Sir Tryamour

by: Harriet Hudson (Editor)

from: Four Middle English Romances: Sir Isumbras, Octavian, Sir Eglamour of Artois, Sir Tryamour  2006

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Heven blys that all schall wynne, Schylde us fro dedly synne      And graunte us the blys of hevyn! Yf ye wyll a stounde blynne, Of a story Y wyll begynne,      That gracyus ys to nevyn; Of a kyng and of a quene, What bale and blys was them betwene,      Y schall yow telle full evyn. A gode ensaumpull ye may lere, Yf ye wyll thys story here      And herkyn to my stevyn. He was the kynge of Arragon, A nobull man and of grete renown,      Syr Ardus was hys name. He had a quene that hyght Margaret, Trewe as stele Y yow behett,      That falsely was broght in blame. The kyngys steward Marrok hyght; False and fekyll was that wyght      That lady for to fame. He lovyd well that lady gente; For scho wolde not to hym assente      He dud hur mekyll schame. The kyng lovyd well the quene, For scho was semely on to sene      And trewe as stele on tree. Ofte tyme togedur can they meene, For no chylde come them betwene,      Sore syghed bothe sche and hee. Therfore the kyng, as Y undurstonde, Hath made a vowe to go in to the Holy Londe      To fyght and not to flee, That God almyghty schulde helpe them so A chylde to gete betwene them two      That ther heyre myght bee. When the kyng hys vowe had maked And at the pope the cros takyd,      To bedd then were they broght; That nyght on hys lady mylde, As God wolde, he gate a chylde,      But they of hyt wyste noght. Sone on the morne, when hyt was day, The kyng wolde forthe on hys way      To the londe there God us boght; Than began the quene to morne; For he wolde no lenger soyorne,      Prevy sche was in thoght. The kyng bad ordeygne hys armoryes; 1 Knyghtys, squyers and palfrays,      All redy for to goo. He toke hys leve at the quene, At erlys and barons all bedene,      And at Syr Marrok alsoo. He comawndyd Marrok, on hys lyfe, That he schulde kepe wele the quene hys wyfe,      Bothe in wele and in woo. Betwene the quene and the kyng Was grete sorowe and mornynge,      When they schulde parte in twoo. Now ys the kyng passyd the see, To hys enemyes gon ys he,      And warryth there a whyle; But than Syr Marrok, hys steward, Was faste abowtewarde      To do hys lady gyle. He wowyd the quene bothe day and nyght, To lye hur by, he had hyt hyght,      He dredyd no peryle. Feyre he spake to hur aplyght; Yf he hur thoght turne myght      Wyth wordys, hyt was hys wylle. The quene was stedfaste of wylle; Sche herde hys wordys and stode styll      Tyll he all had sayde. Sche seyde, “Traytur, what ys thy thoght? All that thou spekyst hyt ys for noght.      Owt upon the, thefe!” sche seyde in that brayde. “My lorde, when he went to the see, For specyall tryste he toke me to the      To have undur holde; And now thou woldyst wondur fayne Be the furste to do me trayne!      How darste thou be so bolde?” He seyde, “Ye be my lady gente For now ys my lorde wente      Agayne hys fone to fyght; And but the more wondyr bee Ye schall nevyr more hym see;      Therfore Y rede yow ryght. Now ys he gone, my lady free, In hys stede ye schall take me;      Am Y not a knyght? And we schall do so prevely That whethyr he leve or dye      Ther schall wete no wyght.” Then was the quene wondur wrothe And swere mony a grete othe,      As sche was woman trewe! “Yf ye be so hardy To wayte me wyth velanye      Fowle hyt schall the rewe. Y trowe Y schall nevyr ete bredd Tyll thou be broght to the dedd,      Soche balys then schall Y the brewe. Y may evyr aftur thys That thou woldyst tyse me to do amys      No game schulde the glewe.” Marrok seyde, “Madam, mercy, Y seyde hyt for no velanye      But for a fondynge; For Y wolde wytt yowre wylle Whethur that hyt were gode or ylle      And for no nothyr thynge. And now, madame, Y may see That ye ar trewe as stele on tree      Unto my lorde the kynge; And that ys me wondur lefe Wherefore taketh hyt to no grefe      Or wyckyd askynge.” So excusyd he hym tho, The lady wende hyt had byn soo      As Syr Marrokk sayde. He goth forthe and holdyth hys pese, More he thenkyth then he says,      He was full evyll payde. Of the quene let we bee And thorow the grace of the Trynyté      Grete wyth chylde sche was! And of Kyng Ardus speke we, Farre in hethennes ys he      To werre in Goddys grace. There he had grete chyvalry, He slewe hys enemyes wyth grete envy      Grete worde of hym aroos. In hethennes and yn Spayne, In Gaskyn and in Almayne      Wyt they of hys loos. When he had done hys pylgrymage And maked all hys message      Wyth wordys that ware not wyckydd, To Fleme Jordon and to Bedlem, And to the borogh of Jerusalem,      There God was dede and qwykk, Then longed he at home to bene And for to speke wyth hys quene      That hys thoght was evyr upon. And he gate schyppys prevay And to the schypp on a day      He thoght that he flewe anon. So longe they drove upon the fome That at the laste they come home      To hys owne lande When the kyng and the quene were togedur agayne They made mekyll joye, gle and game,      Then tolde the kynge hur tythande. The kynge behelde the quene mylde And sawe that sche was wyth chylde,      Then made he glad semland. Twenty tymys he dud hur kysse, Then made they game and blysse      And he toke hur be the hande. But sone aftur come tythyngys, Marrok mett hys lorde kynge      And faste he can hym frayne. “Syr,” he seyde, “for Goddys pyne, Of a thyng that now ys ynne,      Whareof be ye so fayne? 2 Ye wene the chylde yourys be; Hyt ys not so, so mote Y the,      The quene hath done the trayne! Another knyght, so mote Y spede, Gat the chylde syth thou yede      And hath the quene forlayne!” “Allas,” seyde the kyng, “What may that be? Betoke Y not hur to the      To kepe hur in weyle and woo? Sche was undur thy kepeyng Why letyst thou hur do that wyckyd thynge      Alas! Why dud sche soo?” “Syr,” seyde Syr Marrok, “Wyte not me For grete moone sche made for the      As sche had lovyd no moo. Y trowed in hur no falsehedd Tyll Y fonde them wyth the dede      Togedur betwene them two. In the fyrste fourtenyght that ye were went, Y fownde them togedur verament      Or they ther wylle had done. To hym Y ran wyth egur mode And slewe the knyght there he stode      Be myn owne dome! Then wende sche, sche schulde be schente, And me behett londe and rente      And hyght me to do my wylle: But Y myselfe wolde noght; Ye were evyr in my thoght      Bothe lowde and stylle. “Allas,” seyde the kynge; “now Y wondur; For sorowe my herte brekyth in sondyr.      Why hath sche done amys? Y wot not to whom Y may meene, For Y have loste my comely quene      That Y was wonte to kysse!” “Marrok,” he seyde “What ys thy rede Whether that sche be done to dedd      That was my blysse? For sythen sche hath forsaken me Y wylle hur no more see      Nor dwelle wyth hur, ywys.” “Syr,” seyde Marrok, “Ye schall not soo; Ye schall hur nother brenne nor sloo      For dowte of synne. Bettyr hyt ys, syr, be my rede, Owt of yowre londe sche be flemyd in dede,      And faste ye schall hur comawnde to wynne. “But take hur an oolde stede, And an olde knyght that may hur lede      Tyll sche be paste yowre realme, And gyf them some spendynge, That them owt of thy londe may brynge;      Y can no bettyr deme. “For, syr,” he seyde, “Hyt were not feyre, A horcop to be yowre heyre,      But he ware of yowre kynne.” Then seyde the kynge, “So mote Y the, As thou haste seyde, so schall hyt bee,      Arste y schall not blynne.” Then exylyd the kyng the quene. Sche had wondur what hyt myght meene,      What made hym so to begynne: No lenger he wolde gyf hur respyte Nor no worde he wolde speke hur wyth,      And that was grete synne. He let clothe hur in sympull wede And set hur upon an olde stede      That was bresyd and blynde; And toke to hur an olde knyght That Syr Roger hyght,      That curtes was and kynde, And gaf them twenty dayes to passe; And ovyr that tyme hys wylle was,      Yf men myght hur fynde, Sche schulde be takyn and be brente, And the knyght, be there assente,      Schulde wayne wyth the wynde. Thretty florens to there spendynge He gaf them, wythowte lesynge,      And comawnded them to goo. The qwene for sorowe wolde dye For sche wyste not wherefore nor why      That sche was flemed soo. Therfore sche had grete drede And sche swownyd on hur stede;      Hyt was no wondur thogh sche were wo. Syr Roger comfortyd the quene And seyde, “At Goddys wylle muste hyt bene,      What helpyth hyt yow yf ye youreselfe sloo?” Knyghtys, squyers and ladyes gente Morned for the quene was wente;      The kynge had no chesowne, And the quene had grete care For sche schulde fro hur lorde fare      Wythowte ony resowne. But then they wente fro that stede, On ther way forthe they yede      Ferre fro every towne Into a grete wyldurnes; Full of wylde bestys hyt was,      Be dale and eke be downe. Marrok thoght utturly To do the quene a velanye,      Hys luste for to fulfylle. He ordeygnyd hym a companye Of hys owne meynye      That wolde assente hym tylle. To a wode they wente in hye, There the quene schulde passe by,      And there stode they all stylle. There had he thoght redyly To have do the quene a velanye —      Fayne he wolde hur spylle. The quene and Syr Roger come into the wode, Wote ye wyll thay thoght but gode      To passe wythowtyn dowte. Then were they war of the steward Come rydyng to them warde      Wyth a grete rowte. “Here ys treson,” seyde the quene. “Allas!” seyde Roger, “what may that bene?      We here be sett all abowte! Syth we here schall dye, Oure dedys full sore they schall abye,      Be they nevyr so stowte!” The steward Roger can ascrye, And seyde, “Yylde the, for thou schalt dye.      To us thou haste no myght!” Syr Roger seyde, “Traytur forthy My dethe schalt thou dere abye,      Yf that Y wyth the fyght.” There come they to hym in hye; Syr Roger, wyth grete envy,      Kydd he was a knyght. They hewe on hym full boldely. Ther was none of all that company      So bolde nor so wyght. Syr Roger smote them on the hede That to the gyrdyll the swerde yede.      Of hym were they qwyte. They hewe on hym faste as they were wode, On eche syde then sprong the blode      So sore on hym they dud smyte. Trewe-love, hys hownde so gode, Halpe hys maystyr and be hym stode.      Byttyrly he can byte. Whyll they were togedur bestedd, The quene passyd awey and fledd      On fote and lefte hur stede. Sche ranne to a thorne grene; Tyl sche come thedur sche wolde not blyn      And daryth there for drede. Syr Roger sche dydd beholde; He hewe on ther bodyes bolde,      Hys hownde halpe hym at nede. Os hyt ys in the story tolde, Forti Syr Roger downe can folde      So qwyt he them ther mede. Had he ben armyd, ywys, All the maystry had byn hys.      Allas! why wantyd he hys wede? As Syr Roger gaf a knokk, Behynde hym come Syr Marrok —      Therfore evyll mote he spede. He smot Syr Roger wyth a spere, Thorow the body he can hym bere,      Faste then can he blede. He hath an evyll wounde — That dynte hath broght hym to the grounde      And fellyd hym on the grene. Than he was slayne certenly, They rode forthe wyth grete envy      To seke aftur the quene; But they wyste not what they myght sey — Hur stede they fonde, sche was awey —      Then had that traytur tene. Ther jurney then they thoght evyll sett, But they wyth the lady not mett,      They wyste not what to mene. Ovyr all the wode they hur soght But, as God wolde, they fonde hur noght;      Then had they grete tene. When he myght not the lady fynde, He wente away as knyght unkynde      To Syr Roger there he lay. Thryes he styked hym thorowowt, Of hys dede he had no dowte.      Allas that ylke day! When that traytur had done soo, He turynd ageyne there he come fro,      Unmanly for to say, For hys company was all gon, Forty he had chaunged for oon:      Ther skaped but two away. The quene was aferde to be schente Tyl sche sye that they were wente      And passyd owt of the slogh; Then rose sche up and come agayne To Syr Roger and fonde hym slayne —      Then had sche sorow ynogh. “Allas!” sche seyde, “Now am Y spylte; Thys false thefe, wythowtyn gylte      Why dyd he the to-slon? Syr Roger, thys haste thou for me: Allas that evyr Y schulde hyt see!”      Wyth that sche felle in swowne. When sche myght ryse sche toke hur stede; Sche durste no lenger dwell for drede      That no man schulde fynde hur thore. Sche seyde, “Roger, Y see the blede. Allas who may me wys and lede?      For certen thou mayst no more.” Hys gode hownde, for weyle nor woo, Wolde not fro hys maystyr goo      But lay lykyng hys woundys. He wende to have helyd hym agayne; Therto he dyd all hys mayne —      Grete kyndenes ys in howndys. He lykkyd hym tyll he stanke, Than he began and konne hym thanke      To make a pytt of ston; And to berye hym was hys purpos, And scraped on hym bothe ryn and mosse,      And fro hym nevyr wolde gon; Than levyd they stylle thare. The quene faste can sche fare      For fere of hur foon; Sche had grete mornyng in hur herte For sche wyste not whedurwarde      That sche was beste to goon. Sche rode forthe, noght forthy, To the londe of Hongary,      Tyll sche come thedur wyth woo. When sche come undur a wode syde Sche myght no lenger abyde,      Hur peynys were so throo; Sche lyghtyd downe, that was so mylde, And there sche travaylyd of a chylde,      Hyrselfe allon, wythowtyn moo. Forthe sche went wyth sorowe ynogh And tyed hur hors to a bogh,      Tyll the throwes were all ydoo. A feyre sone had sche borne, When sche herde the chylde crye hur beforn      Hyt comfortyd hur full swythe; So when sche hurselfe myght styr, Sche toke up hur sone to hur      And lapped hyt full lythe. What for febulnes, wery and woo, Sche felle aslepe and hur sone alsoo;      Hur stede stode hur behynde. There come a knyght them full nere That hyght Syr Barnard messengere,      Huntyng aftur an hynde, And founde that lady lovely of chere And hur sone slepyng in fere,      Lyeng undur a lynde. He put upon that lady bryght, And sche loked upon that knyght,      And was aferde full sore of hys comyng. He seyde, “What do ye here, madam? Fro whens come ye? What ys yowre name?      Why lye ye here nowe?” “Syr,” sche seyde, “yf ye wyll wytt, My name at home ys Margaret,      Y swere be God a vowe. Here have Y mekyll grefe; Helpe me now at my myschefe,      At some towne that Y were.” The knyght behelde the ladyes mode And thoght sche was of gentyll blode,      That in the foreste was bystadd there. He toke hur up full curtesly And hur sone that lay hur by      And home he can them lede. He let hur have wemen at wylle To tent hur, and that was skylle,      And broght hur to bede. Whatsoevyr sche wolde crave All sche myght redyly hyt have,      Hur speche was sone spedd. They crystenyd the chylde wyth grete honowre And callyd hyt Tryamowre;      Of hyt they were full gladd. A norse they gatt hyt untyll Sche had mekyll of hur wyll;      They dud as sche them badd. Sche was bothe curtes and hynde, Every man was hur frynde      And of hur was full gladd. There dwellyd that lady long, Moche myrthe was them amonge      But ther gamyd hur no glewe. Of hyr they were nevyr yrke, Sche techyd hur sone for to wyrke,      And taght hym evyr newe; Hur sone that then dwellyd hur wyth, He was mekyll of boon and lyth,      And feyre of hyde and hewe. Every man lovyd hym aftur ther estate; 3 They had no cheson hym to hate,      So seyde all that hym knewe. Leve we stylle at the quene And of the greyhound we wyll mene      That we before of tolde. Seven yere, so God me save, Kepyd he hys maystyrs grave      Tyll that he wexyd olde. Evyr on hys maystyrs grave he lay; Ther myght no man gete hym away      For oght that they cowde do, But yf hyt were onys on the day, He wolde forthe to gete hys praye,      And sythen ageyne he wolde goo. Seven yere he levyd there, Tyll hyt befell agenste the Youle      Upon the fyrste day; The hounde, as the story says, Ranne to the kyngys palays      Wythowt ony more delay. As the kyng at the mete was than, Into the halle the hound can ren      Amonge the knyghtys gay. All abowte he can beholde And when he sawe not that he wolde      He dyd hym faste away. The hound rennyth evyr, ywys, Tyl he come there hys maystyr ys;      He fonde not that he soght. The kynge wondurth in hys wede Fro when he come and whedur he yede,      And who hym thedur broght. He thoght that he had sene hym thare But he wyste not when nor whare,      Forthy then seyde he noght; But faste bethenkyth he hym then, For he thoght he schulde hym kenne —      So syttyth he in a thoght. The tother day on the same wyse, As the kynge fro the borde can ryse      The hownde spedd not thoo. All abowte the halle he soght, But at that tyme he fonde hym noght,      Than dyd he hym faste to goo. Then seyde the kyng that ylke stounde, “Me thynkyth that was Syr Roger hounde      That wente wyth hym thoo When the quene was flemed owt of my londe.” “Syr,” they seyde, “we undurstonde      For sothe that hyt ys soo!” The kyng seyde, “What may thys mene? Y trowe Syr Roger and the quene      Be comen to thys londe, For nevyr syth they went, ywys, Sawe Y Syr Roger hounde or thys.      That ys wondur tythand! When he goth, pursewe hym then, For evyrmore he wyll renne      Tyll he come there hys maystyr ys.” The tothyr day among them all To mete as they were sett in halle      Syr Marrok was there ferre wythynne, ywys. And the hounde wolde nevyr blynne, But ranne abowte faste wyth wynne      Tyll he wyth hym metyth. He starte up verament, The steward be the throte he hente:      The hownd wrekyd hys maystyrs dethe. The stewardys lyfe ys lorne — There was fewe that rewyd theron      And fewe for hym wepyth. The greyhownde dyd hym sone to go When hys maystyrs dethe he had venged soo      On hym that wroght hym trayne. All they folowed hym in that tyde Some on horsys and some besyde,      Knyghtys, squyers and swayne. Reste wolde he nevyr have Tyll he come to hys maystyrs grave      And then turned he agayne. They myght not gete hym therfro; He stode at fence ageyn them tho,      But they wolde hym have slayne. When they sawe no bettyr bote They turned ageyne on hors and fote,      Wyth grete wondur, Y wene. They tolde the kyng all thus, “Allas!” seyde kyng Ardus,      “What may thys be to meene? Y trowe Syr Marrok, be Goddys payne, Have slayne Syr Roger be some trayne      And falsely flemyd my quene. The hound had not Syr Marrok slayne Had not some treson byn,      Be dereworth God, as Y wene!” They wente agayne, bothe knyght and knave, And founde Syr Roger in hys grave      As hole as he was layde. They toke hym up and leved hym noght, The corse before the kyng was broght,      That made hys herte sory, as men sayde. Hys hownde wolde not fro hym fare. “Allas!” seyde the kyng, “now have Y care,      Thys traytur hath me betrayed. For he hath slayn an awnturs knyght And flemyd my quene wythowten ryght      For false tales that he hath me telde.” The steward also tyte The kyng let drawe hym, wyth grete dyspyte,      Wyth horsys thorow the towne, And hanged hym on the galowe tree That al men myght hyt see,      That he had done treson. Syr Rogers corse wyth nobull delay They beryed hyt the tothyr day,      Wyth many a bolde baron. Hys hownde wolde not fro hym away But evyr on hys grave he lay      Tyll deth had broght hym downe. The kyng let sende a messengere Fro towne to towne, ferre and nere,      Aftur the quene to spye; For nothyng that they cowde spere They cowde nevyr of hur here.      Then was the kyng sory: He seyde, “Now can Y no rede, For well Y wot that Y am but dedd,      For sorowe Y wyll now dye! Allas! that sche evyr fro me wente, Owre false steward hath us schent      Wyth hys false traytory.” Thus leveth the kyng in sorowe; Ther may no blys fro bale hym borowe      Tyll he be broght to grounde. Soche lyfe he leved many a yere, Wyth mekyll sorowe and evyll chere;      Nothyng may make hym sounde. Hyt dothe the kyng mekyll payne When he thenkyth how Syr Roger was slayne,      And then halpe hys hownde; And of hys quene that was so mylde, How sche went fro hym grete wyth chylde;      He swownyd that ylke stownde. And at Syr Roger yende we wyll dwelle, And of the quene we wyll telle,      And of hur chylde Tryamowre; He was a moche man and a longe, In every lym styff and stronge,      And semely of colowre. Men and wemen dwellyd he among Yyt wrethyd he nevyr non wyth wrong;      That was hys owne honowre. In that tyme certaynly Dyed the kyng of Hungary      And was beryed, ywys. He had no heyre hys londys to welde But a doghtyr of seven yerys elde;      Hur name Helyn ys. Sche was whyte os blossom on flowre, Mery and comely of colowre,      And semely for to kysse. When hur fadur was dede Moche warre began to sprede      Yn hur lande all abowte. Therfore sche ys gevyn to rede To take a lorde to rewle and to lede      Hur londe, wyth hys rowte. A nobull knyght that cowde or myght Rewle hur londe wyth gode ryght      That men myght drede and dowte. Hur cownsell wyll that sche do soo, For grete nede cawsyth hur therto,      And sche answeryd them there on hye That they schulde faste hur wyth no fere, But he were prynce or prynceys pere,      Or ellys chefe of chyvalry. Therfore that lady feyre and gente, Wyth them wolde sche assente      A justyng for to crye; And at that justyng schall hyt bee Who so evyr wynneth the gree      Schall wedde hur wyth ryalté. A day of justyng was ther sett; Halfe a yere, no lenger, they lett      To be thore at that day That they myght have there a space, Knyghtys of dyvers a place,      And no lenger delay. Knyghtys of dyvers londys, When they harde of these tythandys      They gysed them full gay. Of every londe the beste, Thedur they rode wythowten reste,      Full wele arayed and dyght; Some therselfe for to assay, And some to wynne that feyre may      That semely was in syght. Mekyll was the chevalry That then come to Hungary,      To go juste wyth ther myght. When Tryamowre herde telle of thys tythand, Of that justyng in that londe      Schulde hastely begynne, Yf he wyste that hyt wolde gayne, He wolde purvey hym full fayne      That lady for to wynne. He had nothyr hors nor spere Nor no wepyn hym wyth to were;      That brake hys herte wythynne. Faste he bethynkyth hym bothe evyn and morow Where hym were beste to borowe,      Arste wolde he not blynne. To hys lorde he can meene, And preyed hym that he wolde hym leene      Wepyn, armowre and stede, “For at the justyng wolde Y bene To kythe me wyth the knyghtys kene,      My body for to blede!” Syr Barnard seyde, “What haste thou thoght? Of justyng canste thou ryght noght,      For thou art not of age.” “Syr,” he seyde, “what wott ye Of what strenkyth that Y bee      Or Y be provyd in felde wyth the sage?” Barnarde seyde also hynde, “Tryamowre, syn ye wyll wynde,      Ye schall wante no wede For Y schall lende the all my gere, Hors and harnes, schylde and spere,      And helpe the at thy nede.” Then was Tryamowre full blythe; He thanked Bernard fele sythe      Of hys feyre proferynge. Before the justyng schulde bee, The chylde wente to hys modur free      And preyed hur of hur blessynge. Sche wolde have had hym at home fayne, But ther myght no speche gayne,      Ther myght be no lettynge. Sone on the morne when hyt was day Tryamowre was gysed full gay,      Redyly armyd and dyght. When he was armed on a stede He was a mykell man of brede      And also moche man of myght. Tryamowre to the felde rydeth; Barnard no lenger abydeth      But rode wyth hym full ryght. Ther was no prynce that day in felde That was so semely undur schylde      Nor bettur besemyd a knyght. Then was that lady sett Hye up in a garett,      To beholde that play. There was many a nobull knyght And prynceys proved in that fyght      And themselfe to assay. Wyth helmes and armowre bryght That felde schon as candull lyght,      So were they dyght gay. There was mekyll pres in pryde When eche man began to ryde —      Knyghtys of grete renowne. Hyt befelle Tryamowre in that tyde To be on hys fadurs syde,      The kyng of Arragon. The fyrste that rode noght forthy Was the kyng of Lumbardy,      A man of grete renowne, And Tryamowre rode hym ageyn: Thogh he were mekyll man of mayne,      The chylde broght hym downe. The kyngys sone of Armony, On a stede, wyth grete envy,      To Tryamowre he ranne; And Tryamowre turnyd forthy And justyd wyth hym pertly      And downe he bare hym than. Then seyde Barnard wyth gret honowre “A Tryamowre! A Tryamowre!”      That men myght hym kenne. Maydyn Elyn, that was so mylde, More sche behelde that chylde      Then all othur men. Then was ther a bachylere, A prowde prynce wythowtyn pere,      Syr James he hyght, The emperoure sone of Almayne. He rode Syr Tryamowre agayne,      And he kepyd hym full ryght; Ayther on other sperys braste But neyther to the grounde was caste,      Bothe ware they men of myght. But Syr James had soche a chopp That he wyste not, be my toppe,      Whethur hyt were day or nyght. Thus they justyd tyll hyt was nyght Then they departyd in plyght:      They had nede to reste. Sone on the morne, when hyt was day, The knyghtys gysed them full gay      And proved them full preste. Then, wythowtyn more abode, Every knyght to odur rode      And sykurly can they stryke and threste. Tryamowre rode forthe in haste And prekyd among the oost      Upon the tother syde; The fyrste that rode to hym thon Was the kynge of Arragon      He kepeyd hym in that tyde. He gaf hys fadur soche a clowte That hors and man felle down wythowt dowte      And sone he was dyscryed. Syr Asseryn, the kyngys sone of Naverne, Wolde nevyr man hys body warne, 4      He come hym ageyne. He hyt hym on the helme soo, Soche a strokk he gaf hym tho,      That all men hyt syen. The blode braste owt at hys eerys And hys stede to grownde he berys —      Then was Syr Barnard fayne! Then that lady of grete honowre, Whyte os lylly flowre, —      Hur love was on hym lente. They sesyd not tyll hyt was nyght And then they departyd them in plyght      And to ther ynnys they wente. The nyght was paste, the day was come, Every knyght hys hors hath nome, —      Some were wey and on wylde. The Dewke of Sysell, Syr Sywere, He was the furste in that were      That fared forthe to the felde. Syr Tryamowre toke to hym a spere, To the dewke he can hyt bere,      And hyt hym on the schylde And togedur they wente, That hyt bowed and bente,      So ferse he was in felde! And at that tyme, as Y yow hente, Many a lovely lady gente      Full faste them behelde. The Dewke of Lythyr, Syr Tyrre, He prekyd forthe full pertly      Tryamowre to assayle. Tryamowre turned hym belyve, To the dewke can he dryve      But lothe he was to fayle; Soche a strokk he gaf hym then That the dewke bothe hors and man      Turned toppe ovyr tayle! Then rode to hym the Dewke of Aymere; He servyd hym on the same manere, —      Ther myght no thyng avayle! Kyng Ardus rode forthe in pres; The Emperours sone, Syr James,      A spere spendyd he thare. He prekyd to the kyng wyth fors And bare hym downe of hys hors      And hath hym hurted sare. Then Tryamowre was fayne. Then he pryked to James of Almayn      As kene as ony bore. So harde to hym can he caste That schylde and spere all to-braste;      Then myght James no more. Tryamowre wolde nevyr have reste But bare hym boldely to the beste —      That was moost of honowre. To ylke a prynce he was preste, Hors and man downe he caste,      So styrde he hym in that stowre. Ther was none so gode as he, Therfore they grauntyd hym the gree,      That hyght Tryamowre. Than hath that lady gente Chosyn hym wyth comyns assente      To be hur governowre. Than began the justyng to cese And Tryamowre wened to have had pese,      And onarmed hym also tyte. The Emperours sone, Syr James, Wyth grete pryde aftur hym can pres,      Of hym he had grete dyspyte; To Tryamowre can he crye, “Yelde the thefe, or thou schalt dye.      Thou schalt not go qwyte!” Tho seyde Tryamowre wyth grete envy, “Syth Y am demed to dye,      Some stroke wyll Y smyte.” Ther was no lenger let; On ylke a syde they hym beset      And gaf hym many a wounde. Tryamowre sturde hym so there That whosoevyr he come nere      He was nevyr aftur sownde. Syr Barnard was of myght And halpe Syr Tryamowre to fyght,      And styrde hym in that stownde. Kyng Argus of Arragon Come rydyng to the towne      And sawe them fyght in fere. Hyt dud the kyng mekyll grefe When he sawe the chylde at myschefe      That was hym leve and dere. Than halpe he Tryamowre And broght hym gode socowre.      Men that of myght were Then began a strong stowre; Ther was no lenger socowre      But every man to hys pere. Syr James was prowde and preste, Among the knyghtys can he thruste —      At Tryamowre had he tene. Styfly he stroke in that stownde And gaf Tryamowre a wyckyd wounde      Thorowowt the flanke, Y wene. Then was Tryamowre owt of hys wytt. Syr James on the hedd he hytt      Tyll he felle downe at that stede. When Syr James to the grownd was caste, Hys men were aferde and fledd faste      And morned for drede. Tryamowre was hurte sore That fyght myght he no more,      So byttyrly can he blede. Tryamowre made no lenger lettyng But takyth hys leve at the kyng      And thankyd hym for hys feyre dede. And nevyr wolde he blynne Tyll he come to Syr Barnardys town wythynne,      And to hys modur he yede. That lady sorowed in hur wede When sche sawe hur sone blede,      That all wan was hur blee and hur blode. Tryamowre kyssed hys modur in hye And seyde, “Modur, let be yowre crye;      Me eylyth nothyng but gode.” A leche was sent aftur in that stownde For to serche the chyldys wounde      And for to stawnche the chyldys blode. Tryamowre he undurtoke belyve To save hym upon hys lyfe,      Then mendyd hys modurs mode. The tother knyghtys, the boke says, Prekyd to the palays      The lady for to here. Knyghtys apperyd to hur prest, Then myght sche chose of the beste      Whych that hur wylle were. Tho knyghtys behelde that free But Tryamowre can sche not see,      Then chaungyd hur chere. Sche seyde, “Lordyngys, where ys hee That yysturday wan the gree?      I chese hym to my fere.” All that stode there thay soght But Tryamowre fonde they noght;      Then was that lady woo. Hur barons were before hur broght Sche prayed them to graunt hur hur thoght:      Respyte of yerys two. Sche seyde, “Lordyngys, so God me save He that me wan, he schall me have.      Ye wot wele yowre crye was so.” The lordys assentyd wele ther tylle For sche seyde nothyng but skylle      And that sche wolde no moo. When thys was grauntyd verament, Of all the folke the lady gente      Wolde none but Tryamowre. Every prynce in hys present Home to mete there thay went;      There dyd they lytyll honowre. Syr James men were not fayne For ther lorde was slayne      That was so strong in stowre. And in a chare they hym layne And ladd hym home into Almayne      To hys fadur the Emperowre. The Emperowre felle downe in swown When they hys sone broght hym beforn      And seyde, “Who hath hym slayne?” They seyde, “We wott not what he ys, But Tryamowre he hyght, ywys.      Ther was none there so moche of mayne. The kyng of Arragon alsoo He halpe hym yowre sone to sloo      And also all hys pres!” “Allas!” seyde the Emperowre, “Tyll Y be venged of Tryamowre      Schall Y nevyr cese! Kyng Ardus and Tryamowre They schall abye full sore      The dethe of Syr James!” The Emperowre verament Aftur helpe he hath sente      Prynces proved in pres. The kyng then was sore adredd, For the Emperowre soche power hadd      And wolde hym batayle bede. He sawe hys londe ovyr spradd; To a castell hymselfe fledd      And vetaylyd hyt for drede. The Emperowre was full stowte And beseged the castell abowte      And spradd hys baners in haste, And gaf a sawte to the holde. Kyng Ardus was stowte and bolde      And defendyd hym full faste. Kyng Ardus fendyd hys wonys — Wondur grete were the stonys      That they there owt cowde caste; They brake of some bothe back and bonys, So they farde every day onys.      The sawte dud six dayes laste. The kyng thoght that full stronge To be beseged so longe      That he wyste not what to do; Two barons on hys message he sente And to the Emperowre they went      And prayed hym of reste thoo. “Syr, ye wyte owre kyng wyth wronge, For he nevyr Syr James slowe at none honde,      He wyll hymselfe qwyte full fayne; Nor he was not in present, Nor wyth hys wylle, nor wyth hys assent,      Was not Syr James slayne. That wyll he do betwene yow two, Yowreselfe and he, yf ye wyll soo,      Yf ye hyt on hym wyll say; Or ellys to take yow a knyght, And he to take anodur to fyght,      Be a certayne day: And yf yowre knyght happyn soo To be scowmfetyd or be sloo      Os hyt wyll be may, He wyll put hym yn yowre wylle, To make yowre pees, as hyt ys skylle,      Wythowtyn more delay. And yf hyt so betyde, That the knyght of owre syde      May sle yowrys wyth chawnce, He preyeth yow that ye wyll cese And let owre londys be in pees      Wythowtyn any dystawnce.” The Emperowre, wythowt fayle, Toke the day of batayle      Wyth the kyng at that chawnce, For he had a champyon, In every londe of moste renown, —      In hym was hys fyawnce. When pese was cryed and day tan, Kyng Ardus was a joyfull man;      He trystyd on Tryamowre. He sende to seke hym wythowtyn fayle Agayne the day of batayle,      For hys dere socowre. The messengere ys come and gone But tydyngys of Tryamowre herde he none;      The kyng began to lowre. “Yf he be dedd,” he seyth, “allas! Who schall fyght wyth Moradas,      That ys so styffe in stowre?” Whan Tryamowre was hole and sownde And coverde of hys grevus wounde,      He busked hym to fare. “Moder,” he seyde wyth mylde chere, “Wyste Y who my fadur were,      The lasse were my care!” “Sone,” sche seyde, “wele schalt thou wytt When thou haste done that thou hett,      Be God that for us dye can!” “Modur,” he seyde, “yf ye wyll soo, Have gode day, for Y wyll goo      And speke wyth my lemman.” Tryamowre rode ovyr dale and downe Into the londe of Arragon,      Awnturs to seke and see. As he come rydyng in a foreste He sawe many a wylde beste,      And had howndys thre. To a herte he let renne; Twelve fosters dyscryed hym then,      That were kepars of that fee. They lapped hym in on every syde; Ther was no bote but to abyde,      But loth was hym to flee. He bad a wedd nevyrthelesse And preyed them that he myght passe      Yf he had trespaste oght. Then swere the fosters all twelve, They wolde no wedd but hymselfe,      Othurwes be hyt noght; “Soche ys the lawe of thys londe That ye muste lese yowre ryght honde,      Othur may hyt be noght!” Then seyde Tryamowre, wyth herte throo, “That wedd ys me lothe to forgoo,      But hyt be dere boght.” There was noght ellys to say, But all the fosters to hym cun lay      Wyth sterne worde and mode; But sone of pees they hym pray. Ther wente but oon on lyve away;      There had they lytyll gode. When they were betyn to the growndys, Tryamowre wente to seke hys howndys      And wolde not leve them soo, Tyll he come to a watur syde — There he sawe the beste abyde,      And had slayn hys howndys twoo. The thrydd hownde fyghtyng he fyndys, The beste stroke hym wyth hys tyndys      And Tryamowre was full woo. He stroke hys hors into the rever, Ho socowrd hys hownde and slew the dere.      Hys bewgull blewe he tho. The kyng soyournyd in that tyde At a maner there besyde,      And herde a bewgull blowe. All that were in the halle Wondurd, bothe gret and small,      For no man dud hyt knowe! Wyth that come a foster, Certenly wyth a fowle chere,      Into the kyngys halle, Y trowe; The kyng at hym can frayne, “Syr,” he seyde, “yowre men ar slayne,      Alle nyn on a rowe!” Than he tolde a tale trewe, That was he that the horne blewe      That thys wondur hath wroght. “Twenty men were full fewe To take the knyght, he ys soche a schrewe,      But hyt were dere boght!” Kyng Ardus seyde then, “Y have mystur of soche a man;      God hath hym hedur broght. Full well Y am begone, Y trowe God hath me sent won      That shall Moradas bryng to noght.” The kyng callyd knyghtys fyve And bad them go belyve      And fynde hym at hys play; “No evull worde to hym ye nevyn But sey to hym wyth mylde stevyn,      He wyll not sey yow nay!” Anon the knyghtys ther horsys hente And to the wode then they went      To seke aftur the chylde. They fonde hym be a water syde; He sate and fedd hys howndys in that tyde      Wyth the beest so wylde. They seyde, “God be at yowre game.” He seyde, “Welcome all same.”      He lete hym selfe then be gylyd. They seyde, “Syr, ys hyt thy wylle To come and speke owre kyng tyll,      Wyth wordys meke and mylde?” Tryamowre asked them full hende, “Syr,” he seyde, “what hyght yowre kyng      And what hyght hys londe?” “Thys londe,” they seyde, “hyght Arragon, The kyng hyght Ardus wyth crowne,      Hys place ys nere-honde.” When Tryamowre come into the halle He haylesed the kyng and sythen all;      He knewe hym at that syght. The kyng toke hym be the hande And made hym glad semelande      And asked hym what he hyght. “Syr,” he seyde, “Y hyght Tryamowre, Ye halpe me onys in a stowre,      Ye feynyd yow not to fyght; Had ye not byn, Y had be slayne Wyth the Emperowrs sone of Almayne.      Ye knewe wele that knyght.” The kyng wyste wele that hyt was he, He kyssyd hym tymes thre;      And terys let he falle; He seyde, “Welcome ye bee! Grete blame Y have sofurd for the.”      And sythen he tolde hym all. “Wyth the Emperowre Y have takyn a day To defende me yf Y may.      To Jhesu wolde Y calle; Os Y nevyr Syr James sloo, He delyvyr me of woo,      And so Y trowe He schall.” Tryamowre seyde, “Y am full woo That thou art for me anoyed soo,      Yf Y myght hyt amende. At the day of batayll forthy Ther schall no man fyght but Y,      Take the grace that God wyll sende.” Then was the kyng bothe blythe and gladd, And seyde, “For Moradas Y am not adrad      To batayle when he schall wende. Ofte Y made men aftur yow to spere But myght Y not of yow here —      My ryght schall thou defende.” Than dwellyd they togedur same Wyth mekyll joye and game,      Therof they wantyd ryght noght. They went on hawkyng be the rever And other whyle to take the dere      Where that they gode thoght, Tyll the day of batayll was comen That they had before nomen,      Then the Emperowre thedur soght. Wyth hym he broght kyng and knyght; And Moradas that was so wyght,      To batayle was he broght. Bothe the partys there were harde And sythen to the felde they farde      The place was barryd and dyght. The kyng comfortyd Tryamowre. For sothe, or he went to the stowre,      He made hym a knyght. The kyng kyste hym and seyde hym full feyre, “Tryamowre, Y make the myn heyre,      And for me thou schalt fyght!” “Syr,” he seyde, “have thou no drede, Y tryste in God that He schall me spede,      He standyth wyth the ryght.” Then bothe the partyes swore To holde the covenaunt they made before;      To Jhesu can they calle. Syr Tryamowre and Moradas Wery redy armed in that place      And broght among them all. Ayther were armed on a stede; Of Tryamowre was grete drede —      Ther was non so hynde in halle. Moradas was so styff in stowre Ther myght no man hys dyntys dewre,      But he made them to falle. Than rode they two togedur aryght, Wyth scharp sperys and swerdys bryght      Thay smote togedur sore. Ther sperys they spendyd and brake schyldys; The pecys flewe into the feldys —      Grete dyntys dud they dele thore. All had wondur that there were, Olde, yonge and chylde, Y swere,      So sore they dud smyte. Tryamowre thoght hyt schulde be qwytt, He faylyd of hym, hys hors he hytt,      To hys herte hys spere can byte. Moradas seyde, “Hyt ys grete schame On a hors to wreke thy grame!”      Tryamowre seyde as tyte: “Levyr Y had to have hyt the. Have my hors and let me bee,      Y am lothe to flyte.” Moradas seyde, “Y wyll hym noght Tyll thou have that strok boght,      And wynne hym wyth ryght.” Than leved Tryamowre hys stede; He lyghtyd downe and to hym yede —      On fote can they fyght; Tryamowre sparyd hym noght But evyr in hys hert he thoght,      “Today was Y maked knyght! Owthyr schall he sle me sone, Or on hym Y schall wynne my schone,      Thorow the grace of God almyght.” Grete wondur hyt was to see them two, The strokys that were betwene them tho,      So harde on helme they hewe. Moradas was forfoghtyn and forbledd, Therfore ho was nevyr so sore adredd;      Hym gamed lytyll glewe. Tryamowre was then ferse: Thorowowt the armour into the flesche      He gaf hym a wounde newe. Thorow hys herte the swerde ranne; The Emperowre was then a sory man      And Moradas asked trewe. He kyssyd the Kyng and was hys frende And toke hys leve for to wende,      No lenger wolde he dwelle. Kyng Ardus and Tryamowre Were ledd home wyth honowre,      For sothe as Y yow telle. All that yn that cyté were, Bothe lesse and more,      Hym presed for to see. There were they wythowtyn care, Wyth glad semeland and welfare;      Ther myght no bettur bee. Grete was the honowre and the renowne That he had in Arragon      For hys feyre dede. The Kyng profurd hym full feyre, “Tryamowre, Y make the myn heyre      Of londe and of lede.” “Syr,” he seyde, “gramercy, nay, Efte togedur speke we may,      Y aske yow but a stede: To other londys wyll Y spere, More of awnturs for to here      And who dothe beste yn dede.” There he dwellyd whyll he wolde; The Kyng gave hym bothe sylver and golde      That ryche gyftys were. Gode horsys wantyd he noght To take or to leve whethur he thoght,      And all hys other gere. He toke hys leve at the kynge And kyssed hym at hys partyng;      The Kyngys herte was full sore. He seyde, “Tryamowre, all that ys myne, When thou wylt, hyt schall be thyn,      My londe lesse and more.” Now ys Tryamowre wente, Hym selfe ys in gode atente      For every man ys hys frende. Yn to every londe, ferre and nere, Where he myght of awnturs here,      Thedur can he wende. In all londys he had the gree, Ther was none so gode as hee      Of all the knyghtys hende. Therfore gate he grete name Yn every londe there he came,      In all placys where he can wende. Justyng and turnamentys let he bee And in to Hungary wende wyll hee,      For no man wyll he lett. Betwene two mowntayns was hys way; He went forthe as the strete lay,      Wyth a palmer he mett; He askyd hym gode for charyte, Tryamowre gaf hym wyth hert free.      The palmer for hym can grete; He seyde, “Syr, turne agayne, For or ye passe the mowntayne      Ye schall be slayne or bete!” Tryamowre asked hym, “How soo?” “Syr,” he seyde, “for brethur twoo      That on thys mowntayn can dwelle. Therfore Y prey yow wyth herte fayne That ye wyll turne ageyne,      For drede hyt ys wyth them to melle!” Then seyde Tryamowre, “But they were moo, Owt of my wey wyll Y not goo,      Yf they were devyls of helle!” He seyde, “Palmer, have gode day.” And went forthe on hys way      Os faste os he cowde ryde. He had not redyn but a whyle, Not the mowntans of a myle,      Two knyghtys sawe he hove and abyde; The toon rode hym untyll, The tother hovedd on an hylle      A lytull there besyde. The toon hoved and behelde The strokys they gaf undur schylde;      Gret wondur had hee! Betwene them can he ryde And preyed them to abyde      And sone then let they bee. To Tryamowre he seyde anon, “So strong a knyght sawe Y nevyr non,      Thy name anon telle thou me.” Seyde Tryamowre, “Then wolde Y fayn wytt Why ye two kepe thys strett,      And sythen Y schall telle the.” The tother brothur seyde, “We schall yow tell, For thys cheson here we dwelle,      And wroght all thys woo. We had a brodur they callyd Moradas, Wyth the Emperowre he was      A stalworth man ynogh. In Arragon, for the Emperowre, A knyght they callyd Tryamowre      In batayll dud hym sloo! Yf we wyth hym mett, Therfore kepe we thys strett.”      And Tryamowre logh thoo. “And also, Y say another: Burlonde owre other brother,      The man moost of myght, He besegeth a lady, The kyngys doghtyr of Hungary,      To wedd hur hath he hyght. And so well then hath he spedd, That for sothe he schall hur wedd,      Syr Burlonde that knyght, But yf sche fynde may To defende hur, os Y yow say,      A man of armes bryght; Therfore sche hath takyn a day, Certenly, os Y yow say,      And waged hur glove for to fyght. And that same Tryamowre Loveth that lady peramowre,      As hyt ys me tolde, And sche hath aftur hym sente And we have waytyd hym verament      And slayne hur barons bolde; And yf he wyll to Hungary, Thus forthe schall hys way lye,      And sle hym fayne we wolde. He hath hur socowre hett Yf we may, we schall hym lett,      Y trowe hyt schall not holde. 5 And yf sche at hur day fayle, Ther schall no thyng hur avayle      But Burlonde schall hur wedd, And Tryamowre noght, we kenne. Wherefore ther passyth here no men      Wyth strenkyth but they be kedd. Now have we the cheson tolde, Thy ryght name wytt fayne we wolde      And be thou not adredd. Thou schalt dwelle here wyth us twoo And yf thou wylt not soo,      Evyll then haste thou spedd!” “Spede,” seyde Tryamowre, “as Y may, Whyll Y have behett yow for to say      My name schall Y not layne. Yowre jurnay may ye thynk well sett: Wyth the man have ye mett      That yowre brothur hath slayne. And ye wyll geve me leve to goo, Wyth Burlonde wyll Y fyght so,      For hur love that ye sayne!” “Welcome,” they seyde, “Tryamowre, Hur love thou schalt bye full sore,      Nothyng may the gayne!” They smote togedur wyth hert throo And he allone ageyne them twoo,      To fyght he was full preste. Ther armowre myght not gayne, Bothe thorowowt back and bone      He made the blode to owtbreste. Grete strokys they gaf amonge And that lasted wondur longe      Wythowtyn any reste. So faste abowte conne they goo That they wroght hym mekyll woo,      As Y yow say, be Goddys est! Tryamowrs hors was sekur, ywys, And hys schylde flewe all to pecys,      So harde to hym they yede. ln that tyme ther was not soche thre, Gret wondur hyt was to see,      So doghty they were in dede. But Tryamowre, at the laste, The too brothur downe he caste,      Then had the tothur mekyll drede. No lengur there then wolde he byde But rode forthe there a lytull besyde      And hovedd on hys stede. Sone had Tryamowre slayn the tother, A sory man was hys brothur      And wolde be venged fayne; “Take the grace that God wyll sende me, Me ys levyr to dye then flee.”      Wyth that he turned agayne. Wyth hys swerde to hym he yede, And slew Syr Tryamowrs stede,      Full mekyll was hys mayne. Syr Tryamowre faght on fote, What schall we more of hym mote?      The tothur brothur was slayne. Tryamowre takyth the knyghtys stede, For that lady he was in drede      For sche besegedd lay. The lady had so grete thoght For Tryamowre came noght,      Sche wyste not what to say. The day was come that was sett, Lordus come, as they hett,      Many oon stowte and gay. Burlonde was there redy dyght And bad hur brynge forthe hur knyght      And sche seyde schortly, ‘Nay.” In the castell had sche hyt hyght To defende hur wyth all hur myght,      So as hur counsayle radd; “Certys, yf Tryamowre be on lyfe, Wyth Goddys grace he schall come belyve;      Wyth enemyes Y am bestadd! For Y trowe he loveth me wele And trewe he ys as any stele.      In worlde where evyr he be bestedd, And he wyste of thys case, Hyddur he wolde take hys pase —      My lyfe dar Y lay to wedd.” And ryght wyth that come Tryamowre ln the moost of that stowre,      Then gamed hym no glee. He asked a man what hyt myght meene And he tolde hym all bedeene      How the batayle schulde bee. He sawe Burlonde on hors hove, He rode to hym and waged hys glove;      That lady chalenged hee. 6 Sayde Tryamowre, “Who so wyll fyght, Y am redy in my ryght      To slee hym or he mee!” The lady on a towre stode And sche wende that he had ben wode      For sche knewe not hys myght. Sche asked Barnarde then, “Syr, can not ye a knyght kenne      That ys to batayle dyght? A kreste he beryth in blewe.” Syr Barnarde then hym knewe      And seyde at that syght, “Madam, God hath sent yow socowre, For yondur ys Syr Tryamowre,      That wyth Burlonde wolde fyght.” Then was that lady full fayne, Bothe to Jhesu can they prayne      To gyf hym grace to spede. Tryamowre to hym berys, And they all to-braste ther sperys,      That bothe to the grownde they yede. That ylke metyng was so throo When bothe to the grownde conne goo,      The rychest in wede. They settyd strokes of mode, When they bothe to the grownde yode,      They were bothe doghty in dede. They start up bothe wythyn a whyle, Ther stedys on the grownde lay full styll;      On fote they faght in fere. Ther was none in felde thoo That cowde chese the bettur of them twoo,      So boldely they them bere. The batayle lasted wondur longe, They seyde, “Be Burlonde nevyr so stronge,      He hath fonde hys pere.” Wyth swerdys scharpe the faght faste, At ylke stroke the fyre owt braste —      They nyghed wondur nere. Tryamowre at hym conne mynte; Hys swerde felle fro hym at that dynte.      To the grownde can hyt goo. Then was Burlonde full gladd And that lady was sore adradd,      Knyghtys were full woo! Tryamowre asked hys swerde agayne But Burlonde faste can hym frayne,      Then seyde he to hym soo: “Telle trewly what thou hyght, And why thou chalangyst that lady bryght,      And take thy swerde the too.” Sayde Tryamowre, “On that covenaund My ryght name schall Y not wande      Ware thou the devyll of helle! Men calle me Syr Tryamowre, Y wanne thys lady in a stowre,      Wyth tonge as Y the telle!” Then seyde Burlonde, “Thou hyt was That slewe my brodur Moradas;      A feyre chawnce there the befelle.” Tho seyde Tryamowre, wyth hert throo, “So Y dud thy brethur twoo      That dwellyd upon the yondur hylle.’” Then was Burlond all preste, “Tryamowre have thou no reste.      Now am Y well bethoght; Thy swerde getyst thou nevyr agayne, Tyll Y be venged or be slayne,      Sorowe haste thou soght!” Tho seyde Tryamowre, “Holde thou thy pese, That schall the rewe or that we cese.      Go forthe! Y drede the noght!” Burlond to fyght was bowne; Hys fote schett and he felle downe,      And Tryamowre wylyly wroght. Tryamowre hys swerde he hente And agayne to Burlond he wente      And servyd hym on the newe gyse. He smote Burlond of be the kneys And hewe hys leggys all in pecys      Ryght as he schulde ryse. “A lytull lower, syr,” seyde hee, “And let us small go wyth thee;      Now are we bothe at oon assyse!” A lowde laghtur that lady logh And Syr Barnard was prowde ynogh      And thanked God fele sythes. Burlonde on hys stompus stode, Wyte hym not yf he were wode,      Then faght he wondur faste! Tryamowre on the hedd he hytt; He had gevyn hym an evull smytt      But hys swerde braste. Tryamowre seyde to hym full sone: “Thy gode dayes are nere done,      Thy power ys nere paste!” Tryamowre at hym can stryke That hedd and fete lay bothe in lyke,      To grownde was he caste. Now ys Burlonde slayne, And Tryamowre, mekyll of mayne,      To the castell ys he wente. That lady that was so mekyll of myght, At the gate she kepyd the knyght      And in hur armes hym hente. Sche seyde, “Welcome, Syr Tryamowre, Ye have boght my love full sowre!      My love ys on yow lente!” Then seyde all the barons bolde, “Of hym we wyll owre londes holde      Be the comyns assent.” Then was ther no nother to say But takyn they have another day      That he schulde hur wedd. Tryamowre had aftur hys modur sente; Barnard aftur hur was went      And to the cowrte hur ledd. Tryamowre seyde to hys modur then, “Now Y wolde my fadur kenne,      For now have we well spedd! Telle me now, modur free, Who ys my fadur and what hyt hee?      For nothyng be ye adredd.” Hys modur togedur hur fyngers can folde And all togedur sche hym tolde      And mekyll sche can hym meene. “Kyng Ardus of Arragone, He ys thy fadur, and thou art hys sone,      And Y was hys weddyd qwene; And afturward Y was delefully demydd, And owt of that londe Y was flemydd.      Y nevyr wyste what hyt myght meene, Why hyt was, nothur wherefore, Nothur myght hyt wete lesse nor more,      But Y was broght in tene!” When Tryamowre thys tale herde, How he wyth hys modur farde,      Letturs he dudd wryte; To the kyng he sente them tylle And preyed hym, yf hyt were hys wylle,      That he faylyd hym not at that tyde, But that he wolde come to Hungary For to worschyp that mangery;      Therof he hym besoght. Then was the kyng wondur gladd, The messengere gode gyftys hadd      That the tythyngys broght. The day was come that was sett The kyng come as he hadd hett,      Wyth mekyll pres in pryde. The lordys wolde no lenger lett; The maydyn forthe was fett      And erlys on ylke a syde. The lady to the churche they ledd, A byschopp togedur them to wedd,      Yn herte ys not to hyde; And sone aftur the weddynge They crowned Tryamowre kynge;      They wolde no lenger abyde. Ye may well wytt certeynly That there was a grete mangery,      There as so many were mett: Qwene Margaret began the deyse, Kyng Ardus, wythowtyn lees,      Be hur was he sett. The kyng behelde the qwene, Hym thoght that he schulde hur have seene,      Wyth glad chere he hur grett: “Yf hyt be yowre wylle,” he seyde, “Madam, Telle me what ys yowre name,      For nothynge that ye lett.” “Syr,” seyde the qwene then, “Some tyme was ye cowde me kenne,      And ye were well bethoght.” The kyng spake not oon worde Tyll men had etyn and drawen the borde,      But stylle he satt in thoght. Then the kyng toke the lady gente And to a chaumbur anon they went.      Syr Tryamowre dud they calle. Sche seyde, “Here ys yowre sone, Knowe hym yf ye konne.”      And sythen sche tolde hym all. Sche tolde how Marrok wowyd hur in dede Aftur that hur lorde yede,      For nothyng wolde he spare. “Y seyde he schulde be drawe For hys sory sawe,      And he seyde he wolde no mare! Aftur that, in that wode so wylde, He mett me and Y wyth chylde;      To fordo me thoght he thare, And Syr Roger slewe of hys men fiftene. And Y went away full clene,      They wyste nevyr whare. Sone aftur in a wode so wylde Y was delyvyr of a chylde,      Wyth mekyll sorowe and care; Then come Syr Barnard Aftur a dere full harde,      And of me he was ware. “He seyde, ‘Dame, what doyst thou here?’ And hym Y tolde of my matere;      Then syghed he full sore He toke up my sone and mee And ledd us home wyth herte free      And evyr sythen have we byn thore.” Then was there joye and blys, To see them togedur kysse      Full ofte, or they cowde cese. Kyng Ardus was nevyr so blythe, He kyssyd Tryamowre twenty sythe,      And for hys sone he hym chese. Then the qwene was full gladd, That sche soche a lorde hadd,      Ye wott, wythowtyn lees. Sche seyde, “Y have well spedd That soche a lorde hath me wedd      That beryth the pryce in prees.” Then dwellyd they bothe in fere Wyth all maner deynteys that were dere,      Wyth solas on every syde. Kyng Ardus toke hys leve and wente And ledd wyth hym hys lady gente,      Home rychely conne they ryde. All hys londe was full fayne That the qwene was come ageyn,      The worde spronge full wyde. Kynge Ardus and hys wyfe Wyth joye and blys they ladd ther lyfe,      Yn hert hyt ys noght to hyde. Kyng Tryamowre and hys qwene, Mekyll joye was them betwene;      Man chylder had they twoo. Aftur that hys fadur was dedd Then he cowde no nothur redd,      Ywys he was full woo! Hys yongyst sone then ordeygned hee Aftur hys fadur kynge to bee,      God grawnt hym wele to rejoyse! Here endyth Syr Tryamowre, That was doghty in every stowre,      And evyr wanne the gree, as the boke seys. God bryng us to that blys That evyr schall laste wythowt mys.      Amen, amen, for charytee!

(see note) while pause tell sorrow exactly example; learn hear listen; voice was named promise (see note) fickle; person defame very much; gentle Because she did; much pleasing; look steel in wood; (see note) did; lament heir from; (see note) gentle begot knew (see note) mourn sojourn Privately; worried; (see note) from From; together guard well good fortune part company has; crossed attempting evil wooed vowed feared; peril indeed If he might change her mind altercation trust; entrusted; (see note) protection gladly treason foes advise liberal; (see note) live know; person lie in wait for (see note) death inquiries; prepare you wish entice; amiss No pastime shall amuse you test know pleasing offense wicked himself then believed extremely ill satisfied pagan realm war in behalf of knightly prowess fierceness fame heathen lands Gascony; Germany Knew; glory (see note) accomplished; mission River; Bethlehem town dead; alive ships secretly sea [she] told; tidings; (see note) semblance inquire pain pleased believe thrive you treachery prosper after you went seduced Entrusted Blame moan As if believed in the act two weeks truly Before; (see note) I ran angrily where judgment thought; shamed promised me land and rent (income) bid aloud; silently complain advice put to death Who since certainly burn; slay; (see note) Because it might be a sin by; advice exiled indeed depart give; steed beyond money judge just bastard; heir Unless I will not cease until it is accomplished rest had her dressed; clothes shaggy was named courteous burned by their agreement go; (see note) He gave them, [I tell you] without lie banished fainted slay Mourned because cause place went also; (see note) villainy organized himself retinue obey him haste readily Very much he would like to kill her Know well fear aware toward them mob Since deaths; pay for strong challenge yield therefore dearly pay for haste fierceness Proved (see note) strong girdle They were requited of (revenged on) him chopped; crazy hound; (see note) Helped; by Fiercely beset (under attack) horse hawthorne bush cease hid helped As Forty; did throw paid; reward in armor; certainly victory lacked; armor may evil come to him thrust Quickly blow When malice (see note) horse anger ill conceived knew not how to proceed anxiety wicked; (see note) Thrice death very Dispirited exchanged escaped injured saw; had gone swamp lost provocation you kill altogether you have done this for me remain there advise; guide loyal dog licking thought; healed all he could licked bethought himself bury buried him; bark; (see note) Then remained; there unmoving go foes nevertheless (see note) endure pains; fierce lay gave birth to bough pains; done fair very quickly embraced; gently exhaustion horse Who was called; (see note) female deer countenance together linden approached extremely know misfortune manner beset servants as she wished tend; right Her bidding was quickly accomplished (see note) nurse much of what she wanted gracious person; friend pleased her; merriment annoyed taught always new (things) great; bone; limb fair of skin; color cause tell grew once prey then; go (return) lived at; Yule; (see note) palace dinner run went (see note) went thither know in; manner table then very moment exiled mean before now marvellous tidings next day far inside cease joy meets leapt by; seized revenged lost regretted treachery time defense against treachery banished been By precious; suppose As intact as when he was buried; (see note) left adventurous banished at once had him drawn; hatred corpse; great pomp buried it; next far and near find out ruined No happiness could sway him from grief unhappy expression healthy And how his hound then helped him death (end); stop speaking; (see note) child large; lean limb powerful pleasing Yet angered heir; rule as is advised troop knew how to or was able to rightfully fear; (see note) loudly tie; mate Unless; equal A tournament to be announced prize splendor allowed there a while diverse heard dressed themselves clothed test lady news soon be of use prepare; gladly neither fight evening; morning Until [then]; cease loan be prove myself know (see note) know strength experienced courteously go lack; armor shield happy many times offer There was no stopping him prepared breadth great more handsome upper floor fighting test armed throng; pomp (see note) against great; strength youth Armenia boldly For know Helen courtly youth Than (see note) peer was called Germany against warded him off Either one; broke blow head under oath arrayed themselves eagerly waiting thrust galloped; host then blow; (see note) noticed Navarre He (Asseryn) He (Tryamour); hym (Asseryn) saw burst placed ceased inns past; (see note) taken Some [horses] were far away; running free Sicily battle it (the spear) fierce inform Lithuania; (see note) quickly help from sorely glad; (see note) rode boar throw burst asunder For every; ready he stirred himself; battle victory That one was called common expected unarmed; quickly resentment doomed pause each stirred; occasion sound (healthy) stirred together in danger beloved; precious helped fierce battle equal (i.e., single combats) eager anger Sturdily heavily delay from cease went pale; complexion in haste Nothing afflicts me doctor (leach) quickly mood other; (see note) Rode presented themselves noble (lady) victory choose; mate years lords proclamation to but what was reasonable she wished for nothing else truly; (see note) Wanted presently; (see note) dinner (see note) battle wagon led is called great of strength [as he] slay force pay for indeed battle would offer him battle land over-run by a hostile force provisioned assault defended; dwelling (see note) once assault did severe knew then accuse in any way (see note) If you will say it to him (i.e., speak the agreement) By (see note) discomfited; slain will power appropriate happens yours disagreement trust peace; arranged trusted frown fierce; battle (see note) readied If I knew less know what you promised did die beloved Adventures beast And [Tryamour] After; hart; gave chase foresters keepers; herd surrounded recourse unwilling asked a pledge at all would receive no pledge It may not be otherwise (see note) fearless Unless attack spirit alive beast third tusks river wild animal bugle; then remained manor lowly unhappy asked fierce fighter the victory would cost a lot of lives need hither one immediately give voice took beguiled is called near by greeted; then everyone else looked pleased helped; battle You did not shirk By tears suffered set As; slew harassed set right Because of; afraid inquire together with each other lacked nothing one wild game Where they pleased appointed went bold brave fared barred; (see note) before; battle (see note) heir protect Were able hardy endure spent blows; gave avenged missed (see note) avenge; anger I'd rather have hit you Take; remain flee I do not want him payed for [I] win left went slay shoes (spurs); (see note) had fought and bled a lot he; ever fierce truce; (see note) He (the Emperor) remain Both of the lower and higher classes thronged happiness offered people thank you Another time horse go adventures (see note) intent (disposition) victory he left off stop mountains road money call out to fight Even if; more Pilgrim duration; (see note) halt The one watched they left off quickly guard this road reason slay In the hope that; might meet laughed another [reason] beseiges (tries to win) promised truly as set issued a challenge; (see note) for love's sake; (see note) awaited slay He has promised aid to her fail help unless; proved reason know If you are not promised conceal task; undertaken If pay for fierce against ready not serve its purpose burst out gave each other grace trustworthy they went at him valiant The one hovered about I would rather went horse great; strength fought tell (see note) besieged worry knew promised promised advised alive quickly beset steel situated If make his way I dare pledge my life on it the thickest; battle enjoyed; delight continuously mounted thought; mad recognize in battle dress crest; wears; blue pray succeed bears down on fierce (see note) in armor dealt; violence bold fought together then conduct themselves his match they fought earnestly sparks flew did aim a blow ask are called And [then you can] refuse won; battle fearless plenty eager resolved before prepared slipped craftily seized manner (i.e., with sword) at the knees Just as he was about to let us make you become small size laughed many times stumps; (see note) Blame; furious would have; blow broke nearly over alike (i.e., cut off) met took is fixed on you nothing more appointed for know prospered what is he called concerned tell wrongfully judged banished knew; signify understand grief honor; feast (see note) news promised great entourage delay brought each There is no hiding it feast dais; (see note) without lie (certainly) By must have seen her before delay There was a time; recognize If; mindful eaten; removed; table wooed left he (Marrok); drawn vile speech murder completely aware story since before times accepted who wins victory in combat together dainties; expensive happiness spread Male children he didn't know what to do he was so unhappy ordained won the prize fail

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Footnotes

SIR TRYAMOUR: FOOTNOTES

1 The king ordered his armed forces to prepare

2 Why are you so happy about this thing that has happened?

3 Every man showed him love, in a manner befitting their station in life

4 Whenever a man protected his body (i.e., put on armor)

5 I think it (Tryamour's promise of aid) will not hold good

6 He (Tryamour) issued a challenge for (the hand of) the lady

SIR TRYAMOUR: NOTES

Before 1 A colophon appears on the leaf preceding the romance: Here endyth Syr Egyl­lamowre of Artas and begynneth Syr Tryamowre.

19 The name Marrok, and the name of the giant, Moradas, are similar to the names of the giant brothers, Marras and Arrok, in Sir Eglamour of Artois.

27 A proverbial expression meaning "as true the steel spear point is to the wooden shaft."

38 Following the tradition established by Urban II, who preached the First Crusade throughout France, knights took vows from the pope to fight the infidel in the Holy Land. As a sign that they were God's soldiers, they wore red crosses sewed to their surcoats.

45 us. MS: was. Fellow's emendation. Schmidt adheres to the MS but suggests in her note that us makes better sense. The idiom refers to Christ's crucifixion which redeemed the souls of humanity.

48 Fellows emends Prevy to Hevy.

80ff. The queen addresses Marrok, an inferior, with the singular pronoun, while he addresses her in the polite plural.

91 lady free is a conventional epithet for a courtly lady, one who is liberal in rewarding knights. Here the pun on freedom may be ironic.

103 This is a proverbial expression occurring in Guy of Warwick and Sir Perceval of Galles (Syr Tryamowre, ed. Schmidt, p. 88).

139-41 The sense of these lines is "When he had accomplished all that he had pledged / With words that were true." The list of sites which comes next follows grammatically from line 139, done hys pylgrymage . . . To Fleme Jordan, etc. Though Ardus' earlier vow (line 32) refers to crusading, crusading and pilgrimage to the Holy Land were spiritually and geographically analogous, not to mention historically linked.

156 "She told the king her tidings" makes better sense (Syr Tryamowre, ed. Schmidt, p. 89).

189 A common euphemism (see Sir Tristrem and Syr Tryamowre, ed. Schmidt, p. 89).

212 An adulterous queen was legally considered a traitor, and burning was the accepted punishment.

246 wayne wyth the wynde. I.e., leave with the swiftness of the wind (Syr Tryamowre, ed. Schmidt, p. 89).

270 This formula appears in Chaucer's romance parody, Sir Thopas (CT VII[B²]796).

305 I take the sense of the passage to be "There were none of that company, no matter how bold or strong, that Sir Roger did not hit on the head so that his sword split them to the waist. The soldiers requited them, striking Roger rapidly as though they were berserk."

313 Trewe-love as a dog's name also occurs in the ballad Horn Childe.

343 The line begins with a large capital B, marking the beginning of the second section of the story relating the vicissitudes of the queen and the eventual discovery of her innocence.

353 The sense of the line seems to be that the men did not know how they would account to Marrok for their failure to find Margaret. The word unkynde here has the sense of "unnatural," i.e., "unknightly." Defacing the body of a fallen adversary was most unchivalric.

392 hym. MS: hy. Schmidt's emendation.
       ryn and mosse. MS: ryn mosse. Schmidt's emendation.

401 Hungary is the setting for the adventures of Sibille, Charlemagne's calumniated queen. It is considerably closer to the frontiers of Charlemagne's empire than to Aragon, but romance need not observe realities of physical and political geography.

422 Barnard is a messenger (i.e., emmissary or herald), perhaps for the king. The fact that he is hunting a hart is an indicator of chivalric status.

452 Tryamour is also the name of the fairy mistress in Sir Launfal.

485 The first day of Yule is Christmas Day.

499 in hys wede. Literally "in his clothes"; a formulaic filler here perhaps best glossed as "at his [the dog's] behavior."

567 Line 388 suggests that the body had begun to decay. An uncorrupted corpse was a sign of special sanctity.

613 Space for a large capital A at the beginning of this line marks the end of the calumniated queen episode and the beginning of Tryamour's adventures.

639 Dread and fear were considered appropriate responses to a lord. By cultivating them in his subjects, he would be able to maintain order.

690 Fifteen seems to have been the usual age for knighting of romantic heroes. See Degrebelle (Eglamour’s son) and Octavian.

736 noght forthy is usually translated "nevertheless," which seems inappropriate here. "Rode forth" would make better sense, though it does not fit the meter or rhyme. See line 400 for a similar locution.

754 A bachylere was a novice knight or a knight without vassals who served under the banner of a greater knight.

781 There is a similar formula in the corresponding scene of father-son combat in the Thornton manuscript of Eglamour (line 1260) where the father gives the son swylke a swappe.

799 In the manuscript, this line begins with a large capital T, marking the beginning of the third day of the tournament. From this proceeds James' ambush and the Emperor's revenge on Ardus.

814 Lithuania was an important state in the lands of the Teutonic Knights; see Chaucer's description of the Knight in the General Prologue to The Canterbury Tales (I[A]54-55).

832 It seems odd that Tryamour would be pleased (fayne) to see James wound Ardus, unless he is pleased to have a reason to attack James.

916 This reference to a book as the source for a romance is highly conventional. There is no reason to believe it alludes to an actual volume.

940-1020 This passage corresponds to the fragment preserved in the Rawlinson manuscript.

943 in hys present does not make sense. Schmidt suggests, in thys present, i.e., "now."

945 The knights achieved little honor in that the princess would accept none of them.

983 The corresponding line in the Rawlinson fragment reads, With gunnes and grete stones round.

997 But in lines 871-78 Argus came to Tryamour's aid against James.

1006 Schmidt (Syr Tryamowre, p. 93) notes that yowre is "evidently a scribal error for owre."

1036 In the manuscript, this line begins with a large capital W, marking the episode of Tryamour's departure to claim Helen.

1067 The loss of a hand was a typical penalty for poaching.

1188 barryd. The suggestion seems to be that the battlefield was enclosed.

1191 Tryamour is now knighted, having proven himself in the earlier combats and acquired a patron of sufficient status to grant knighthood. He is no longer a bachelor, and is now able to lead men in battle.

1222 Killing a horse was considered to be unchivalric.

1238 An idiom. A new-made knight was said to win his shoes when he performed a gallant deed (Syr Tryamowre, ed. Schmidt, p. 94).

1251-52 Moradas may be a mistake for Ardus. The following line, including a kiss of peace between Ardus and the Emperor, makes better sense with this reading (see Fellows, Of Love and Chivalry, p. 308.

1282 In the manuscript this line begins with a large capital H marking Tryamour's departure from Ardus and his journey through the pass of the giant brothers.

1325 the mowntans of a myle. That is, the time in which a mile can be traveled.

1368 To wage one's glove was an idiom equivalent to "throw down the gauntlet." The sending of a glove to an opponent was a challenge to combat.

1370 "Love par amours," a French expression, refers to courtly - that is, romantic - love.

1441 In the manuscript, this line begins with a large capital T, marking the final episode: the combat with Burlond.

1496, 1499 Such repetition is unusual in Sir Tryamour and may be a corruption.

1561 Chevy Chase, a fifteenth-century ballad, contains a similar incident (Fellows, Of Love and Chivalry, p. 309).

1619 It was traditional to give gifts to messengers and minstrels.

1636 To begin the dais is to sit at the head of the table, the place of honor and high social status.