Fourteenth Century Verse & Prose

English literature -- Middle English, 1100-1500; Great Britain -- History -- 14th century -- Sources
Al on snowe-white stedes;                          145
      As white as milke were her wedes:
      Y no seiȝe neuer ȝete bifore
      So fair creatours ycore.
      Þe king hadde a croun on hed,
      It nas of siluer, no of gold red,                  150
      Ac it was of a precious ston,
      As briȝt as þe sonne it schon.
      And as son as he to me cam,
      Wold ich, nold ich, he me nam,
      And made me wiþ him ride                           155
      Opon a palfray, bi his side,
      And brouȝt me to his palays,
      Wele atird in ich ways,
      And schewed me castels and tours,
      Riuers, forestes, friþ wiþ flours,                 160
      And his riche stedes ichon;
      And seþþen me brouȝt oȝain hom
      Into our owhen orchard,
      And said to me þus afterward:
      "Loke, dame, to-morwe þatow be                     165
      Riȝt here vnder þis ympe-tre,
      And þan þou schalt wiþ ous go,
      And liue wiþ ous euermo;
      And ȝif þou makest ous ylet,
      Whar þou be, þou worst yfet,                       170
      And totore þine limes al,
      Þat noþing help þe no schal;
      And þei þou best so totorn,
      Ȝete þou worst wiþ ous yborn."'
        When King Orfeo herd þis cas,                    175
      'O we!' quaþ he, 'allas, allas!
      Leuer me were to lete mi liif,
      Þan þus to lese þe quen mi wiif!'
      He asked conseyl at ich man,
      Ac no man him help no can.                         180
        Amorwe þe vndertide is come,
      And Orfeo haþ his armes ynome,
      And wele ten hundred kniȝtes wiþ him
      Ich y-armed stout and grim;
      And wiþ þe quen wenten he                          185
      Riȝt vnto þat ympe-tre.
      Þai made scheltrom in ich a side,
      And sayd þai wold þere abide,
      And dye þer euerichon,
      Er þe quen schuld fram hem gon.                    190
      Ac ȝete amiddes hem ful riȝt
      Þe quen was oway ytuiȝt,
      Wiþ fairi forþ ynome;
      Men wist neuer wher sche was bicome.
        Þo was þer criing, wepe and wo.                  195
      Þe king into his chaumber is go,
      And oft swoned opon þe ston,
      And made swiche diol and swiche mon
      Þat neiȝe his liif was yspent:
      Þer was non amendement.                            200
        He cleped togider his barouns,
      Erls, lordes of renouns;
      And when þai al ycomen were,
      'Lordinges,' he said, 'bifor ȝou here
      Ich ordainy min heiȝe steward                      205
      To wite mi kingdom afterward;
      In mi stede ben he schal,
      To kepe mi londes ouer al.
      For, now ichaue mi quen ylore,
      Þe fairest leuedi þat euer was bore,               210
      Neuer eft y nil no woman se.
      Into wildernes ichil te,
      And liue þer euermore
      Wiþ wilde bestes in holtes hore.
      And when ȝe vnderstond þat y be spent,             215
      Make ȝou þan a parlement,
      And chese ȝou a newe king.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Fourteenth Century Verse & Prose

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