My fair child and bonny May

  I am here to bring you hame.

  The sone was down behind the hils

  Ere Knight Richard rode away

  With the tall spears of his good men

  About the bonny may.

  My fair friends and good ladies

  My sleeve is back ye see

  And the stout arm of a good knight

  Is a leal staff for me.

  Say farewell to my father dear

  And my mother the good dame

  I shall soon be clean forgotten

  For she has many more at home hame?

  In the gloaming with horns blowing

  So blithely they rode away

  But or ever the yellow moon was up

  They were met among the hay

  Are our hands so light that we should flee

  Said then the Knight Richard

  Fair knight our hands are heavy enow

  To give strokes full hard

  Give back what you have stolen Sir Knight

  And I will let you free

  She shall go freely said Sir Richard

  She shall choose twixt thee and me

  I hold two things in my hand father

  The one was given to me

  The other I chose by mine own self

  And mine shall it ever be

  I rede you father go home again

  And take Alice on your knee

  Let my mother comb her yellow hair

  But say farewell to me

  Let all my sisters pray for me

  Arow in the chapel fair

  Go back without me father

  With one lock of my gold hair

  By God quoth he alive or dead

  Spears for Lord Lawrence spare no soul

  Verily then you might have seen

  Many a man in the swathies ? roll.

  By Saint Mary the spear points

  Rent her kirtle here and there

  By God I swear that some mans sword

  Cleft the coif above her hair

  Strange husbandry they held by moonlight

  In the uplands by my fay

  And instead of the crutched tedding forks crutched, crossed

  With strong spears they turned the hay

  To have seen Sir Richard fight

  A man would have had great joy

  For he was more wood than Launcelot

  Or Sir Hector of Troy.

  This and that he ranged the field

  He smote down many a man

  And great wrath had the Lord Sir Lawrence

  When that he saw nothing wan

  But those that fight against maidens

  May well feel faint of heart

  They gat away right hastely sic

  Who were of his part

  Lo here is a hole in my coat of fenice

  Some hammer hath made I wis

  Thrust thy sword through Sir Richard I pray

  And make a good end of this

  So that my daughter Catherine

  May dance with her fair feet

  Over my bones at her wedding

  Than to live this will be more sweet

  My Lord to pray for her pardon

  My May in sooth durst not come here

  Though she thinks right nought but good

  That you are crazed she hath great fear

  Wherefore I kneel and pray for grace

  This must be the good Lords will

  That we should come together at last

  Good Sir I pray our joy fulfill

  My Lord I say by the Soldan

  I was bound with an iron chain

  Not for that I broke prison

  I came to my may again.

  And great rocks by Illyrica

  I was wrecked in the salt sea

  With many dangers of robbers

  I came through Pruce and Bohemie

  I think God took me out of the sea

  I think also God broke my chain

  It was Gods will no doubt

  I should come to my may again.

  You were an hundred to fourscore

  And yet lo Sir your men are fled

  If it had not been but by Gods help

  I think we should have been but dead

  Yea this is ever the way with maids

  Under foot may she be trod

  I trow they do right what they list

  Then say this thing is of God

  Lo Sir and is it the Lords will

  I should curse her and thee

  By God whosever will it is

  I do it now right heartily.

  Nathless they wed the morrow morn

  Though she was but a cursed child

  Sir Richard had a sorrowful weeping bride

  Twas little that they smiled

  But or ever the priest did on his cape

  Lord Laurence came in there

  Like a wood man he ran apace

  Up to the altar fair

  He spread out his arms wide

  And took Catherine up therein

  He put back her yellow hair

  And kissed her cheek and chin

  He yode to the Knight Richard

  And kissed him on the mouth

  Thereat came the priest forth

  From the sacristy on the south

  Shut up your book awhile Sir Priest

  I have a thing to tell

  That will be a right good sermon

  In church it will go right well

  As I lay abed last night

  For pure rage I fell asleep

  My lady wife lay there by me

  And she did little but weep

  Then as I slept I dreamed a dream

  I was in church right fair

  But by St. Mary good orange trees

  And fair roses grew up there

  And the altar was of red gold

  And likewise the great pix thereon

  That held Gods body seemed right well

  To be cut out of a goodly stone

  And there was music sung therein

  More goodly than I ever heard

  By the saints it was so over sweet

  That I grew faint and sore afeard

  And yet none sung this most sweet song

  But red birds in the orange trees

  I thought if the very thrushes of heaven

  Sing such wonderful songs as these

  How do the angels sing right so

  They sung no more and I saw then

  A man and a maid stand aright

  As folks are married among men

  A priest also I saw well

  Who gave a ring in that mans hand

  That he that marry that fair may

  By The Saints I had no will to stand

  Fair Catherine made as if she rowed

  Upon the grass so green

  Why do you sit as if you rowed and row Catherine

  When no ship can be seen.

  I sit and row me to my love

  Though no boat can be seen

  For summer is a-coming on

  And all the grass is green.

  We heard to-day and yesterday

  Your father lyeth on bier

  May God have mercy on his soul

  Still have I got my dear

  My true love draweth near.

  We heard today and yesterday

  That your true love is dead

  Now will I lie down on the earth

  And throw dust on my head

  Rise up rise up fair Catherine

  Here comes your father dear

  Why should I stand upon my feet

  Then may the good God keep him

  While my love lies on his bier

  Rise up rise up May Catherine

  Your true love cometh near

  Now shall I sit upon the grass

  And get ? kisses from my dear.

  THE LADY OF THE WASTED LAND

  Listen good folk to my ryme.

  There was a house upon a time

  Good and fair by a woodside

  And this time it was Christmastide

  Therein lived a fair lady

  Fatherless I trow was she

  And motherless: thereto perfay

  She saw no man from day to day

  Only dames might be with her

  Old or young or foul or fair

  So on a time as my song saith

  This lady lay sick nigh to death

  So she said in a fine voice

  Clear though with so little noise

  To her handmaidens and said

  Sisters you deem I am but dead

  But I trow the God of heaven

  Such a grace to me has given

  I shall not die all utterly

  Before that my true love I see

  Therefore I pray thee

  Blanche my maid

  Who art of few things afraid

  Some token unto him to bear

  Ho give me what lieth there

  This same was a girdle fair

  Wrought with gold in strange manner

  And chiefly in the midst of it

  Where the twyfold clasp did fit

  Was a red heart and a sun

  She handled it and one by one

  Over the scales her fingers drew

  Till she came to the clasps two

  Then eft she essayed to speak

  But wept as if her heart would break

  And crossed her feet within the bed

  And on the pillow rolled her head

  Then each to each her maids said

  Right sorrowfully — Such fantasies

  Hold her now as these and these

  Alas before the more doubtless

  She will die of this distress

  And what can we. but then again

  She spoke sobbing and with pain. . .

  LO SIRS A DESOLATE DAMOZEL

  Lo Sirs a desolate damozel

  In all highways I made my moan

  With words on parchment written well

  To help me to get back mine own

  And at the crossways that lead down

  To either sea and the waste land

  The forest and the golden town

  I set a pursuivant to stand

  Beside a cross of white and red

  And each day many knights passed by

  Some bravely were apparelled

  And had most things that gold can buy

  And some came poorly from the wars

  With broken arms and visages

  Scarred by the Saracen scimitars —

  And unto each and all of these

  My pursuivant cried loud and well

  The words upon the parchment writ

  By me the desolate Damozel —

  Fair knights — I do you all to wit

  My lady a most noble dame

  A recent traitor hath appealed

  And surely Sirs it were great blame

  Such a fair noble dame to yield

  Unto the fire Sirs I say

  Before God she sweareth well

  She hath the right by my fay

  It were a hard thing to tell

  How fair she is and Sirs therefore

  My dame this goodly appellant

  Being grieved by a strong traitor

  Of some good knight hath great want

  In the name of God some knight would say

  How call you then the defendant

  Sir John le blanc then by my fay

  She is hardly an appellant —

  How say you fellows which of you

  Would arm for a fight such as this

  For many a day he should rue

  Who met Sir John le blanc I wiss

  Some spake thus and some spake

  With great ruth and courteously

  But there was no Knight for my sake

  Would meet such a man as he

  Thus some spake and so some spake-

  At last there came a goodly knight

  A lion in a green brake

  Would not be a fairer sight

  When my herald had said his say

  Quod He, they say among men of wit

  Take that you long for while you may

  Or you may chance to lose it

  I may well say Sir pursuivant

  That every day of this my life

  This is the thing I most want

  A most fair dame to be my wife

  Therefore if she will wed with me

  I will right joyfully do her will

  And if will not then perdie

  For Gods sake I will fight still

  Lo, Sirs, a desolate Damozel

  In all highways I made my moan

  With words on parchment written well

  To help me to get back mine own;

  And at the crossways that lead down

  To either sea and the waste land,

  The forest and the golden town,

  I got a pursuivant to stand

  Beside a cross of white and red,

  And each day many knights passed by

  Some bravely were apparellèd

  And had most things that gold can buy,

  And some came poorly from the wars,

  With broken arms and visages

  Scarred by the Saracen scimitars —

  And unto each and all of these

  My pursuivant cried loud and well

  The words upon the parchment writ

  By me the desolate Damozel:

  “Fair Knights, I do you all to wit

  “My lady a most noble dame

  A recreant traitor hath appealed,

  And surely, Sirs, it were great blame

  Such a fair noble dame to yield

  “Unto the fire...”

  THE STORY OF THE FLOWER

  You that rede this I do to wit

  That I the clerk who scribbled it,

  Came on of Upton on the Wold,

  Write nought but what the teller told

  The letters are mine own forsooth

  Of what he sic they tell the truth

  But nothing else. But how I heard

  The tale, on warrant of my word<

  Ye needs must take. Upon my way

  Unto my stall I once made stay

  At a fair house where oft in peace

  Dwelleth the Baron of the Leas.

  And nobly was I welcomed there

  As one who oft in hand doth bear

  The Lord of lords that made the earth

  There on that eve was much of mirth

  Though

  ….

  Now after we had supped full well

  In the stone Hall the talking fell

  Upon the doubt of

  Why some bore those

  And why they first

  And divers minds hereof were told

  Of which were bravest to behold

  And which were noblest of renown.

  Then said a chapman of the town

  That to his mind the boar, the bear,

  The pard, the lion and such deer,

  The erne and slaughter-fowl — such-like

  Of living things that rend and strike

  Were meetest arms for barony,

  “And therewithal meseems,” quoth he,

  “That helm and sword and bow and spear

  Are charges good for lords to bear,

  But nought methinks of flowers and trees,

  Apples and grapes: things such as these

  For lads and damsels are but meet

  Amidst their toying dainty-sweet.”

  Some laughed, some scowled, for lo! upon

  The stone hall’s chimney was there done

  The armour of the Lords of Leas,

  And there amidst of carven trees

  Upon the shield of silver white

  Blossom and stem was done aright

  A rose new-slipped; and one cried out

  “What, carle! and wilt thou sit and flout

  The noblest shield in all the land

  When with my lord’s meat thy fool’s hand

  Is e’en yet greasy? Hold thy peace!”

  And much the blame of men encrease

  About the carle. Till there stood up

  An ancient squire, and filled his cup,

  And cried,” My masters, fill ye now

  And drink unto the goodly bough,

  The Leasome Rose, that I have seen

  Besprent with red about the green

  In many a death-begirded hour.

  Hail O thou shield, hail O Flower!”

  Therewith he drank and all stood up

  And joyfully they drained the cup;

  All cried “All hail the Flower!” and then

  Loud for awhile was talk of men

  About this goodly ancient shield

  And all its deeds on fold and field,

  And many an idle tale was told

  Of how it first was borne of old

  And who begat it. Till once more

  Arose the squire the old and hoar

  And stilled the noise and spake: “Ye tell

  Of many a thing ye know not well,

  But would ye hush and hearken me

  I know a goodly history

  Of this same battle-token old

  That seldom yet hath all been told,

  Therein forsooth is all the tale

  That unto any may avail,

  The story of the Flower of yore.”

  An augment for his honour’s sake,

  A sword in chief above the rose;

  But ever he naysaid all those

  And still in the old wonted way

  The ancient flower he bears today,

  And e’en so oft and o’er again

  His fathers did and thought no gain

  Of any gift on field or bower

  That changed one whit the ancient flower.

  Oft in choir long would he sit

  And sing the hours; the cross bare he

  Full oft at the Epiphany

  Or other feast. He would light down

  From off his horse if midst the town

 

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