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The Legend of King Arthur

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome and Heathynesse
Well knowne is my worthy fame.

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve;
I am a Christyan bore;
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost,
One God, I doe adore.

In the four hundred ninetieth yeere,
Oer Brittaine I did rayne,
After my Savior Christ his byrth,
What time I did maintaine

The fellowshipp of the Table Round,
Soe famous in those dayes;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights
And thirty sat alwayes:

Who for their deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations
Wer feared through the world

And in the castle of Tyntagill
King Uther mee begate,
Of Agyana, a bewtyous ladye,
And come of hie estate.

And when I was fifteen yeere old,
Then was I crowned kinge:
All Brittaine, that was att an upròre,
I did to quiett bringe;

And drove the Saxons from the realme,
Who had opprest this land;
All Scotland then, throughe manly feates,
I conquered with my hand.

Ireland, Denmarke, Norwaye,
These countryes wan I all;
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland;
And made their kings my thrall.

I conquered all Gallya,
That now is called France;
And slew the hardye Froll in feild,
My honor to advance.

And the ugly gyant Dynabus,
Soe terrible to vewe,
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,
By force of armes I slew.

And Lucyus, the emperour of Rome,
I brought to deadly wracke;
And a thousand more of noble knightes
For feare did turne their backe.

Five kinges of paynims I did kill
Amidst that bloody strife;
Besides the Grecian emperour,
Who alsoe lost his liffe.

Whose carcasse I did send to Rome,
Cladd poorlye on a beere;
And afterward I past Mount-Joye
The next approaching yeere.

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett
Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye
I was crowned an emperour.

One winter there I made abode,
Then word to mee was brought,
How Mordred had oppressd the crowne,
What treason he had wrought

Att home in Brittaine with my queene:
Therfore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power,
To quitt that traiterous deede;

And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,
Where Mordred me withstoode:
But yett at last I landed there,
With effusion of much blood.

For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed,
Being wounded in that sore
The whiche Sir Launcelot in fight
Had given him before.

Then chased I Mordered away,
Who fledd to London right,
From London to Winchester, and
To Cornwalle tooke his flyght.

And still I him pursued with speed,
Till at the last wee mett;
Wherby an appointed day of fight
Was there agreed and set:

Where we did fight, of mortal life
Eche other to deprive,
Till of a hundred thousand men
Scarce one was left alive.

There all the noble chivalrye
Of Brittaine took their end.
O see how fickle is their state
That doe on fates depend!

There all the traiterous men were slaine,
Not one escapte away;
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes.
Alas! that woefull day!

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne
In honor and great fame,
And thus by death was suddenlye
Deprived of the same.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Legend of King Arthur

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome and Heathynesse
Well knowne is my worthy fame.

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve;
I am a Christyan bore;
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost,
One God, I doe adore.

In the four hundred ninetieth yeere,
Oer Brittaine I did rayne,
After my Savior Christ his byrth,
What time I did maintaine

The fellowshipp of the Table Round,
Soe famous in those dayes;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights
And thirty sat alwayes:

Who for their deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations
Wer feared through the world

And in the castle of Tyntagill
King Uther mee begate,
Of Agyana, a bewtyous ladye,
And come of hie estate.

And when I was fifteen yeere old,
Then was I crowned kinge:
All Brittaine, that was att an upròre,
I did to quiett bringe;

And drove the Saxons from the realme,
Who had opprest this land;
All Scotland then, throughe manly feates,
I conquered with my hand.

Ireland, Denmarke, Norwaye,
These countryes wan I all;
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland;
And made their kings my thrall.

I conquered all Gallya,
That now is called France;
And slew the hardye Froll in feild,
My honor to advance.

And the ugly gyant Dynabus,
Soe terrible to vewe,
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,
By force of armes I slew.

And Lucyus, the emperour of Rome,
I brought to deadly wracke;
And a thousand more of noble knightes
For feare did turne their backe.

Five kinges of paynims I did kill
Amidst that bloody strife;
Besides the Grecian emperour,
Who alsoe lost his liffe.

Whose carcasse I did send to Rome,
Cladd poorlye on a beere;
And afterward I past Mount-Joye
The next approaching yeere.

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett
Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye
I was crowned an emperour.

One winter there I made abode,
Then word to mee was brought,
How Mordred had oppressd the crowne,
What treason he had wrought

Att home in Brittaine with my queene:
Therfore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power,
To quitt that traiterous deede;

And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,
Where Mordred me withstoode:
But yett at last I landed there,
With effusion of much blood.

For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed,
Being wounded in that sore
The whiche Sir Launcelot in fight
Had given him before.

Then chased I Mordered away,
Who fledd to London right,
From London to Winchester, and
To Cornwalle tooke his flyght.

And still I him pursued with speed,
Till at the last wee mett;
Wherby an appointed day of fight
Was there agreed and set:

Where we did fight, of mortal life
Eche other to deprive,
Till of a hundred thousand men
Scarce one was left alive.

There all the noble chivalrye
Of Brittaine took their end.
O see how fickle is their state
That doe on fates depend!

There all the traiterous men were slaine,
Not one escapte away;
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes.
Alas! that woefull day!

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne
In honor and great fame,
And thus by death was suddenlye
Deprived of the same.

poem by Thomas Percy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Legend of Sir Guy

A pleasant song of the valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble knight Sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fair Phelis, became a hermit, and died in a cave of craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick.

Was ever knight for ladyes sake
Soe tost in love, as I, Sir Guy,
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright
As ever man beheld with eye?

She gave me leave myself to try,
The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,
Ere that her love shee wold grant me;
Which made mee venture far and neare.

Then proved I a baron bold,
In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight
That in those dayes in England was,
With sword and speare in feild to fight.

An English man I was by birthe:
In faith of Christ a christyan true:
The wicked lawes of infidells
I sought by prowesse to subdue.

'Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde
After our Saviour Christ his birth,
When King Athelstone wore the crowne,
I lived heere upon the earth.

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,
And, as I sayd, of very truth
A ladyes love did me constraine
To seeke strange ventures in my youth;

To win me fame by feates of armes
In strange and sundry heathen lands;
Where I atchieved for her sake
Right dangerous conquests with my hands.

For first I sayled to Normandye,
And there I stoutlye wan in fight
The emperours daughter of Almaine,
From manye a vallyant worthye knight.

Then passed I the seas to Greece,
To helpe the emperour in his right,
Against the mightye souldans hoaste
Of puissant Persians for to fight:

Where I did slay of Sarazens,
And heathen pagans, manye a man;
And slew the souldans cozen deere,
Who had to name doughtye Coldran.

Eskeldered, a famous knight,
To death likewise I did pursue;
And Elmayne, King of Tyre, alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to viewe.

I went into the souldans hoast,
To death likewise I did pursue;
And Elmayne, King of Tyre, alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to viewe.

I went into the souldans hoast,
Being thither on embassage sent,
And brought his head awaye with mee;
I having slaine him in his tent.

There was a dragon in that land
Most fiercelye mett me by the waye,
As hee a lyon did pursue,
Which I myself did alsoe slay.

Then soon I past the seas from Greece,
And came to Pavye land aright;
Where I the Duke of Pavye killed,
His hainous treason to requite.

To England then I came with speede,
To wedd faire Phelis, lady bright;
For love of whome I travelled farr
To try my manhood and my might.

But when I had espoused her,
I stayd with her but fortye dayes,
Ere that I left this ladye faire,
And went from her beyond the seas.

All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,
My voyage from her I did take
Unto the blessed Holy Land,
For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.

Where I Erle Jonas did redeeme,
And all his sonnes, which were fifteene,
Who with the cruell Sarazens
In prisons for long time had beene.

I slew the giant Amarant
In battel fiercelye hand to hand,
And doughty Barknard killed I,
A treacherous knight of Pavye land.

Then I to England came againe,
And here with Colbronde fell I fought;
An ugly gyant, which the Danes
Had for their champion hither brought.

I overcame him in the field,
And slewe him soone right valliantlye;
Wherebye this land I did redeeme
From Danish tribute utterlye.

And afterwards I offered upp
The use of weapons solemnlye
At Winchester, whereas I fought,
In sight of manye farr and nye.

'But first,' near Windsor, I did slaye
A bore of passing might and strength;
Whose like in England never was
For hugenesse both in bredth and length.

Some of his bones in Warwicke yett
Within the castle there doe lye;
One of his sheeld-bones to this day
Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.

On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,
Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;
Which manye people had opprest.

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett
Still for a monument doe lye,
And there exposed to lookers viewe,
As wonderous strange, they may espye.

A dragon in Northumberland
I alsoe did in fight destroye,
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,
And all the countrye sore annoye.

At length to Warwicke I did come,
Like pilgrim poore and was not knowne;
And there I lived a hermitts life
A mile and more out of the towne.

Where with my hands I hewed a house
Out of a craggy rocke of stone,
And lived like a palmer poore
WIthin that cave myself alone;

And daylye came to begg my bread
Of Phelis att my castle gate;
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,
Who dailye mourned for her mate.

Till att the last I fell sore sicke,
Yea, sicke soe sore that I must dye;
I sent to her a ring of golde
By which shee knewe me presentlye.

Then shee repairing to the cave,
Before that I gave up the ghost,
Herself closd up my dying eyes;
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.

Thus dreadful death did me arrest,
To bring my corpes unto the grave,
And like a palmer dyed I,
Whereby I sought my soule to save.

My body that endured this toyle,
Though now it be consumed to mold,
My statue, faire engraven in stone,
In Warwicke still you may behold.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Arthur's Death

On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee,
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittìe.

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,
And there to him these wordes did saye:

"Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fight;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.

"For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste yee in the fighte."

The kinge then call'd his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And told them howe Sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.

His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld-at-armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.

Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose,
The best of all that with him were,
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.

The king he charged all his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man shold noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.

And Mordred, on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe,
The best of all his companye,
To hold the parley with the kinge.

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.

For he durste not his unkle truste,
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell;
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.

But when they were together mette,
And both to faire accordance broughte,
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte,

An addere crept forth of a bushe,
Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee;
Alacke! It was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in Christentìe.

When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wild-worm hanginge there,
His sworde he from his scabberde drewe;
A piteous case, as ye shall heare.

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde,
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of soe manye noble knightes,
On one side there were left but three.

For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on a summer's daye.

Upon King Arthur's own partyè,
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.

And when the king beheld his knightes
All dead and scattered on the molde,
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.

"Nowe reste yee all, brave knights," he said,
"Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must ye then, ye valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!

"Most loyal have yee been to mee,
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe!

"But see, the traitor's yet alive!
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:
And vengeance fall upon his head."

"O staye, my liege," then sayd the duke;
"O staye for love and charitìe;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee."

"O staye mee not, thou worthye wight,
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide my life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe."

Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.

"Alas!" then sayd the noble king,
"That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee!

He put his speare into his reste.
And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye:
"Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde,
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye."

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde,
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust,
A fathom thorow his bodìe.

When Mordered felt the stroke of death,
And found that he was wounded soe,
He thrust himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree:
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge,
Ere to the duke returned hee.

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake:
"Sir Knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde;
Nowe take my sworde Excalibar,
That hangs so freelye by my syde;

"O take my sword Excalibar,
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I forgoe.

"And fare thee well, thou trustye sword,
A better neer had valiant knighte;
With thee full ofte, and many a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.

With this good fauchion in my hande,
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde."

The duke to the river side he went,
And there his owne sword in threwe he;
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitie.

For all of coleyne was the blade,
And all the hilte of precious stone:
"And ever alacke!" then sayd the knighte,
"Must such a sword awaye be throwne?"

Then backe he came unto the kinge,
Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?"
"Nothing, my liege, save that the winde
Blewe oer the waters faire and free."

"O goe againe," then said the kinge,
"O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivere throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine."

The duke then to the river went,
And the kings scabberd in threwe hee;
But he kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.

Then backe he came to tell the kinge,
Who sayde, "Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte?"

"Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought."

"O Lukyn, Lukyn," said the kinge,
"Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee!

"Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead,
All for a sword that wins thine eye?
Now goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the one of us shall dye."

The duke, all shent with this rebuke,
No aunswere made unto the kinge;
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde,
And flourishd three times in the air;
Then sunke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.

All sore astonied stood the duke,
He stood as still, as still mote bee;
Then hastened backe to telle the kinge,
But he was gone from under the tree.

But to what place he cold not tell,
For never after hee did him spye;
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.

And whether the kinge were there or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde,
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.

poem by Thomas Percy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Arthur's Death. A Fragment.

On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee,
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittie.

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,
And there to him these wordes did saye:

'Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.

'For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste ye in the fighte.'

The kinge then call'd his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And told them howe Sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.

His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld-at-armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.

Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose,
The best of all that with him were,
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.

The king he charged all his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man shold noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.

And Mordred, on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe,
The best of all his companye,
To hold the parley with the kinge.

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.

For he durste not his unkle truste,
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell;
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.

But when they were together mette,
And both to faire accordance broughte,
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte,

An addere crept forth of a bushe,
Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee;
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in Christentie.

When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wild-worm hanginge there,
His sworde he from his scabbarde drewe;
A piteous case, as ye shall heare.

For when the two hosts sawe the sworde,
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of soe manye noble knights,
On one side there were left but three.

For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on a summer's daye.

Upon King Arthur's own partye,
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.

And when the king beheld his knights
All dead and scattered on the molde,
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.

'Nowe reste yee all, brave knights,' he said,
'Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!

'Most loyal have yee been to mee,
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe!

'But see, the traitor's yet alive!
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:
And vengeance fall upon his head.'

'O staye, my liege,' then sayd the duke;
'O staye for love and charitie;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.'

'O staye mee not, thou worthye wight,
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe.'

Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.

'Alas!' then sayd the noble king,
'That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee!'

He put his speare into his reste,
And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye;
'Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.'

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde,
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust,
A fathom thorow his bodie.

When Mordred felt the stroke of death,
And found that he was sounded soe,
He thrust himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree:
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge,
Ere to the duke returned hee.

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake:
'Sir Knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde;
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,
That hangs so freelye by my syde;

'O take my sword Excalibar,
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I foregoe.

'And fare thee well, thou trustye sword,
A better neer had valiant knighte;
With thee full ofte, and many a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.

'With this good fauchion in my hande,
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde.'

The duke to the river side he went,
And there his owne sword in threwe he;
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitie.

For all of coleyne was the blade,
And all the hilte of precious stone:
'And ever alacke!' then sayd the knighte,
'Must such a sword awaye be throwne?'

Then backe he came unto the kinge,
Who sayd, 'Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?'
'Nothing, my liefe, save that winde
Blind oer the waters faire and free.'

'O goe againe,' then said the kinge,
'O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivers throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.'

The duke then to the river went,
And the kings scabberd in threwe hee;
But hee kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.

Then backe he came to tell the kinge,
Who sayde, 'Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte?'
'Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought.'

'O Lukyn, Lukyn,' said the kinge,
'Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee!

'Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead,
All for a sword that wins thine eye?
Now goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the one of us shall dye.'

The duke, all shent with this rebuke,
No aunswere made unto the kinge;
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde,
And flourishd three times in the air;
Then sunke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.

All sore astonied stood the duke,
He stood as still, as still mote bee;
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge,
But he was gone from under the tree.

But to what place he cold not tell,
For never after hee did him spye;
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.

And whether the kinge were there or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde;
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The More Modern Ballad of Chevy Chace

God prosper long our noble king,
Our liffes and safetyes all;
A woefull hunting once there did
In Chevy-Chace befall.

To drive the deere with hound and horne,
Erle Percy took his way;
The child may rue that is unborne
The hunting of that day.

The sout Erle of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summers days to take;

The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chase
To kill and beare away:
These tydings to Erle Douglas came,
In Scotland where he lay.

Who sent Erle Percy present word,
He wold prevent his sport;
The English Erle not fearing that,
Did to the woods resort,

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,
All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of neede
To ayme their shafts arright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow deere;
On Munday they began to hunt,
Ere day-light did appeare;

And long before high noone they had
An hundred fat buckes slaine;
Then having din'd, the drovyers went
To rouze the deare againe.

The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure;
Theire backsides all, with speciall care,
That day were guarded sure.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
The nible deere to take,
That with their cryes the hills an dales
An eccho shrill did make.

Lord Percy to the quarry went,
To view the tender deere;
Quoth he, 'Erle Douglas promised
This day to meet me heere;

'But if I though he wold not come,
Noe longer wold I stay.'
With that, a brave younge gentleman
Thus to the Erle did say:

'Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
His men in armour bright;
Full twenty hundred Scottish speres,
All marching in our sight.

'All men of pleasant Tivydale,
Fast by the river Tweede:'
'O cease your sport,' Erle Percy said,
'And take your bowes with speede.

'And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance;
For never was there champion yett
In Scotland or in France,

'That ever did on horseback come,
But, if my hap it were,
I durst encounter man for man,
With him to breake a spere.'

Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,
Most like a baron bold,
Rode formost of his company,
Whose armour shone like gold.

'Show me,' sayd hee, 'whose men you bee,
That hunt soe boldly heere,
That, without my consent, doe chase
And kill my fallow-deere.'

The man that first did answer make
Was noble Percy hee;
Who sayd, 'Wee list not to declare,
Nor shew whose men wee bee.

'Yet will wee spend our deerest blood,
Thy cheefest harts to slay;'
Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,
And thus in rage did say;

'Ere thus I will out-braved bee,
One of us two shall dye:
I know thee well, an erle thou art,
Lord Percy, soe am I.

'But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,
And great offence, to kill
Any of these our guiltlesse men,
For they have done no ill.

'Let thou and I the battell trye,
And set our men aside.'
'Accurst bee he,' Erle Percy sayd,
'By whome this is denyed.'

Then stept a gallant squier forth,
Witherington was his name,
Who said, 'I wold not have it told
To Henry our king for shame,

'That ere my captaine fought on foote,
And I stood looking on:
You bee two erles,' sayd Witherington,
'And I a squier alone.

'He doe the best that doe I may,
While I have power to stand;
While I have power to weeld my sword,
Ile fight with hart and hand.'

Our English archers bent their bowes,
Their harts were good and trew;
Att the first flight of arrowes sent,
Full four-score Scots they slew.

Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,
As Chieftain stout and good,
As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
The shock he firmly stood.

His host he parted had in three,
As Leader ware and try'd,
And soon his spearmen on their foes
Bare down on every side.

Throughout the English archery
They dealt full many a wound;
But still our valiant Englishmen
All firmly kept their ground.

And throwing strait their bows away,
They grasp'd their swords so bright;
And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.

They clos'd full fast on everye side,
Noe slacknes there was found,
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.

O Christ! it was a griefe to see,
And likewise for to heare,
The cries of men lying in their gore,
And scattered here and there.

At last these two stout erles did meet,
Like captaines of great might;
Like lyons wood they layd on lode,
And made a cruell fight.

They fought, untill they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered steele;
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling downe did feele.

'Yeeld thee, Lord Percy,' Douglas sayd;
'In faith I will thee bringe,
Where thou shalt high advanced bee
By James our Scottish king.

'Thy ransome I will freely give,
And thus report of thee,
Thou art the most couragious knight
That ever I did see.'

'Noe, Douglas,' quoth Erle Percy then,
'Thy proffer I doe scorne;
I will not yeelde to any Scott,
That ever yett was borne.'

With that, there came an arrow keene
Out of an English bow,
Which strucke Erle Douglas to the heart,
A deepe and deadlye blow:

Who never spake more words than these,
'Fight on, my merry men all;
For why, my life is at an end:
Lord Percy sees my fall.'

Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke
The dead man by the hand;
And said, 'Erle Douglas, for thy life
Wold I had lost my land!

'O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;
For sure, a more renowned knight
Mischance cold never take.'

A knight amongst the Scotts there was,
Which saw Erle Douglas dye,
Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percye;

Sir Hugh Mountgomerye was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare,
And through Erle Percyes body then
He thrust his hatefull spere

With such a vehement force and might
He did his body gore,
The speare ran through the other side
A large cloth-yard, and more.

So thus did both these nobles dye,
Whose courage none could staine;
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble erle was slaine.

He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree;
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Up to the head drew hee.

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
So right the shaft he sett,
The grey goose-wing that was thereon
In his harts bloode was wett.

This fight did last from breake of day
Till setting of the sun;
For when they rung the evening bell,
The battel scarce was done.

With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine,
Sir John of Egerton,
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
Sir James, that bold Baron.

And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
Both knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Rabby there was slaine,
Whose prowesse did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wayle,
As one in doleful dumpes;
For when his legs were smitten off,
He fought upon his stumpes.

And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine
Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld
One foote wold never flee.

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too,
His sisters sonne was hee;
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,
Yet saved cold not bee.

And the Lord Maxwell in like case
Did with Erle Douglas dye;
Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,
Scarce fifty-five did flye.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
Went home but fifty-three;
The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace,
Under the greene wood tree.

Next day did many widowes come,
Their husbands to bewayle;
They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
But all wold not prevayle.

Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple blood,
They bore with them away:
They kist them dead a thousand times,
Ere they were cladd in clay.

This newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
Where Scotlands king did raigne,
That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
Was with an arrow slaine.

'O heavy newes,' King James did say;
'Scotland can witnesse bee,
I have not any captaine more
Of such account as hee.'

Like tydings to King Henry came,
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slaine in Chevy-Chace.

'Now God be with him,' said our king,
'Sith it will noe better bee;
I trust I have, within my realme,
Five hundred as good as hee.

'Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,
But I will vengeance take,
I'll be revenged on them all,
For brave Erle Perceys sake.'

This vow full well the king perform'd
After, at Humbledowne;
In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
With lordes of great renowne.

And of the rest, of small account,
Did many thousands dye:
Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Erle Percy.

God save our king, and bless this land
In plentye, joy, and peace;
And grant henceforth, that foule debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease!

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Titus Andronicus's Complaint

The Lamentable and Tragical History of Titus Adronicus, &c.

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights,
That in defence of native country fights,
Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for Rome,
Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home.

In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore yeeres,
My name beloved was of all my peeres;
Full five-and-twenty valiant soones I had,
Whose forwarde vertues made their father glad.

For when Romes foes their warlike forces bent,
Against them stille my sonnes and I were sent;
Agains the Goths full ten yeeres weary warre
We spent, receiving many a bloudy scarre.

Just two-and-twenty of my sonnes were slaine
Before we did returne to Rome againe:
Of five-and-twenty sonnes, I brought but three
Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see.

When wars were done, I conquest home did bring,
And did present my prisoners to the king,
The Queene of Goths, her sons, and eke a Moore,
Which did such murders, like was nere before.

The emperour did make this queene his wife,
Which bred in Rome debate and deadlie strife;
The Moore, with her two sonnes, did growe soe proud,
That none like them in Rome might bee allowd.

The Moore soe pleas'd this new-made empress' eie,
That she consented to him secretlye
For to abuse her husbands marriage-bed,
And soe in time a blackamore she bred.

Then she, whose thoughts to murder were inclinde,
Consented with the Moore of bloody minde
Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes,
In cruell sort to bring them to their endes.

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace,
Both care and griefe began then to increase:
Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter bright,
Which joy'd and pleased best my sight.

My deare Lavinia was betrothed than
To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man:
Who, in a hunting by the emperours wife
And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life.

He, being slaine, was cast in cruel wise
Into a darksome den from light of skies:
The cruell Moore did come that way as then
With my three sonnes, who fell into the den.

The Moore then fetcht the emperour with speed,
For to accuse them of that murderous deed;
And when my sonnes within the den were found
In wrongfull prison they were cast and bound.

But nowe behold what wounded most my mind:
The empresses two sonnes, of savage kind,
My daughter ravished without remorse,
And took away her honour, quite perforce.

When they had tasted of soe sweete a flowre,
Fearing this sweete should shortly turn to sowre,
They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not tell
How that dishonoure unto her befell.

Then both her hands they basely cutt off quite,
Whereby their wickednesse she could not write,
Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe
The bloudye workers of her direfull woe.

My brother Marcus found her in the wood,
Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud,
That trickled from her stumpes and bloudlesse armes:
Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes.

But when I sawe her in that woefull case,
With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face:
For my Lavinia I lamented more
Then for my two-and-twenty sonnes before.

When as I sawe she could not write nor speake,
With grief mine aged heart began to breake;
We spred an heape of sand upon the ground,
Whereby those bloudy tryants out we found.

For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand,
She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand:
'The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperesse
Are doers of this hateful wickednesse.'

I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head,
I curst the houre wherein I first was bred;
I wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's fame,
In cradle rockt, had first been stroken lame.

The Moore, delighting still in villainy,
Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free,
I should unto the king my right hand give,
And then my three imprisoned sonnes should live.

The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede,
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,
But for my sonnes would willingly impart,
And for their ransome send my bleeding heart.

But as my life did linger thus in paine,
They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe,
And therewithal the heades of my three sonnes,
Which filld my dying heart with fresher moanes.

Then, past reliefe, I upp and downe did goe,
And with my teares writ in the dust my woe:
I shot my arrowes towards heaven hie,
And for revenge to hell often did crye.

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad,
Like Furies she and both her sonnes were clad,
(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and Murder they)
To undermine and heare what I would say.

I fed their foolish veines a certaine space,
Untill my friendes did find a secret place,
Where both her sonnes unto a post were bound,
And just revenge in cruell sort was found.

I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan
Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it ran:
And then I ground their bones to powder small,
And made a paste for pyes streight therewithall.

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes,
And at a banquet served in stately wise,
Before the empresse set this loathsome meat;
So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat.

Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life,
The empresse then I slewe with bloudy knife,
And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie,
And then myself: even soe did Titus die.

Then this revenge against the Moore was found:
Alive they sett him halfe into the ground,
Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd:
And soe God send all murderers may be serv'd.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Sir Aldingar

Our king he kept a false stewarde,
Sir Aldingar they him call;
A falser steward than he was one,
Servde not in bower nor hall.

He wolde have layne by our comelye queene,
Her deere worshippe to betraye;
Our queene she was a good woman,
And evermore said him naye.

Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind,
With her hee was never content,
Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,
In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gate,
A lazar both blinde and lame;
He tooke the lazar upon his backe,
Him on the queenes bed has layne.

'Lye still, lazar, wheras thou lyest,
Looke thou goe not hence away;
Ile make thee a whole man and a sound
In two howers of the day.'

Then went him forth Sir Aldingar,
And hyed him to our king:
'If I might have grace, as I have space,
Sad tydings I could bring.'

'Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar,
Say on the soothe to mee.'
'Our queene hath chosen a new, new love,
And shee will have none of thee.

'If shee had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had beene her shame;
But she hath chose her a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame.'

'If this be true, thou Aldingar,
The tyding thou tellest to me,
Then will I make thee a rich, rich knight,
Rich both of golde and fee.

'But if it be false, Sir Aldingar,
As God nowe grant it bee!
Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood,
Shall hang on the gallows tree.'

He brought our king to the queenes chamber,
And opend to him the dore:
'A lodlye love,' King Harry says,
'For our queene, Dame Elinore!

'If thou were a man, as thou art none,
Here on my sword thoust dye;
But a payre of new gallowes shall be built,
And there shalt thou hang on hye.'

Forth then hyed our king, I wysse,
And an angry man was hee,
And soone he found Queene Elinore,
That bride so bright of blee.

'Now God you save, our Queene madame,
And Christ you save and see!
Here you have chosen a newe, newe love,
And you will have none of mee.

'If you had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had been your shame;
But you have chose you a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame.

'Therfore a fyer there shall be built,
And brent all shalt thou bee.' -
'Now out alacke!' sayd our comly queene,
'Sir Aldingar's false to mee.

'Now out alacke!' sayd our comlye queene,
'My heart with griefe will brast:
I had thought swevens had never been true,
I have proved them true at last.

'I dreamt in my sweven on Thursday eve,
I my bed wheras I laye,
I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast
Had carryed my crowne awaye;

'My gorgett and my kirtle of golde,
And all my faire head-geere;
And he wold worrye me with his tush,
And to his nest y-beare;

'Saving there came a little 'gray' hawke,
A merlin him they call,
Which untill the grounde did strike the grype,
That dead he downe did fall.

'Giffe I were man, as now I am none,
A battell wold I prove,
To fight with that traitor Aldingar:
Att him I cast my glove.

'But seeing Ime able noe battell to make,
My liege, grant me a knight
To fight with that traitor, Sir Aldingar,
To maintaine me in my right.'

'Now forty dayes I will give thee
To seeke thee a knight therein:
If thou find not a knight in forty dayes,
Thy bodye it must brenn.'

Then shee sent east, and shee sent west,
By north and south bedeene;
But never a champion colde she find,
Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.

Now twenty dayes were spent and gone,
Noe helpe there might be had;
Many a teare shed our comelye queene,
And aye her hart was sad.

Then came one of the queenes damselles,
And knelt upon her knee:
'Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame,
I trust yet helpe may be.

'And here I will make mine avowe,
And with the same me binde,
That never will I return to thee,
Till I some helpe may finde.'

Then forth she rode on a faire palfraye,
Oer hill and dale about;
But never a champion colde she finde,
Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.

And nowe the daye drewe on a pace,
When our good queene must dye;
All woe-begonne was that faire damselle,
When she found no helpe was nye.

All woe-begonne was that fair damselle,
And the salt tears fell from her eye;
When lo! as she rode by a rivers side,
She met with a tinye boye.

A tinye boy she mette, God wot,
All clad in mantle of golde;
He seemed noe more in mans likenesse,
Then a childe of four yeere olde.

'Why grieve you, damselle faire,' he sayd,
'And what doth cause you moane?'
The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke,
But fast she pricked on.

'Yet turne againe, thou faire damselle,
And greete thy queene from mee;
When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest;
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.

'Bid her remember what she dreamt,
In her bedd wheras shee laye;
How when the grype and the grimly beast
Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,

'Even then there came the little gray hawke,
And saved her from his clawes:
Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,
For heaven will fende her cause.'

Back then rode that faire damselle,
And her hart it lept for glee:
And when she told her gracious dame,
A gladd woman then was shee.

But when the appointed day was come,
No helpe appeared bye;
Then woeful, woeful was her hart,
And the teares stood in her eye.

And nowe a fyer was built of wood,
And a stake was made of tree;
And now Queene Elinor forth was led,
A sorrowful sight to see.

Three times the herault he waved his hand,
And three times spake on hye:
'Giff any good knight will fende this dame,
Come forth, or shee must dye.'

No knight stood forth, no knight there came,
No helpe appeared nye;
And now the fyer was lighted up,
Queen Elinor she must dye.

And now the fyer was lighted up,
As hot as hot might bee;
When riding upon a little white steed,
The tinye boy they see.

'Away with that stake, away with those brands,
And loose our comelye queene:
I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar,
And prove him a traitor keene.'

Forthe then he stood Sir Aldingar,
But when he saw the chylde,
He laughed, and scoffed, and turned his backe,
And weened he had been beguylde.

'Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar,
And eyther fighte or flee;
I trust that I shall avenge the wronge,
Thoughe I am so small to see.'

The boye pulld forth a well good sworde,
So gilt it dazzled the ee;
The first stroke stricken at Aldingar
Smote off his leggs by the knee.

'Stand up, stand up, thou false traitor,
And fight upon thy feete,
For, and thou thrive as thou begin'st,
Of height wee shall be meete.'

'A priest, a priest,' sayes Aldingar,
'While I am a man alive;
A priest, a priest,' sayes Aldingar,
'Me to the houzle and shrive.

'I wolde have laine by our comlie queene,
But shee wolde never consent;
Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge,
In a fyer to have her brent.

'There came a lazar to the kings gates,
A lazar both blind and lame;
I tooke the lazar upon my backe,
And on her bedd had him layne.

'Then ranne I to our comlye king,
These tidings sore to tell:
But ever alacke!' sayes Aldingar,
'Falsing never doth well.

'Forgive, forgive me, Queene, madame,
The short time I must live.'
'Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,
As freely I forgive.'

'Here take thy queene, our King Harrye,
And love her as thy life,
For never had a king in Christentye,
A truer and fairer wife.'

King Henrye ran to claspe his queene,
And loosed her full sone;
Tuen turned to look for the tinye boye:
-- The boye was vanisht and gone.

But first he had touchd the lazar man,
And stroakt him with his hand;
The lazar under the gallowes tree
All whole and sounde did stand.

The lazar under the gallowes tree
Was comelye, straight and tall;
King Henrye made him his head stewarde,
To wayte withinn his hall.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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King John And The Abbot Of Canterbury

An ancient story Ile tell you anon
Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
And he ruled England with maine and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye,
How for his house-keeping and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

'How now, father abbot, I heare if of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee;
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.'

'My liege,' quo' the abbot, 'I would it were knowne
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;
And I trust your grace will doe me no deere,
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.'

'Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault is highe,
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

'And first,' quo' the king, 'when I'm in this stead,
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

'Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride the whole world about;
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.'

'O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weekes space,
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.'

'Now three weeks space to thee will I give,
And this is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.'

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
'How now, my lord abbot, you welcome home;
What newes do you bring us from good King John?'

'Sad newes, sad newes, shepeard, I must give,
That I must but three days more to live;
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodie.

'The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege-men so noble of birth,
To within one penny of what he is worth.

'The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
How soone he may ride this whole world about;
And at the third question I must not shrinke,
But tell him there truly what he does thinke.'

'Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.

'Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee;
And if you will but lend me your gowne,
There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.'

'Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave,
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope.'

'Now, welcome, sire abbot,' the king he did say,
'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day:
For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

'And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth.'

'For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told:
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
For I thinke thou art one penny worser than hee.'

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
'I did not think I had been worth so littel!
- Now secondly tell mee, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about.'

'You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
Until the next morning he riseth againe;
And then your grace need not make any doubt
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about.'

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
'I did not think it could be gone so soone!
- Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
But tell me here truly what I do thinke.'

'Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry;
You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterbury;
But I'm this poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to bed pardon for him and for mee.'

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,
'Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!'
'Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write ne reade.'

'Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sir Andrew Barton

The First Part
'When Flora with her fragrant flowers
Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,
And Neptune with his daintye showers
Came to present the monthe of Maye;
King Henrye rode to take the ayre,
Over the river of Thames past hee;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And downe they knelt upon their knee.

'O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
Good saylors, welcome unto mee.'
They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
But rich merchants they cold not bee.
'To France nor Flanders dare we pass,
Nor Bordeaux voyage dare we fare;
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,
Who robbs us of our merchant ware.'

King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
'I thought he had not beene in the world,
Durst have wrought England such unright.'
The merchants sighed, and said, 'Alas!'
And thus they did their answer frame;
'He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,
And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.'

The king loot over his left shoulder,
And an angrye look then looked hee;
'Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?'
'Yea, that dare I,' Lord Howard sayes;
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myselfe wil be the only man.'

'Thou art but yong,' the kyng replyed,
'Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.'
'Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail,
Or before my prince I will never appeare.'
'Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
And chuse them over my realme so free;
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea.'

The first man that Lord Howard chose,
Was the ablest gunner in all the realme,
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten;
Good Peter Simon was his name.
'Peter,' sais hee, 'I must to the sea,
To bring home a traytor live or dead;
Before all others I have chosen thee,
Of a hundred gunners to be the head.'

'If you, my lord, have chosen mee
Of a hundred gunners to be the head,
Then hang me up on your mainemast tree,
If I misse my marke one shilling bread.'
My lord then chose a boweman rare,
Whose active hands had gained fame;
In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne,
And William Horseley was his name.

'Horseley,' sayd he, 'I must with speede
Go seeke a traytor on the sea,
And now of a hundred bowemen brave
To be the head I have chosen thee.'
'If you,' quoth hee, 'have chosen mee
Of a hundred bowemen to be the head,
On your main-mast Ile hanged bee,
If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.

With pikes, and gunnes, and bowemen bold,
This noble Howard is gone to the sea;
With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,
Out at Thames mouth sayled he.
And days he scant had sayled three,
Upon the 'voyage' he tooke in hand,
But there he mett with a noble shipp,
And stoutely made itt stay and stand.

'Thou must tell me,' Lord Howard said,
'Now who thou art, and what's thy name;
And shewe me where thy dwelling is,
And whither bound, and whence thou came.'
'My name is Henry Hunt,' quoth hee
With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;
'I and my shipp doe both belong
To the Newcastle that stands upon Tyne.'

'Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,
As thou hast sayled by daye and by night,
Of a Scottish rover on the seas;
Men call him Sir Andrew Barton, knight?'
Then ever he sighed, and sayd, 'Alas!'
With a grieved mind, and well away,
'But over-well I knowe that wight;
I was his prisoner yesterday.

'As I was sayling uppon the sea,
A Burdeaux voyage for to fare,
To his hach-borde he clasped me,
And robd me of all my merchant ware.
And mickle debts, God wot, I owe,
And every man will have his owne,
And I am nowe to London bounde,
Of our gracious king to beg a boone.'

'That shall not need,' Lord Howard sais;
'Lett me but once that robber see,
For every penny tane thee froe
It shall be doubled shillings three.'
'Nowe God forefend,' the merchant said,
'That you shold seek soe far amisse!
God keepe you out of that traitors hands!
Full litle ye wott what a man hee is.

'Hee is brasse within, and steele without,
With beames on his topcastle stronge;
And eighteen pieces of ordinance
He carries on each side along.
And he hath a pinnance deerlye dight,
St. Andrewes crosse, that is his guide;
His pinnace beareth ninescore men,
And fifteen canons on each side.

'Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one,
I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall,
He wold overcome them everye one,
If once his beames they doe downe fall.'
'This is cold comfort,' sais my lord,
'To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea:
Yet Ile bring him and his shipp to shore,
Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee.'

'Then a noble gunner you must have,
And he must aim well with his ee,
And sinke his pinnace into the sea,
Or else hee never orecome will bee.
And if you chance his shipp to borde,
This counsel I must give withall,
Let no man to his topcastle goe
To strive to let his beams downe fall.

'And seven pieces of ordinance,
I pray your honour lend to mee,
On each side of my shipp along,
And I will lead you on the sea.
A glasse Ile sett, that may be seene,
Whether you sayle by day or night;
And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clocke
You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton, knight.'

The Second Part

The merchant sett my lorde a glasse,
Soe well apparent in his sight,
And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke,
He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton, knight.
His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold,
Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee;
'Nowe by my faith,' Lord Howarde sais,
'This is a gallant sight to see.

'Take in your ancyents, standards eke,
So close that no man may them see;
And put me forth a white willowe wand,
As merchants use to sayle the sea.'
But they stirred neither top nor mast;
Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by;
'What English churles are yonder,' he sayd,
'That can soe litle curtesye?

'Now by the roode, three yeares and more
- I have been Admirall over the sea,
And never an English nor Portingall
Without my leave can passe this way.'
Then called he forth his stout pinnace;
'Fetch backe yonder pedlars nowe to mee:
I sweare by the masse, yon English churles
Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree.'

With that the pinnace itt shott off;
Full well Lord Howard might it ken;
For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast,
And killed fourteen of his men.
'Come hither, Simon,' sayes my lord,
'Looke that thy word be true, thou said;
For at my maine-mast thou shalt hang,
If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread.'

Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold;
His ordinance he laid right lowe,
He put it in chain full nine yardes long,
With other great shott, lesse and moe,
And he lette goe his great gunnes shott;
Soe well he settled itt with his ee,
The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe,
He see his pinnace sunke in the sea.

And when he saw his pinnace sunke,
Lord, how his heart with rage did swell!
'Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon;
Ile fetch yon pedlars backe mysell.'
When my lord sawe Sir Andrew loose,
Within his heart hee was full faine;
'Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up drummes,
Sound all your trumpetts out amaine.'

'Fight on, my men,' Sir Andrewe sais,
'Weale, howsoever this geere will sway;
Itt is my lord admirall of England,
Is come to seeke mee on the sea.'
Simon had a sonne, who shott right well,
That did Sir Andrewe mickle scare;
In att his decke he gave a shott,
Killed threescore of his men of warre.

Then Henrye Hunt, with rigour hott,
Came bravely on the other side;
Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree,
And killed fourscore men beside.
'Nowe, out alas!' Sir Andrewe cryed,
'What may a man now thinke or say?
Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee,
He was my prisoner yesterday.

'Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,
That aye wast ready att my call;
I will give the three hundred markes,
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.'
Lord Howard hee then calld in haste,
'Horseley see thou be true in stead;
For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang,
If thou miss twelvescore one penny bread.'

Then Gordon swarved the main-mast tree,
He swarved it with might and maine;
But Horseley with a bearing arrowe,
Stroke the Gordon through the braine;
And he fell unto the haches again,
And sore his deadlye wounde did bleed:
Then word went through Sir Andrewes men,
How that the Gordon hee was dead.

'Come hither to mee, James Hambilton,
Thou art my only sisters sonne;
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall,
Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne.'
With that he swarved the maine-mast tree,
He swarved it with a nimble art;
But Horseley with a broad arrowe
Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart.

And downe he fell upon the deck,
That with his blood did streame amaine;
Then every Scott cryed, 'Well-away!
Alas a comelye youth is slaine!'
All woe begone was Sir Andrew then,
With griefe and rage his heart did swell;
'Go fetch me forth my amour of proofe,
For I will to the topcastle mysell.

'Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe;
That gilded is with gold soe cleare;
God be with my brother John of Barton!
Against the Portingalls hee it ware.
And when he had on this armour of proofe,
He was a gallant sight to see;
Ah! nere didst thou meet with living wight
My deere brother, could cope with thee.'

'Come hither, Horseley,' sayes my lord,
'And looke your shaft that itt goe right;
Shoot a good shoote in time of need,
And for it thou shalt be made a knight.'
'Ile shoot my best,' quoth Horseley then,
'Your honour shall see, with might and maine;
But if it were hanged at your mainemast,
I have now left but arrowes twaine.'

Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,
With right good will he swarved then,
Upon his breast did Horseley hitt,
But the arrow bounded back agen.
Then Horseley spyed a privye place,
With a perfect eye, in a secrette part:
Under the spole of his right arme
He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.

'Fight on, my men,' Sir Andrew sayes,
'A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine;
Ile but lye downe and bleede a while,
And then Ile rise and fight againe.
Fight on, my men,' Sir Andrew sayes,
'And never flinche before the foe;
And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse,
Untill you hear my whistle blowe.'

They never heard his whistle blow,
Which made their hearts waxe sore adread:
Then Horseley sayd, 'Abroad, my lord,
For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead.'
They boarded then his noble shipp,
They boarded it with might and maine;
Eighteen score Scots alive they found,
The rest were either maimed or slaine.

Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand,
And off he smote Sir Andrewes head;
'I must have left England many a daye,
If thou wert alive as thou art dead.'
He caused his body to be cast
Over the hatchbord into the sea,
And about his middle three hundred crownes:
'Wherever thou land this will bury thee.'

Thus from the warres Lord Howard came,
And backe he sayled ore the maine;
With mickle joy and triumphing
Into Thames mouth he came againe.
Lord Howard then a letter wrote,
And sealed it with seale and ring;
'Such a noble prize have I brought to Your Grace
As never did subject to a king.

'Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee,
A braver shipp was never none;
Nowe hath Your Grace two shipps of warr,
Before in England was but one.'
King Henryes grace with royall cheere
Welcomed the noble Howard home;
'And where,' said he, 'is this rover stout,
That I myselfe may give the doome?'

'The rover, he is safe, my liege,
Full many a fadom in the sea;
If he were alive as he is dead,
I must have left England many a day.
And Your Grace may thank four men i' the ship
For the victory wee have wonne;
These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,
And Peter Simon, and his sonne.'

'To Henry Hunt,' the king then sayd,
'In lieu of what was from thee tane,
A noble a day now thou shalt have,
Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne.
And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,
And lands and livings shalt have store;
Howard shall be Erle Surrye hight,
As Howards erst have beene before.

'Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old,
I will maintaine thee and thy sonne;
And the men shall have five hundred markes
For the good service they have done.'
Then in came the queene with ladyes fair
To see Sir Andrewe Barton, knight;
They weend that hee were brought on shore,
And thought to have seen a gallant sight.

But when they see his deadlye face,
And eyes soe hollow in his head,
'I wold give,' quoth the king, 'a thousand markes,
This man were alive as hee is dead.
Yett for the manfull part hee playd,
Which fought soe well with heart and hand,
His men shall have twelvepence a day,
Till they come to my brother kings high land.'

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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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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Rome

O thou newcomer who seek’st Rome in Rome
And find’st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman;
Arches worn old and palaces made common
Rome’s name alone within these walls keeps home.

Behold how pride and ruin can befall
One who hath set the whole world ’neath her laws,
All-conquering, now conquered, because
She is Time’s prey, and Time conquereth all.

Rome that art Rome’s one sole last monument,
Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town,
Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent,

Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime!
That which stands firm in thee Time batters down,
And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift Time.

poem by Ezra Pound
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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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The Marriage of Sir Gawaine

Part the First
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 soe bright in bowre;
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.

This 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 damselle,
And knelt upon the ground.

'A boone, a boone, O Kinge Arthure,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and mee.

'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-wall,
But from that foule discourteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.

'Hee's twice 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 barone '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 Arthure
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge
To meete mee if he dare.'

Upp then sterted King Arthure,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barone,
Till he had made him quail.

'Goe fetch my sword Excalibar,
Goe saddle me my steede;
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barone
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.'

And when he came to Tearne-Wadlinge
Benethe the castle walle:
'Come forth, come forth, thou proude barone,
Or yield thyself my thralle.'

On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spell:
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 Arthure,
Now yield thee unto mee;
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better termes maye bee:

'Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare's day,

'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 holleye,
All clad in red scarlette.

Her nose was crookt and turned outwarde,
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 hall the king in seemelye sorte
This ladye was fulle faine:
But King Arthure, 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 bee foule to see.'

'If thou wilt ease my paine,' he sayd,
'And helpe me in my neede,
Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladye,
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 sare 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 Arthure
Ore hille, and dale, and downe:
And soone he founde the barone's bowre,
And soone the grimme baroune.

He kare his clubbe upon his backe,
Hee stoode both 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 barone,
I pray 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 holleye,
All clad in red scarlette.

'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.'

Part the Second

Homewarde pricked King Arthure,
And a wearye man was hee;
And soone he mette Queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.

'What newes! what newes! thou noble king,
Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?
Where has thou hung the carlish knighte?
And where bestow'd his head?'

'The carlish knight is safe for mee,
And free fro mortal harme:
On magicke grounde his castle stands,
And fenc'd with many a charme.

'To bow to him I was fulle faine,
And yielde mee to his hand:
And but for a lothly ladye, there
I sholde have lost my land.

'And nowe this fills my hearte with woe,
And sorrowe of my life;
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight
Shold marry her to his wife.'

Then bespake him Sir Gawaine,
That was ever a gentle knighte:
'That lothly ladye I will wed;
Therefore be merrye and lighte.'

'Now naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gawaine,
My sister's sonne yee bee;
This lothlye ladye's all too grimme,
And all too foule for yee.

'Her nose is crookt and turn'd outwarde,
Her chin stands all awrye;
A worse form'd ladye than shee is
Was never seen with eye.'

'What though her chin stand all awrye,
And shee be foule to see;
I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake,
And I'll thy ransome bee.'

'Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine,
And a blessing thee betyde!
To-morrow we'll have knights and squires,
And wee'll goe fetch thy bride.

'And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have houndes
To cover our intent;
And wee'll away to the greene forest,
As wee a hunting went.'

Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde,
They rode with them that daye;
And foremoste of the companye
There rode the stewarde Kaye:

Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore,
And eke Sir Garratte keene;
Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight,
To the forest freshe and greene.

And when they came to the greene forrest,
Beneathe a faire holley tree,
There sate that ladye in red scarlette,
That unseemlye was to see.

Sir Kay beheld that lady's face,
And looked upon her sweere;
'Whoever kisses that ladye,' he sayes,
'Of his kisse he stands in feare.'

Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe,
And looked upon her snout;
'Whoever kisses that ladye,' he sayes,
'Of his kisse he stands in doubt.'

'Peace, brother Kay,' sayde Sir Gawaine,
'And amend thee of thy life:
For there is a knight amongst us all
Must marry her to his wife.'

'What, marry this foule queene?' quoth Kay,
'I' the devil's name anone;
Gette mee a wife wherever I maye,
In sooth shee shall be none.'

Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste,
And some took up their houndes,
And sayd they wolde not marry her
For cities, nor for townes.

Then bespake him King Arthure,
And sware there 'by this daye,
For a little foule sighte and mislikinge,
Yes shall not say her naye.'

'Peace, lordings, peace,' Sir Gawaine sayd,
'Nor make debate and strife;
This lothlye ladye I will take,
And marry her to my wife.'

'Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine,
And a blessinge be thy meede!
For as I am thine owne ladye,
Thou never shalt rue this deede.'

Then up they took that lothly dame,
And home anone they bringe:
And there Sir Gawaine he her wed,
And married her with a ringe.

And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye:
'Come turne to mee, mine owne wedlord,
Come turne to mee, I praye.'

Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for eare;
When lo! instead of that lothelye dame,
Hee sawe a young ladye faire.

Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,
Her eyen were blacke as sloe:
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire,
Lying upon the sheete,
And swore, as he was a true knighte,
The spice was never so sweete.

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that ladye brighte,
Lying there by his side:
'The fairest flower is not soe faire:
Thou never canst bee my bride.'

'I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde;
The same whiche thou didst knowe,
That was soe lothlye, and was wont
Upon the wild more to goe.

'Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse,' quoth shee,
'And make thy choice with care;
Whether by night, or else by daye,
Shall I be foule or faire?'

'To have thee foule still in the night,
When I with thee should playe!
I had rather farre, my lady deare,
To have thee foule by daye.'

'What! when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes
To drinke the ale and wine;
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not goe with mine!'

'My faire ladye,' Sir Gawaine sayd,
'I yield me to thy skille;
Because thou art mine owne ladye,
Thou shalt have all thy wille.'

'Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine,
And the daye that I thee see;
For as thou seest mee at this time,
Soe shall I ever bee.

'My father was an aged knighte,
And yet it chanced soe,
He tooke to wife a false ladye,
Whiche broughte me to this owe.

'Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide,
In the greene forest to dwelle,
And there to abide in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle;

'Midst mores and mosses, woods and wilds,
To lead a lonesome life,
Till some yong, faire and courtlye knighte
Wolde marrye me to his wife:

'Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape,
Such was her devilish skille,
Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee,
And let mee have all my wille.

'She witchd my brother to a carlish boore,
And made him stiffe and stronge;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde,
To live by rapine and wronge.

'But now the spelle is broken throughe,
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladye,
And hee be a gentle knighte.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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One Hundred Thousand Marching

One hundred thousand marching
One hundred thousand men
One hundred thousand heading
To a place and a time when
One hundred thousand dying
One hundred thousand cold
One hundred thousand praying
Forever young and never old
One hundred thousand lives were lost
One hundred thousand felt the pain
One hundred thousand maimed and slaughtered
And yet those armies march again.

poem by David Keig
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The Romane Monarchy, being the fourth and last, beginningAnno Mundi , 3213.

prologue
After some dayes of rest, my restless heart
To finish what's begun, new thoughts impart,
And maugre all resolves, my fancy wrought
This fourth to th'other three, now might be brought:
Shortness of time and inability,
Will force me to a confus'd brevity.
Yet in this Chaos, one shall easily spy
The vast Limbs of a mighty Monarchy,
What e're is found amiss take in good part,
As faults proceeding from my head, not heart.
Stout Romulus, Romes founder, and first King,
Whom vestal Rhea to the world did bring;
His Father was not Mars as some devis'd,
But Æmulus in Armour all disguiz'd:
Thus he deceiv'd his Neece, she might not know
The double injury he then did do.
Where sheperds once had Coats & sheep their folds
Where Swains & rustick Peasants kept their holds,
A City fair did Romulus erect,
The Mistress of the World, in each respect,
His brother Rhemus there by him was slain,
For leaping o're the wall with some disdain.
The stones at first was cemented with blood,
And bloody hath it prov'd, since first it stood.
This City built and Sacrifices done,
A Form of Government, he next begun;
A hundred Senators he likewise chose,
And with the style of Patres, honoured those,
His City to replenish, men he wants,
Great priviledges then to all he grants;
That will within those strong built walls reside,
And this new gentle Government abide.
Of wives there was so great a scarcity,
They to their neighbours sue for a supply;
But all disdain Alliance, then to make,
So Romulus was forc'd this course to take:
Great shews he makes at Tilt and Turnament,
To see these sports, the Sabins all are bent.
Their daughters by the Romans then were caught,
Then to recover them a Field was fought;
But in the end, to final peace they come,
And Sabins as one people dwelt in Rome.
The Romans now more potent 'gin to grow,
And Fedinates they wholly overthrow.
But Romulus then comes unto his end.
Some feigning to the Gods he did ascend:
Others the seven and thirtyeth of his reign,
Affirm, that by the Senate he was slain.
Numa Pompilius.
Numa Pompilius next chose they King,
Held for his piety some sacred thing,
To Janus he that famous Temple built:
Kept shut in peace, set ope when blood was spilt;
Religious Rites and Customes instituted,
And Priests and Flamines likewise he deputed,
Their Augurs strange, their gestures and attire,
And vestal maids to keep the holy fire.
The Nymph Ægeria this to him told,
So to delude the people he was bold:
Forty three years he rul'd with general praise,
Accounted for a God in after dayes.
Tullius Hostilius.
Tullius Hostilius was third Roman King,
Who Martial discipline in use did bring;
War with the antient Albans he did wage,
This strife to end six brothers did ingage.
Three call'd Horatii on the Romans side,
And Curiatii three Albans provide:
The Romans conquer, th'other yield the day,
Yet in their Compact, after false they play.
The Romans sore incens'd, their General slay,
And from old Alba fetch the wealth away;
Of Latin Kings this was long since the Seat,
But now demolished, to make Rome great.
Thirty two years did Tullus reign, then dye,
Left Rome in wealth, and power still growing high.
Ancus Martius.
Next Ancus Martius sits upon the Throne,
Nephew unto Pompilius dead and gone;
Rome he inlarg'd, new built again the wall,
Much stronger, and more beautiful withal;
A stately Bridge he over Tyber made,
Of Boats and Oars no more they need the aid.
Fair Ostia he built this Town, it stood
Close by the mouth of famous Tyber floud,
Twenty four years time of his Royal race,
Then unto death unwillingly gives place.
Tarquinius Priscus
Tarquin a Greek at Corinth born and bred,
Who from his Country for Sedition fled.
Is entertain'd at Rome, and in short time,
By wealth and favour doth to honour climbe;
He after Martius death the Kingdome had,
A hundred Senators he more did add.
Wars with the Latins he again renews,
And Nations twelve of Tuscany subdues,
To such rude triumphs as young Rome then had,
Some State and splendor did this Priscus add:
Thirty eight years (this stronger born) did reign,
And after all, by Ancus Sons was slain.
Servius Tullius.
Next Servius Tullius gets into the Throne,
Ascends not up By merits of his own,
But by the favour and the special grace
Of Tanquil late Queen, obtains the place.
He ranks the people into each degree,
As wealth had made them of ability;
A general Muster takes, which by account,
To eighty thousand Souls then did amount.
Forty four years did Servius Tullius reign,
And then by Tarquin Priscus Son was slain.
Tarquinius Superbus the last King of the Romans
Tarquin the proud, from manners called so,
Sat on the Throne, when he had slain his Foe.
Sextus his Son did most unworthily,
Lucretia force, mirrour of Chastity:
She loathed so the fact, she loath'd her life,
And shed her guiltless blood with guilty knife
Her Husband sore incens'd to quit this wrong,
With Junius Brutus rose, and being strong,
The Tarquins they from Rome by force expel,
In banishment perpetual to dwell;
The Government they change, a new one bring,
And people swear ne'r to accept of King.

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Edward The Confessor

Here Edward king, lord of the English,
sent his soul strong in truth to Christ,
in God's safekeeping, his holy spirit,
He in this world dwelt for a time
in kingly power and wise counsel.
Freely the king for twenty-four
winter-times shared out wealth
and prosperous times, ruler of men,
graciously governed Welsh and Scots,
And Britons also, Aethelred's son,
with Angles and Saxons, and their warriors,
Clasped, round by cold waves,
all obeyed Edward, noble king;
they heard him faithfully, his young retainers.
The blameless king was ever happy in spirit,
though he long had been deprived of land,
walked the outcast's ways wide on the earth,
after Cnut overcame Aethelred's kin,
And Danes ruled over the dear kingdom
of the English land, sharing its wealth
for twenty-eight winter-times.
After he came forth freely bearing armour,
the best of good kings, pure and mild,
Edward the atheling defended his home,
land and people, until suddenly came
death and bitter, and took the dear one,
the atheling from the earth; the angels accompanied him,
his soul strong in truth, into the sky's light,
The wise one therefore committed the kingdom
to one high in rank, Harold himself,
noble eorl, who at all times
faithfully obeyed his lord
in words and deeds, holding back nothing
at the need of the king of the people.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Sir Cauline

The First Part.

In Ireland, ferr over the sea,
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge;
And with him a yong and comlye knighte,
Men call him Syr Cauline.

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter,
In fashyon she hath no peere;
And princely wightes that ladye wooed
To be theyr wedded feere.

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,
But nothing durst he saye;
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.

Till on a daye it so beffell
Great dill to him was dight;
The maydens love removde his mynd,
To care-bed went the knighte.

One while he spred his armes him fro,
One while he spred them nye:
'And aye! but I winne that ladyes love,
For dole now I mun dye.'

And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne;
He says, 'Where is Syr Cauline,
That is wont to serve the wyne?'

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,
And fast his handes gan wringe:
'Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye,
Without a good leechinge.'

'Fetche me downe my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine;
Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread,
And serve him with the wyne soe red;
Lothe I were him to tine.'

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens follwyng nye:
'O well,' she sayth, 'How doth my lord?'
'O sicke, thou fayr ladye.'

'Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame,
Never lye soe cowardlee;
For it is told in my fathers halle,
You dye for love of mee.'

'Fayre ladye, it is for your love
That all this dill I drye:
For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,
Then were I brought from bale to blisse,
No lenger wold I lye.'

'Syr Knighte, my father is a kinge,
I am his onlye heire;
Alas! and well you knowe, Syr Knighte,
I never can be youre fere.'

'O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter,
And I am not thy peere;
But let me doe some deedes of armes
To be your bacheleere.'

'Some deeds of armes if thou wilt doe,
My bacheleere to bee,
(But ever and aye my heart wold rue,
Giff harm shold happe to thee,)

'Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne,
Upon the mores brodinge;
And dare ye, Syr Knighte, wake there all nighte,
Untill the fayre morninge?

'For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte,
Will examine you beforne;
And never man bare life awaye,
But he did him scath and scorne.

'That knighte he is a foul paynim,
And large of limb and bone;
And but if heaven may be thy speede,
Thy life it is but gone.'

'Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke,
For thy sake, fair laide;
And Ile either bring you a ready token,
Or Ile never more you see.'

The lady is gone to her own chaumbere,
Her maydens following bright;
Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone,
And to the Eldridge hills is gone,
For to wake there all night.

Unto midnight, that the moone did rise,
He walked up and downe;
Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe
Over the bents soe browne:
Quothe hee, 'If cryance come till my heart,
I am ffar from any good towne.'

And soone he spyde on the mores so broad
A furyous wight and fell;
A ladye bright his brydle led,
Clad in a fayre kyrtell:

And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline,
'O man, I rede thee flye,
For, 'but' if cryance come till thy heart,
I weene but thou mun dye.'

He sayth, ''No' cryance comes till my heart,
Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee;
For, cause thou minged not Christ before,
The less me dreadeth thee.'

The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed;
Syr Cauline bold abode:
Then either shooke his trustye speare,
And the timber these two children bare
Soe soone in sunder slode.

Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes,
And layden on full faste,
Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde,
They all were well-bye brast.

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,
And stiffe in stower did stande;
But Syr Cauline with a 'backward' stroke,
Has smote off his right-hand;
That soone he, with paine and lacke of bloud,
Fell downe on that lay-land.

Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande
All over his head so hye:
'And here I sweare by the holy roode,
Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye.'

Then up and came that ladye brighte,
Faste wringing of her hande:
'For the maydens love that most you love,
Withold that deadlye brande:

'For the maydens love that most you love,
Now smyte no more I praye;
And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord,
He shall thy hests obaye.'

'Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte,
And here on this lay-land,
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,
And thereto plight thy hand;

'And that thou never on Eldridge come
To sporte, gamon, or playe;
And that thou here give up thy armes
Until thy dying daye.'

The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes
With many a sorrowfulle sighe;
And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest,
Till the tyme that she shold dye.

And he then up and the Eldridge knighte
Sett him in his saddle anone;
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye,
To theyr castle are they gone.

Then he tooke up the bloudy hand,
That was so large of bone,
And on it he founde five ringes of gold
Of knightes that had been slone.

Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde,
As hard as any flint:
And he tooke off those ringes five,
As bright as fyre and brent.

Home then pricked Syr Cauline,
As light as leafe on tree;
I wys he neither stint ne blanne,
Till he his ladye see.

Then downe he knelt upon his knee,
Before that lady gay:
'O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills:
These tokens I bring away.'

'Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline,
Thrice welcome unto mee,
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte,
Of valour bolde and free.'

'O ladye, I am thy own true knighte,
Thy hests for to obaye;
And mought I hope to winne thy love' --
No more his tonge colde say.

The ladye blushed scarlette redde,
And fette a gentill sighe:
'Alas! Syr Knight, how may this bee,
For my degree's soe highe?

'But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth,
To be my batchilere,
Ile promise, if the I may not wedde,
I will have none other fere.'

Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand
Towards that knighte so free;
He gave to it one gentill kisse,
His heart was brought from Lale to blisse,
The teares sterte from his ee.

'But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline,
Ne let no man it knowe;
For, and ever my father sholde it ken,
I wot he wolde us sloe.'

From that daye forthe, that ladye fayre
Lovde Syr Cauline the knighte:
From that daye forthe, he only joyde
Whan shee was in his sight.

Yea, and oftentimes they mette
Within a fayre arboure,
Where they, in love and sweet daliaunce,
Past manye a pleasaunt houre.

Part the Second

Everye white will have its blacke,
And everye sweete its sowre:
This founde the Ladye Christabelle
In an untimely howre.

For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline
Was with that ladye faire,
The kinge, her father, walked forthe
To take the evenyng aire:

And into the arboure as he went
To rest his wearye feet,
He found his daughter and Syr Cauline
There sette in daliaunce sweet.

The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,
And an angrye man was hee:
'Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe,
And rewe shall thy ladie.'

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde,
And throwne in dungeon deepe:
And the ladye into a towre so hye,
There left to wayle and weepe.

The queene she was Syr Caulines friend,
And to the kinge sayd shee:
'I praye you save Syr Caulines life,
And let him banisht bee.'

'Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent
Across the salt ssea fome:
But here I will make thee a band,
If ever he come within this land,
A foule deathe is his doome.'

All woe-begone was that gentil knight
To parte from his ladye;
And many a time he sighed sore,
And cast a wistfulle eye:
'Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte,
Farre lever had I dye.'

Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright,
Was had forthe of the towre;
But ever shee droopeth in her minde,
As, nipt an ungentle winde,
Doth some faire lillye flowre.

And ever shee doth lament and weepe
To tint her lover soe:
'Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee,
But I will still be true.'

Manye a kinge, and manye a duke,
And lorde of high degree,
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love;
But never shee wolde them nee.

When manye a daye was past and gone,
Ne comforte she colde finde,
The kynge proclaimed a tourneament,
To cheere his daughters mind.

And there came lords, and there came knights,
Fro manye a farre countrye,
To break a spere for theyr ladyes love,
Before that faire ladye.

And many a ladye there was sette,
In purple and in palle;
But faire Christabelle, soe woe-begone,
Was the fayrest of them all.

Then manye a knighte was mickle of might,
Before his ladye gaye;
But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe,
He wan the prize eche daye.

His acton it was all of blacke,
His hewberke and his sheelde;
Ne noe man wist whence he did come,
Ne noe man knewe where he did gone,
When they came out the feelde.

And now three days were prestlye past
In feates of chivalrye,
When lo, upon the fourth morninge,
A sorrowfulle sight they see:

A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,
All foule of limbe and lere,
Two goggling eyen like fire farden,
A mouthe from eare to eare.

Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,
That waited on his knee;
And at his back five heads he bare,
All wan and pale of blee.

'Sir,' quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,
'Behold that hend Soldain!
Behold these heads I beare with me!
They are kings which he hath slain.

'The Eldridge knight is his own cousine,
Whom a knight of thine hath shent:
And hee is come to avenge his wrong:
And to thee, all thy knightes among,
Defiance here hath sent.

'But yette he will appease his wrath,
Thy daughters love to winne;
And, but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,
Thy halls and towers must brenne.

'Thy head, Syr King, must goe with mee,
Or else thy daughter deere;
Or else within these lists soe broad,
Thou must finde him a peere.'

The king he turned him round aboute,
And in his heart was woe:
'Is there never a knighte of my round table
This matter will undergoe?

'Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee?
Whoever will fight yon grimme Soldan,
Right fair his meede shall bee.

'For hee shall have my broad laylands,
And of my crowne be heyre;
And he shall winne faire Christabelle
To be his wedded fere.'

But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale;
For, whenever they lookt on the grim Soldan,
It made their hearts to quail.

All woe-bgone was that fayre ladye,
When she sawe no helpe was nye;
She cast her thought on her owne true-love,
And the teares gusht from her eye.

Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, 'Ladyye, be not affrayd;
Ile fight for thee with this grimme Soldan,
Thoughe he be unmacklye made.

'And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,
That lyeth within thy bowre,
I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende,
Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.'

'Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sword,'
The kinge he cryde, 'with speede:
Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;
My daughter is thy meede.'

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, 'Awaye, awaye:
I sweare, as I am the hend Soldan,
Thou lettest me here all daye.'

Then forthe the stranger knight he came,
In his blacke armoure dight:
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,
'That this were my true knighte!'

And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett
Within the lists soe broad;
And now, with swordes soe sharpe of steele,
They gan to lay on load.

The Soldan strucke the knighte a stroke,
That made him reele asyde:
Then woe-begone wast hat fayre ladye,
And thrice she deeply sighde.

The Soldan strucke a second stroke,
And made the bloude to flowe:
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,
And thrice she wept for woe.

The Soldan strucke a third fell stroke,
Which brought the knighte on his knee:
Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart,
And she shriekt loud shriekings three.

The knighte he leapt upon his feete,
All recklesse of the pain:
Quoth hee, 'But heaven be now my speede,
Or else I shall be slaine.'

He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte,
And spying a secrette part,
He drave it into the Soldan's syde,
And pierced him to the heart.

Then all the people gave a shoute,
Whan they sawe the Soldan falle:
The ladye wept, and thanked Christ
That had reskewed her from thrall.

And nowe the kinge, with all his barons,
Rose uppe from offe his seate,
And downe he stepped into the listes
That curteous knighte to greete.

But he, for payne and lacke of bloude,
Was fallen into a swounde,
And there, all walteringe in his gore,
Lay lifelesse on the grounde.

'Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare,
Thou art a leeche of skille;
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes,
Than this good knighte sholde spille.'

Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye,
To helpe him if she maye:
But when she did his beavere raise,
'It is my life, my lord,' she sayes,
And shriekte and swound awaye.

Syr Cauline juste lifte up his eyes,
When he hearde his ladye crye:
'O ladye, I am thine owne true love;
For thee I wisht to dye.'

Then giving her one partinge looke,
He closed his eyes in death
Ever Christabelle, that ladye milde,
Begane to drawe her breathe.

But when she found her comelye knighte
Indeed was dead and gone,
She layde her pale, cold cheeke to his,
And thus she made her moane:

'O staye, my deare and onlye lord,
For mee, thy faithfulle feere;
'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,
Who hast bought my love so deare.'

Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune,
And with a deep-fette sighe,
That burst her gentle heart in twayne,
Faire Christabelle did dye.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jesus Christ: A Philosophy Of Enlightenment

Jesus Of Nazareth lead no armies in conquest
slaughtered no enemies with blood red hands
conquered no border sovereign nations in wars
declared my kingdom is no part of this world
Jesus Christ raised the dead cast out demons

healed the blind preformed many miracles
awaited birth ministry death and resurrection

Who is this Jewish Yeshua the famous Jesus Christ?
Is Jesus Of Nazareth the promised Messiah of Israel?
Is Jesus Christ the Son of God as his disciples claimed?
Did the word become flesh incarnate die for our sins?
After approximately two thousand years still worshipped?

Was Jesus God willingly born manifest in human form?
How can one God be a Holy Trinity three unique persons?
Were multiple messianic prophecies fulfilled by Jesus Christ?
If Jesus is God why would he willingly die a horrible death?
If Jesus died on a criminal cross then how was he resurrected?

Is Jesus the only king who will rule his kingdom for eternity?

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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