Chapter II: Part 2

Most productive, though not very common in the fourteenth century, are the miscellanies of short pieces—volumes like Earl Guy's 'little red book containing many divers things'—in which early collectors noted down the scraps that interested them. A codex of West-Country origin, MS. Harley 2253 in the British Museum, preserves among French poems such as the complaint of the _Trailebastoun_, a group of English songs that includes _Lenten is Come_ and _Alysoun_. Most of its numbers are unique, and the loss of this one volume would have swept away the best part of our knowledge of the early Middle English secular lyrics.

Of survival by quotation there is an example in the history of the Letter of Theodric, which lies behind Mannyng's tale of the Dancers of Colbek; and the circumstances are worth lingering over both for the number of by-paths they open to speculation, and for the glimpse they give of Wilton in a century from which there are few records of the nunnery outside the grim, tax-gatherer's entries of Domesday.

In the year before the Conquest, Theodric the foreigner, still racked by the curse that was laid on Bovo's company, made his way from the court of Edward the Confessor to the shrine of St. Edith. As he walked through the quiet valley to Wilton in the spring of the year, we may be sure the thought came to him that here at last was the spot where a man wearied with wandering from land to land, from shrine to shrine, might hope to be cured and to set up his rest. From the moment he reaches the abbey it is impossible not to admire his feeling for dramatic effect. By a paroxysm of quaking he terrifies the peasants; but to the weeping nuns he tells his story discreetly; and, lest a doubt should remain, produces from his scrip a letter in which St. Bruno, the great Pope Leo IX, vouches for all. It is notable that at this stage the convent appear to have taken no steps to record a story so marvellous and so well authenticated; and had Theodric continued his restless wandering we should know of him as little as is known of three others from the band of carollers, who had preceded him at Wilton with a similar story. But when he obtains leave to sleep beside the shrine of St. Edith, and in the morning of the great feast of Lady Day wakes up healed, exalting the fame of their patron saint who had lifted the curse where all the saints of Europe had failed, then, and then only, the convent order that an official record should be made, and the letter copied: _Hec in presencia Brichtive ipsius loci abbatisse declarata et patriis litteris[26] sunt mandata_. Henceforth it exists only as a chapter in the Acts of St. Edith, and as such it lay before Robert of Brunne. Of the other communities or private persons visited by Theodric (who, whether saint or _faitour_, certainly did not produce his letter for the first and last time at Wilton) none have preserved his memory. It would be hard to find a better example of the power of the clergy in early times to control the keys to posterity, or of the practical considerations which, quite apart from merit or curiosity, governed the preservation of legends.

[Foot-note 26: _Patriis litteris_ according to Schröder and Gaston Paris means 'English language', but if it is not a mere flourish, it means rather the 'English script' in which the Latin letter was copied, as distinct from the foreign hand of Theodric's original letter. What 'English script' meant at Wilton in 1065 is a question of some delicacy. The spelling _Folcpoldus_ for _Folcwoldus_ in some later copies of the Wilton text must be due to confusion of _p_ and Anglo-Saxon ƿ = _w_. This would be decisive for 'Anglo-Saxon script' if it occurred anywhere but in a proper name.]

But it is the verses casually jotted down in unrelated books that bring home most vividly the slenderness of the thread of transmission. A student has committed _Now Springs the Spray_ to solitary imprisonment between the joyless leaves of an old law book. The song of the Irish Dancer and _The Maid of the Moor_ were scribbled, with some others from a minstrel's stock, on the fly-leaf of a manuscript now in the Bodleian. On a blank page of another a prudent man (who used vile ink, long since faded) has written the verses that banish rats, much as a modern householder might treasure up some annihilating prescription. To these waifs the chance of survival did not come twice, and to a number incalculable it never came.

It has been the purpose of this digression to bring the extant literature into perspective: not to raise useless regrets for what is lost, since we can learn only from what remains; nor to contest the value of statistics of surviving copies as a proof of circulation, provided the works compared are similar in length and kind, and are represented in enough manuscripts to make figures significant; nor yet to deny that didactic verse bulks large in the output of the fourteenth century: it could not be otherwise in an anxious age, when the scarcity of remains gives everything written in English a place in literary history, and when for almost everything verse was preferred to prose. It seemed better to redress the balance of chance by stealing from the end of the thirteenth century a few fragments that following generations would not forget, than to lend colour to the suggestion that ninety-nine of the men of Chaucer's century enjoyed _The Prick of Conscience_ for every one that caught up the refrain of _Now Springs the Spray_, or danced through _The Maid of the Moor_, or sang the praises of Alison.

V

However much a maker of excerpts may stretch his commission to give variety, it is in vain if the reader will not do his part; for it lies with him to find interest. Really no effective attack can be made on a crust of such diversified hardness until the reader looks at his text as a means of winning back something of the life of the past, and feels a pleasure in the battle against vagueness.

The first step is to find out the verbal meaning. Strange words, that force themselves on the attention and are easily found in dictionaries and glossaries, try a careful reader less than groups of common words—such lines as

_Þe fairest leuedi, for þe nones,
Þat miȝt gon on bodi and bones_ II 53-4

which, if literally transposed into modern English, are nonsense. Those who think it is beneath the dignity of an intelligent reader to weigh such gossamer should turn to Zupitza's commentary on the Fifteenth Century Version of _Guy of Warwick_,[27] and see how a master among editors of Middle English relishes every phrase, missing nothing, and yet avoiding the opposite fault of pressing anything too hard. For these tags, more or less emptied of meaning through common use, and ridiculous by modern standards, have their importance in the economy of spoken verse, where a good voice carried them off. They helped out the composer in need of a rime; the reciter on his feet, compelled to improvise; and the audience who, lacking the reader's privilege to linger over close-packed lines, welcomed familiar turns that by diluting the sense made it easier to receive.

[Foot-note 27: Early English Text Society, extra series, 1875-6.]

Repeated reading will bring out clearly the formal elements of style—the management of rime and alliteration in verse, the grouping and linking of clauses in prose, the cadences in both verse and prose: and before the value of a word or phrase can be settled it is often necessary to inquire how far its use was dictated by technical conditions, compliance with which is sometimes ingenuous to the point of crudity. Where a prose writer would be content with _Mathew sayth_, an alliterative poet elaborates (VIII _a_ 234) into:

_Mathew with mannes face mouthed þise wordis_

and in such a context _mouthed_ cannot be pressed. The frequent oaths in the speeches in _Piers Plowman_ are no more than counters in the alliteration: being meaningless they are selected to prop up the verse, just as the barrenest phrases in the poem _On the Death of Edward III_ owe their inclusion to the requirements of rime. Again, it will be easier to acquiesce in a forced sense of _bende_ in

_On bent much baret bende_ V 47

when it is observed that rime and alliteration so limit the poet's choice that no apter word could be used. Conversely, in the absence of disturbing technical conditions, a reader who finds nonsense should suspect his understanding of the text, or the soundness of the text, before blaming the author.

When the sense expressed and the methods of expression have been studied, it remains to examine the implications of the words—an endless task and perhaps the most entertaining of all. Take as a routine example the place where the Green Knight, preparing a third time to deliver his blow, says to Gawayne—

_Halde þe now þe hyȝe hode þat Arþur þe raȝt,
And kepe þy kanel at þis kest, ȝif hit keuer may_ V 229 f.

A recent translator renders very freely:

'but yet thy hood up-pick,
Haply 'twill cover thy neck when I the buffet strike'—

though the etiquette of decapitation, and the delicacy of the stroke that the Green Knight has in mind, require just the opposite interpretation:—Gawayne's hood has become disarranged since he bared his neck (V 188), and the Green Knight wants a clear view to make sure of his aim. An observation of Gaston Paris on the Latin story of the Dancers of Colbek will show how much an alert mind enriches the reading of a text with precise detail. From the incident of Ave's arm he concludes that the dancers did not form a closed ring, but a line with Bovo leading (I 55) and Ave, as the last comer (I 43-54), at its end, so that she had one arm free which her brother seized in his attempt to drag her away (I 111 ff.).

Intensive reading should be combined with discursive. Intensive reading cultivates the habit of noticing detail; and it is a sound rule of textual criticism to interpret a composition first in the light of the evidence contained within itself. For instance, the slight flicker in the verse

_Sche most wiþ him no lenger abide_ II 330

should recall as surely as a cross-reference the earlier line

_No durst wiþ hir no leng abide_ II 84

and raise the question whether in both places in the original work the comparative had not the older form _leng_. Discursive reading is a safeguard against the dangers of a narrow experience, and especially against the assumption that details of phrase, style, or thought are peculiar to an author or composition, when in fact they are common to a period or a kind. A course of both will enable the reader to cope with a school of critics who rely on superficial resemblances to strip the mask from anonymous authors and attach their works to some favoured name. Whether _Sir Gawayne_ and _The Destruction of Troy_ are from the same hand is still seriously debated. Both are alliterative poems; but it is impossible to read ten lines from each aloud without realizing the wide gap that divides their rhythms. The differences of spirit are more radical still. The facility of the author of _The Destruction_ is attained at the cost of surrender to the metre. Given pens, ink, vellum, and a good original, he could go on turning out respectable verses while human strength endured. And because his meaning is all on the surface, the work does not improve on better acquaintance. The author of _Sir Gawayne_ is an artist who never ceases to struggle with a harsh medium. He has the rare gift of visualizing every scene in his story: image succeeds image, each so sharply drawn as to suggest that he had his training in one of the schools of miniature-painting for which early England was famous. It is this gift of the painter that, more than likeness of dialect or juxtaposition in the manuscript, links _Sir Gawayne_ with _The Pearl_.

It cannot be too strongly urged that the purpose of a worker in Middle English should be nothing less than to read sensitively, with the fullest possible understanding. Of such a purpose many _curricula_ give no hint. Nor could it be deduced readily from the latest activities of research, where the tendency is more and more to leave the main road (which should be crowded if the study is to thrive) for side-tracks and by-paths of side-tracks in which the sense of direction and proportion is easily lost.

That much may be accomplished by specialists following a single line of approach has been demonstrated by the philologists, who have burrowed tirelessly to present new materials to a world which seldom rewards their happiest elucidations with so much as a 'Well said, old mole!' The student of literature (in the narrower modern sense of the word) brings a new range of interests. He will be disappointed if he expects to find a finished art, poised and sustained, in an age singularly afflicted with growing pains; but there are compensations for any one who is content to catch glimpses of promise, and—looking back and forward, and aside to France—to take pleasure in tracing the rise and development of literary forms and subjects. It is still not enough. The specialist in language as a science, or in literature as an art, may find the Sixth Passus of _Piers Plowman_ (VIII _a_) or the Wiclifite sermon (XI _b_) of secondary interest. Yet both are primary documents, the one for the history of society, the other for the history of religion.

There is no escape from a counsel of perfection:—whoever enters on a course of mediaeval studies must reckon as a defect his lack of interest in any side of the life of the Middle Ages; and must be deaf to those who, like the fox in Aesop that had lost its tail, proclaim the benefits of truncation. The range of knowledge and experience was then more than in later times within the compass of a single mind and life. And so much that is necessary to a full understanding has been lost that no possible source of information should be shut out willingly. It is an exercise in humility to call up in all its details some scene of early English life (better a domestic scene than one of pageantry) and note how much is blurred.

Every blur is a challenge. There are few familiar subjects in which a beginner can sooner reach the limits of recorded knowledge. The great scholars have found time to chart only a fraction of their discoveries; and the greatest could not hope or wish for a day when the number of quests worth the making would be appreciably less.

* * * * *

This book had its origin in a very different project. Professor Napier had asked me to join him in producing for the use of language students a volume of specimens from the Middle English dialects, with an apparatus strictly linguistic. The work had not advanced beyond the choice of texts when his death and my transfer to duties in which learning had no part brought it to an end. When later the call came for a book that would introduce newcomers to the fourteenth century, I was able to bring into the changed plan his favourite passage from _Sir Gawayne_, and to draw upon the notes of his lectures for its interpretation. It is a small part of my debt to the generous and modest scholar whose mastery of exact methods was an inspiration to his pupils.

* * * * *

I am obliged to the Early English Text Society and to the Clarendon Press for permission to use extracts from certain of their publications; to the librarians who have made their manuscripts available, or have helped me to obtain facsimiles; to Mr. J. R. R. Tolkien who has undertaken the preparation of the Glossary, the most exacting part of the apparatus; and to Mr. Nichol Smith who has watched over the book from its beginnings.

THE TEXTS

A single manuscript is chosen as the basis of each text, and neither its readings nor its spellings are altered if they can reasonably be defended. Where correction involves substitution, the substituted letters are printed in italics, and the actual reading of the manuscript will be found in the Foot-notes (or occasionally in the Notes). Words or letters added to complete the manuscript are enclosed in caret brackets < >. Corrupt readings retained in the text are indicated by daggers ††. Paragraphing, punctuation, capitals, and the details of word division are modern, and contractions are expanded without notice, so that the reader shall not be distracted by difficulties that are purely palaeographical. A final _e_ derived from OFr. _é(e)_ or _ie_, OE. _-ig_, is printed _é_, to distinguish it from unaccented final _e_ which is regularly lost in Modern English.

The extracts have been collated with the manuscripts, or with complete photographs, except Nos. IV (Thornton MS.), VII, VIII _b_, XI _a_, XVII, the manuscripts of which I have not been able to consult. The foot-notes as a rule take no account of conjectural emendations, variants from other manuscripts, or minutiae like erasures and corrections contemporary with the copy.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY[28]

[Foot-note 28: Books primarily of reference are distinguished by an asterisk. Details relating to texts, manuscript sources, editions, monographs, and articles that have appeared in periodicals, will be found in the bibliographical manuals cited.]

DICTIONARIES.

*_A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles_, ed. Sir J.
A. H. Murray, H. Bradley, W. A. Craigie, C. T. Onions, Oxford
1888—[quoted as _N.E.D._].

*Stratmann, F. A. _A Middle English Dictionary_, new edn. by H.
Bradley, Oxford 1891.

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.

*Brown, Carleton. _A Register of Middle English Religious and
Didactic Verse_ (Part I, List of MSS.; Part II, Indices), Oxford
1916-20 (Bibliographical Society).

*Hammond, Miss E. P. _Chaucer: A Bibliographical Manual_, New York
1908.

*Wells, J. E. _A Manual of the Writings in Middle English,
1050-1500_, New Haven, &c., 1916; Supplement, 1919.

LITERATURE AND LEARNING.

Chambers, E. K. _The Mediaeval Stage_, 2 vols., Oxford 1903.

Clark, J. W. _The Care of Books_, Cambridge (new edn.) 1909.

Ker, W. P. _English Literature, Mediaeval_, London 1912. [A good
brief orientation.]

Legouis, E. _Chaucer_ (transl. L. Lailavoix), London 1913.

Rashdall, H. _The Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages_, 2
vols., Oxford 1895.

CHURCH HISTORY.

Capes, W. W. _The English Church in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth
Centuries_, London 1909.

*Dugdale, Sir William. _Monasticon Anglicanum_, new edn. by Caley,
Ellis and Bandinel, 6 vols., London 1846. [Gives detailed
histories of the English religious houses.]

Gasquet, Cardinal F. A. _English Monastic Life_, London, 4th edn.
1910.

GENERAL HISTORY.

Ashley, W. J. _An Introduction to English Economic History and
Theory_, 2 vols., London 1888-93.

Bateson, Mary. _Mediaeval England (1066-1350)_, London 1903. [A
brief and exact social history.]

Cutts, E. L. _Scenes and Characters of the Middle Ages_, London
1872; 3rd edn. 1911. [Useful for its illustrations from MSS.]

Gasquet, Cardinal F. A. _The Black Death of 1348 and 1349_,
London, 2nd edn. 1908.

Jessopp, A. _The Coming of the Friars and other Historical
Essays_, London, 4th edn. 1890.

Jusserand, J. J. _English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages_
(transl. L. Toulmin Smith), London 1889, &c.; revised 1921.
[Invaluable.]

Lechler, G. V. _John Wiclif and his English Precursors_ (transl.
P. Lorimer), 2 vols., London 1878.

Oman, Sir Charles Wm. C. _The Great Revolt of 1381_, Oxford 1906.

Reville, A., et Petit-Dutaillis, Ch. _Le Soulèvement des
Travailleurs d'Angleterre en 1381_, Paris 1898.

Riley, H. T. _Memorials of London and London Life (1270-1419)_,
London 1868.

*Rogers, J. E. T. _A History of Agriculture and Prices in England
(1259-1793)_. 7 vols., Oxford 1866-1902. [Rich in facts.]

Smith, S. Armitage. _John of Gaunt_, London 1904.

*Stubbs, Wm. _The Constitutional History of England_, 3 vols.,
Oxford (1st edn. 1874-78), 1903-6.

Tout, T. F. _The History of England from the Accession of Henry
III to the Death of Edward III (1216-1377)_, London 1905; new edn.
1920.

Trevelyan, G. M. _England in the Age of Wycliffe_, London 1899;
new edn., 1909. [A brilliant study.]

WORKS RELATING CHIEFLY TO FRANCE.

Enlart, C. _Le Costume_ (vol. iii of his _Manuel d'Archéologie
Française_), Paris 1916.

Faral, E. _Les Jongleurs en France au Moyen Âge_, Paris 1910.

Paris, G. _La Littérature Française au Moyen Âge_, Paris, 5th edn.
1909. [A model handbook.]

I

ROBERT MANNYNG OF BRUNNE'S HANDLYNG SYNNE

A.D. 1303

What is known of Robert Mannyng of Brunne is derived from his own works. In the Prologue to _Handlyng Synne_ he writes:

To alle Crystyn men vndir sunne,
And to gode men of Brunne,
And speciali, alle be name,
Þe felaushepe of Symprynghame,
Roberd of Brunne greteþ ȝow
In al godenesse þat may to prow;
Of Brunne wake yn Kesteuene,
Syxe myle besyde Sympryngham euene,
Y dwelled yn þe pryorye
Fyftene ȝere yn cumpanye....

And in the Introduction to his _Chronicle_:

Of Brunne I am; if any me blame,
Robert Mannyng is my name;
Blissed be he of God of heuene
Þat me Robert with gude wille neuene!
In þe third Edwardes tyme was I,
When I wrote alle þis story,
In þe hous of Sixille I was a throwe;
Danȝ Robert of Malton, þat ȝe know,
Did it wryte for felawes sake
When þai wild solace make.

From these passages it appears that he was born in Brunne, the modern Bourn, in Lincolnshire; and that he belonged to the Gilbertine Order. Sempringham was the head-quarters of the Order, and the dependent priory of Sixhill was near by. It has been suggested, without much evidence, that he was a lay brother, and not a full canon.

His _Chronicle of England_ was completed in 1338. It falls into two parts, distinguished by a change of metre and source. The first, edited by Furnivall in the Rolls Series (2 vols. 1887), extends from the Flood to A.D. 689, and is based on Wace's _Brut_, the French source of Layamon's _Brut_. The second part, edited by Hearne, 2 vols., Oxford 1725, extends from A.D. 689 to the death of Edward I, and is based on the French _Chronicle_ of a contemporary, who is sometimes called Pierre de Langtoft, sometimes Piers of Bridlington, because he was a native of Langtoft in Yorkshire, and a canon of the Austin priory at Bridlington in the same county. Mannyng's _Chronicle_ has no great historical value, and its chief literary interest lies in the references to current traditions and popular stories.

_Handlyng Synne_ is a much more valuable work. It was begun in 1303:

Dane Felyp was mayster þat tyme
Þat y began þys Englyssh ryme;
Þe ȝeres of grace fyl þan to be
A þousynd and þre hundred and þre.
In þat tyme turnede y þys
On Englyssh tunge out of Frankys
Of a boke as y fonde ynne,
Men clepyn þe boke 'Handlyng Synne'.

The source was again a French work written by a contemporary Northerner—William of Wadington's _Manuel de Pechiez_. The popularity of such treatises on the Sins may be judged from the number of works modelled upon them: e.g. the _Ayenbyte of Inwyt_, Gower's _Confessio Amantis_, and Chaucer's _Parson's Tale_. Their purpose was, as Robert explains, to enable a reader to examine his conscience systematically and constantly, and so to guard himself against vice.

Two complete MSS. of _Handlyng Synne_ are known: British Museum MS. Harley 1701 (about 1350-75), and MS. Bodley 415, of a slightly later date. An important fragment is in the library of Dulwich College. The whole text, with the French source, has been edited by Furnivall for the Roxburghe Club, and later for the Early English Text Society. It treats, with the usual wealth of classification, of the Commandments, the Sins, the Sacraments, the Requisites and Graces of Shrift. But such a bald summary gives no idea of the richness and variety of its content. For Mannyng, anticipating Gower, saw the opportunities that the illustrative stories offered to his special gifts, and spared no pains in their telling. A few examples are added from his own knowledge. More often he expands Wadington's outlines, as in the tale of the Dancers of Colbek. Here the French source is brief and colourless. But the English translator had found a fuller Latin version—clearly the same as that printed from Bodleian MS. Rawlinson C 938 in the preface to Furnivall's Roxburghe Club edition—and from it he produced the well-rounded and lively rendering given below.

Robert knew that a work designed to turn 'lewde men' from the ale-house to the contemplation of their sins must grip their attention; and in the art of linking good teaching with entertainment he is a master. He has the gift of conveying to his audience his own enjoyment of a good story. His loose-knit conversational style would stand the test of reading aloud to simple folk, and he allows no literary affectations, no forced metres or verbiage, to darken his meaning:

Haf I alle in myn Inglis layd
In symple speche as I couthe,
Þat is lightest in mannes mouthe.
I mad noght for no disours,
Ne for no seggers, no harpours,
But for þe luf of symple men
Þat strange Inglis can not ken;
For many it ere þat strange Inglis
In ryme wate neuer what it is,
And bot þai wist what it mente,
Ellis me thoght it were alle schente.

(_Chronicle_, ll. 72 ff.)

The simple form reflects the writer's frankness and directness. He points a moral fearlessly, but without harshness or self-righteousness. And the range of his sympathies and interests makes _Handlyng Synne_ the best picture of English life before Langland and Chaucer.

THE DANCERS OF COLBEK

MS. Harley 1701 (about A.D. 1375); ed. Furnivall, ll. 8987 ff.

Karolles, wrastlynges, or somour games, 1
Whoso euer haunteþ any swyche shames
Yn cherche, oþer yn chercheȝerd,
Of sacrylage he may be aferd;
Or entyrludes, or syngynge, 5
Or tabure bete, or oþer pypynge—
Alle swyche þyng forbodyn es
Whyle þe prest stondeþ at messe.
Alle swyche to euery gode preste ys lothe,
And sunner wyl he make hym wroth 10
Þan he wyl, þat haþ no wyt,
Ne vndyrstondeþ nat Holy Wryt.
And specyaly at hygh tymes
Karolles to synge and rede rymys
Noght yn none holy stedes, 15
Þat myȝt dysturble þe prestes bedes,
Or ȝyf he were yn orysun
Or any ouþer deuocyun:
Sacrylage ys alle hyt tolde,
Þys and many oþer folde. 20
But for to leue yn cherche for to daunce,
Y shal ȝow telle a ful grete chaunce,
And y trow þe most þat fel
Ys soþe as y ȝow telle;
And fyl þys chaunce yn þys londe, 25
Yn Ingland, as y vndyrstonde,
Yn a kynges tyme þat hyght Edward
Fyl þys chau<n>ce þat was so hard.
Hyt was vppon a Crystemesse nyȝt
Þat twelue folys a karolle dyȝt, 30
Yn wodehed, as hyt were yn cuntek,
Þey come to a tounne men calle Colbek.
Þe cherche of þe tounne þat þey to come
Ys of Seynt Magne, þat suffred martyrdome;
Of Seynt Bukcestre hyt ys also, 35
Seynt Magnes suster, þat þey come to.
Here names of alle þus fonde y wryte,
And as y wote now shul ȝe wyte:
Here lodesman, þat made hem glew,
Þus ys wryte, he hyȝte Gerlew. 40
Twey maydens were yn here coueyne,
Mayden Merswynde and Wybessyne.
Alle þese come þedyr for þat enchesone
Of þe prestes doghtyr of þe tounne.
Þe prest hyȝt Robert, as y kan ame; 45
Aȝone hyght hys sone by name;
Hys doghter, þat þese men wulde haue,
Þus ys wryte, þat she hyȝt Aue.
Echoune consented to o wyl
Who shuld go Aue oute to tyl, 50
Þey graunted echone out to sende
Boþe Wybessyne and Merswynde.
Þese wommen ȝede and tolled here oute
Wyþ hem to karolle þe cherche aboute.
Beu<u>ne ordeyned here karollyng; 55
Gerlew endyted what þey shuld syng.
Þys ys þe karolle þat þey sunge,
As telleþ þe Latyn tunge:
'_Equitabat Beuo per siluam frondosam,
Ducebat secum Merswyndam formosam. 60
Quid stamus? cur non imus?_'
'By þe leued wode rode Beuolyne,
Wyþ hym he ledde feyre Merswyne.
Why stonde we? why go we noght?'
Þys ys þe karolle þat Grysly wroght; 65
Þys songe sunge þey yn þe chercheȝerd—
Of foly were þey no þyng aferd—
Vnto þe matynes were alle done,
And þe messe shuld bygynne sone.
Þe preste hym reuest to begynne messe, 70
And þey ne left þerfore neuer þe lesse,
But daunsed furþe as þey bygan,
For alle þe messe þey ne blan.
Þe preste, þat stode at þe autere,
And herd here noyse and here bere, 75
Fro þe auter down he nam,
And to þe cherche porche he cam,
And seyd 'On Goddes behalue, y ȝow forbede
Þat ȝe no lenger do swych dede,
But comeþ yn on feyre manere 80
Goddes seruyse for to here,
And doþ at Crystyn mennys lawe;
Karolleþ no more, for Crystys awe!
Wurschyppeþ Hym with alle ȝoure myȝt
Þat of þe Vyrgyne was bore þys nyȝt.' 85
For alle hys byddyng lefte þey noȝt,
But daunsed furþ, as þey þoȝt.
Þe preste þarefor was sore agreued;
He preyd God þat he on beleuyd,
And for Seynt Magne, þat he wulde so werche— 90
Yn whos wurschyp sette was þe cherche—
Þat swych a veniaunce were on hem sent,
Are þey oute of þat stede were went,
Þat <þey> myȝt euer ryȝt so wende
Vnto þat tyme tweluemonth ende; 95
(Yn þe Latyne þat y fonde þore
He seyþ nat 'tweluemonth' but 'euermore';)
He cursed hem þere alsaume
As þey karoled on here gaume.
As sone as þe preste hadde so spoke 100
Euery hand yn ouþer so fast was loke
Þat no man myȝt with no wundyr
Þat tweluemo<n>þe parte hem asundyr.
Þe preste ȝede yn, whan þys was done,
And commaunded hys sone Aȝone 105
Þat <he> shulde go swyþe aftyr Aue,
Oute of þat karolle algate to haue.
But al to late þat wurde was seyd,
For on hem alle was þe veniaunce leyd.
Aȝone wende weyl for to spede; 110
Vnto þe karolle as swyþe he ȝede,
Hys systyr by þe arme he hente,
And þe arme fro þe body wente.
Men wundred alle þat þere wore,
And merueyle mowe ȝe here more, 115
For, seþen he had þe arme yn hand,
Þe body ȝede furþ karoland,
And noþer <þe> body ne þe arme
Bledde neuer blode, colde ne warme,
But was as drye, with al þe haunche, 120
As of a stok were ryue a braunche.
Aȝone to hys fadyr went,
And broght hym a sory present:
'Loke, fadyr,' he seyd, 'and haue hyt here,
Þe arme of þy doghtyr dere, 125
Þat was myn owne syster Aue,
Þat y wende y myȝt a saue.
Þy cursyng now sene hyt ys
Wyth veniaunce on þy owne flessh.
Fellyche þou cursedest, and ouer sone; 130
Þou askedest veniaunce,—þou hast þy bone.'
Ȝow þar nat aske ȝyf þere was wo
Wyth þe preste, and wyth many mo.
Þe prest, þat cursed for þat daunce,
On some of hys fyl harde chaunce. 135
He toke hys doghtyr arme forlorn
And byryed hyt on þe morn;
Þe nexte day þe arme of Aue
He fonde hyt lyggyng aboue þe graue.
He byryed <hyt> on anouþer day, 140
And eft aboue þe graue hyt lay.
Þe þrydde tyme he byryed hyt,
And eft was hyt kast oute of þe pyt.
Þe prest wulde byrye hyt no more,
He dredde þe veniaunce ferly sore; 145
Ynto þe cherche he bare þe arme,
For drede and doute of more harme,
He ordeyned hyt for to be
Þat euery man myȝt wyth ye hyt se.
Þese men þat ȝede so karolland, 150
Alle þat ȝere, hand yn hand,
Þey neuer oute of þat stede ȝede,
Ne none myȝt hem þenne lede.
Þere þe cursyng fyrst bygan,
Yn þat place aboute þey ran, 155
Þat neuer ne felte þey no werynes
As many †bodyes for goyng dos†,
Ne mete ete, ne drank drynke,
Ne slepte onely alepy wynke.
Nyȝt ne day þey wyst of none, 160
Whan hyt was come, whan hyt was gone;
Frost ne snogh, hayle ne reyne,
Of colde ne hete, felte þey no peyne;
Heere ne nayles neuer grewe,
Ne solowed cloþes, ne turned hewe; 165
Þundyr ne lyȝtnyng dyd hem no dere,
Goddys mercy ded hyt fro hem were;—
But sungge þat songge þat þe wo wroȝt:
'Why stonde we? why go we noȝt?'
What man shuld þyr be yn þys lyue 170
Þat ne wulde hyt see and þedyr dryue?
Þe Emperoure Henry come fro Rome
For to see þys hard dome.
Whan he hem say, he wepte sore
For þe myschefe þat he sagh þore. 175
He ded come wryȝtes for to make
Coueryng ouer hem, for tempest sake.
But þat þey wroght hyt was yn veyn,
For hyt come to no certeyn,
For þat þey sette on oo day 180
On þe touþer downe hyt lay.
Ones, twyys, þryys, þus þey wroȝt,
And alle here makyng was for noȝt.
Myght no coueryng hyle hem fro colde
Tyl tyme of mercy þat Cryst hyt wolde. 185
Tyme of grace fyl þurgh Hys myȝt
At þe tweluemonth ende, on þe ȝole nyȝt.
Þe same oure þat þe prest hem banned,
Þe same oure atwynne þey †woned†;
Þat houre þat he cursed hem ynne, 190
Þe same oure þey ȝede atwynne,
And as yn twynkelyng of an ye
Ynto þe cherche gun þey flye,
And on þe pauement þey fyl alle downe
As þey had be dede, or fal yn a swone. 195
Þre days styl þey lay echone,
Þat none steryd oþer flesshe or bone,
And at þe þre days ende
To lyfe God graunted hem to wende.
Þey sette hem vpp and spak apert 200
To þe parysshe prest, syre Robert:
'Þou art ensample and enchesun
Of oure long confusyun;
Þou maker art of oure trauayle,
Þat ys to many grete meruayle, 205
And þy traueyle shalt þou sone ende,
For to þy long home sone shalt þou wende.'
Alle þey ryse þat yche tyde
But Aue,—she lay dede besyde.
Grete sorowe had here fadyr, here broþer; 210
Merueyle and drede had alle ouþer;
Y trow no drede of soule dede,
But with pyne was broght þe body dede.
Þe fyrst man was þe fadyr, þe prest,
Þat deyd aftyr þe doȝtyr nest. 215
Þys yche arme þat was of Aue,
Þat none myȝt leye yn graue,
Þe Emperoure dyd a vessel werche
To do hyt yn, and hange yn þe cherche,
Þat alle men myȝt se hyt and knawe, 220
And þenk on þe chaunce when men hyt sawe.
Þese men þat hadde go þus karolland
Alle þe ȝere, fast hand yn hand,
Þogh þat þey were þan asunder
Ȝyt alle þe worlde spake of hem wunder. 225
Þat same hoppyng þat þey fyrst ȝede,
Þat daunce ȝede þey þurgh land and lede,
And, as þey ne myȝt fyrst be vnbounde,
So efte togedyr myȝt þey neuer be founde,
Ne myȝt þey neuer come aȝeyn 230
Togedyr to oo stede certeyn.
Foure ȝede to þe courte of Rome,
And euer hoppyng aboute þey nome,
†Wyth sundyr lepys† come þey þedyr,
But þey come neuer efte togedyr. 235
Here cloþes ne roted, ne nayles grewe,
Ne heere ne wax, ne solowed hewe,
Ne neuer hadde þey amendement,
Þat we herde, at any corseynt,
But at þe vyrgyne Seynt Edyght, 240
Þere was he botened, Seynt Teodryght,
On oure Lady day, yn lenten tyde,
As he slepte here toumbe besyde.
Þere he had hys medycyne
At Seynt Edyght, þe holy vyrgyne. 245
Brunyng þe bysshope of seynt Tolous
Wrote þys tale so merueylous;
Seþþe was hys name of more renoun,
Men called hym þe pope Leoun.
Þys at þe court of Rome þey wyte, 250
And yn þe kronykeles hyt ys wryte
Yn many stedys beȝounde þe see,
More þan ys yn þys cuntré.
Þarfor men seye, an weyl ys trowed,
'Þe nere þe cherche, þe fyrþer fro God'. 255
So fare men here by þys tale,
Some holde hyt but a troteuale,
Yn oþer stedys hyt ys ful dere
And for grete merueyle þey wyl hyt here.
A tale hyt ys of feyre shewyng, 260
Ensample and drede aȝens cursyng.
Þys tale y tolde ȝow to <make> ȝow aferde
Yn cherche to karolle, or yn chercheȝerde,
Namely aȝens þe prestys wylle:
Leueþ whan he byddeþ ȝow be stylle. 265

[Foot-note: 21 for (2nd) _om. MS. Bodley 415_.]

[Foot-note: 24 Ys as soþ as þe gospel _MS. Bodley_.]

[Foot-note: 78 behalue] halfe _MS. Bodley_.]

[Foot-note: 94 þey] _so MS. Bodley: om. MS. Harley_.]

[Foot-note: 106 he] _so MS. Bodley_.]

[Foot-note: 118 þe] _so MS. Bodley_.]

[Foot-note: 136-7 forlorn̄... morn̄ _MS._]

[Foot-note: 140 hyt] _so MS. Bodley_: _om. MS. Harley._]

[Foot-note: 171 Þat] Þat hyt _MS. Harley_.]

[Foot-note: 221 men] þey _MS. Bodley_.]

[Foot-note: 227 ȝede] wente _MS. Bodley._]

[Foot-note: 229 togedyr... neuer] myȝt þey neuer togedyr _MS. Bodley._]

[Foot-note: 241 Seynt _om. MS. Bodley._]

II

SIR ORFEO

_Sir Orfeo_ is found in three MSS.: (1) the Auchinleck MS. (1325-1350), a famous Middle English miscellany now in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh; (2) British Museum MS. Harley 3810 (fifteenth century); (3) Bodleian MS. Ashmole 61 (fifteenth century). Our text follows the Auchinleck MS., with ll. 1-24 and ll. 33-46 supplied from the Harleian MS. The critical text of O. Zielke, Breslau 1880, reproduces the MSS. inaccurately.

The story appears to have been translated from a French source into South-Western English at the beginning of the fourteenth century. It belongs to a group of 'lays' which claim to derive from Brittany, e.g. _Lai le Freine_, which has the same opening lines (1-22); _Emaré_; and Chaucer's _Franklin's Tale_.

The story of Orpheus and Eurydice was known to the Middle Ages chiefly from Ovid (_Metamorphoses_ x) and from Virgil (_Georgics_ iv). King Alfred's rendering of it in his _Boethius_ is one of his best prose passages, despite the crude moralizing which makes Orpheus's backward glance at Eurydice before she is safe from Hades a symbol of the backslider's longing for his old sins. The Middle English poet has a lighter and daintier touch. The Greek myth is almost lost in a tale of fairyland, the earliest English romance of the kind; and to provide the appropriate happy ending, Sir Orfeo is made successful in his attempt to rescue Heurodis. The adaptation of the classical subject to a mediaeval setting is thorough. An amusing instance is the attempt in the Auchinleck MS. to give the poem an English interest by the unconvincing assurance that _Traciens_ (which from 'Thracian' had come to mean 'Thrace') was the old name of Winchester (ll. 49-50).