The Lay of Sir Orfeo
We redyn ofte and fynde y-wryte,
As clerkes don us to wyte,
The layes that ben of harpyng
Ben y-founde of frely thing.
Sum of wele and sum of wo
And sum of joy and merthe also,
Sum of rechery and sum of gyle,
And sum of happes that fallen by whyle,
Sum of bourdys and sum of rhybaudry,
And sum ther ben of the fayre.
Of alle thing that men may se,
Moost to lowe forsothe they be.
In Brytayn this lays arne y-wrytt,
Furst y-founde and forthe y-gete
Of aventures that ther weryn,
They toke her harpys with game,
Maden layes and yaf it name.
Of aventures that han befalle,
Y can sum tell, but nought alle.
Kerken, lordyngys, that ben trewe,
And Y wol you telle of Syr Orphewe.
Orfeo was a ryche king,
In Ingland an heighe lording,
A stalworth man and hardi bo,
Large and curteys he was also.
His fader was comen of King Pluto,
And his moder of King Juno,
That sum time were as goes y-hold
For aventours that thai dede and told.
Orpheo most of ony thing
Lovede the gle of harpyng.
Syker was every gode harpure
Of hym to have moche honour.
Hymself loved for to harpe,
And layde ther-on his wittes scharpe.
He lerned so, ther nothing was
A better harper in no plas.
In the world was never man born
That onus Orpheo sat byforn,
And he myght of his harpyng her,
He schulde thinke that he wer
In one of the joys of paradys,
Suche joy and melody in his harpyng is.
That king sojournd in Traciens,
That was a cite of noble defens.
(For Winchester was cleped tho
Traciens withouten no.)
The king hadde a quen of priis
That was y-cleped Dame Heurodis,
The fairest levedi for the nones
That might gon on bodi and bones,
Full of love and of godenisse;
Ac no man may tell hir fairnise.
Bifel so in the comessing of May--
When miri and hot is the day,
And oway beth winterschours,
And everi feld is ful of flours,
And blosme breme on everi bough
Overal wexeth miri anough--
This ich quen, Dame Herodis,
Tok to maidens of priis
And went in an undretide
To play bi an orchard side,
To se the floures sprede and spring,
And to here the foules sing.
Thai sett hem doun al three
Under a fair ympe-tre,
And wel sone this fair quene
Fel on slepe opon the grene.
The maidens durst hir nought awake,
Bot let hir ligge and rest take.
So sche slepe til afternone,
That undertide was al y-done.
Ac as sone as sche gan awake,
Sche crid and lothli bere gan make.
Sche froted hir honden and hir fet,
And crached hir visage; it bled wete.
Hir riche robe hye al torett
And was reveyd out of hir witt.
The two maidens hirt biside
No durst with hir no leng abide,
Bot ourn to the palays ful right
And told bothe squier and knight
That her quen awede wold,
And bad hem go and hir at-hold.
Knightes urn and levedis also,
Damisels sexti and mo.
In the orchard to the quen hye come
And her up in her armes nome
And brought hir to bed atte last
And held hir there fine fast.
Ac ever she held in o cri
And wold up and owy.
When Orfeo herd that tiding,
Never him nas wers for nothing.
He come with knightes tene
To chaumber right bifor the quene
And biheld and seyd with grete pite.
"O lef liif, what is thee,
That ever yete hast ben so stille,
And now gredest wonder schille?
Thi bodi, that was so white y-core,
With thine nailes is al totore!
Alas, thi rode, that was so red,
Is al wan, as thou were ded!
And also thine fingres smale
Beth al blodi and al pale!
Allas! thi lovesum eyghen to
Loketh so man doth on his fo!
A! Dame, Ich biseche merci!
Lete ben al this reweful cri,
And tel me, what thee is and hou,
And what thing may thee help now!"
Tho lay sche stille atte last
And gan to wepe swithe fast
And seyd thus the king to:
"Allas, mi lord, Sir Orfeo!
Seththen we first togider were,
Ones wroth never we nere;
Bot ever Ich have y-loved thee
As mi liif, and so thou me.
Ac now we mot delen ato;
Do thi best, for Y mot go!"
"Allas!" quath he, "forlorn Ich am!
Whider wiltow go and to wham?
Wider tou gost, Ichil with thee,
And wider Y go thou schalt weith me."
"Nay, nay, sir, that nought nis.
Ichil thee telle al hou it is.
As Ich lay this undertide
And slepe under our orchard side,
There come to me to fair knightes
Wele y-armed al to rightes
And bad me comen an heighing
And speke with her lord the king.
And Ich answered at wordes bold,
Y durst nought, no y nold.
"Thai priked oyain, as thai might drive.
Tho com her king al so blive
With an hundred knightes and mo
And damisels an hundred also
Al on snowewhite stedes;
As white as milke were her wedes.
Y no eighe never yete bifore
So fair creatours y-core.
The king hadde a crown on hed,
It nas of silver no of gold red,
Ac it was of a precious ston;
As bright as the sonne it schon.
"And as son as he to me cam,
Wold Ich, nold Ich, he me nam
And made me with him ride
Opon a palfray bi his side,
And brought me to his palays,
Wele atird in ich ways,
And schewed me castels and tours,
Rivers, forestes, frith with flours,
And his riche stedes ichon,
And seththen me brought oyain hom
Into our owhen orchard,
And said to me thus afterward:
"Loke, dame, to-morwe thatow be
Right here under this ympe-tre,
And than thou schalt with ous go
And live with ous ever mo.
And yif thou makest ous y-let,
Whar thou be, thou worst y-fet
And totore thine limes al
That nothing help thee no schal.
And thei thou best so totorn,
Yete thou worst with ous y-born'"
When King Orfeo herd this cas,
"O, we!" quath he. "Allas, allas!
Lever me were to lete mi liif
Than thus to lese the quen mi wiif!"
He asked conseyl at ich man,
Ac no man him help no can.
Amorwe the undertide is come,
And Orfeo hath his armes y-nome,
And wele ten hundred knightes with him,
Ich y-armed stout and grim,
And with the quen wenten he
Right unto that ympe-tre.
Thai made scheltrom in ich a side
And sayd thai wold there there abide
And dye ther everichon
Er the quen schuld fram her gon.
c yete amiddes hem ful right
The quen was owway y-twight,
With fairi forth y-nome,
Men wist never wher sche was bicome.
Tho was ther criing, wepe, and wo!
The king into his chaumber is go
And oft swoned opon the ston
And made swiche diol and swiche mon
That neighe his liif was y-spent.
Ther was non amendement.
He cleped togider his barouns,
Erls, lordes of renouns,
And when thai al y-comen were,
"Lordinges," he said, "bifor you here,
Ich ordainy min heighe steward
To wite mi kingdom afterward.
In mi stede ben he schal
To kepemi londes over al.
For now Ichave mi quen y-lore,
The fairies levedi that ever was bore.
Never eft Y nil no woman se.
Into wildernes Ichil te
And live ther ever more
With wilde bestes in holtes hore.
And when ye understond that Y be spent,
Make thou than a parlement
And chese you a newe king.
Now doth your best with al mi thing."
Tho was ther wepeing in the halle
And gret cri among hem alle.
Unnethe might old or yong
For wepeing speke a word with tong.
Thai kneled adoun al yfere
And praid him, yif his wille were,
That he no schuld nought fram hem go.
"Do way," quath he, "it schal be so."
Al his kingdom he forsoke.
Bot a sclavin on him he toke,
He no hadde kirtel no hode,
Schert, ne non other gode.
Bot his harp he tok algate
And dede him barfot out atte yate.
No man most with him go.
O way! What, ther was wepe and wo,
When he that hadde ben king with croun
Went so pouerlich out of town.
Thurch wode and over heth
Into the wildernes he geth.
Nothing he fint that him ays,
Bot ever he livteth in gret malais.
He that hadde y-werd the fowe and griis
And on bed the purper biis,
Now on hard hethe he lith;
With leves and gresse he him writh.
He that hadde castels and tours,
River, forest, frith with flours,
Now, thei it comenci to snewe and frese,
This king mote make his bed in mese.
He that had y-had knightes of priis
Bifor him kneland and levedis,
Now seth he nothing that him liketh,
Bot wilde wormes bi him striketh.
He that y-had plente
Of mete and drink, of ich deynte,
Now may he al day digge and wrote,
Er he finde his fille of rote.
In somer he liveth bi wild frut
And berien bot gode lite.
In winter may he nothing finde
Bot rote, grases, and the rinde.
Al his bodi was oway dwine
For missays, and al to-chine.
Lord! Who may telle the sore
The king suffered ten yere and more!
His here of his berd blac and rowe
To his girdel-stede was growe.
His harp, wheron was al his gle,
He hidde in an holwe tre.
And when the wdeder was clere and bright,
He toke his harp to him wel right
And harped at his owhen wille.
Into alle the wode the soun gan schille,
That alle the wilde bestes that ther beth
For joie abouten him thai teth.
And alle the foules that ther were
Come and sete on ich a brere
To here his harping afine,
So miche melody was therin.
And when he his harping lete wold,
No best bi him abide nold.
He might se him bisides
Oft in hot undertides
The King o Fairy with his rout
Com to hunt him al about,
With dim cri and bloweing,
And houndes also with him berking.
Ac no best thai no nome,
No never he nist whider thai bicome.
And other while he might him se,
As a gret ost, bi him te
Wele atourned ten hundred knightes,
Ich y-armed to his rightes,
Of mani desplaid baners,
And ich his swerd y-drawe hold,
Ac never he nist whider thai wold.
And other while he seighe other thing:
Knightes and levedis com daunceing
In queynt atire gisely,
Queynt pas and softly.
Tabbours and trunpes yede hem bi
And al maner menstraci.
And on a day he seighe him biside
Sexti levedis on hors ride,
Gentil and jolif as brid on ris,
Nought o man amonges hem ther nis.
And ich a fauncon on hond bere
And riden on haukin bi o rivere.
Of game thai founde wel gode haunt:
Maulardes, hayround, and cornmeraunt.
The foules of the water aristh;
The faucons hem wele deviseth;
Ich faucon his pray slough.
That seighe Orfeo and lough.
"Parfay," quath he, "ther is fair game.
Thider Ichil, bi Godes name.
Ich was y-won swiche werk to se."
He aros and thider gan te.
To a levedi he was y-come,
Biheld, and hath wele undernome,
And seth bi al thing, that it is
His owhen quen Dam Heurodis.
Yern he biheld hir, and sche him eke,
Ac noither to other a word no speke.
For messais that sche on him seighe
That had ben so rich and so heighe,
The teres fel out of her eighe.
That other levedis this y-seighe
And maked hir oway to ride;
Sche most with him no lenger abide.
"Allas," quath he, "now me is wo!
Whi nil deth now me slo!
Allas wreche, that Y no might
Dye now after this sight!
Allas, too long last mi liif,
When Y no dar nought with mi wiif
No hye to me o word speke.
Allas, whi nil min hert breke!
PParfay," quath he, "tide wat bitide,
Whider so this levedis ride,
The selve way Ichil streche.
Of liif no deth me no reche!"
His sclavain he dede on al so spac
And henge his harp opon his bac
And had wel gode wil to gon;
He no spard noeither stub no ston.
In at a roche the levedis rideth,
And he after and nought abideth.
When he was in the roche y-go
Wele thre mile other mo,
He com to a fair cuntray
As bright so sonne on somers day,
Smothe and plain and al grene;
Hille no dale was there non y-sene.
Amidde the lond a castle he sighe,
Riche and real and wonder heighe;
Al the utmast wal
Was clere and schine as cristal.
As hundred tours ther were about
Degiselich and bataild stout.
The butras com out of the diche,
Of rede gold y-arched riche.
The vousour was avowed al
Of ich maner divers aumal.
Within ther wer wide wones
Al of precious stones.
The werst piler on to biholde
Was al of burnist gold.
Al that lond was ever light,
For when it schuld be therk and night,
The riche stones light gonne
As bright as doth at none the sonne.
No man may telle no thenche in thought
The riche werk that ther was wrought.
Bi al thing him think that it is
The proude court of paradis.
In this castel the levedis alight.
He wold in after yif he might.
Orfeo knokketh atte gate;
The porter was redi ther-ate
And asked what he wold have y-do.
"Parfay," quath he, "Icham a minstrel, lo,
To solas thi lord with mi gle,
Yif his swete wille be."
The porter undede the yate anon
And lete him into the castel gon.
Then he gan bihold about al
And seighe liggeand within the wal
Of folk that were thider y-brought
And thought dede and nare nought.
Sum stone withouten hade,
And sum non armes nade;
And sum thurch the bodi hadde wounde,
And sum lay wode, y-bounde,
And sum armed on hors sete,
And sum astrangled as thai ete,
And sum were in water adrynt,
And sum with fire al forschreynt.
Wives ther lay on child-bedde,
Sum ded, and sum awedde.
And wonder fele ther lay bisides,
Right as thai slepe her undertides.
Eche was thus in this warled y-nome,
With fairi thider y-come.
Ther he seighe his owhen wiif,
Dame Heurodis his luf liif,
Slepe under an ympe-tre;
Bi her clothes he knewe that it was he.
And when he hadde bihold this mervails alle,
He went into the kinges halle.
Then seighe he ther a semly sight:
A tabernacle blisseful and bright,
Ther-in her maister king sete
And her quen fair and swete.
Her crounes, her clothes, schine so bright,
That unnethe bihold he hem might.
When he hadde biholden al that thing,
He kneled adoun bifor the king:
"O lord," he seyd, "yif it thi wille were,
Mi menstraci thou schut y-here."
The king answerd: "What man artow
That art hider y-comen now?
Ich no non that is with me
No sent never after thee.
Seththen that Ich here regni gan,
Y no fond so folehardi man
That hider to ous durst wende,
Bot that Ichim wald ofsende."
"Lord," quath he, "trowe ful wel,
Y nam bot a pouer menstrel,
And, sir, it is the maner of ous
To seche mani a lordes hous;
Thei we nought welcome no be,
Yete we mot proferi forth our gle."
Bifor the king he sat adoun
And tok his harp so miri of soun
And tempreth his harp, as he wele can,
And blisseful notes he ther gan,
That al that in the palays were
Com to him for to here,
And liggeth adoun to his fete;
Hem theketh his melody so swete.
The king kerkneth and sitt ful stille;
To here his gle he hath gode wille.
Gode bourde he hadde of his gle;
The riche quen al-so hadde he.
When he hadde stint his harping,
Than seyd to him the king:
"Menstrel, me liketh wele thi gle.
Now aske of me what it be,
Largelich Ichil thee pay.
"No speke and tow might asay."
"Sir," he seyd, "Ich biseche thee
Thatow woldest yive me
That ich levedi bright on ble
That slepeth under the ympe-tre."
"Nay," quath the king, "that nought nere!
A sori couple of you it were
For thou art lene, rowe, and blac,
And sche is lovesum withouten lac.
And lothlich thing it were forthi
To sen hir in thi compayni."
"Oh sir," he seyd, "gentil king,
Yete were it a wele fouler thing
To here a lesing of thi mouthe.
So, sir, as ye seyd nouthe,
What Ich wold aski, have Y schold,
And nedes thou most thi word hold."
The king seyd, "Seththen it is so,
Take hir bi the hond and go.
Of hir Ichil thatow be blithe."
He knelyd adoun and thonked him swithe.
His wiif he tok bi the hond
And dede him swithe out of that lond
And wnent him out of that thede.
So long he hath the way y-nome,
To Winchester he is y-come,
That was his owhen cite;
Ac no man knewe that it was he.
No forther than the tounes ende
For knoweleche he no durst wende.
Bot with a begger y-bolt ful narwe,
Ther he tok his herbarwe
To him and to his owhen wiif
As a minstrel of pouer liif,
And asked tidings of that lond,
And who the kingdom held in hond.
The pouer beggar in his cot
Told him everich a grot:
How her quen was stole owy
Ten yer gon with fairy,
And hou her king en exile yede,
Bot no man nist in wiche theede;
And hou the steward the lond gan hold,
And other mani thinges him told.
Amorwe, oyain none tide,
He maked his wiif ther abide;
The beggers clothes he borwed anon,
And heng his harp his rigge opon,
And went him into that cite,
That men might him bihold and se.
Erls and barouns bold,
Burjays and levedis him gun bihold.
"Lo," thai seyd, "swiche a man!
How long the here hongeth him opan!
Lo, hou his berd hongeth to his kne!
He is y-clongen also a tre!"
And as he yede in the strete,
With his steward seyd, "Com with me, come!
Of that Ichave thou schalt have some.
Everich gode harpour is welcom me to
For mi lordes love, Sir Orfeo."
In the castel the steward sat atte mete,
And many lording was bi him sete.
Ther were trompours and tabourers,
Harpours fele and crouders.
Miche melody thai maked alle,
And Orfeo sat stille in the halle
And herkneth. When thai ben al stille,
He toke his harp and tempred schille.
The blissefulest notes he harped there
That ever ani man y-herd with ere.
Ich man liked wele his gle.
The steward biheld and gan y-se
And knewe the harp als blive.
"Menstrel," he sayd, "so mot thou thrive,
Where hadestow this harp and hou?
Y pray that thou telle now."
"Lord," quath he, "in uncouthe thede
Thurch a wilderness as Y yede,
Ther Y founde in a dale
With lyouns a man totorn smale,
And wolves him frete with teth so scharp.
Bi him Y fond thi ich harp,
Wele ten yere it is y-go."
"O," quath the steward, "now me is wo!
That was mi lord, Sir Orfeo.
Allas wreche, what schal Y do,
That have swiche a lord y-lore!
Away that Ich was y-bore!
That him was so hard grace y-yarked
And so vile deth y-marked!"
Adoun he fel aswon to grounde.
His barouns him toke up in that stounde
And telleth him hou it geth;
It nis no bot of manes deth.
King Orfeo knewe wele bi than
His steward was a trewe man,
And loved him, as he aught to do,
And stont up and seyt thus: "Lo,
Steward, herkne now this thing:
Yif Ich were Orfeo the king,
And hadde y-suffred ful yore
In wildernisse miche sore,
And hadde y-won mi quen owy
Out of the lond of fairy,
And hadde y-brought the levedi hende
Right here to the tounes ende,
And with a begger her in y-nome,
And were miself hider y-come
Pouerlich to thee, thus stille,
For to asay thi gode wille,
And Ich founde thee thus trewe,
Thou no schust it ever rewe.
Sikerlich for love or ay
Though schust be king after mi day
And yif thou of mi deth hadest ben blithe,
Thou schust ben voided also swithe."
Tho al tho that ther-in sete
That it was King Orfeo underyete,
And the steward him wele knewe.
Over and over the bord he threwe
And fel adoun to his fet.
And ded everich lord that ther sete,
And al thai seyd at o criing:
"Ye beth our lord, sir, and our king!"
Glad thai were of his live.
To chaumber thai ladde him als blive
And bathed him and schaved his berd
And tired him as a king apert.
And sethen with gret processioun
Thai brought the quen into the toun
With al maner menstraci.
Lord, ther was grete melody!
For joie thai wepe with her eighe,
That hem so sounde y-comen seighe.
Now King Orfeo newe coround is
And his quen Dame Heurodis,
And lived long afterward,
And seththen was king the steward.
Harpours in Bretaione after than
Herd hou this mervaile bigan,
And made herof a lay of gode likeing
And nempned it after the king.
That lay "Orfeo" is y-hote;
Gode is the lay, swete is the note.
Thus come Sir Orfeo out of his care.
God graunt ous alle wele to fare.
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