LOrdynges and ye wyll holde you styll
A gentyll tale tell you I wyll
Of knyghtes of this countree
That hath trauayled beyonde the see
To seke auentures bothe nyght & daye
And how they myght theyr strengh assay
As dyde a knyght his name was syr Degore
One of the best that was founde hym before
Somtyme in Englonde there was a kynge
A noble man of maners in all thynge
Stoute in armes and vnder shylde
Full moche doubted in batayll and felde,
There was no man than veramente
That with hym Iusted in turmente
That out of his styrope myght brynge his fote
He was so stronge without doubte
The kynge had no chyldern but one
A doughter as whyte as whalles bone
That mayden he loued as his lyfe
Her moder was deed the quene his wyfe
In trauayll of chylde she dyed alas
But whan that mayden of aege was
Kynkes sones her woed then
Emperours Dukes and other men
To haue that mayden in maryage
For loue of her grete herytage
But than the kynge dyde them answere
That no man sholde wedde her
But yf that he myght with stoute Iustynge
The kynge out of his sadyll brynge
And downe hym lose his styropes two
Many one assayed and myght nought do
Euery yere of ryght it wolde
A grete feest wole he holde
Vpon his quenes murnynge daye
That was buryed in an abbaye
So on a daye the kynge wolde ryde
To an abbaye there besyde
To do dyryges and masses bothe
The poore to fede and the naked to clothe
His owne doughter with hym rode
And in the forest styll she abode
She called her chamberlayne her to
And other maydens she dyde also
And sayd adowne she muste alyght
Better her clothes to amende and ryght
Adowne they ben alyght all thre
Her damoysell and so dyde she
A full longe stounde there she abode
Tyll all the meyne frome her rode
They gate vp and after they wolde
But they coude not they ryght waye holde
The wodde was roughe and thycke ywysse
And they toke theyr waye all amysse
They rode southe they rode west
In to the thycke of that forest
And in to a londe they came at the last
Than weryed they wonder faste
Than wyst the well amysse they had gone
And downe the lyght euerychone
And they called all in fere
But there myght no man them here
The weder was hote before the none
They wyst neuer what was best to done
But layde them downe vpon the grene
Some fel on slepe as I wene
Thus they fell on slepe euerychone
Saue the kynges doughter alone
She went aboute and gadred floures
And to here the songe of small foules
So longe she dyde forth pas
That she wyst neuer where she was
y
e waye to her damoyselles she wolde haue nome
But she wyst neuer how to come
Than gan she crye wonder sore
She wepte and wronge her handes thore
And sayd alas that I was borne
For well I wote I am forlorne
For wylde bestes wyll me rynde
Or ony man may me fynde
And then she sawe a Ioyfull syght
To her came prekynge a fayre knyght
Full well he semed a gentyll man
And ryche clothes hym vpon
Well farynge both of fote and honde
There was non suche in that londe
So stout a man than was he
He sayd madame god you se
Be ye a drade of me ryght nought
I haue none armes with me brought
I haue the loued this many a yere
And now I haue founde the here
Thou shalte be my lēmanne or I go
Wheder it tourne to wele or wo
No more to done then coude she
But wepte and cryed and wolde haue fle
Anone began he her to be holde
And dyde with her what he wolde
And berafte her her mayden hode
And than before the lady he stode
He sayd madame gentyll and fre
With chylde I wote well that ye be
Well I wote it shall be a knaue
Therfore my swerde he shall haue
My good swerde of ameaunt
For therwith I slewe a gyaunt
I brake the poynt in his hede
And in the felde I it leued
Dame take it vp lo it is here
For thou spekest not with me this many a yere
And yet parauenture the tyme may come
That I maye speke with my sone
And by this sworde I may hym ken
He kyssed his loue and wente then
The knyght passed as he come
All wepynge the lady that swerde vp nome
She wente awaye sore wepynge
And founde her maydens slepynge
She hydde the swerde so as she myght
And called them vp anone ryght
And toke theyr horses euerychone
And began to ryde soone anone
And than ther came at the last
Many a knyght prekynge fast
Fro the kynge than were they sent
To were wheder they wente
They brought them in to the hye waye
And rode in fere to that abbaye
There was done seruyce and all thynge
With many a masse and ryche offerynge
And whan that seruyce was all done
And gan to passe the hye none
The kynge vnto his palays gan ryde
And moche people by his syde
Whan euery man was gladde and blythe
The lady soned many a sythe
Her baly waxed more and more
She wepte and wronge her handes sore
So vpon a daye she gan sore wepe
A mayden of hers toke good kepe
And sayd madame for charyte
Why ye do wepe ye wyll tell me
Mayden and I tell the before
And thou me wrey I were but lore
For I haue ben euer meke and mylde
And truly nowe I am with chylde
And yf ony man it vnder yede
Euery man wolde tell in euery stede
That my fader on me it wan
For I loued neuer other man
And yf my fader it may wete
Suche sorowe his herte may gete
That he shall neuer mery man be
For all his Ioye is layde on me
And tolde the damoysell all in fere
How the chylde was begoten on here
Now gentyll lady greue you nought
For styll it shall be forth brought
Shall no man it wytte certaynly
Truely madame but you and I
Tyme was come she was vnbounde
And delyuered both hole and sounde
A man chylde there was bore
Gladde was the lady therfore
The mayden serued her at her wyll
And layde the chylde in a cradyll
She wrapped hym in clothes anone
And was all redy for to haue gone
Yet was the chylde vnto the moder holde
She gaue it .xx. pounde of golde
And .x. pounde of syluer also
Vnder his heed she gan it doo
Moche it is that a chylde behoues
She put with hym a payre of gloues
Herlemman gaue her them in a stonde
They wolde elles on no womans honde
On chyldes nother woman they nolde
But on his moders handes they wolde
And bad the chylde no wyfe wedde in londe
But the gloues wolde on her honde
For they myght serue no where
Saue the moder that dyde hym bere
A letter with the chylde put she
With the gloues also perde
She knyt the letter with a threde
A boute his necke a full good spede
Than was it in the the letter wrytte
Who so it founde shulde it wytte
For crystes loue yf ony good man
This wofull chylde fynde can
Do hym be crystened of preestes honde
And to helpe hym to lyue in londe
With this syluer that is here
Tyll he may armes bere
And helpe hym with his owne good
For he is come of gentyll blode
And whan she had thus done
The mayden toke her leue full sone
With the chylde in the cradyll and all thynge
She stale awaye in the euenynge
And went her waye she wyste not whyder
Thrughe thycke and thynne in the breer
She wente all the wynter nyght
By shynynge of the mone lyght
Then was she redely ware anone
Of an hermytage made of stone
An holy man had there his dwellynge
And theder she wente without lesynge
And sette the cradyll at the dore
For she durste dwell no lenger thore
But turned agayne a none ryght
And came agayne the same nyght
The hermyte rose on the morowe tho
And his knaue also
Lorde he sayd I crye the mercy
For nowe I here a yonge chylde crye
This holy man his dore vndyde
And founde the cradell in the stede
He lyfte vp the shete anone
And loked vpon the lytell grome
Than helde he vp his ryght honde
And thanked Ihesu cryst of his sonde
He bare the chylde in to the chapell
For Ioye of hym he ronge the bell
And layde vp the gloues and the tresoure
And crystened the chylde with grete honoure
And in the worshyp of the trynyte
He called the chyldes name Degore
For Degore to vnderstonde it is
But thynge that almoost is lost ywys
As thynge that is almoost a goo
Therfore he called that chylde soo
The hermyte was an holy man of lyfe
He had a syster that was a wyfe
He sente the chylde to her full rathe
With moche money by his knaue
And badde she sholde take good hede
The chylde to nourysshe and fede
And this lytell chylde Degore
Vnto that cyte was I bore
The good man and his wyfe in fere
The chylde they kepte as it theyr owne were
Tyll it was .x. wynter olde
He waxed a fayre chylde and a bolde
Well taught fayre and kynde
There was none suche in all that ende
What tyme .x. yere was come and spente
Vnto the hermyte they hym sente
The hermyte longed hym for to se
Thenne was he a fayre chylde and fre
He taught the chylde of clarkes lore
Other .x. wynter withouten more
And whan he was of .xx. yere
He was a man of grete powere
There was no younge man in that londe
That myght stande a brayde of his honde
And whan the hermyte that dyde see
That he a man so stronge wolde be
A stalworthe man in ony werke
And of his tyme a well good clerke
He toke his florens and his gloues
That he had kepte sor hym in his house
But his .x. pounde that was sterlynge
was spente aboute the chyldes kepynge
The hermyte toke hym his lettre to rede
He loked therin that same stede
Syr he sayd for saynt charyte
Was this lettre made by me
Ye sone by hym that me deme shall
Thus I founde the and tolde hym all
He sette hym downe on knees full blythe
And thanked the hermyte many sythe
And sayd he wolde not rest in londe
Tyll the tyme he had his fader fonde
He gaue the hermyte halfe his golde
And the remenaunt vp he folde
He toke his leue and fayne wolde go
The hermyte sayd he sholde not so
To seke thy kynne thou mayst not endure
Without good horse and good armure.
¶ How syr Degore fought with a dragon in a forest and slewe hym. [Page]
SIr hermyte he sayd in dede
I wyll haue no other wede
But a batte in mi honde
Myn enemyes therwith to withstande
A full good sapelynge of an oke
On whome he sette therwith a stroke
Where he neuer so tall a man
Nor yet so good armure hym vpon
He wolde hym fell to the grounde
With that same batte in that stounde
The chylde kyssed the hermyte tho
And toke his leue for to goo
Degore wente forthe on his waye
Thrughe a forest halfe a daye
He harde no man nor sawe none
Tyll it was past the hye none
Thenne harde he grete strokes fall
That made grete noyse withall
Full soone he thought that thynge to se
To wyte what the strokes myght be
There was an erle bothe stoute and gay
He was come theder that same day
For to hunte for a dere or a doo
But his houndes were gone hym fro
Thenne was there a dragon grete and grymme
Full of fyre and also venimme
with a wyde throte and tuskes grete
Vpon that knyght fast gan he bete
And as a lyon thenne was his fete
His tayle was longe and full vnmete
Bytwene his hede and his tayle
Was .xxii. fote withouten fayle
His body was lyke a wyne tonne
He shone full bryght agaynst the sonne
His eyen were bryght as ony glasse
His scales were harde as ony brasse
And therto he was necked lyke a horse
He bare his hede vp with grete force
The breth of his mouth that dyde out blowe
As it had bene a fyre on lowe
He was to loke on as I you tell
As it had ben a fende of hell
Many a man he had shente
And many a horse he had rente
And to that erle harde batayll began
But he defended hym lyke a man
And boldely smote hym with his swerde
But of all his strokes he was not aferde
His skynne was harde as ony stone
Wherfore he myght hym no harme done
And whan the erle syr Degore se
Helpe syr he sayd for saynt charyte
And thenne answerde syr Degore
Full gladly syr and god before
whan the dragon of Degore had a syght
He left the erle and came to hym ryght
And the chylde that was so stronge
Toke his staffe that was longe
And smote the dragon so on the crowne
That in that wodde he fell downe
And then that dragon anone ryght
Smote the chylde with suche myght
With his tayle vpon the ryght syde
That downe he fell in that tyde
And he sterte vp anone full ryght
And defended hym with moche myght
With that staffe that was so longe
He brake of hym bothe fote and bone
That it was wonder for to se
He was so toughe he myght not deye
Tyll Degore one stroke at hym flonge
With his staffe that was so stronge
He smote hym on the crowne on hye
That he made his braynes out flye
And thenne the erle was glade and blythe
And thanked Degore many a sythe
And prayed hym he wolde with hym ryde
Vnto his palays there be syde
And there he made hym a knyght
And made hym good chere that nyght
Rentes tresoure and half his londe
He wolde haue sezyd in to his honde
Syr Degore thanked hym truely
And prayed hym of his curtaysye
To lette his ladyes before hym come
Wyues medens more and some
And also your doughter eke
And yf my gloues ben for them mete
Or wyll vpon ony of there hondes
Than wolde I fayne take my londes
And yf my gloues wyll not soo
Thenne wyll I take my leue and goo
All the women were out brought
That there aboute myght be sought
All the assayed the gloues than
But they where mete for no woman
Syr Degore toke vp his gloues anone
And also toke leue for to gone
The Erle was a lorde of gentyll blode
He gaue syr Degore a stede ryght good
And therto he gaue hym good armure
The whiche was both fayre and sure
And also a page his man to be
And an hakneye to ryde on truely
Syr Degore was glade and blythe
And thanked the erle many a sythe
He rode forthe vpon his waye
Many a myle vpon somers daye
Vpon a daye moche people he mette
He houed styll and fayre them grette
And asked a squyre what tydynge
And frome whens came all that folke rydynge
The squyre sayd syr veramente
They come frome the parlamente
Fro a counseyll the kynge dyde make
The whiche is for his doughters sake
But whan the parlament was moost plenere
The kynge lete crye bothe fer and nere
Yf ony man were soo bolde
That with the kynge Iust wolde
He sholde haue his doughter in maryage
And all his londe and herytage
It is a londe bothe good and fayre
And the kynge therto had none ayre
But sertes there dare no man graunt therto
Many one sayd they myght not doo
For euery man that rydeth to hym
He beteth them with strokes grym
Some he breketh the necke anone
Of some he cracketh bothe backe and bone
Some thrughe the body he glytte
And some to deth he smytte
And to hym may no man do nothynge
Suche a grace euer had our kynge
Syr Degore stode in a stody than
And thought he was a doughty man
And I am in my yonge blode
And I haue horse and armure good
And as I trowe a full good stede
I wyll assaye yf that I may spede
And yf I may bere the kynge downe
I may be a man of grete renowne
And yf that he me fell can
There knoweth no body what I am
Dethe or lyfe what so me be tyde
I wyll ones ayenst hym ryde
Thus in the cyte his ynne he takes
And rested hym and mery makes
So vpon a day the kynge he mette
He kneled downe and fayre hym grette
He sayde syr kynge of moche myght
My lorde hath sent me to you ryght
To warne you how it shall be
My lorde wyll come and fyght with the
To Iust with the my lorde hathe nome
The kynge sayd he shall be welcome
Be he knyghte or barowne
Erle Duke or chorle in towne
There is no man I wyll forsake
Who all may wynne all may take
¶ How syr Degore Iusted with the kynge of Englonde and smote hym downe.
SO on the morowe the day was sette
The kynge auysed moche the bette
But thenne there was no lyuynge man
That Degore trusted moche vpon
But to chirche that tyme went he
To here a masse of the trynyte
To the fader he offered a floryne
And to the sone another fyne
The thyrde to the holy goost he offered
The preest in his masse for hym prayed
And whan the masse was done
Vnto his ynne he wente anone
He dyde arme hym well in dede
In ryche armure good at nede
His good stede he began to stryde
And toke his spere and forthe dyde ryde
His knaue toke an other spere
And after his mayster gan it bere
Thus in the felde syr degore a bode than
They kynge came with many a man
Many came theder redely
To se the iustynge truely
All that in the felde were
They sayd and dyde swere
That they neuer or that tyme se
So fayre a man with theyr eye
As was that yonge knyght syr Degore
But non wyst what man was he
They rode to gyder at the laste
On theyr good stedes full faste
The kynge had the gretter shafte
And more he coude of that crafte
To dasshe hym downe thenne had he mente
And in his shylde sette shuche a dente
That his good spere all to braste
But Degore was stronge and sat fast
Than sayd the kynge alas alas
For me befell neuer suche a case
There was neuer man that I myght hit
That euer myght my stroke sytte
This is a man all for the nones
For he is a man of grete bones
Thenne toke the kynge a gretter tre
And square also mote I the
And yf his necke wyll not a two
His backe shall or that I goo
The kynge rode to hym with grete randowne
And thought to haue dasshed the chylde downe.
He smote syr Degore soone anone
Ryght before the brst bone
That his horse was rered on hye
And syr Degore was fallen nye
Syr Degore thus his cours out yode
He was sore angry in his mode
Alas he sayd I haue myssed yet
And he hath me twyes hit
And neuer ones with hym I met
By god I shall me auyse bet
They rode togyder with grete myght
In theyr sheldes theyr speres pyght
That theyr good speres all to broke
Vnto theyr handes with the stroke
And than the kynge began to speke
Gyue me a spere that wyll not breke
For he shall anone be smyten downe
Thoughe he be as stronge as was sampsowne
And yf he be the deuyll of hell
I shall hym soone downe fell
The kynge toke a spere styfe and stronke
And Degore toke a nother good and longe
And stouly to the kynge he smytte
The kynge hym fayled and Degore hym it
And syr Degore soo hym bete
That he made the kynges horse torne vp his fete.
Boldely he rode vp than
And semed a full goodly man
The kynge was out of his sadyll caste
Wherof his doughter was sore a gaste
Thenne was there moche noyse and crye
The kynge was sore asshamed for thy
Wele I wote his doughter was sory
Fer thenne she wyste redely
That she shulde maryed be
To a man of a straunge countree
And lede her lyfe with suche one
That she wyste neuer fro whens he come
The kynge sayd to syr Degore
Come heder fayre sone me before
And thou were as gentyll a man
As thou semest to loke vpan
And thou coude wyt and reason doo
As thou arte doughty man to
I wolde thynke my londe well beset
And yf it were fyue tymes the bet
For worde spoken I must nedes holde
Before my barons that be so bolde
I take the my doughter by the honde
And sesse the in all my londe
To be myn heyre after me
In Ioye and blysse for to be
¶ How syr Degore wedded his moder the kȳges doughter of Englonde / and howe shewe knewe y t he whas her sone by the gloues.
GRete ordynaunce was there wrought
To the chyrche dore they were brought
And were there wedded veramente
Vnto the holy sacramente
Loke what foly happened there
That he sholde wedde his owne modere
The whiche had borne hym one her syde
And yet he knewe nothynge that tyde
He knewe nothynge of her kenne
Nor she knewe nothynge of hym
And bothe togyder ordeyned to bedde
Yet parauenture they may be sybble
Thus dyde syr Degore the bolde
He wedded his moder to haue and to holde
God suffred moche thynge there
But yet he lete them not synne in fere
It passed on the hye tyme of none
And the daye was nere hande done
To bed was brought bothe he and she
With grete myrthe and solempnyte
Syr Degore stode and be helde than
And thought of the hermyte holy man
That he sholde neuer for thy
Wedde no Wedowe nor lady
But yf she myght the gloues two
Lyhtly vpon her handes doo
Alas than sayd syr Degore
The tyme that euer I was bore
And sayd anone with heuy chere
Me had leuer than all this kyngdome here
That is now sessyed in to my honde
That I were fayre out of this londe
The kynge these wordes harde tho
And sayd dere sone why sayst thou so
Is there ought ayenste thy wyll
Other done or sayd that dothe the yll
Or ony thynge that is mysdone
Tell me and it shall be amended sone
Naye lorde he sayd thenne
But for all the maryage that done hath ben
I wyll not with no woman mell
Wyfe wedowe nor damoysell
But yf she myght these gloues doo
Lyghtly vpon her handes two
And whan the lady gan this here
A none she changed all her chere
And all to gyder turned her mode
Her visage waxed rede as ony blode
She knewe that the gloues longed to her
And sayd gyue me the gloues fayre syr
She toke the gloues in that that stede
And lyghtly vpon her handes them dyde
She fell downe and began to crye
And sayd lorde god I aske mercy
I am thy moder that the dyde bere
And thou arte my owne sone dere
Syr Degore full sone tho
Toke her vp in his arumes two
Than were they glade and blythe
They kyssed to gyder many a sythe
The kynge of them had grete meruayll
Of the noyse they made withouten fayll
And was a basshed of theyr wepynge
And sayd doughter what is this thynge
Fader she sayd wyll ye it here
Ye wene that I a mayden were
Nay truely fader I am none
For it is .xx. wynter a gone
This is my sone god it wote
And by these gloues I it wotte
She tolde hym all togyder there
How he was begoten on here
Than bespake syr Degore
Swete moder than sayd he
Where is my fader wonnynge
And whan herde ye of hym ony tythynge
Sone she sayd by heuen kynge
I can tell of hym no tydynge
But whan thy fader frome me wente
A poyntles swerde he me lente
And charged me to kepe it than
Tyll the tyme thou were a man
She fette the swerde full swythe
And syr Degore it out twythe
Longe and brode it was perde
There was none suche in that countre
Truely sayd syr Degore than
Who so it owed he was a man
Now god of heuen he me kepe
Nyght nor daye I wyll not slepe
Tyll the tyme I may my fader se
In crystendome yf that he be
He made hym mery that ylke nyght
On the moro whan it was day lyght
He wente to the chyrche to here masse
And made hym redy for to passe
Than sayd the kynge my nexte kynne
I wyll gyue the knyghtes with the to wynne
Syr he sayd gramercy than
With shall go no other man
But my knaue that may take hed
To myn armure and to my stede
He lepte on horse the sothe to saye
And rode forth on his Iournaye
Many a myle and many awaye
He rode forth on his palfraye
And euer more he rode west
Tyll tyme he came to a forest
Wylde bestes there wente hym by
And foules songe there full merely
So longe he rode tyll it drewe to nyght
The sone wente doune and fayled lyght
Vnto some towne fayne wolde he ryde
But there was none on neyther syde
Soone after he founde a castell clere
A lady truely wonned there
A fayre castell of lyme and stone
But other towne there was none
Degore sayd to his knaue that tyde
Wyll we to that castell ryde
And all nyght abyde wyll we
And aske lodgynge for charyte
The drabryge was drawen tho
And the yate stode open also
Vnto the castell they gan them spede
And fyrst he stabled vp his stede
And than he set vp his hakeney
I noughe they founde of corne and hey
He wente a boute and gan to call
Bothe in the courte and eke in hall
Nether for loue nor yet for awe
Lyuynge man none there they sawe
And in the myddes of the hall floure
There was a grete fyre in that stoure
Than sayd his man leue syre
I haue wonder who made this fyre
Yf he wyll come agaye this nyght
I wyll hym abyde as I am knyght
He set hym done vpon the dease
And made hym well at ease
Than was he ware soone of one
That at the dore he gan gone
And thre maydens fayre and fre
That where trussed vp to the knee
Twayne of them bowes dyde bere
And two of them charged were
With venyson that was full good
Thenne syr Degore vp stode
And blessed them a none ryght
But they spake not to the knyght
But whente in to the cambre a none
And shytte the dore full sone
And a none after therwithall
There came a dwarfe in to the hall
Foure fote was the length of hym
His vysage was bothe grete and grym
And the hear that on his heed was
It was yelo as ony waye
But full stouly than loked he
He ware a cyrcote that was grene
With blaunchmer it was furred I wene
He was well clade and well dyght
His shone was corked as a knyght
He was large bothe of fote and hande
As ony man was in that lande
Syr Degore loked on hym tho
And to hym reuerence dyde doo
And he to hym wolde speke no worde
But made hym besy to lye the borde
He layde the clothe and sette forth brede
And also wyne bothe whyte and rede
Torches in the hall he dydde lyght
All thynge redy to souper he dyght
And sone after with grete honoure
There came a lady out of her boure
And with her came maydens fyftene
Some in rede and some in grene
Syr Degore folowed a none ryght
And nought she spake vnto that knyght
But yede and wasshed euerychone
And to souper gan they gone
The lady was fayre and bryght
In the myddes of the desse she set downe ryght
On euery syde sat maydens fyne
Fayre and goodly as ony was a lyue
By god than sayd syr Degore
I haue you blessed and ye not me
But ye seme dombe by saynt Iohan
I shall make you speke and I can
Syr Degore coude of curteysy
He yede and sat before the lady
And whan he had taken that sete
He toke a knyfe and cutte his mete
Full lytell mete at souper ete he
He dyde so be holde that mayden fre
Hym thought she was the fayrest lady
That euer afore he dyde se
All his herte thought and myght
Was on that lady that was to bryght
And whan they had souped all
The dwerfe brought water in to the hall
Thenne gan they wasshe euerychone
And than to chambre gan they gone
Truely quod Degore and after I wyll
To loke on that lady all my fyll
Who that me warneth he shall abye
Or to do hym make a sory crye
Vpon the stayre the waye he nome
And soone in to the chambre he come
They lady that was so fayre and bryght
Vpno her bedde she sat downe ryght
She harped notes swete and fyne
Her maydens fylled a pyece of wyne
And syr Degore sat hym downe
For to here the harpes sowne
That thorowe the notes of the harpe shyll
He layde hym downe and slepte his fyll
This fayre lady that ylke nyght
She bad go couer that gentyll knyght
And ryche clothes aboute hym caste
And the lady wente to a nother bed at the laste
So on the morowe whan it was daye
The lady rose the sothe to saye
And in to the chambre her waye gan take
She sayd syr knyght a ryse and wake
They lady sayd all in game
Ye be well worthy to haue blame
For as a beest all nyght thou dyde slepe
And of my maydens tokest no kepe
And than answered the knyght so fre
Mercy madame and forgyue it me
The notes of thyne harpe it made
Or elles the good wyne that I hade
But tell me now my lady hende
Or I out of this chambre wende
who hathe this castell in his honde
And who is lorde of this londe
wheder that ye be mayden or wyfe
And in what maner ye lede your lyfe
And why ye haue so many women
Alone withouten ony men
Syr fayne I wolde the tell
And thou coude it amende well
My fader was a bolde barowne
And holden a lorde of toure and towne
He had neuer chylde but me
I am ayre in this countre
¶ How syr Degore foughte for a lady with a gyaunt and slewe hym. [Page]
THere hathe me wowed many a knyght
And many a squyre well dyght
But than theyr wonned here besyde
A stoute gyaunt full of pryde
He hathe me desyred longe nad yore
And hym to loue may I neuer more
He is a boute with his mestrye
To do me shame and velonye
And he hathe slayne my men ychone
Saue my sory dwerfe alone
Ryght as they stode she fell to grounde
And soned there in that stounde
All her damoyselles to her come
To comforte her and her vp nome
The lady loked on syr Degore
Lefe dame thenne sayd he
Be not adrad whyles I am here
I wyll the helpe to my powere
Syr she sayd thenne all my londe
I wll it cesse in to thy honde
And all my good I wyll the gyue
And all my body whyle I lyue
For to be at all your wyll
Erly and late loude and styll
And thy lemman for to be
To wreke me nowe on myn eneme
That was Degore fayne to fyght
For to defende that ladyes ryght
And to sle that other knyght
And wynne that lady that was so bryght
And as they stode bothe in fere
Her maydens came rydynge with heuy chere
She bad drawe the bryge hastely
For here cometh youre enemy
Or elles he wyll sle vs ychone
Syr Degore sterte vp anone
Oute at a wyndowe he hym se
He was sone armed on horse hye
So stoute a man as he was one
In armes sawe she neuer none
Syr Degore armed hym by lyue
And oure of the castell he gan dryue
And rode euen the gyaunt agayne
They smote togyder with moche mayne
That theyr good speres all to brast
Degore was stroge and sat fast
But his stedes bake braste a two
Thenne syr Degore fell to the grounde tho
And thenne he sterte vp and loughe
And his good swerde he out drughe
Than sayd the gyaunt to hym anone
On fote we wyll to gyder gone
Thou hast sayd Degore slayne my good stede
I hope to quyte the thy mede
To sle thy stede nought I wyll
But to fyght with the my fyll
And tho they fought on fote in fere
With stronge strokes on helme clere
The gyaunt gaue syr Degore
Houge strokes grete plente
And syr Degore dyde hym also
Tyll helme and basynet barste in two
The gyanut was a greued sore
Bycause he hadde his blode lore
He stroke vpon syr Degore soo
That to the grounde he made hym goo
Syr Degore recouered soone a plyght
And suche a stroke he gaue that knyght
And on the crowne soo it sette
That throwe his helme and basynet
He made the swerde go thorowe his het
And anone the gyaunt fell downe deed
The lady sat in her castell
And fawe all the holde batayll
How the gyaunt was slayne
That wolde her haue forlayne
She was as glade of that syght
As euer was bryde of the daye lyght
Syr Degore came to the caestll
Ano agaynst hym came that damoysell
She thanked hym of his good dede
And in her chambre she dyde hym lede
She sette hym on her bed anone
And vnarmed hym full sone
She toke hym in her harmes two
And kyssed hym .C. tymes and mo
And sayd all my good I wyll the gyue
And my body whyle I lyue
Gramercy damoysell then sayd he
Of that ye haue graunted me
But I must in to ferre contree
Mo auentures for to se
Vnto this twelue monthes be ago
And thenne I shall come you to
He betoke her to the heuen kynge
The lady wepte at his departynge
Syr Degore rode vpon his waye
Many a longe Iourney
And euer more he rode west
Tyll a lande he founde in a forest
To hym came prekynge a knyght
Well armed and on his horse dyght
In armes that wolde endure
With fyne golde and ryche asure
Thre bore hedes were theryne
They whiche were of golde fyne
As soone as euer he sawe that knyght
He spake to hym a none ryght
And sayd velayne what doost thou here
In my forest to sle my dere
Syr Degore sayd with wordes meke
Syr of thy dere I take no kepe
For I am auenturous knyght
That gothe to seke warre and fyght
His fader answered and sayd saunfayll
And thou be come to seke batayll
Thenne make the redy in a stounde
For thou haste thy felowe founde
And thenne syr Degore without daungere
Armed hym to fyght with his fadere
¶ How syr Degore fought with his fader & how his fader knewe hym by the broken swerde.
A Well godd helme for the nones
And well sette with precyus stones
It myght well be his owne saunfayll
For he wanne it ones in batayll
He kest his shelde aboute his swere
Of ryall armes good and dere
His good stede he began to stryde
He toke his spere and began to ryde
And his man toke an other spere
And by his syde he gan it bere
But loke what foly began that tyde
The sone agaynst the fader gan ryde
But neyther knewe other a ryght
And thus began they to fyght
Syr Degore had the greater shafte
And wonder well he coude his crafte
To dasshe hym downe than had he wente
And in his shelde gaue suche a dente
That his good spere all to brast
But his fader was stronge and sat fast
Another cours than haue they take
The fader for the sones sake
So harde they smote togyder in sothe
That theyr horses backes broke bothe
And thenne they fought on fote in fere
Wirh harde strokes on helme clere
And thus his fader a meruayled was
Of his swerde that was poyntles
And to hym sayd anone ryght
Abyde a whyle thou gentyll knyght
Where was thou borne and in what londe
Syr he sayd in Englonde
A kynges doughter is my moder
But I wote not who is my fader
What is thy name thenne sayd he
Syr my name is Degore
Syr Degore thou arte welcome
For well I wote thou arte my sone
By this swerde I knowe the here
The poynt is in my pautenere
He toke the poynt and sette it to
And they accorded bothe two
So longe they haue spoke togyder
Bothe the sone and the fader
That they be ryght well at one
The fader and the sone alone
Syr Degore and his fader dere
In to Englonde they rode in fere
They were bothe armed and well dyght
As it becometh euery knyght
They rode forth on theyr Iourney
Many a myle of that countrey
And on theyr way they rode full fast
In to Englonde they came at the laste
Whan they myght Englonde se
They drewe theder as they wolde be
Whan they wher to that palays come
They wher welcome all and some
And they behelde ouer all
The lady them spyed ouer a wall
And whan that lady sawe that syght
She wente to them with all her myght
And ryght well she them knewe
And than she chaunged all her hewe
And sayd my dere sone Degore
Thou hast thy fader brought with the
Truely madame than sayd he
Full well I wote that it is he
Now thanked be god than sayd the kynge
For nowe I wote without lesynge
Who is syr Degores fader in dede
The lady swoned in that stede
And sone after sekerly
The knyght wedded that lady
She and her sone was departed I twynne
For he and she were to nye of kynne
Forth thenne wente syr degore
With the kynge and his meyne
His fader and his moder dere
Vnto they castell they wente in fere
Where as dwelled that lady bryght
That he had wonne in fyght
And wedded her witth grete solempnyte
Before all the lordes of that countre
Thus came the knyght out of his care
God gyue vs grace well to fare
And that we all vpon domes day
Come to the blysse that lasteth ay.
AMEN
¶ Thus endeth the treatyse of syr Degore. Enprynted at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the sonne by Wynkyn de worde.