Part 6

Orfeo was a king, 25 In Inglond an heiȝe lording, A stalworþ man and hardi bo, Large and curteys he was also. His fader was comen of King Pluto, And his moder of King Iuno, 30 Þat sum time were as godes yhold, For auentours þat þai dede and told.

Þis king soiournd in Traciens, Þat was a cité of noble defens; For Winchester was cleped þo Traciens wiþouten no. 50 Þe king hadde a quen of priis, Þat was ycleped Dame Herodis, Þe fairest leuedi, for þe nones, Þat miȝt gon on bodi and bones, Ful of loue and of godenisse; 55 Ac no man may telle hir fairnise. Bifel so in þe comessing of May, When miri and hot is þe day, And oway beþ winter-schours, And eueri feld is ful of flours, 60 And blosme breme on eueri bouȝ Oueral wexeþ miri anouȝ, Þis ich quen, Dame Heurodis, Tok to maidens of priis, And went in an vndrentide 65 To play bi an orchard side, To se þe floures sprede and spring, And to here þe foules sing. Þai sett hem doun al þre Vnder a fair ympe-tre, 70 And wel sone þis fair quene Fel on slepe opon þe grene. Þe maidens durst hir nouȝt awake, Bot lete hir ligge and rest take. So sche slepe til afternone, 75 Þat vndertide was al ydone. Ac as sone as sche gan awake, Sche crid and loþli bere gan make, Sche froted hir honden and hir fet, And crached hir visage, it bled wete; 80 Hir riche robe hye al torett, And was reuey d out of hir witt. Þe tvo maidens hir biside No durst wiþ hir no leng abide, Bot ourn to þe palays ful riȝt, 85 And told boþe squier and kniȝt Þat her quen awede wold, And bad hem go and hir athold. Kniȝtes vrn, and leuedis also, Damisels sexti and mo, 90 In þe orchard to þe quen hye come, And her vp in her armes nome, And brouȝt hir to bed atte last, And held hir þere fine fast; Ac euer sche held in o cri, 95 And wold vp and owy. When Orfeo herd þat tiding, Neuer him nas wers for no þing. He come wiþ kniȝtes tene To chaumber riȝt bifor þe quene, 100 And biheld, and seyd wiþ grete pité: 'O lef liif, what is te, Þat euer ȝete hast ben so stille, And now gredest wonder schille? Þi bodi, þat was so white ycore, 105 Wiþ þine nailes is al totore. Allas! þi rode, þat was so red, Is al wan as þou were ded; And also þine fingres smale Beþ al blodi and al pale. 110 Allas! þi louesom eyȝen to Lokeþ so man doþ on his fo. A! dame, ich biseche merci. Lete ben al þis reweful cri, And tel me what þe is, and hou, 115 And what þing may þe help now.' Þo lay sche stille atte last, And gan to wepe swiþe fast, And seyd þus þe king to: 'Allas! mi lord, Sir Orfeo, 120 Seþþen we first togider were, Ones wroþ neuer we nere, Bot euer ich haue yloued þe As mi liif, and so þou me. Ac now we mot delen ato; 125 Do þi best, for y mot go.' 'Allas!' quaþ he, 'forlorn icham. Whider wiltow go, and to wham? Whider þou gost, ichil wiþ þe, And whider y go, þou schalt wiþ me.' 130 'Nay, nay, sir, þat nouȝt nis; Ichil þe telle al hou it is: As ich lay þis vndertide, And slepe vnder our orchard-side, Þer come to me to fair kniȝtes 135 Wele y-armed al to riȝtes, And bad me comen an heiȝing, And speke wiþ her lord þe king. And ich answerd at wordes bold, Y durst nouȝt, no y nold. 140 Þai priked oȝain as þai miȝt driue; Þo com her king also bliue, Wiþ an hundred kniȝtes and mo, And damisels an hundred also, Al on snowe-white stedes; 145 As white as milke were her wedes: Y no seiȝe neuer ȝete bifore So fair creatours ycore. Þe king hadde a croun on hed, It nas of siluer, no of gold red, 150 Ac it was of a precious ston, As briȝt as þe sonne it schon. And as son as he to me cam, Wold ich, nold ich, he me nam, And made me wiþ him ride 155 Opon a palfray, bi his side, And brouȝt me to his palays, Wele atird in ich ways, And schewed me castels and tours, Riuers, forestes, friþ wiþ flours, 160 And his riche stedes ichon; And seþþen me brouȝt oȝain hom Into our owhen orchard, And said to me þus afterward: "Loke, dame, to-morwe þatow be 165 Riȝt here vnder þis ympe-tre, And þan þou schalt wiþ ous go, And liue wiþ ous euermo; And ȝif þou makest ous ylet, Whar þou be, þou worst yfet, 170 And totore þine limes al, Þat noþing help þe no schal; And þei þou best so totorn, Ȝete þou worst wiþ ous yborn."' When King Orfeo herd þis cas, 175 'O we!' quaþ he, 'allas, allas! Leuer me were to lete mi liif, Þan þus to lese þe quen mi wiif!' He asked conseyl at ich man, Ac no man him help no can. 180 Amorwe þe vndertide is come, And Orfeo haþ his armes ynome, And wele ten hundred kniȝtes wiþ him Ich y-armed stout and grim; And wiþ þe quen wenten he 185 Riȝt vnto þat ympe-tre. Þai made scheltrom in ich a side, And sayd þai wold þere abide, And dye þer euerichon, Er þe quen schuld fram hem gon. 190 Ac ȝete amiddes hem ful riȝt Þe quen was oway ytuiȝt, Wiþ fairi forþ ynome; Men wist neuer wher sche was bicome. Þo was þer criing, wepe and wo. 195 Þe king into his chaumber is go, And oft swoned opon þe ston, And made swiche diol and swiche mon Þat neiȝe his liif was yspent: Þer was non amendement. 200 He cleped togider his barouns, Erls, lordes of renouns; And when þai al ycomen were, 'Lordinges,' he said, 'bifor ȝou here Ich ordainy min heiȝe steward 205 To wite mi kingdom afterward; In mi stede ben he schal, To kepe mi londes ouer al. For, now ichaue mi quen ylore, Þe fairest leuedi þat euer was bore, 210 Neuer eft y nil no woman se. Into wildernes ichil te, And liue þer euermore Wiþ wilde bestes in holtes hore. And when ȝe vnderstond þat y be spent, 215 Make ȝou þan a parlement, And chese ȝou a newe king. Now doþ ȝour best wiþ al mi þing.' Þo was þer wepeing in þe halle, And grete cri among hem alle; 220 Vnneþe miȝt old or ȝong For wepeing speke a word wiþ tong. Þai kneled adoun al yfere, And praid him, ȝif his wille were, Þat he no schuld nouȝt fram hem go. 225 'Do way!' quaþ he, 'it schal be so.' Al his kingdom he forsoke; Bot a sclauin on him he toke; He no hadde kirtel no hode, Schert, no noþer gode. 230 Bot his harp he tok algate, And dede him barfot out atte ȝate; No man most wiþ him go. O way! what þer was wepe and wo, When he, þat hadde ben king wiþ croun, 235 Went so pouerlich out of toun! Þurch wode and ouer heþ Into þe wildernes he geþ. Noþing he fint þat him is ays, Bot euer he liueþ in gret malais. 240 He þat hadde ywerd þe fowe and griis, And on bed þe purper biis, Now on hard heþe he liþ, Wiþ leues and gresse he him wriþ. He þat hadde had castels and tours, 245 Riuer, forest, friþ wiþ flours, Now, þei it comenci to snewe and frese, Þis king mot make his bed in mese. He þat had yhad kniȝtes of priis Bifor him kneland, and leuedis, 250 Now seþ he noþing þat him likeþ, Bot wilde wormes bi him strikeþ. He þat had yhad plenté Of mete and drink, of ich deynté, Now may he al day digge and wrote 255 Er he finde his fille of rote. In somer he liueþ bi wild frut And berien bot gode lite; In winter may he noþing finde Bot rote, grases, and þe rinde. 260 Al his bodi was oway duine For missays, and al tochine. Lord! who may telle þe sore Þis king sufferd ten ȝere and more? His here of his berd, blac and rowe, 265 To his girdelstede was growe. His harp, whereon was al his gle, He hidde in an holwe tre; And, when þe weder was clere and briȝt, He toke his harp to him wel riȝt, 270 And harped at his owhen wille. Into alle þe wode þe soun gan schille, Þat alle þe wilde bestes þat þer beþ For ioie abouten him þai teþ; And alle þe foules þat þer were 275 Come and sete on ich a brere, To here his harping afine, So miche melody was þerin; And when he his harping lete wold, No best bi him abide nold. 280 He miȝt se him bisides Oft in hot vndertides Þe king o fairy wiþ his rout Com to hunt him al about, Wiþ dim cri and bloweing; 285 And houndes also wiþ him berking; Ac no best þai no nome, No neuer he nist whider þai bicome. And oþer while he miȝt him se As a gret ost bi him te 290 Wele atourned ten hundred kniȝtes, Ich y-armed to his riȝtes, Of cuntenaunce stout and fers, Wiþ mani desplaid baners, And ich his swerd ydrawe hold, 295 Ac neuer he nist whider þai wold. And oþer while he seiȝe oþer þing: Kniȝtes and leuedis com daunceing In queynt atire, gisely, Queynt pas and softly; 300 Tabours and trunpes ȝede hem bi, And al maner menstraci. And on a day he seiȝe him biside Sexti leuedis on hors ride, Gentil and iolif as brid on ris,— 305 Nouȝt o man amonges hem þer nis. And ich a faucoun on hond bere, And riden on haukin bi o riuere. Of game þai founde wel gode haunt, Maulardes, hayroun, and cormeraunt; 310 Þe foules of þe water ariseþ, Þe faucouns hem wele deuiseþ; Ich faucoun his pray slouȝ. Þat seiȝe Orfeo, and louȝ: 'Parfay!' quaþ he, 'þer is fair game, 315 Þider ichil, bi Godes name! Ich was ywon swiche werk to se.' He aros, and þider gan te. To a leuedi he was ycome, Biheld, and haþ wele vndernome, 320 And seþ bi al þing þat it is His owhen quen, Dam Heurodis. Ȝern he biheld hir, and sche him eke, Ac noiþer to oþer a word no speke. For messais þat sche on him seiȝe, 325 Þat had ben so riche and so heiȝe, Þe teres fel out of her eiȝe. Þe oþer leuedis þis yseiȝe, And maked hir oway to ride, Sche most wiþ him no lenger abide. 330 'Allas!' quaþ he, 'now me is wo. Whi nil deþ now me slo? Allas! wr_e_che, þat y no miȝt Dye now after þis siȝt! Allas! to long last mi liif, 335 When y no dar nouȝt wiþ mi wiif, No hye to me, o word speke. Allas! whi nil min hert breke? Parfay!' quaþ he, 'tide wat bitide, Whider so þis leuedis ride, 340 Þe selue way ichil streche; Of liif no deþ me no reche.' His sclauain he dede on also spac, And henge his harp opon his bac, And had wel gode wil to gon,— 345 He no spard noiþer stub no ston. In at a roche þe leuedis rideþ, And he after, and nouȝt abideþ. When he was in þe roche ygo Wele þre mile oþer mo, 350 He com into a fair cuntray, As briȝt so sonne on somers day, Smoþe and plain and al grene, Hille no dale nas þer non ysene. Amidde þe lond a castel he siȝe, 355 Riche and real, and wonder heiȝe. Al þe vtmast wal Was clere and schine as cristal; An hundred tours þer were about, Degiselich, and bataild stout; 360 Þe butras com out of þe diche, Of rede gold y-arched riche; Þe vousour was anow ed al Of ich maner diuers animal. Wiþin þer wer wide wones 365 Al of precious stones. Þe werst piler on to biholde Was al of burnist gold. Al þat lond was euer liȝt, For when it schuld be þerk and niȝt, 370 Þe riche stones liȝt gonne, As briȝt as doþ at none þe sonne. No man may telle, no þenche in þouȝt, Þe riche werk þat þer was wrouȝt; Bi al þing him þink þat it is 375 Þe proude court of Paradis. In þis castel þe leuedis aliȝt; He wold in after, ȝif he miȝt. Orfeo knokkeþ atte gate, Þe porter was redi þerate, 380 And asked what he wold haue ydo. 'Parfay!' quaþ he, 'icham a minstrel, lo! To solas þi lord wiþ mi gle, Ȝif his swete wille be.' Þe porter vndede þe ȝate anon, 385 And lete him into þe castel gon. Þan he gan bihold about al, And seiȝe †ful† liggeand wiþin þe wal Of folk þat were þider ybrouȝt, And þouȝt dede, and nare nouȝt. 390 Sum stode wiþouten hade, And sum non armes nade, And sum þurch þe bodi hadde wounde, And sum lay wode, ybounde, And sum armed on hors sete, 395 And sum astrangled as þai ete, And sum were in water adreynt, And sum wiþ fire al forschreynt Wiues þer lay on childbedde, Sum ded, and sum awedde; 400 And wonder fele þer lay bisides, Riȝt as þai slepe her vndertides. Eche was þus in þis warld ynome, Wiþ fairi þider ycome. Þer he seiȝe his owhen wiif, 405 Dame Heurodis, his l_e_f liif, Slepe vnder an ympe-tre: Bi her cloþes he knewe þat it was he. And when he hadde bihold þis meruails alle, He went into þe kinges halle. 410 Þan seiȝe he þer a semly siȝt, A tabernacle blisseful and briȝt, Þerin her maister king sete, And her quen fair and swete. Her crounes, her cloþes, schine so briȝt, 415 Þat vnneþe bihold he hem miȝt. When he hadde biholden al þat þing, He kneled adoun bifor þe king. 'O lord,' he seyd, 'ȝif it þi wille were, Mi menstraci þou schust yhere.' 420 Þe king answerd: 'What man artow, Þat art hider ycomen now? Ich, no non þat is wiþ me, No sent neuer after þe; Seþþen þat ich here regni gan, 425 Y no fond neuer so folehardi man Þat hider to ous durst wende, Bot þat ichim wald ofsende.' 'Lord,' quaþ he, 'trowe ful wel, Y nam bot a pouer menstrel; 430 And, sir, it is þe maner of ous To seche mani a lordes hous; Þei we nouȝt welcom no be, Ȝete we mot proferi forþ our gle.' Bifor þe king he sat adoun, 435 And tok his harp so miri of soun, And tempreþ his harp, as he wele can, And blisseful notes he þer gan, Þat al þat in þe palays were Com to him for to here, 440 And liggeþ adoun to his fete, Hem þenkeþ his melody so swete. Þe king herkneþ and sitt ful stille, To here his gle he haþ gode wille; Gode bourde he hadde of his gle, 445 Þe riche quen also hadde he. When he hadde stint his harping, Þan seyd to him þe king: 'Menstrel, me likeþ wele þi gle. Now aske of me what it be, 450 Largelich ichil þe pay. Now speke, and tow miȝt asay.' 'Sir,' he seyd, 'ich biseche þe Þatow woldest ȝiue me Þat ich leuedi, briȝt on ble, 455 Þat slepeþ vnder þe ympe-tre.' 'Nay,' quaþ þe king, 'þat nouȝt nere! A sori couple of ȝou it were, For þou art lene, rowe, and blac, And sche is louesum, wiþouten lac; 460 A loþlich þing it were forþi To sen hir in þi compayni.' 'O sir,' he seyd, 'gentil king, Ȝete were it a wele fouler þing To here a lesing of þi mouþe, 465 So, sir, as ȝe seyd nouþe, What ich wold aski, haue y schold, And nedes þou most þi word hold.' Þe king seyd: 'Seþþen it is so, Take hir bi þe hond, and go; 470 Of hir ichil þatow be bliþe.' He kneled adoun, and þonked him swiþe; His wiif he tok bi þe hond, And dede him swiþe out of þat lond, And went him out of þat þede,— 475 Riȝt as he come þe way he ȝede. So long he haþ þe way ynome, To Winchester he is ycome, Þat was his owhen cité; Ac no man knewe þat it was he. 480 No forþer þan þe tounes ende For knoweleche no durst wende, Bot wiþ a begger y bilt ful narwe, Þer he tok his herbarwe, To him and to his owhen wiif, 485 As a minstrel of pouer liif, And asked tidinges of þat lond, And who þe kingdom held in hond. Þe pouer begger in his cote Told him euerich a grot: 490 Hou her quen was stole owy Ten ȝer gon wiþ fairy; And hou her king en exile ȝede, Bot no man nist in wiche þede; And hou þe steward þe lond gan hold; 495 And oþer mani þinges him told. Amorwe, oȝain nonetide, He maked his wiif þer abide; Þe beggers cloþes he borwed anon, And heng his harp his rigge opon, 500 And went him into þat cité, Þat men miȝt him bihold and se. Erls and barouns bold, Buriays and leuedis him gun bihold. 'Lo,' þai seyd, 'swiche a man! 505 Hou long þe here hongeþ him opan! Lo, hou his berd hongeþ to his kne! He is yclongen also a tre!' And as he ȝede in þe strete, Wiþ his steward he gan mete, 510 And loude he sett on him a crie: 'Sir steward,' he seyd, 'merci! Icham an harpour of heþenisse; Help me now in þis destresse!' Þe steward seyd: 'Com wiþ me, come; 515 Of þat ichaue þou schalt haue some. Euerich gode harpour is welcom me to, For mi lordes loue Sir Orfeo.' In þe castel þe steward sat atte mete, And mani lording was bi him sete. 520 Þer were trompour and tabourers, Harpours fele, and crouders. Miche melody þai maked alle, And Orfeo sat stille in þe halle, And herkneþ. When þai ben al stille, 525 He toke his harp and tempred schille, Þe bli fulest notes he harped þere Þat euer ani man yherd wiþ ere; Ich man liked wele his gle. Þe steward biheld and gan yse, 530 And knewe þe harp als bliue. 'Menstrel,' he seyd, 'so mot þou þriue, Where hadestow þis harp, and hou? Y pray þat þou me telle now.' 'Lord,' quaþ he, 'in vncouþe þede, 535 Þurch a wildernes as y ȝede, Þer y founde in a dale Wiþ lyouns a man totorn smale, And wolues him frete wiþ teþ so scharp. Bi him y fond þis ich harp; 540 Wele ten ȝere it is ygo.' 'O,' quaþ þe steward, 'now me is wo! Þat was mi lord Sir Orfeo. Allas! wreche, what schal y do, Þat haue swiche a lord ylore? 545 A way! þat ich was ybore! Þat him was so hard grace yȝarked, And so vile deþ ymarked!' Adoun he fel aswon to grounde. His barouns him tok vp in þat stounde, 550 And telleþ him hou it geþ— It nis no bot of manes deþ. King Orfeo knewe wele bi þan His steward was a trewe man And loued him as he auȝt to do, 555 And stont vp and seyt þus: 'Lo, Steward, herkne now þis þing: Ȝif ich were Orfeo þe king, And hadde ysuffred ful ȝore In wildernisse miche sore, 560 And hadde ywon mi quen owy Out of þe lond of fairy, And hadde ybrouȝt þe leuedi hende Riȝt here to þe tounes ende, And wiþ a begger her in ynome, 565 And were miself hider ycome Pouerlich to þe, þus stille, For to asay þi gode wille, And ich founde þe þus trewe, Þou no schust it neuer rewe: 570 Sikerlich, for loue or ay, Þou schust be king after mi day. And ȝif þou of mi deþ hadest ben bliþe, Þou schust haue voided also swiþe.' Þo al þo þat þerin sete 575 Þat it was King Orfeo vnderȝete, And þe steward him wele knewe; Ouer and ouer þe bord he þrewe, And fel adoun to his fet; So dede euerich lord þat þer sete, 580 And al þai seyd at o criing: 'Ȝe beþ our lord, sir, and our king!' Glad þai were of his liue. To chaumber þai ladde him als biliue, And baþed him, and schaued his berd, 585 And tired him as a king apert. And seþþen wiþ gret processioun Þai brouȝt þe quen into þe toun, Wiþ al maner menstraci. Lord! þer was grete melody! 590 For ioie þai wepe wiþ her eiȝe Þat hem so sounde ycomen seiȝe. Now King Orfeo newe coround is, And his quen Dame Heurodis, And liued long afterward; 595 And seþþen was king þe steward. Harpours in Bretaine after þan Herd hou þis meruaile bigan, And made herof a lay of gode likeing, And nempned it after þe king; 600 Þat lay 'Orfeo' is yhote, Gode is þe lay, swete is þe note. Þus com Sir Orfeo out of his care. God graunt ous alle wele to fare.