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englesaxe

Early Middle English for today

Sir Orfeo (lines 201-300)

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He cleped togider his barouns,

Erls, lordes of renouns,

And when t`ai al y-comen were,

"Lordinges," he said, "bifor y`ou here

Ich ordainy min heiy`e steward 205

To wite mi kingdom afterward;

In mi stede ben he schal

To kepe mi londes overal.

For now ichave mi quen y-lore,

The fairest levedi t`at ever was bore, 210

Never eft y nil no woman se.

Into wildernes ichil te

And live t`er evermore

Wit` wilde bestes in holtes hore;

And when y`e understond t`at y be spent, 215

Make y`ou t`an a parlement,

And chese y`ou a newe king.

Now dot` y`our best wit` al mi t`ing."

Tho was t`er wepeing in t`e halle

And grete cri among hem alle; 220

Unnet`e miy`t old or y`ong

For wepeing speke a word wit` tong.

Thai kneled adoun al y-fere

And praid him, y`if his wille were,

That he no schuld nouy`t fram hem go. 225

"Do way!" quat` he, "It schal be so!"

Al his kingdom he forsoke;

Bot a sclavin on him he toke.

He no hadde kirtel no hode,

Schert, ne no not`er gode, 230

Bot his harp he tok algate

And dede him barfot out atte y`ate;

No man most wit` him go.

O way! What t`er was wepe and wo,

When he t`at hadde ben king wit` croun 235

Went so poverlich out of toun!

Thurt` wode and over het`

Into t`e wildernes he get`.

Not`ing he fint t`at him is ays,

Bot ever he livet` in gret malais. 240

He t`at hadde y-werd t`e fowe and griis,

And on bed t`e purper biis,

Now on hard het`e he lit`,

Wit` leves and gresse he him writ`.

He t`at hadde had castels and tours, 245

River, forest, frit` wit` flours,

Now, t`ei it comenci to snewe and frese,

This king mot make his bed in mese.

He t`at had y-had kniy`tes of priis

Bifor him kneland, and levedis, 250

Now set` he not`ing t`at him liket`,

Bot wilde wormes bi him striket`.

He t`at had y-had plenté

Of mete and drink, of ich deynté,

Now may he al day digge and wrote 255

Er he finde his fille of rote.

In somer he livet` bi wild frut,

And berien bot gode lite;

In winter may he not`ing finde

Bot rote, grases, and t`e rinde. 260

Al his bodi was oway dwine

For missays, and al to-chine.

Lord! who may telle t`e sore

This king sufferd ten y`ere and more?

His here of his berd, blac and rowe, 265

To his girdel-stede was growe.

His harp, whereon was al his gle,

He hidde in an holwe tre;

And when t`e weder was clere and briy`t,

He toke his harp to him wel riy`t 270

And harped at his owhen wille.

Into alle t`e wode t`e soun gan schille,

That alle t`e wilde bestes t`at t`er bet`

For joie abouten him t`ai tet`,

And alle t`e foules t`at t`er were 275

Come and sete on ich a brere

To here his harping a-fine -

So miche melody was t`erin;

And when he his harping lete wold,

No best bi him abide nold. 280

He miy`t se him bisides,

Oft in hot undertides,

The king o fairy wit` his rout

Com to hunt him al about

Wit` dim cri and bloweing, 285

And houndes also wit` him berking;

Ac no best t`ai no nome,

No never he nist whider t`ey bicome

And ot`er while he miy`t him se

As a gret ost bi him te, 290

Wele atourned, ten hundred kniy`tes,

Ich y-armed to his riy`tes,

Of cuntenaunce stout and fers,

Wit` mani desplaid baners,

And ich his swerd y-drawe hold; 295

Ac never he nist whider t`ai wold.

And ot`erwhile he seiy`e ot`er t`ing:

Kniy`tes and levedis com daunceing

In queynt atire, gisely,

Queynt pas and softly; 300