How her quen was stole owy, Ten yer gon with fairy, And how her king en exile yede, Bot no man niste in wiche thede, And how the steward the lond gan hold, And other mani thinges him told. A morwe ogain none tide He maked his wiif ther abide, The beggers clothes he borwed anon, And heng his harp his rigg[150] opon, And went him in to that cite, That men might him bi hold and se. Erls, and barouns bold, Burjays, and levedis, him gun bi hold; Lo! thai seyd, swiche a man, Hou long the here hongeth him opan! Lo! hou his berd hongeth to his kne, He is y clongen[151] al so a tre. And as he yede in the strete, With his steward he gan mete, And loude he sett on him a crie, Sir steward, he seyd, merci, Icham an harpour of hethenisse, Helpe me now in this distresse! The 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 mani lording was bi him sete; There were trompour and tabourers, Harpours fele, and crouders,[152] 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 blifulest notes he herped there, That ever ani man y herd with ere, Ich man liked wel his gle. The steward biheld and gan y se, And knewe the harp als blive; Menstrel, he seyd, so mot thou thrive, Where hadestow this harp, and hou? Ypray that thou me telle now. Lord, quath he, in uncouthe thede, Thurch a wildernes as Y yede; Ther Y founde in a dale, With lyouns a man to torn smale, And wolves him frete[153] with teth so scharp; Bi him Y found this 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 schall Y do, That have swiche a lord y lore,[154] A way, that Ich was y bore, That him was so hard grace y yarked,[155] And so vile deth y marked! Adoun he fel aswon to grounde, His barouns him tok up in that stounde,[156] And telleth him hou it geth, It is no bot[157] of mannes deth. King Orfeo knewe wel 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,[158] Right here to the tounes ende, And with a begger her in[159] y nome, And were mi self hider y come, Poverlich to the thus stille, For to asay thi gode wille; And Ich founde the thus trewe, Thou no schust it never rewe, Sikerlich for love, or ay,[160]