," quoth Tarquine, "the best knight
That ever I did know;
"And like a knight that I did hate;
Soe that thou be not hee,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee."
"That is well sayd," quoth Lancelott tho,
"But sith it must be soe,
What knight is that thou hatest thus?
I pray thee to meshow."
"His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother deere;
Him I suspect of all the rest:
I would I had him here."
"Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne;
I am Lancelot du Lake,
Now knight of Arthurs Table Round;
King Hauds son of Schuwake;
"And I desire thee do thy worst."
"Ho, ho," quoth Tarquin tho,
"One of us two shall end our lives,
Before that we do go.
"If thou be Lancelot du Lake
Then welcome shalt thou bee;
Wherfore see thou thyself defend,
For now defye I thee."
They buckled then together so,
Like unto wild boares rashing,
And with their swords and shields they ran
At one another slashing.
The ground besprinkled was with blood,
Tarquin began to yield;
For he gave backe for wearinesse,
And lowe did beare his shield.
This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,
He leapt upon him then,
He pull'd him downe upon his knee,
And rushing off his helm,
Forthwith he strucke his necke in two;
And when he had soe done,
From prison, threescore knights and four
Delivered everye one.
poem by Thomas Percy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Boy and the Mantle
In Carleile dwelt King Arthur,
A prince of passing might;
And there maintain'd his Table Round,
Beset with many a knight.
And there he kept his Christmas
With mirth and princely cheare,
When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy
Before him did appeare.
A kirtle and a mantle
This boy had him upon,
With brooches, rings, and owches,
Full daintily bedone.
He had a sarke of silk
About his middle meet;
And thus with seemely curtesy,
He did King Arthur greet.
'God speed thee, brave King Arthur,
Thus feasting in thy bowre;
And Guenever thy goodly queen,
That fair and peerlesse flowre.
'Ye gallant lords, and lordings,
I wish you all take heed,
Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose
Should prove a cankred weed.'
Then straitway from his bosome
A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle
Of wondrous shape and hew.
'Now have thou here, King Arthur,
Have this here of mee,
And give unto thy comely queen,
All-shapen as you see.
'No wife it shall become,
That once hath been to blame.'
Then every knight in Arthur's court
Slye glaunced at his dame.
And first came Lady Guenever,
The mantle she must trye:
This dame, she was new-fangled,
And of a roving eye.
When she had tane the mantle,
And all was with it cladde,
From top to toe it shiver'd down,
As tho' with sheers beshradde.
One while it was too long,
Another while too short,
And wrinkled on her shoulders
In most unseemly sort.
Now green, now red it seemed,
Then all of sable hue:
'Beshrew me,' quoth King Arthur,
'I think thou beest not true.'
Down she threw the mantle,
Ne longer would not stay;
But storming like a fury,
To her chamber flung away.
She curst the whoreson weaver,
That had the mantle wrought:
And doubly curst the froward impe,
Who thither had it brought.
'I had rather live in desarts,
Beneath the green-wood tree,
Than here, base king, among thy groomes,
The sport of them and thee.'
Sir Kay call'd forth his lady,
And bade her to come near;
'Yet, dame, if thou be guilty,
I pray thee now forbear.'
This lady, pertly gigling,
With forward step came on,
And boldly to the little boy
With fearless face is gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
With purpose for to wear,
It shrunk up to her shoulder,
And left her b**side bare.
Then every merry knight,
That was in Arthur's court,
Gib'd, and laught, and flouted,
To see that pleasant sport.
Downe she threw the mantle,
No longer bold or gay,
But with a face all pale and wan,
To her chamber slunk away.
Then forth came an old knight,
A pattering o'er his creed,
And proffer'd to the little boy
Five nobles to his meed;
'And all the time of Christmass
Plumb-porridge shall be thine,
If thou wilt let my lady fair
Within the mantle shine.'
A saint his lady seemed,
With step demure and slow,
And gravely to the mantle
With mincing pace doth goe.
When she the same had taken,
That was so fine and thin,
It shrivell'd all about her,
And show'd her dainty skin.
Ah! little did her mincing,
Or his long prayers bestead;
She had no more hung on her,
Than a tassel and a thread.
Down she threwe the mantle,
With terror and dismay,
And, with a face of scarlet,
To her chamber hyed away.
Sir Cradock call'd his lady,
And bade her to come neare;
'Come win his mantle, lady,
And do me credit here.
'Come win this mantle, lady,
For now it shall be thine,
If thou hast never done amiss,
Sith first I made thee mine.'
The lady gently blushing,
With modest grace came on,
And now to try the wondrous charm
Courageously is gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And put it on her backe,
About the hem it seemed
To wrinkle and to cracke.
'Lye still,' shee cryed, 'O mantle!
And shame me not for nought,
I'll freely own whate'er amiss,
Or blameful I have wrought.
'Once I kist Sir Cradocke
Beneathe the green-wood tree:
Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth
Before he married mee.'
When thus she had her shriven,
And her worst fault had told,
The mantle soon became her
Right comely as it shold.
Most rich and fair of colour,
Like gold it glittering shone:
And much the knights in Arthur's court
Admir'd her every one.
Then towards King Arthur's table
The boy he turned his eye;
Where stood a boar's head garnished
With bayes and rosemarye.
When thrice he o'er the boar's head
His little wand had drawne,
Quoth he, 'There's never a cuckold's knife
Can carve this head of brawne.'
Then some their whittles rubbed
On whetstone, and on hone:
Some threwe them under the table,
And swore that they had none.
Sir Cradock had a little knife,
Of steel and iron made;
And in an instant thro' the skull
He thrust the shining blade.
He thrust the shining blade
Full easily and fast;
And every knight in Arthur's court
A morsel had to taste.
The boy brought forth a horne,
All golden was the rim:
Said he, 'No cuckold ever can
Set mouth unto the brim.
'No cuckold can this little horne
Lift fairly to his head;
But or on this, or that side,
He shall the liquor shed.'
Some shed it on their shoulder,
Some shed it on their thigh;
And hee that could not hit his mouth,
Was sure to hit his eye.
Thus he that was a cuckold,
Was known of every man:
But Cradock lifted easily,
And wan the golden can.
Thus boar's head, horn and mantle,
Were this fair couple's meed;
And all such constant lovers,
God send them well to speed.
Then down in rage came Guenever
And thus could spightful say:
'Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully
Hath borne the prize away.
'See yonder shameless woman,
That makes herselfe so clean:
Yet from her pillow taken
Thrice five gallants have been.
'Priests, clarkes, and wedded men,
Have her lewd pillow prest:
Yet she the wondrous prize forsooth
Must beare from all the rest.'
Then bespake the little boy,
Who had the same in hold:
'Chastize thy wife, King Arthur,
Of speech she is too bold:
'Of speech she is too bold,
Of carriage all too free;
Sir King, she hath within thy hall
A cuckold made of thee.
'All frolick light and wanton
She hath her carriage borne,
And given thee for a kingly crown
To wear a cuckold's horne.'
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Queen Eleanor's Confession
Queene Elianor was a sicke woman,
And afraid that she should dye;
Then she sent for two fryars of France,
To speke with her speedilye.
The king called downe his nobles all,
By one, by two, by three,
'Earl Marshall, Ile go shrive the queene,
And thou shalt wend with mee.'
'A boone, a boone;' quoth Earl Marshall,
And fell on his bended knee;
'That whatsoever Queene Elianor saye,
No harme therof may bee.'
'Ile pawne my landes,' the king then cryd,
'My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere Queen Elianor sayes,
No harme therof shall fall.
'Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to Queen Elianor goe,
Like fryar and his brother.'
Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.
When that they came before the queene,
They fell on their bended knee;
'A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.'
'Are you two fryars of France,' she sayd,
'As I suppose you bee?
But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.'
'We are two fryars of France,' they sayd,
'As you suppose we bee;
We have not been at any masse
Sith we came from the sea.'
'The first vile thing that ever I did,
I will to you unfolde;
Earl Marshall had my maidenhed,
Beneath this cloth of golde.'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king;
'May God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall,
With a heavye heart spake hee.
'The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you Ile not denye;
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison King Henrye.'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king,
'May God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall;
'And I wish it so may bee.'
'The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde,
All in fair Woodstocke bower.'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king;
'My God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall;
'And I wish it so may bee.'
'Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?
That is Earl Marshalls eldest sonne,
And I love him the best of all.
'Do you see yonders little boye,
A catching of the balle?
That is King Henryes youngest sonne,
And I love him the worst of all.
'His head is fashyon'd like a bull,
His nose is like a boare, --'
'No matter for that,' King Henrye cry'd,
'I love him the better therfore.'
The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde;
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
And sayd she was betrayde.
The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee;
'Earl Marshall,' he sayd, 'but for my oathe,
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.'
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Three Kings Of Cologne
From out Cologne there came three kings
To worship Jesus Christ, their King.
To Him they sought fine herbs they brought,
And many a beauteous golden thing;
They brought their gifts to Bethlehem town,
And in that manger set them down.
Then spake the first king, and he said:
'O Child, most heavenly, bright, and fair!
I bring this crown to Bethlehem town
For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;
So give a heavenly crown to me
When I shall come at last to Thee!'
The second, then. 'I bring Thee here
This royal robe, O Child!' he cried;
'Of silk 'tis spun, and such an one
There is not in the world beside;
So in the day of doom requite
Me with a heavenly robe of white!'
The third king gave his gift, and quoth:
'Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,
And with these twain would I most fain
Anoint the body of my King;
So may their incense sometime rise
To plead for me in yonder skies!'
Thus spake the three kings of Cologne,
That gave their gifts, and went their way;
And now kneel I in prayer hard by
The cradle of the Child to-day;
Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring
As offering unto Christ, my King.
Yet have I brought a gift the Child
May not despise, however small;
For here I lay my heart to-day,
And it is full of love to all.
Take Thou the poor but loyal thing,
My only tribute, Christ, my King!
poem by Eugene Field
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The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter
There was a shepherds daughter
Came tripping on the waye,
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.
'Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,'
These words pronounced hee;
'O I shall dye this daye,' he sayd,
'If Ive not my wille of thee.'
'The Lord forbid,' the maide replyde,
'That you shold waxe so wode!'
But for all that shee could do or saye,
'He wold not be withstood.'
'Sith you have had your wille of mee,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knighte,
Tell me what is your name?'
'Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,
And some do call me Jille;
But when I come to the kings fair courte,
They calle me Wilfulle Wille.'
He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle,
And ranne close by his side.
But when she came to the brode water,
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.
He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, 'Faire maide, will ye ride?'
'And she was ever too loving a maide
To saye, 'Sir Knighte, abide.''
When she came to the kings faire courte,
She knocked at the ring:
So readye was the king himself
To let this faire maid in.
'Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,
Now Christ you save and see;
You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee.'
'What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?'
'He hath not robbed mee, my liege,
Of purple nor of pall;
But he hath gotten my maiden-head,
Which grieves mee worst of all.'
'Now if he be a batchelor,
His bodye Ile give to thee;
But if he be a married man,
High hanged he shall bee.'
He called downe his merrye men all,
By one, by two, by three;
Sir William used to bee the first,
But nowe the last came hee.
He brought her downe fulle fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:
'Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;
Go seeke thee another love.'
'O Ile have none of your gold,' she sayde,
'Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.'
Sir William ranne and fetchd her then
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, 'Faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde.'
'Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,'
These words then answered shee,
'But your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.'
'Would I had dranke the water cleare,
When I did drink the wine,
Rather than any shepherds brat
Shold bee a ladye of mine!
'Would I had drank the puddle foule,
When I did drink the ale,
Rather that ever a shepherds brat
Shold tell me such a tale!'
'A shepherds brat even as I was,
You mote have let mee bee;
I never had come to the kings faire courte,
To crave any love of thee.'
He sett her on a milk-white steede,
And himself upon a graye;
He hung a bugle about his necke,
And soe they rode awaye.
But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage-rites were done,
She proved herself a dukes daughter,
And he but a squires sonne.
'Now marrye me, or not, Sir Knight,
Your pleasure shall be free:
If you make me ladye of one good towne,
Ile make you lord of three.'
'Ah! cursed bee the gold;' he sayd,
'If thou hadst not been trewe,
I shold have forsaken my sweet love,
And have changed her for a newe.'
And now their hearts being linked fast,
They joyned hand in hande:
Thus he had both purse, and person too,
And all at his commande.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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5. Merry Old England
Shining armour tunics bright
A table large and round
Swords pointing to its centre
Where Arthur’s knights be found
Each had pledged allegiance
That will never be forgot
To uphold the rights of justice
In this place called Camelot
Each fought in many battles
You’d often hear them call
We fight in the name of King Arthur
For right and with justice for all
Tyrants they had vanquished
Dragons had been slain
Damsels in their ivory towers
Saved time and time again
At last the knights disbanded
All battles had been won
Back to merry old England
Where King Arthur’s job was done
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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The Marriage of Sir Gawaine
King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee.
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright in bowre:
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.
The king a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.
And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round;
Before them came a faire damsèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.
A boone, a boone, O kinge Arthùre,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and me.
At Tearne-Wadling his castle stands,
Near to that lake so fair,
And proudlye rise the battlements,
And streamers deck the air.
Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay,
May pass that castle-walle:
But from that foule discurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.
Hee's twyce the size of common men,
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge,
And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
That is both thicke and longe.
This grimme baròne 'twas our harde happe,
But yester morne to see;
When to his bowre he bare my love,
And sore misused mee.
And when I told him, king Arthùre
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge,
To meete mee if he dare.
Upp then sterted king Arthùre,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme baròne,
Till he had made him quail.
Goe fetch my sword Excalibar:
Goe saddle mee my steede;
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.
And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge
Benethe the castle walle:
"Come forth; come forth; thou proude baròne,
Or yielde thyself my thralle."
On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.
Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,
King Arthur felte the charme:
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,
Downe sunke his feeble arme.
Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge Arthùre,
Now yield thee, unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better termes maye bee,
Unless thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare's daye;
And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women moste desyre;
This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,
Ile have noe other hyre.
King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sware upon his faye,
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone
And faste hee rode awaye.
And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.
Some told him riches, pompe, or state;
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;
And some a jollye knighte.
In letters all king Arthur wrote,
And seal'd them with his ringe:
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.
As ruthfulle he rode over a more,
He saw a ladye sette
Betweene an oke, and a greene holléye,
All clad in red scarlette.
Her nose was crookt and turnd outwàrde,
Her chin stoode all awrye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe,
Lo! there was set her eye:
Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe.
To hail the king in seemelye sorte
This ladye was fulle faine;
But king Arthùre all sore amaz'd,
No aunswere made againe.
What wight art thou, the ladye sayd,
That wilt not speake to mee;
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
Though I be foule to see.
If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd,
And helpe me in my neede;
Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladyè
And it shall bee thy meede.
O sweare mee this upon the roode,
And promise on thy faye;
And here the secrette I will telle,
That shall thy ransome paye.
King Arthur promis'd on his faye,
And sware upon the roode;
The secrette then the ladye told,
As lightlye well shee cou'de.
Now this shall be my paye, sir king,
And this my guerdon bee,
That some yong fair and courtlye knight,
Thou bringe to marrye mee.
Fast then pricked king Arthùre
Ore hille, and dale, and downe:
And soone he founde the barone's bowre:
And soone the grimme baroùne.
He bare his clubbe upon his backe,
Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge;
And, when he had the letters reade,
Awaye the lettres flunge.
Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands,
All forfeit unto mee;
For this is not thy paye, sir king,
Nor may thy ransome bee.
Yet hold thy hand, thou proud baròne,
I praye thee hold thy hand;
And give mee leave to speake once more
In reskewe of my land.
This morne, as I came over a more,
I saw a ladye sette
Betwene an oke, and a greene hollèye,
All clad in red scarlètte.
Shee sayes, all women will have their wille,
This is their chief desyre;
Now yield, as thou art a barone true,
That I have payd mine hyre.
An earlye vengeaunce light on her!
The carlish baron swore:
Shee was my sister tolde thee this,
And shee's a mishapen whore.
But here I will make mine avowe,
To do her as ill a turne:
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette,
In a fyre I will her burne.
poem by Thomas Percy
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Le Morte d'Arthur (Cavatina Sequence)
(after Sir Thomas Mallory)
With his breastplate shattered he limped
among the dead,
all of his heroic friends were now gone,
around him spread
lay good, great, honest men, the very best,
and up ahead
swords clattered, the sun shone as always,
but he only saw its fading dying rays,
yet to some men King Arthur is not dead
and rise he will
by the great power of Jesus they say,
Arthur lives still
in their hearts as the once and future king
to from great ill
rid the world, I will only further say
that Arthur was a great man in his day.
[References: 'Le morte d'Arthur' by Sir Thomas Mallory. 'But many men say there is written upon his tomb this verse: HIC IACET ARTHURUS, REX QUONDUM REXQUE FUTURUS 'Here lies Arthur, the once and future king.'' From 'Le morte d'Arthur' by Sir Thomas Mallory.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid
I read that once in Affrica
A princely wight did raine,
Who had to name Cophetua,
As poets they did faine.
From natures lawes he did decline,
For sure he was not of my minde,
He cared not for women-kind,
But did them all disdaine.
But marke what hapned on a day;
As he out of his window lay,
He saw a beggar all in gray,
The which did cause his paine.
The blinded boy that shootes so trim
From heaven downe did hie,
He drew a dart and shot at him,
In place where he did lye:
Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,
And when he felt the arrow pricke,
Which in his tender heart did sticke,
He looketh as he would dye.
'What suden chance is this,' quoth he,
'That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defie?'
Then from the window he did come,
And laid him on his bed;
A thousand heapes of care did runne
Without his troubled head.
For now he meanes to crave her love,
And now he seekes which way to proove
How he his fancie might remoove,
And not this beggar wed.
But Cupid had him so in snare,
That this poor beggar must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care,
Or els he would be dead.
And as he musing thus did lye,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her companye,
That so did 'maze his eyes.
'In thee,' quoth he, 'doth rest my life;
For surely thou shalt be my wife,
Or else this hand with bloody knife,
The Gods shall sure suffice.'
Then from his bed he soon arose,
And to his pallace gate he goes;
Full little then this begger knowes
When she the king espies.
'The gods preserve your majesty,'
The beggers all gan cry;
'Vouchsafe to give your charity,
Our childrens food to buy.'
The king to them his purse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste;
This silly woman was the last
That after them did hye.
The king he cal'd her back againe,
And unto her he gave his chaine;
And said, 'With us you shal remaine
Till such time as we dye.
'For thou,' quoth he, 'shalt be my wife,
And honoured for my queene;
With thee I meane to lead my life,
As shortly shall be seene:
Our wedding shall appointed be,
And every thing in its degree;
Come on,' quoth he, 'and follow me,
Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.
What is thy name, faire maid?' quoth he.
'Penelophon, O King,' quoth she;
With that she made a lowe courtsey;
A trim one as I weene.
Thus hand in hand along they walke
Unto the king's pallace:
The king with courteous, comly talke
This begger doth embrace.
The begger blusheth scarlet red,
And straight againe as pale as lead,
But not a word at all she said,
She was in such amaze.
As last she spake with trembling voyce,
And said, 'O King, I doe rejoyce
That you wil take me for your choyce,
And my degree so base.'
And when the wedding day was come,
The king commanded straight
The noblemen, both all and some,
Upon the queene to wait.
And she behaved herself that day
As if she had never walkt the way;
She had forgot her gowne of gray,
Which she did weare of late.
The proverbe old is come to passe,
The priest, when he begins his masse,
Forgets that ever clerke he was;
He knoweth not his estate.
Here you may read Cophetua,
Through long time fancie-fed,
Compelled by the blinded boy
The begger for to wed:
He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
To do the same was glad and faine,
Or else he would himselfe have slaine,
In storie, as we read.
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,
But pitty now thy servant heere,
Least that it hap to thee this yeare,
As to that king it did.
And thus they led a quiet life
During their princely raine,
And in a tombe were buried both,
As writers sheweth plaine.
The lords they tooke it grievously,
The ladies tooke it heavily,
The commons cryed pitiously,
Their death to them was paine.
Their fame did sound so passingly,
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did flye
To every princes realme.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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On The Death of Leopold: King of The Belgians
A King is dead! Another master mind
Is summoned from the world-wide council hall.
Ah, for some seer, to say what links behind-
To read the mystic writing on the wall!
Be still, fond man: nor ask thy fate to know.
Face bravely what each God-sent moment brings.
Above thee rules in love, through weal and woe,
Guiding thy kings and thee, the King of kings.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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Ballade De Marguerite
(NORMANDE.)
I AM weary of lying within the chase
When the knights are meeting in market-place.
Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town
Lest the hooves of the war-horse tread thee down.
But I would not go where the Squires ride,
I would only walk by my Lady's side.
Alack! and alack! thou art over bold,
A Forester's son may not eat off gold.
Will she love me the less that my Father is seen,
Each Martinmas day in a doublet green?
Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie,
Spindle and loom are not meet for thee.
Ah, if she is working the arras bright
I might ravel the threads by the fire-light.
Perchance she is hunting of the deer,
How could you follow o'er hill and meer?
Ah, if she is riding with the court,
I might run beside her and wind the morte.
Perchance she is kneeling in S. Denys,
(On her soul may our Lady have gramercy!)
Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle,
I might swing the censer and ring the bell.
Come in my son, for you look sae pale,
The father shall fill thee a stoup of ale.
But who are these knights in bright array?
Is it a pageant the rich folks play?
'Tis the King of England from over sea,
Who has come unto visit our fair countrie.
But why does the curfew toll sae low
And why do the mourners walk a-row?
O 'tis Hugh of Amiens my sister's son
Who is lying stark, for his day is done.
Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear,
It is no strong man who lies on the bier.
O 'tis old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall,
I knew she would die at the autumn fall.
Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair,
Old Jeannette was not a maiden fair.
O 'tis none of our kith and none of our kin,
(Her soul may our Lady assoil from sin!)
But I hear the boy's voice chaunting sweet,
'Elle est morte, la Marguerite.'
Come in my son and lie on the bed,
And let the dead folk bury their dead.
O mother, you know I loved her true:
O mother, hath one grave room for two?
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Laodicea
Hear what the Lord, the great Amen,
The true and faithful Witness says!
He formed the vast creation's plan,
And searches all our hearts and ways.
To some he speaks as once of old,
I know thee, thy profession's vain;
Since thou art neither hot nor cold,
I'll spit thee from me with disdain.
Thou boasteth, I am wise and rich,
Increased in goods and nothing need;
And dost not know thou art a wretch,
Naked and poor, and blind and dead.
Yet while I thus rebuke, I love,
My message is in mercy sent;
That thou may'st my compassion prove,
I can forgive, if thou repent.
Wouldst thou be truly rich and wise?
Come, buy my gold in fire well tried,
My ointment to anoint thine eyes,
My robe, thy nakedness to hide.
See at thy door I stand and knock!
Poor sinner, shall I wait in vain?
Quickly thy stubborn heart unlock,
That I may enter with my train.
Thou canst not entertain a king,
Unworthy thou of such a guest!
But I my own provisions bring,
To make thy soul a heavenly feast.
poem by John Newton
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Johnny Armstrong
There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland
Ionne Armstrong men did him call
He had nither lands nor rents coming in
Yet he kept eight score men in his hall
He had horses and harness for them all,
Goodly steeds were all milk white;
O the golden bands an about their necks,
And their weapons, they were all alike.
Newes then was brought unto the king
That there was sicke a won as hee,
That lived (I]yke a bold out-law,
And robbed all the north country.
The king he writt an a letter then,
A letter which was large and long;
He signed it with his owne hand,
And he promised to doe him no wrong.
When this letter carne Ionne untill,
His heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree:
'Never was I sent for before any king,
My father, my grandfather, nor none but mee.
'And if wee goe the king before,
I would we went most orderly;
Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak,
Laced with silver laces three.
'Every one of you shall have his velvett coat,
Laced with silver lace so white;
O the golden bands an about your necks,
Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke''
By the morrow morninge at ten of the clock,
Towards Edenburough gon was hee,
And with him all his eight score men;
Good lord, it was a goodly sight for to see!
When Ionne came befower the king,
He fell downe on his knee;
'O pardon, my soveraine leige; he said,
'O pardon my eight score men and mee!-
'Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong,
For thy eight score men nor thee;
For to-morrow morning by ten of the clock,
Both thou and them shall hang on the gallow-tree'
But Ionne lookd over his left shoulder,
Good Lord, what a grievous look looked hee!
Saying, 'Asking grace of a graceles face-
Why there is none for you nor me'
But Ionne had a bright sword by his side,
And it was made of the mettle so free,
That had not the king stept his foot aside,
He had smitten his head from his faire bodde.
Saying, 'fight on, my merry men all,
And see that none of you be taine;
For rather then men shall say we were hanged,
Let them report how we were slaine.'
Then, God wott, faire Eddenburrough rose,
And so besett poore Ionne rounde,
That fowerscore and tenn of Ionne's best men
Lay gasping all upon the ground.
Then like a mad man Ionne laid about,
And like a mad man then fought hee,
Until a falce Scot came Ionne behinde,
And runn him through the faire boddee.
Saying, 'fight on, my merry men all,
And see that none o you be taine;
For I will stand by and bleed but awhile,
And then will I come and fight againe!'
Newes then was brought to young Ionne Armstrong,
As he stood by his nurse's knee,
Who vowed if ere he lived for to be a man,
O' the treacherous Scots revengd hee'd be.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Philip, My King
Look at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my king!
Round whom the enshadowing purple lies
Of babyhood's royal dignities.
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand
With love's invisible scepter laden;
I am thine Esther to command
Till thou shalt find a queen-handmaiden,
Philip, my king.
O the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my king!
When those beautiful lips are suing,
And some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest love-glorified. Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair,
For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,
Philip, my king.
Up from thy sweet mouth, - up to thy brow,
Philip, my king!
The spirit that there lies sleeping now
May rise like a giant and make men bow
As to one heaven-chosen among his peers.
My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer,
Let me behold thee in future years! -
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my king.
- A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day,
Philip, my king!
Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way
Thorny and cruel and cold and gray:
Rebels within thee, and foes without,
Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious,
Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,
As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious,
'Philip, the king!'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Edward IV. And The Tanner of Tamworth
In summer time, when leaves grow greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Some pastime for to see.
With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,
With horne, and eke with bowe;
To Drayon Basset he tooke his waye,
With all his lordes a rowe.
And he had ridden ore dale and downe
By eight of clocke in the day,
When he was ware of a bold tanner,
Come ryding along the waye.
A fayre russet coat the tanner had on,
Fast buttoned under his chin,
And under him a good cow-hide,
And a mare of four shilling.
'Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,
Under the grene wood spraye;
And I will wend to yonder fellowe,
To weet what he will saye.
'God speede, God speede thee,' said our king,
'Thou art welcome, sir,' sayd hee.
'The readyest waye to Drayton Basset
I praye thee to shewe to mee.'
'To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe,
Fro the place where thou dost stand?
The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto,
Turne in upon thy right hand.'
'That is an unreadye waye,' sayd our king,
'Thou doest but jest I see;
Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye,
And I pray thee wend with mee.'
'Awaye with a vengeance!' quoth the tanner:
'I hold thee out of thy witt:
All day have I rydden on Brocke, my mare,
And I am fasting yett.'
'Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,
No daynties we will spare;
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best,
And I will paye thy fare.'
'Gramercye for nothing,' the tanner replyde,
'Thou payest no fare of mine:
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou hast pence in thine.'
'God give thee joy of them,' sayd the king,
'And send them well to priefe;'
The tanner wolde fame have beene away,
For he weende he had beene a thiefe.
'What art thou,' he sayde, 'thou fine fellowe?
Of thee I am in great feare;
For the cloathes thou wearest upon thy backe
Might beseeme a lord to weare.'
'I never stole them,' quoth our king,
'I tell you, sir, by the roode.'
'Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth,
And standest in midds of thy goode.'
'What tydinges heare you,' sayd the kynge,
'As you ryde farre and neare?'
'I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse,
But that cowe-hides are deare.'
'Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are those?
I marvell what they bee?'
'What, art thou a foole?' the tanner reply'd;
'I carry one under mee.'
'What craftsman art thou,' sayd the king;
'I praye thee tell me trowe.'
'I am a barker, sir, by my trade;
Nowe tell me what art thou?'
'I am a poore courtier, sir,' quoth he,
'That am forth of service worne;
And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,
Thy cunninge for the learne.'
'Marrye heaven forfend,' the tanner replyde,
'That thou my prentise were;
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne
By fortye shilling a yere.'
'Yet one thinge wold I,' sayd our king,
'If thou wilt not seeme strange;
Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare,
Yet with thee I faine wold change.'
'Why if with me thou faine wilt change,
As change full well maye wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellowe,
I will have some boot of thee.'
'That were against reason,' sayd the king,
'I sweare, so mote I thee;
My horse is better than thy mare,
And that thou well mayst see.'
'Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,
And softly she will fare;
Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss,
Aye skipping here and theare.'
'What boote wilt thou have?' our king reply'd;
'Now tell me in this stound.'
'Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye,
But a noble in gold so round.'
'Here's twentye groates of white moneye,
Sith thou will have it mee.'
'I would have sworne now,' quoth the tanner,
'Thou hadst not had one pennie.
'But since we too have made a change,
A change we must abide;
Although thou hast gotten Brocke, my mare,
Thou gettest not my cowe-hide.'
'I will not have it,' sayd the kynge,
'I sweare, so mought I thee;
Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare,
If thou woldst give it to mee.'
The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide,
That of the cow was hilt,
And threwe it upon the king's sadelle,
That was soe fayrelye gilte.
'Now help me up, thou fine fellowe,
'Tis time that I were gone:
When I come home to Gyllian, my wife,
Sheel say I am gentilmon.'
The king he tooke him up by the legge
The tanner a f** lett fall;
'Nowe marrye, goode fellowe,' sayd the kyng,
'Thy courtesye is but small.'
When the tanner he was in the kinges sadelle,
And his foote in the stirrup was,
He marvelled greatlye in his minde,
Whether it were golde or brass.
But when his steede saw the cows toile wagge,
And eke the blacke cowe-horne,
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne,
As the devill had him borne.
The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummil fast;
At length the tanner came tumbling downe,
His necke he had well-nye brast.
'Take thy horse again with a vengeance,' he sayd,
'With mee he shall not byde.'
'My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe,
But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.
'Yet if againe thou faine woldst change,
As change full well may wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tanner,
I will have some boote of thee.'
'What boote wilt thou have,' the tanner replyd,
'Nowe tell me in this stounde?'
'No pence nor half-pence, sir, by my faye,
But I will have twentye pound.'
'Here's twentye groates out of my purse,
And twentye I have of thine;
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine.'
The king set a bugle-horne to his mouthe,
And blewe both loude and shrille;
And soone came lords, and soone came knights,
Fast ryding over the hille.
'Nowe, out alas!' the tanner he cryde,
'That ever I sawe this daye!
Thou art a strong thiefe; yon come thy fellowes
Will beare my cowe-hide away.'
'They are no thieves,' the king replyde,
'I sweare, soe mote I thee;
But they are the lords of the north countrey,
Here come to hunt with mee.'
And soone before our king they came,
And knelt downe on the grounde;
Then might the tanner have beene awaye,
He had lever than twentye pounde.
'A coller, a coller, here,' sayd the king,
'A coller,' he loud gan crye;
Then woulde he lever then twentye pound,
He had not beene so nighe.
'A coller, a coller!' the tanner he sayd,
'I trowe it will breed sorrowe;
After a coller commeth a halter;
I trowe I shall be hang'd to-morrowe.'
'Be not afraid, tanner,' said our king;
'I tell thee, so mought I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire
That is in the north countrie.'
'For Plumpton-Parke I will give thee,
With tenements faire beside,-
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,-
To maintaine thy good cowe-hide.'
'Gramercye, my liege,' the tanner replyde;
'For the favour thou hast me showne,
If ever thou comest to merry Tamworth,
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.'
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be Thou My Vision
Be thou my vision, oh lord of my heart
Nought be all else to me, save that thy art
Thou my best thought in the day and the night
Waking or sleeping, thou presence my light
Be thou my wisdom, be thou my true word
I ever with thee and thou with me lord
Thou my great father and I thy true son
Thou in me dwelling and I with thee one
Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight
Be thou my armour and be thou my might
Thou my soul shelter, and thy my high tower
Raise thou me heavenwards, oh power of my power
Riches I need not, nor mans empty praise
Thou mine inheritance through all of my days
Thou and thou only though first in my heart
High king of heaven my treasure thou art
Oh high king of heaven, when battle is done
Grant heavens joy to me, bright heaven sun
Christ of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, though ruler of all
Da, da, da, da, da, etc.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Siege and Conquest of Alhama
The Moorish King rides up and down,
Through Granada's royal town;
From Elvira's gate to those
Of Bivarambla on he goes.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Letters to the monarch tell
How Alhama's city fell:
In the fire the scroll he threw,
And the messenger he slew.
Woe is me, Albamal
He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
And through the street directs his course;
Through the street of Zacatin
To the Alhambra spurring in.
Woe is me, Alhama!
When the Alhambra walls he gain'd,
On the moment he ordain'd
That the trumpet straight should sound
With the silver clarion round.
Woe is me, Alhamal
And when the hollow drums of war
Beat the loud alarm afar,
That the Moors of town and plain
Might answer to the martial strain.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Then the Moors, by this aware,
That bloody Mars recall'd them there,
One by one, and two by two,
To a mighty squadron grew.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Out then spake an aged Moor
In these words the king before,
'Wherefore call on us, oh King?
What may mean this gathering?'
Woe is me, Alhama!
'Friends! ye have, alas! to know
Of a most disastrous blow;
That the Christians, stern and bold,
Have obtain'd Alhama's hold.'
Woe is me, Alhama!
Out then spake old Alfaqui,
With his beard so white to see,
'Good King! thou art justly served,
Good King! this thou hast deserved.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'By thee were slain, in evil hour,
The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
And strangers were received by thee
Of Cordova the Chivalry.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'And for this, oh King! is sent
On thee a double chastisement:
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
One last wreck shall overwhelm.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'He who holds no laws in awe,
He must perish by the law;
And Granada must be won,
And thyself with her undone.'
Woe is me, Alhama!
Fire crashed from out the old Moor's eyes,
The Monarch's wrath began to rise,
Because he answer'd, and because
He spake exceeding well of laws.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'There is no law to say such things
As may disgust the ear of kings:
'Thus, snorting with his choler, said
The Moorish King, and doom'd him dead.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
Though thy beard so hoary be,
The King hath sent to have thee seized,
For Alhama's loss displeased.
Woe is me, Alhama!
And to fix thy head upon
High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
That thus for thee should be the law,
And others tremble when they saw.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'Cavalier, and man of worth!
Let these words of mine go forth!
Let the Moorish Monarch know,
That to him I nothing owe.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'But on my soul Alhama weighs,
And on my inmost spirit preys;
And if the King his land hath lost,
Yet others may have lost the most.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'Sires have lost their children, wives
Their lords, and valiant men their lives!
One what best his love might claim
Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'I lost a damsel in that hour,
Of all the land the loveliest flower;
Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
And think her ransom cheap that day.'
Woe is me, Alhama!
And as these things the old Moor said,
They sever'd from the trunk his head;
And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
Woe is me, Alhama!
And men and infants therein weep
Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
Granada's ladies, all she rears
Within her walls, burst into tears.
Woe is me, Alhama!
And from the windows o'er the walls
The sable web of mourning falls;
The King weeps as a woman o'er
His loss, for it is much and sore.
Woe is me, Alhama!