Fourteenth Century Verse & Prose

English literature -- Middle English, 1100-1500; Great Britain -- History -- 14th century -- Sources
'Lo,' þai seyd, 'swiche a man!                     505
      Hou long þe here hongeþ him opan!
      Lo, hou his berd hongeþ to his kne!
      He is yclongen also a tre!'
        And as he ȝede in þe strete,
      Wiþ his steward he gan mete,                       510
      And loude he sett on him a crie:
      'Sir steward,' he seyd, 'merci!
      Icham an harpour of heþenisse;
      Help me now in þis destresse!'
      Þe steward seyd: 'Com wiþ me, come;                515
      Of þat ichaue þou schalt haue some.
      Euerich gode harpour is welcom me to,
      For mi lordes loue Sir Orfeo.'
        In þe castel þe steward sat atte mete,
      And mani lording was bi him sete.                  520
      Þer were trompour<s> and tabourers,
      Harpours fele, and crouders.
      Miche melody þai maked alle,
      And Orfeo sat stille in þe halle,
      And herkneþ. When þai ben al stille,               525
      He toke his harp and tempred schille,
      Þe bli<sse>fulest notes he harped þere
      Þat euer ani man yherd wiþ ere;
      Ich man liked wele his gle.
        Þe steward biheld and gan yse,                   530
      And knewe þe harp als bliue.
      'Menstrel,' he seyd, 'so mot þou þriue,
      Where hadestow þis harp, and hou?
      Y pray þat þou me telle now.'
      'Lord,' quaþ he, 'in vncouþe þede,                 535
      Þurch a wildernes as y ȝede,
      Þer y founde in a dale
      Wiþ lyouns a man totorn smale,
      And wolues him frete wiþ teþ so scharp.
      Bi him y fond þis ich harp;                        540
      Wele ten ȝere it is ygo.'
      'O,' quaþ þe steward, 'now me is wo!
      Þat was mi lord Sir Orfeo.
      Allas! wreche, what schal y do,
      Þat haue swiche a lord ylore?                      545
      A way! þat ich was ybore!
      Þat him was so hard grace yȝarked,
      And so vile deþ ymarked!'
      Adoun he fel aswon to grounde.
      His barouns him tok vp in þat stounde,             550
      And telleþ him hou it geþ—
      It nis no bot of manes deþ.
        King Orfeo knewe wele bi þan
      His steward was a trewe man
      And loued him as he auȝt to do,                    555
      And stont vp and seyt þus: 'Lo,
      Steward, herkne now þis þing:
      Ȝif ich were Orfeo þe king,
      And hadde ysuffred ful ȝore
      In wildernisse miche sore,                         560
      And hadde ywon mi quen owy
      Out of þe lond of fairy,
      And hadde ybrouȝt þe leuedi hende
      Riȝt here to þe tounes ende,
      And wiþ a begger her in ynome,                     565
      And were miself hider ycome
      Pouerlich to þe, þus stille,
      For to asay þi gode wille,
      And ich founde þe þus trewe,
      Þou no schust it neuer rewe:                       570
      Sikerlich, for loue or ay,
      Þou schust be king after mi day.
      And ȝif þou of mi deþ hadest ben bliþe,
      Þou schust haue voided also swiþe.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Fourteenth Century Verse & Prose

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