- Edition: As You Like It
The Tale of Gamelyn
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2
89Fitt 2
Lytheneth, and listeneth, and holdeth your tonge,
And ye shul here talking of Gamelyn the yonge.
Ther was there bisiden cride a wrastelinge,
And therfore ther was sette a ramme and a ringe;
And Gamelyn was in wille to wende therto,
Forto preven his myght, what he coude doo.
"Brothere," seide Gamelyn, "by Seint Richere,
Thow most lene me tonyght a litel coursere
That is fresshe for the spore on forto ride;
I moste on an erande a litel here beside."
"By God!" seide his brothere. "Of stedes in my stalle
Goo and chese the the best; spare noon of hem alle
Of stedes and of coursers that stoden hem byside;
And telle me, good brother, whider thou wilt ride."
"Here beside, brother, is cried a wrastelinge,
And therfore shal be sette a ram and a ringe.
Moche worschip it were, brother, to us alle,
Might I the ram and the ringe bringe home to this halle."
A stede ther was sadeled smertly and skete.
Gamelyn did a peire spores fast on his fete.
He sette his foote in the stirop the stede he bistrode,
And towardes the wrastelinge the yonge childe rode.
Whan Gamelyn the yonge was riden out atte gate,
The fals knyght his brother loked yit after thate,
And bysought Jesu Crist, that is hevene kinge,
He myghte breke his necke in the wrestelinge.
As sone as Gamelyn come ther the place was,
He lighte doune of his stede and stood on the gras,
And ther he herde a frankeleyn "Weiloway" singe,
And bygonne bitterly his hondes forto wringe.
"Good man," seide Gamelyn, "whi mast thou this fare?
Is ther no man that may you helpen out of care?"
"Allas!" seide this frankeleyn, "that ever was I bore!
For twey stalworth sones, I wene,that I have lore.
A champion is in the place that hath wrought me sorowe,
For he hath sclayn my two sones but if God hem borowe.
I will yeve ten pound, by Jesu Christ, and more,
With the nones I fonde a man wolde handel hym sore."
"Good man," seide Gamelyn, "wilt thou wele doon,
Holde my hors the whiles my man drowe of my shoon,
And helpe my man to kepe my clothes and my stede,
And I wil to place gon to loke if I may spede."
"By God," seide the frankleyn, "it shal be doon;
I wil myself be thi man to drowe of thi shoon,
And wende thou into place, Jesu Crist the spede,
And drede not of thi clothes ne of thi good stede."
Barefoot and ungirt, Gamelyn inne came.
Alle that were in the place hede of him nam,
Howe he durst aventure him to doon his myght
That was so doghty a champion in wrasteling and in fight.
Up stert the champioun rapely anon,
And toward yonge Gamelyn byganne to gon,
And seide, "Who is thi fadere and who is thi sire?
For sothe thou art a grete fool that thou come hire!"
Gamelyn answerde the champioun tho:
"Thowe knewe wel my fadere while he myght goo,
The whiles he was alyve, by Seynt Martyn!
Sir John of Boundes was his name, and I am Gamelyne."
"Felawe," sayde the champion, "so mot I thrive,
I knewe wel thi fadere the whiles he was alyve;
And thi silf, Gamelyn, I wil that thou it here;
While thou were a yonge boy, a moche shrewe thou were."
Than seide Gamelyn, and swore by Cristes ore:
"Now I am older wexe thou shalt finde me a more!"
"By God," seide the champion "welcome mote thou be!
Come thow onys in myn honde thou shalt nevere the."
It was wel within the nyght, and the mone shone,
Whan Gamelyn and the champioun togider gon gone.
The champion cast turnes to Gamelyne, that was prest,
And Gamelyn stode and bad hym doon his best.
Than seide Gamelyn to the champioun:
"Thowe art fast aboute to bringe me adoun;
Now I have proved mony tornes of thine,
Thow most," he seide, "oon or two of myne."
Gamelyn to the champioun yede smertely anoon;
Of all the turnes that he couthe he shewed him but oon,
And cast him on the lift side, that thre ribbes to-brake,
And therto his owne arme, that yaf a grete crake.
Than seide Gamelyn smertly anon,
"Shal it bi hold for a cast or ellis for non?"
"By God!" seide the champion, "whedere it be,
He that cometh ones in thi honde shal he never the!"
Than seide the frankeleyn that had the sones there,
"Blessed be thou, Gamelyn, that ever thou bore were!"
The frankleyn seide to the champioun on hym stode hym noon eye,
"This is yonge Gamelyne that taught the this pleye."
Agein answerd the champioun that liketh no thing wel,
"He is alther maister and his pley is right felle.
Sithen I wrasteled first it is goon yore,
But I was nevere in my lif handeled so sore."
Gamelyn stode in the place anon without serk,
And seide, "Yif ther be moo, lat hem come to werk;
The champion that pyned him to worch sore,
It semeth by his countenance that he wil no more."
Gamelyn in the place stode stille as stone
For to abide wrastelinge, but ther come none;
Ther was noon with Gamelyn that wold wrastel more,
For he handeled the champioun so wonderly sore.
Two gentile men that yemed the place
Come to Gamelyn -- God yeve him goode grace! --
And seide to him, "Do on thi hosen and thi shoon.
For soth at this tyme this fare is doon."
And than seide Gamelyn, "so mot I wel fare,
I have not yete halvendele sold my ware."
Thoo seide the champioun, "so broke I my swere,
He is a fool that therof bieth thou selleth it so dere."
Tho seide the frankeleyne that was in moche care,
"Felawe," he saide, "whi lackest thou this ware?
By Seynt Jame of Gales, that mony man hath sought,
Yit is it to good chepe that thou hast bought."
Thoo that wardeynes were of that wrastelinge
Come and brought Gamelyn the ramme and the rynge,
And Gamelyn bithought him it was a faire thinge,
And wente with moche joye home in the mornynge.
His brother see wher he came with the grete route,
And bad shitt the gate and holde hym withoute.
The porter of his lord was soor agaast,
And stert anoon to the gate and lokked it fast.