A breche and eke a sherte,
And next his shert an haketon,
And over that an habergeon,
For percing of his herte,

And over that a fin hauberk,
Was all ywrought of Jewes werk,
Ful strong it was of plate,
And over that his cote-armoure,
As white as is the lily floure,
In which he wold debate.

His sheld was all of gold so red,
And therin was a bores hed,

A charboucle beside;

And ther he swore on ale and bred
How that the geaunt shuld be ded,
Betide what so betide.

His jambeux were of cuirbouly,
His swerdes sheth of ivory,
His helme of latoun bright,
His sadel was of rewel bone,
His bridel as the sonne shone,
Or as the mone light.

His spere was of fin cypres,
That bodeth werre, and nothing pees,
The hed ful sharpe yground.

His stede was all dapple gray,

It goth an aumble in the way

Ful softely and round || in londe

Lo, Lordes min, here is a fit;
If ye wol ony more of it,

To telle it wol I fond.

Now hold
your mouth pour charite,
Bothe knight and lady fre,
And herkeneth to my spell,
Of bataille and of chevalrie,
Of ladies love and druerie,
Anon I wol you tell.

Men speken of romaunces of pris,
Of Hornchild, and of Ipotis,
Of Bevis, and Sire Guy,
Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour,
But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour
Of real chevalrie.

His goode stede he al bestrode,
And forth upon his way he glode,
As sparcle out of bronde;
Upon his crest he bare a tour,
And therin stiked a lily flour,

God shilde his corps fro shonde.

And for he was a knight auntrous,
He n'olde slepen in non hous,
But liggen in his hood,

His brighte helm was his wanger,
And by him baited his destrer,
Of herbes fin and good.

Himself drank water of the well,
As did the knight Sire Percivell
So worthy under wede,
Til on a day

PROLOGUE TO MELIBEUS.

No more of this for Goddes dignitee,
Quod oure hoste, for thou makest me
So wery of thy veray lewednesse,
That al so wisly God my soule blesse,
Min eres aken of thy drafty speche.
Now swiche a rime the devil I beteche;
This may wel be rime dogerel, quod he.
Why so? quod I, why wolt thou letten me
More of my tale, than an other man,
Sin that it is the beste rime I can?

By God, quod he, for plainly at o word,
Thy drafty riming is not worth a tord:
Thou dost nought elles but dispendest time.
Sire, at o word, thou shalt no lenger rime.
Let see wher thou canst tellen ought in geste,
Or tellen in prose somwhat at the leste,
In which ther be som mirthe or som doctrine.
Gladly, quod I, by Goddes swete pine
I wol you tell a litel thing in prose,
That oughte liken you, as I suppose,
Or elles certes ye be to dangerous.
It is a moral tale vertuous,
Al be it told somtime in sondry wise
Of sondry folk, as I shal you devise.

As thus, ye wote that every Evangelist,
That telleth us the peine of Jesu Crist,
Ne saith not alle thing as his felaw doth:
But natheles hir sentence is al soth,
And alle accorden as in hir sentence,
Al be ther in hir telling difference:

For som of hem say more, and som say lesse,
Whan they his pitous passion expresse;

I mene of Mark and Mathew, Luke and John,
But douteles hir sentence is all on.
Therfore, lordinges all, I you beseche,
If that ye thinke I vary in my speche,
As thus, though that I telle som del more
Of proverbes, than ye han herde before
Comprehended in this litel tretise here,
To enforcen with the effect of my matere,
And though I not the same wordes say
As ye han herde, yet to you alle I pray
Blameth me not, for, as in my sentence,
Shul ye nowher finden no difference
Fro the sentence of thilke tretise lite,
After the which this mery tale I write.
And therfore herkeneth what I shal say,
And let me tellen all my tale I

pray.

THE TALE OF MELIBEUS.

A YONGE man called Melibeus, mighty and riche, begate upon his wif, that called was Prudence, a doughter which that called was Sophie.

Upon a day befell, that he for his disport is went into the feldes him to playe. His wif and eke his doughter hath he laft within his hous, of which the dores weren fast yshette. Foure of his olde foos han it espied, and setten ladders to the walles of his hous, and by the windowes ben entred, and beten his wif, and wounded his doughter with five mortal woundes, in five sondry places; this is to say, in hire feet, in hire

hondes, in hire eres, in hire nose, and in hire mouth; and leften hire for dede, and wenten away.

Whan Melibeus retorned was into his hous, and sey al this meschief, he, like a mad man, rending his clothes, gan to wepe and crie.

Prudence his wif, as fer forth as she dorste, besought him of his weping for to stint: but not forthy he gan to crie and wepen ever lenger the

more.

This noble wif Prudence remembred hire upon the sentence of Ovide, in his book that cleped is the Remedie of love, wheras he saith; he is a fool that distourbeth the moder to wepe, in the deth of hire childe, til she have wept hire fille, as for a certain time: and than shal a man don his diligence with amiable wordes hire to reconforte and preye hire of hire weping for to stinte. For which reson this noble wif Prudence suffred hire housbond for to wepe and crie, as for a certain space; and whan she saw hire time, she sayde to him in this wise. Alas! my lord, quod she, why make ye yourself for to be like a fool? Forsothe it apperteineth not to a wise man, to maken swiche a sorwe. Youre doughter, with the grace of God, shal warish and escape. And al were it so that she right now were dede, ye ne ought not as for hire deth youreself to destroye. Senek saith; the wise man shal not take to gret discomfort for the deth of his children, but certes he shulde suffren it in patience, as wel as he abideth the deth of his owen propre persone.

This Melibeus answered anon and saide: what man (quod he) shulde of his weping stinte, that