Chapter 4

He had a sarke of silk About his middle meet; And thus, with seemely curtesy, He did King Arthur greet.

"God speed thee, brave King Arthur, Thus feasting in thy bowre; And Guenever thy goodly queen, That fair and peerlesse flowre.

"Ye gallant lords, and lordings, I wish you all take heed, Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose, Should prove a cankred weed."

Then straitway from his bosome A little wand he drew; And with it eke a mantle Of wondrous shape and hew.

"Now have you here, King Arthur, Have this here of mee, And give unto thy comely queen, All-shapen as you see.

"No wife it shall become, That once hath been to blame." Then every knight in Arthur's court Slye glaunced at his dame.

And first came Lady Guenever, The mantle she must trye. This dame, she was new-fangled, And of a roving eye.

When she had tane the mantle, And all was with it cladde, From top to toe it shiver'd down, As tho' with sheers beshradde.

One while it was too long, Another while too short, And wrinkled on her shoulders In most unseemly sort.

Now green, now red it seemed, Then all of sable hue. "Beshrew me," quoth King Arthur, "I think thou beest not true."

Down she threw the mantle, Ne longer would not stay; But, storming like a fury, To her chamber flung away.

She curst the whoreson weaver, That had the mantle wrought: And doubly curst the froward impe, Who thither had it brought.

"I had rather live in desarts Beneath the green-wood tree; Than here, base king, among thy groomes, The sport of them and thee."

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, And bade her to come near: "Yet, dame, if thou be guilty, I pray thee now forbear."

This lady, pertly gigling, With forward step came on, And boldly to the little boy With fearless face is gone.

When she had tane the mantle, With purpose for to wear; It shrunk up to her shoulder, And left her b--- side bare.

Then every merry knight, That was in Arthur's court, Gib'd, and laught, and flouted, To see that pleasant sport.

Downe she threw the mantle, No longer bold or gay, But with a face all pale and wan, To her chamber slunk away.

Then forth came an old knight, A pattering o'er his creed; And proffer'd to the little boy Five nobles to his meed;

"And all the time of Christmass Plumb-porridge shall be thine, If thou wilt let my lady fair Within the mantle shine."

A saint his lady seemed, With step demure and slow, And gravely to the mantle With mincing pace doth goe.

When she the same had taken, That was so fine and thin, It shrivell'd all about her, And show'd her dainty skin.

Ah! little did HER mincing, Or HIS long prayers bestead; She had no more hung on her, Than a tassel and a thread.

Down she threwe the mantle, With terror and dismay, And, with a face of scarlet, To her chamber hyed away.

Sir Cradock call'd his lady, And bade her to come neare: "Come, win this mantle, lady, And do me credit here.

"Come, win this mantle, lady, For now it shall be thine, If thou hast never done amiss, Sith first I made thee mine."

The lady, gently blushing, With modest grace came on, And now to trye the wondrous charm Courageously is gone.

When she had tane the mantle, And put it on her backe, About the hem it seemed To wrinkle and to cracke.

"Lye still," shee cryed, "O mantle! And shame me not for nought, I'll freely own whate'er amiss, Or blameful I have wrought.

"Once I kist Sir Cradocke Beneathe the green-wood tree: Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth Before he married mee."

When thus she had her shriven, And her worst fault had told, The mantle soon became her Right comely as it shold.

Most rich and fair of colour, Like gold it glittering shone: And much the knights in Arthur's court Admir'd her every one.

Then towards King Arthur's table The boy he turn'd his eye: Where stood a boar's head garnished With bayes and rosemarye.

When thrice he o'er the boar's head His little wand had drawne, Quoth he, "There's never a cuckold's knife Can carve this head of brawne."

Then some their whittles rubbed On whetstone, and on hone: Some threwe them under the table, And swore that they had none.

Sir Cradock had a little knife, Of steel and iron made; And in an instant thro' the skull He thrust the shining blade.

He thrust the shining blade Full easily and fast; And every knight in Arthur's court A morsel had to taste.

The boy brought forth a horne, All golden was the rim: Saith he, "No cuckolde ever can Set mouth unto the brim.

"No cuckold can this little horne Lift fairly to his head; But or on this, or that side, He shall the liquor shed."

Some shed it on their shoulder, Some shed it on their thigh; And hee that could not hit his mouth, Was sure to hit his eye.

Thus he, that was a cuckold, Was known of every man: But Cradock lifted easily, And wan the golden can.

Thus boar's head, horn and mantle, Were this fair couple's meed: And all such constant lovers, God send them well to speed.

Then down in rage came Guenever, And thus could spightful say, "Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully Hath borne the prize away.

"See yonder shameless woman, That makes herselfe so clean: Yet from her pillow taken Thrice five gallants have been.

"Priests, clarkes, and wedded men, Have her lewd pillow prest: Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth Must beare from all the rest."

Then bespake the little boy, Who had the same in hold: "Chastize thy wife, King Arthur, Of speech she is too bold:

"Of speech she is too bold, Of carriage all too free; Sir King, she hath within thy hall A cuckold made of thee.

"All frolick light and wanton She hath her carriage borne: And given thee for a kingly crown To wear a cuckold's horne."