Sir Orfeo (lines 301-400)
the original text
view normalised textTabours and trunpes y`ede hem bi,
And al maner menstraci.
And on a day he seiy`e him biside
Sexti levedis on hors ride,
Gentil and jolif as brid on ris;
305Nouy`t o man amonges hem t`er nis;
And ich a faucoun on hond bere,
And riden on haukin bi o rivere.
Of game t`ai founde wel gode haunt -
Maulardes, hayroun, and cormeraunt;
310T`e foules of t`e water ariset`,
T`e faucouns hem wele deviset`;
Ich faucoun his pray slouy` -
T`at seiy` Orfeo, and louy`:
"Parfay!" quat` he, "t`er is fair game;
315T`ider ichil, bi Godes name;
Ich was y-won swiche werk to se!"
He aros, and t`ider gan te.
To a levedi he was y-come,
Biheld, and hat` wele undernome,
320And set` bi al t`ing t`at it is
His owhen quen, Dam Heurodis.
Y`ern he biheld hir, and sche him eke,
Ac noit`er to ot`er a word no speke;
For messais t`at sche on him seiy`e,
325T`at had ben so riche and so heiy`e,
T`e teres fel out of her eiy`e.
T`e ot`er levedis t`is y-seiy`e
And maked hir oway to ride -
Sche most wit` him no lenger abide.
330"Allas!" quat` he, "now me is wo!"
Whi nil det` now me slo?
Allas, wreche, t`at y no miy`t
Dye now after t`is siy`t!
Allas! to long last mi liif,
335When y no dar nouy`t wit` mi wiif,
No hye to me, o word speke.
Allas! Whi nil min hert breke!
Parfay!" quat` he, "tide wat bitide,
Whiderso t`is levedis ride,
340T`e selve way ichil streche -
Of liif no det` me no reche."
His sclavain he dede on also spac
And henge his harp opon his bac,
And had wel gode wil to gon -
345He no spard noit`er stub no ston.
In at a roche t`e levedis ridet`,
And he after, and nouy`t abidet`.
When he was in t`e roche y-go,
Wele t`re mile ot`er mo,
350He com into a fair cuntray
As briy`t so sonne on somers day,
Smot`e and plain and al grene -
Hille no dale nas t`er non y-sene.
Amidde t`e lond a castel he siy`e,
355Riche and real and wonder heiy`e.
Al t`e utmast wal
Was clere and schine as cristal;
An hundred tours t`er were about,
Degiselich and bataild stout.
360T`e butras com out of t`e diche
Of rede gold y-arched riche.
T`e vousour was avowed al
Of ich maner divers aumal.
Wit`in t`er wer wide wones,
365Al of precious stones;
T`e werst piler on to biholde
Was al of burnist gold.
Al t`at lond was ever liy`t,
For when it schuld be t`erk and niy`t,
370T`e riche stones liy`t gonne
As briy`t as dot` at none t`e sonne.
No man may telle, no t`enche in t`ouy`t,
T`e riche werk t`at t`er was wrouy`t.
Bi al t`ing him t`ink t`at it is
375T`e proude court of Paradis.
In t`is castel t`e levedis aliy`t;
He wold in after, y`if he miy`t.
Orfeo knokket` atte gate;
T`e porter was redi t`erate
380And asked what he wold hav y-do.
"Parfay!" quat` he, "icham a minstrel, lo!
To solas t`i lord wit` mi gle,
Y`if his swete wille be."
T`e porter undede t`e gate anon
385And lete him into t`e castel gon.
T`an he gan bihold about al,
And seiy`e liggeand wit`in t`e wal
Of folk t`at were t`ider y-brouy`t
And t`ouy`t dede, and nare nouy`t.
390Sum stode wit`outen hade,
And sum non armes nade,
And sum t`urt` t`e bodi hadde wounde,
And sum lay wode, y-bounde,
And sum armed on hors sete,
395And sum astrangled as t`ai ete;
And sum were in water adreynt,
And sum wit` fire al forschreynt.
Wives t`er lay on childe bedde,
Sum ded and sum awedde,
400