fol. 9r    5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 fol. 9v 56 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 fol. 10r 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 fol. 10v 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 fol. 11r 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 fol. 11v 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 fol. 12r 326 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 fol. 12v 380 385 390 395 400 405 410 415 420 425 430 fol. 13r 435 440 445 450 455 460 465 470 475 480 485 fol. 13v 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 525 530 535 540 fol. 14r 545 550 555 560 565 570 575 580 585 590 fol. 14v 596 600 605 610 615 620 625 630 635 640 645 fol. 15r 650 655 660 665 670 675 680 685 690 695 700 fol. 15v 705 710 715 720 725 730 735 740 745 750 755 fol. 16r 760 765 770 775 780 785 790 795 800 805 fol. 16v 810 815 820

Isombras Hende in halle and ye schall here Of elders that beforn us were,     Ther lyves how thei dyde lede. I schall yow telle a wonder case. Frendys, herkyns how it was:     Ye schall have heven to mede. I wyll you telle of a knyght That was both herdy and wyght,     A dughty mone he was; Syr Isombras was his name, A nobull knyght of ryall fame     And stronge in every cas. He was a feyre man and strong With schulderes brod and armes longe     That sembly was to se. He was large man and hyghe, All hym loved that hym seyghe,     So hend a man was he. Mynstrels lovyd he welle in halle, And gafe theme rych robys of paule     And gyftys of glytering gold. Of curtassye that knyght was kynge And of his mete not sparynge;     Ther goth none syche on molde He had the feyreste ladye That any man myght se with ee,     Under Oure Lady of heven, And thei hade fayre sones thre; They were all feyre as thei myght be,     With tonge as I you neven. Bot inne hys herte a pride was browght: Of Godys werkys he goffe ryght noght.     Hys mersye he sette nott byghe. So longe he lyffed inne that pride That God wold no lenger byde,     Bot sente hym sorow inne hyghe. For it befelle upon a deye The knyght wente forth for to pleye     Hys feyre foreste to see. As he lokyd hym besyde on hye, He herd a byrd synge hym nye     Hyghe upon a tre. And seyd, “Abyd, Syr Isombras. Thou haste forgette what thou was     For pride of gold and gode. The Kynge of Heven gretys thee soo; Yonge other olde thou schalt have woo:     Chese thee inne thi mode.” With carfull herte and syghyng sore, On his kneys he felle doune thore     And both his handys uphelde. “Werldys welthe I wyll forsake And to Godys mersye I wylle me take;     To hym my selve I yelde. In youth I may both ryde and goo; When I ame olde I canne not so,     My bones wyll wex unwelde. Bot, Jhesu, if thi wylle it be, In youthe poverté thou sende me,     And welthe in myn elde.” Than the byrde toke hys flyght; Alon he left that drery knyght     And so fro hym he wente. When he of that bryd hade no syght, Hys sted that was so strong and wyght     Dede under hym was bentte. Hys haukys and hys hondys bothe Wente to the wode as thei were wrothe,     Iche onne dyverse weye. What wonder was if he were wo? On fote hymselve he muste go;     To peyn turned hys pley. As he came by a lytell schawe, A lytelle chyld anon he sawe     Came rydinge hym agene. Welle wers tydingys he hym tolde, That brynte was all his bygingys bolde,     Hys bestys were all slayn. “Lord, ther is nowght lefte on lyve Bot thy chylder and thy wyffe,     The soth I wylle thee seye.” “Whyle that I may on lyffe se My wyffe and my chylder thre,     Full glad I ame this deye.” As he went by hymselve alone, He mette hys herdmen everychon     With a drery chere. “God that sent me all this wo Hath sente me joy and blys also,     And yet joy mey I here.” A dolefull syght it was to se His wyffe and hys chylder thre     That fro the fyre were flede. Al so naked as thei were borne, He fownd them sytyng under a thorn     Fled oute of ther bede. Nothyng yit sory yit was he Bot when he saw them nakyd be     That he lefte sembly clade. Than the lady bade them be blythe, “For yonder I se your fader onne lyve;     For nothinge be ye drade.” They had wepyd all ther fylle; The knyght bad thei schuld be styll     And wepe nought so sore. “For all the care that we be inne, It is for oure wyked synne,     For we are worthy myche more. “And we canne nothinge wyrke, Therfor myselve I thinke, yrke,     Of begyng for to go.1 Bot we schall thorow Godys grace Com into some gode place     Where some gode we may do.” He toke hys ryche cyrcute of paule, Over his wyfe he lete it falle     With a full drery mode. Hys ryche mantell than toke he And cutte it and clothyd his chylder thre     That nakyd befor hym stode. “Now schall ye do all at my rede: Go seke ther God was quyke and dede     And sprede was on the rode tre. For Jhesu Cryst, he is so gode, They that hym seke with mylde mode     Ther lyves fode send wylle he.” A crosse he cutte upon hys breste And schryved them both unto the preste,     In story as we sey. They that were ther frendys ther Thei wepyd fast and syghed sore;     Ther songe was “Welle-a-wey!” The knyght and the lady hende Toke ther leve at ther frende     And made a sorowfulle mone. Sore wepyd both olde and yenge; Ther was a carefull partyng     When thei ther wey dyd gone. With them thei bore bot lytelle gode To helpe them to ther lyves fode,     Nether gold ne fee. Bot inne the lond thei begged ther mete Where thei myght any gete     For Seynte Charyté. It was grete dole to se that syght, That lady and that gentyll knyght,     How thei dyde sofer wo. They that were wounte to duell with wyne, In grete poverté thei were inne,     And myche sorow also. In a forest thei had gon wylle, No towne myght thei come untylle,     Ne no towne coude thei kepe. When thre deys were come and gone, Mete ne drynke had thei none;     For hunger sor thei wepe. Ne thing thei saw that come of corne, Bot fowlys wyld that satte on thorn;     Ne mete ther gete myght he. Than came thei to a water kene; The bankys were fulle wyde betwen —     That grymly was to se. Hys eldyst son he toke up ther And over the water he hym bere,     And sette hym on the londe. “Loke,” he seyd, “that thou be styll To I fette thy broder thee tylle,     And play thee with this wand.” The knyght that was hend and gode Over the water than he wode,     And toke hys mydell sone, And bore hym over the water wyld. A lyon toke that other chyld     Or he to lond myght com. With carfull herte and sygheng sore, Hys mydellyst son than lefte he thore;     Wepand he wente awaye. With sory chere and drery mode Agen over the water he yode;     To pyne turned all hys pleye. A lyberd com and toke the tother And bare hym to the wodde to his broder;     Wyldly awaye he wente. The lady wepyd all her fylle; For sorow herselve sche wold spylle,     Sych sorow to hyr was lente. They seyd alas that they were borne, “Herd world is us beforne     That are was wyld and cranke!” The knyght bade sche schuld be stylle And blythly sofer Godys wylle:      “We behove hym all to thanke.” Lytell wonder thofe thei had care, For both ther childer leste thei ther     Of the eldyste two. Hys wyffe he uptoke ther And over the water he her bare,     His yongyste sone also. Thorow a forest thei went deys thre Tyll thei come to the grete see.     Grete stormes saw thei blaw Upon the lond ther thei stode. Ther come seylond onne the flode     A thousand schyppes onne rowe. They lokyd doune them besyde: Many schyppes thei saw ther ryde     Bot a lytell them fro. With toppe-castels sette onne lofte, They semed all one gold wroght,     Thei glytered and schyned soo. The Soudan of Pers was therinne. Crystindom he come to wyne,     Ther wakyd wo full wyde. The knyght thought that he wold lende A lytell by that foreste hend;     The schyppes wold ther abyde. Men come to lond, withouten lesse. Ther com in botys grete presse,     Mo than I canne telle, What ther were be the sonde, Of gold all glyterande     With many an hygh toppe-castelle. The knyght spake to the ladye fre, “What frely folke may thes be     That drawys so faste to londe? They seme men of grete asstate. I rede some almus we aske them atte;     For hungour we be nyghe fonde. “In this forest we have gon, Mete ne drinke ete we non     More than deys seven. Aske we thes folke some mete, And loke if we may any gete,     For Godys love of heven.” To the galys thei went with wynne That the Soudan hymselff was inne,     That rychely was wroght. Thei askede ther som lyffes fode, For his love that dyeghed onne rode     And made this werld of nowght. The Sayrezins seyd he was a spye, When thei herd hym so crye,     And ther schyppes had sought. The Souden bade, “Do hym aweye, For we leve not on his leye.     Loke ye gyffe hym nowght.” A knight seyd unto the kynge, “Sertys, it is a wonder thyng     Yone pore man to see, For he is both large and hyghe, The feyrest man that ever Y se;     A gentyll man is he. With armes long and schuldres grete, Wythe browys brante and eyen stepe,     A knyght semys to be. Hys wyffe whyte as whalys bone, Hyr lyre as the see fome,     And bryght as lylé of blee.” The Sowdan grete reuth thought, Bade he schuld be befor hym brought;     He wold hym se with syght. When he them se, he rewyd sore, So sembly as thei bothe wore,     The lady and the knyght. He seyde, “Syr, both gold and fee Thow schall have, and duelle with me     And helpe me for to fyght. If thou be doughty man of dede, Thou schall be horsyd on a stede;     Myselve schall dubbe thee knyght.” Styll stode Syr Isombras, And saw that he a Sarysene was.      “Syr,” he seyd, “naye, That schalle I never more Agens Crystendom to warre     And lyffe upon thi leye. Syr, in the foreste we have gone, Mete ne drynke have we none;     Thys is the seven deye. We aske ye some lyves fode, For Jhesu love that dyghed on rode,     And late us wend our waye.” The Soudan beheld that lady there: Hym thought sche an angell were,     Comyn oute of heven. He seyd, “Thou schall have gold and fee, Thy wyffe if thou wyll sell to me,     More than thou canne nevyn. Sche schall be quene of all my lond All schall bow unto her honde —     Therof she may be feyne.” Syr Isombras seyd, “Naye, My wyffe I wyll not do awaye,     Bot I be for hyr slayne. “I weddyd hyr at Godys ley To hold hyr to myn ending dey     Bothe in wele and woo.” The Soudeyn swore by hys thryft The lady schuld with hym be lyffte     For ought that he couthe doo. The gold on his mantyll thei told; Thoff he were never so stronge and bold,     His wyff thei toke hym froo. And sethyn to the lond thei gan hym caste, And bette hym to hys rybbys braste     And made his flesche full bloo. Than was this knyght in sorow and care, And cursyd the whyle that he come ther;     His wyffe was fro hym goo. The lytell chyld on the lond thei sette And saw how the Sarysyns hys fader bette,     And wepyd and was full woo. The lady wepyd and thought hyr ylle. Unneth for sorow men myght her stylle     That sche herselve wold sclo.2 Sche brayd her armes and faste gane crye, And calyd fast on our dere Ladye,      “Schall we now parte in twoo? Alas, blythe schall I never be And I my lord no more schall se;     My joy is gon me froo. Out, alas, that I was borne; My welth this dey fro me is lorne.”     Thus wakyd all her woo. When the knyght myght uppe stonde, He toke the chylde by the honde;     Aweywerd than went he. A ryche schype ordend was ther; The Souden seyd a knight schuld fare     With that lady fre. The Souden with his awne hond Crounde hir quene of all hys lond     And sente hyr home to hys contré. A ryche charter, I understond, He selyd it with hys owne hond     That sche schuld quene be. Bot when the schypes were made redy, Sche wepyd and was full sory,     And knelyd downe befor the kynge, And seyd, “Syr, I praye thee One bone thou wold grante me     Of one privye thinge.” The Souden grantyd and sche was feyne. The knyght was brought to hyr ageyne     And sche gaffe hym a rynge. Mete and drinke thei dyde hym gyffe, That he myght with a seven nyght lyffe,     And the lytell chyld yenge. The lady was curtasse and mylde: Sche kyssed hire lord and sethen hyr chyld,     And sowned twyse dyd sche. They drew uppe seyle of ryche hew; The wynd of the haven blew     With that lady free. The wondyd knyght doune hym sette, And for his lady sore he grette     Whyle he the seyle myght se. “God that made both dey and nyght, Have mersye upon me, a sympulle wyght.     Thy sond welcom it be.” When the knyght myght uppe stond, He toke the chyld by the hond.     Awey gon he feyre, And sette hym downe under a tree. Unethe hy myght with eyne se,     So had he wepyd sore. Mete and drynke he forth drewe And goffe the lytell chyld inowe,     And ever he was inne care. In his mantyll of scarlet rede Amonge hys gold he dyde his brede,     And with hym he it bare. Tyll he come to a hyll hye Ther he behovyd a nyght to lye;     Ne ferther myght he streche. In the mournyng as he lye, An angelle bore his gold awey,     Fro the rede mantyll he dyd it seche. The sory knyght uppe sterte hee And folowyd hym unto the see:     Ther over gane he flye. That same tyme an unycorne His yonge sone awey had borne;     Syche sorow ganne he drye. Ofte he was in wele and woo, Bot never halfe as he was thoo.     He sette hym onne a stone; With carfulle herte and drery stevyn, He callyd on the kyng of heven;     To hym he made hys mone. “Lord,” he seyd, “full wo is me! So feyre as I hade childer thre,     And now have I none. God that berys of heven the croune Wyse me this dey to some toune,     For now I ame alone.” And as he went in that thrawe, Smythmen herd he blawe     And fyer saw he glowe. Than askyd he mete for charyté. Thei bade hym labor, “For so do we —     We have non other plowe.” The knyght spake to them ageyn, “For mete I wolde traveyll feyn,     Blow and do inow.” Than of mete thei gaffe hym wone; They made hym to bere a stone     Oute of a depe slow. Thus he bore irene and stone Till two yere were comen and gon;     He wroght thus with myche wo. Be than couth he make a fyre; They gaffe hym than mans hyre;     He wroght more than other two. A smythes man he was ther Longe seven yere and more,     And dyde the belos blow. Be than wele couth he dyght All maner of armour for a knyght     To warre when he schuld goo. All that tyme, I understond, The Sowdan werred on Crysten lond     And struyd it full wyde. The Crysten kynge flede so longe, And he gedered folke full stronge     The Sarysens to abyde. Dey of batell ther was sette; Bothe heythen and Crysten mette     A lytell ther besyde. Of alkyns armour he wantyd nouht; Upon a sted he was brought,     To batell gon he ryde. He rode uppe to an hylle hyghe; Hethen and Crysten ther he seyghe     That the knyghtys hade brought. Forthe he rode that thrawe; Trompys sone herd he blawe,     And wepyns faste thei brought. He sette hym doune upon hys kne; To Jhesu Cryste prayd he     And fast he hym besought: “Lord, thou leve me in this feld That I may the Soudene yelde     The wo that he me wroght.” The knyghtys herte was full gode, And forthe he rode with herdy mode;     To fyght he was fulle feyne. For no wepyn wold he stynte; Ther lyved non that bore his dynte,     Tyll his hors was sleyne. Than the kynge to the grownd sought. A Crysten erle out of the batell hym brought     Untyll a mownteyn. Ther he changed all his wede And horsed hym one a gode stede,     And sone he wente ageyn. He prykyd forth as sperke on glede When he was horsyd one a stede     With a grymbly gare. Som he hytte on the hede Unto the gyrdell that it wode,     Them to mych care. It was wele sene ther he stode And also were that he yode,     Hors and man doune he bare. He rode upp to a mounteyn; Ther the Souden was islayn     And all that with hym ware. Thre deys and thre nyghtys Syr Isombras held his fyghtys;     Ther wane he the gree. Than the Crystynd were full feyn When the Saryzens were sleyne;     They made game and glee. They askyd, “Were is that knyght That was so doughty and wyght?     Well feyn we wold hym se. He is a man of mych myght, And doughty bare hym in the fyght;     We knew non sych as he.” Erlys, barons, thei hym sought, Befor the kyng thei hym brought;     Sore wondyd was he. The kyng hys name freyned than; He seyd, “I ame a smythes man.     What is thi wyll with me?” The kyng ansuerd hym than, “Wonder it is, if a smythes man     In bateyll were so wyght.” He bad gyff hym mette and drynke, And all that he wold aske or thynke,     Tyll he were helyd ryght. And be the crowne the kyng sware, “If he covers of hys care,     I schall dubbe hym a knyght.” He was levyd ther in that stede To hele the wondys in hys hede     That he hade inne that fyght. The Crysten men were full feyn That the Sarysens were slayn     And all the hethyn houndys. Of his peynes sore dyd thei rewe; Iche dey thei made salvys newe     To ley onne his woundys. They gafe hym mete and drynk also, And helyd his woundys that were bloo     Withinne a lytell stounde. The knyght ordeyned hym scrype and pyke, And made all palmer lyke,     And made hym redy to fownde. His leve he toke, withouten lesse, And thankyd them both more and lesse     That helpyd to hele hys wounde. The redy way than toke hee Even to the grete see     That was depe to the grownde. A shype redy ther he founde That was tyed to the londe,     As Godys wyll it was. The schype was redy for to wend, And in went the knyght hend,     Owte of the haven to passe. And over the see, I understond, The schype wente unto hethyn lond     And passed over that flode. And when he was in hethynes lente, Forth his weys faste he wente     And seldom styll he stode. Sevyn wynter was he ther With hungor, thyrst and mykell care;     He wantyd lyves fode. In woddys that were grete and hye, He went forth full drerye     As man that couth no gode. Full wery he went on the deye, On the nyght in his clothys leye,     That was so pore a wede; Goddys werkys for to wyrke. Of penans was he never yrke     For his grete mysded. All a thyrste he was gone; Mete and drynke gate he none,     Ne hous to herbour men. Withoute the towne of Bedlem, He ley done be a well strem,     Sore wepand for pyne. And as he leye aboute mydnyght, Ther come an angell fro heven bryght     And brought hym bred and wyne. “Palmer,” he seyd, “welcom thou be; The Kyng of Heven wele gretys thee.     Forgyven are synnes thyn. “Wele thee gretys heven kynge, And hath gyven thee his blyssyng,     And bydys thee turne ageyn.” The knyght fell doune on hys kne, Jhesu Cryst than thankyd he;     He wepyd, he was so feyn. Bot he wyste never whether to go: No other wernyng hede he tho,     Bot aye to walke in peyn. He walkyd forth dey and nyght; God hym sent wey full ryght,     The soth if I schall seyn. Many londys he dyd go thorow, Tyll he came to a ryche borow;     Therine a castell stod. Ther herd he telle ther wonnes a quen That was a lady feyre and schene.     The word of hyr wyd yode, That iche dey gaff at hyr gate, For Godys love, who wold it take. Many folke fonde he ther, A floryn had iche one, that is not to leyne. Syr Isombras was never so feyn,     He hungered never so sore. Of the pore that myght ivell gone, They toke men sexty and moo     Of tho that sekyst were, And inne thei toke Syr Isombras. At grete myscheffe thei saw he was;     Of hym thei rewyd sore. The ryche quene in halle was sette, And men servyd hyr at mete     In riche robys of paule, And in the florth a cloth was leyd. “The pore palmer,” the steward seyd,      “Schall sytt above them all.” Mete and drynke was forth browght; The palmer sate and ete nought,     Bot lokyd onne the haule. So myche he saw of game and gle, And thought what he was wonte to be;     Teres he lete doune falle. So longe he sate and ete nought, The quen beheld and wonder thought,     And to a knyght gan sey, “Feche me a cheyr and a coshyne, And sette the palmer therinne     To tell me that he mey, What tydyngys that he hath herd and sene In hethenes were he hath bene,     In many a wyllfull weye.” A ryche chayre ther was fette, Befor the quen ther he was sette     And told hyr of hys leye. So noblye he hyr told, That sche myght frayn as sche wolld,     And lenger lyst sche sytte. “For my lord sake I schall thee gyffe, Als long as ever thou may lyve,     Clothe, drynke, and mete, And a man to serve thee ryght In chambyr both be dey and nyght     Withinne my castell gate.” He thankyd mykyll the lady fre, And inne hyr courte duellyd he;     His chere was the bete. So longe the palmer duellyd thare, That he was bothe hole and feyr,     And served inne the halle. He was a mych man and hye; All had wonder that hym seye     So strong he was withalle. When knyghtys went to pute the ston, Twelve fote before them everychon,     He putte it as a balle. Therfor envye at hym thei hade: They justyd at hym with strokys sadde,     And he overcom them alle. Syre Isombras upon the feld, Was non so herdy under scheld     Durste mete hys crowkyd stede, Bot he gaffe hym syche a knoke That thei tomblyd tayle over toppe,     And many he made to bled. And some of them so dyd he qwake He brast in two both neke and bake,     And many fled for dred. The quen her selve lowde lowghe, “The pore man is strong inoughe —     I hold hym worthy to fede!” Then befell it on a dey The palmer went hym for to pley,     As it was are hys kynde. A foulys neste he saw on hyghe, A red clothe therin he sye     Wawynd with the wynde. Unto the neste gane he wyne; His awne gold he saw therine,     All olde he gane it fynde. And when he saw that gold That his wyffe was for solde,     His sorow began to mende. The gold to his chambyr he bare, Under hys bedde he hydd it there;     Wepand he wente awey. When he with eyghe that gold dyd se, He wepyd for his wyffe and his childer thre;     To pyne turnede hym his pley. And he were never so glad of mode, And he ons to his chambyr yode,     He wepyd after all dey. So long the palmer led his lyffe Among the knyghtys that was full ryfe,     The soth I wyll you sey. Tyll it befell upon a dey To the wode he wente to pley,     His olde sorow to new ryn. A knyght braste up the chamber dore; The gold he found in the flore,     And schewyd it to the quen. Sone when sche it sawe with syght, In swonyng the lady fell doune ryght,     For sche it are hade sene. Sche kyste it ofte and seyd, “Alas, This gold owyth Syr Isombras,     That my lord was wonte to be.” And sche it to that knyght tolde, How sche was for that gold solde     Many a dey before. “When ye may that palmer se, Byde hym come speke with me;     After hym me longeth sore.” The palmer was brought into the halle. The quen to counsyll dyd hym calle     And askyd hym, for Godys ore, If he were ever gentyll man, And how he that gold wanne.     His mournyng was the more. With sorowfull hert and syghyng sore, He gaff hyr an ansuere     And on his kneys hym sette. The fyrste tale that he her told, How sche was for that gold sold,     And how that he was bete, And how his chylder fro hym was born, And how his gold fro hym was lorne,     And how that he was threte. Than sche kyssyd his face, And seyd, “Welcom, Syr Isombrace!”     For joy thei were wepand. Joy it was to se them mete. With clypyng and with kyssing suete     In armes when thei gon folde. Ather were of other so feyn, Ther joy myght no man seyn,     The sothe if it were tolde. A ryche feste dyd thei byd, Riche and pore therto yede;     Durste non agen them hold. Crowned he was that iche nyght, And made kyng that are was knyght     Of the barons bold. When he was kynge and bore the croune, He sente hys sond fro towne to towne,     Tyll iche a grete cyté. He made crye in borowys bold, Riche and pore, yong and olde,     That thei schuld crystend be. And thei that wold not do so, Ther schall nothing for them go,     Nother gold ne fee. A ryche kyng was Syr Isombras, In more welthe than ever he was,     Of hethen londys was hee. Crystindom he kepyd that tyde: Sondys he sente full wyde     To them that hethen were. Bot thei turnyd to his assentte, He seyd iche one thei schuld be brente     With sorow and myche care. They seyd if thei myght hym hente, He schuld come to a parlament,     With them schuld he fayre. One of them seyd, verament, That he schuld be drawyn and brynte     And all that with hym were. Dey of batell ther was sette. Many hethen ther were mette     Syr Isombras to sloo. Many Sarysins gedered that tyde; They came theder ferr and wyde     With hethen kyngys twoo. Syr Isombras was full of care; He had no man with hym to fare.     All his myrthe was goo. The Saryzyns falyd hym at nede: When he was horsyd on a stede,     All thei flede hym fro. Syr Isombras was full of care. He kyssed his wyffe with myld fare,     With sorowfull herte and sore. A dolfull word dyd he seye: “Sertys, dame, have gode dey,     For now and ever more.” “Lord,” sche seyd, “if I were dyght In hernes as I were a knyght,     With thee wold I fare. And bothe same late us wend, Sen God this grace hath us send;     I byde to lyve no more.” Sone than was the lady dyght In hernes as sche were a knyght,     And had spere and scheld. Ageyn thirti thousand and mo, Com ther none bot thei two     When thei mette in the feld. And as thei schuld takyn be, Ther com rydand knyghtys thre     Upon thre bestys wylde. One onne a lyberd, another onne an unycorn, One onne a lyon — he come beforn —     That was ther oldyste chyld. In angellys wed thei were clade, And an angell them to batell lede     That sembly was to see. They slew the hethyn kynges two And many of the Sarysins also,     Thirti thousand and thre. Syr Isombras prayd the knyghtys kinde Home with hym that they wold weynde     And become his men so fre. Thei ansuerd as the angell them kende, “For thee we were to batell sende —     Thin awne sones are we.” Than was the knyght both glad and blythe, And thankyd God many a sythe     And on hys kneys he hym sette. “O Lord,” he seyd, “heven kyng, Blyssed be Thou over all thing,     My sones that I have mette.” Isumbras and hys lady fre Blysse then ther chylder thre;     For joy all thei grette. It was comforth for to sene The gret joys was them betwen     With clyppyng and with kyssing suete. A ryall borow was ther besyde: Syr Isumbras gan theder ryde,     His wyffe and his sones all same. And when he to the borow was com, Ther were thei rychely welcom     With myrthe, gle and game. With gret honour thei dyd them welcom, With trumpys, pype, and with schalmewon,     As nobull knyghtys of meyn. Isumbras and his childer thre In hethenes made them redé     Batell onne them to bede. Sone thre londys gon thei wyn And stablyd Crysten men therinne,     In romanse as we rede. Than was the knyght, Syr Isumbras, More better than ever he was     And coverde of all his care. Iche of his sonnes he gaffe a lond And crouned them kyng with hond,     To lyve in myrthe ever more. They lyved and dyghed with god intent, And to heven ther saules wente     When thei dede were. AMEN QUOD RATE

(see note) Nobles; if you will hear; (t-note) wonderful matter listen as reward; (see note) brave; stalwart doughty excellent reputation circumstance pleasant tall saw noble fine cloth; (see note) food goes [now] none like him on the earth eye Except for as I tell you (see note) (cared) nothing His (God’s); did not consider delay great sorrow (see note) near him Stay have forgotten; (see note) goods so Either in youth or in old age Choose; mind (heart) anxious; sighing; (t-note) there; (see note) surrender become feeble old age dreary (sorrowful) (t-note) swift Dead; destroyed hounds crazed Each in various directions grove soon worse news burnt; buildings truth day every one of them (see note) As thornbush (t-note) handsomely cheerful in dread (t-note) (see note); (t-note) (t-note) (see note) overcoat spirit robe (see note) at my advice (as I command) travel to where God was live and dead spread; cross spirit sustenance; (see note) (see note) confessed; priest (t-note) Alas! gentle (t-note) sustenance nor money food joy wandering unto sore (sorely) grew of grain (i.e., was edible) swift fearsome (t-note) Until; to you stick noble went Before spirit went the second kill (t-note) once was carefree and cheerful are obliged though lost (see note) blow where (t-note) upper decks; high; (see note) made of gold (t-note) Sultan of Persia; (see note) conquer stirred up woe stop; (t-note) without a lie (certainly) in boats a great crowd More by the bay (t-note) noble alms; from them completely tested ships; joy [To the one] that cross Saracens (see note) do not believe in his religion (t-note) (t-note) tall; (see note) I ever saw (t-note) arched; eyes bright face; sea foam lily; countenance pity [And] requested grieved handsome if you dwell believe in your religion cross; (see note) can name eager in God’s law by his fortune left counted Though afterwards ribs broke blue threw up If lost grew (t-note) potent document sealed; (t-note) [So] that (t-note) boon (favor) personal favor glad (see note) young; (t-note) swooned out of the harbor wounded wept man command; (t-note) Scarcely; eyes Food gave; enough put (t-note) wander (see note); (t-note) take (t-note) endure then sad voice lament Guide time Blacksmiths vigorously work their bellows; (see note) food (t-note) employment work gladly Blow [the bellows] plenty muddy hole (t-note) a man’s wages; (see note) (t-note) bellows By; he could make made war ravaged gathered meet in battle all kinds of; (t-note) at that time Trumpets allow repay steadfast spirit eager stop No one lived who felt his blows (t-note) went Unto (up to) a mountain clothes spark in fire (t-note) fearsome weapon (t-note) so that it drove down to the belt [Putting] them in great pain where he stood whereever he went slain victory joyful brave grievously wounded asked commanded him to be given healed recovers; (t-note) left; place hounds; (see note) pity salves blue while bag and stick; (t-note) dressed like a palmer (pilgrim) depart without a lie (truly) (t-note) (earth’s) foundation depart noble; (t-note) (see note) sea landed in a heathen country life’s sustenance knew wearily slept; (t-note) garb weary (unwilling) Bethlehem; (see note) pain (see note) (t-note) overjoyed then always If I will (can) say the truth town lived beautiful widely went gave [alms] (see note) florin (coin); to lie; (t-note) desirous suffer evils (misery) sickest distress pitied fine cloth on the floor cushion; (t-note) heathen lands wild (difficult); (t-note) exquisite; fetched story inquire as she wished desired to sit much cheer (mood) was the better [for it] Until large man and tall throw; (see note) (t-note) jousted; fierce [When] in the field Who dared meet his decrepit horse shake laughed; (t-note) formerly his habit Waving he began to go (see note) (t-note) [Even] if he were never so happy If he went once to his chamber; (t-note) that [habit] was well known newly consider broke down seen it formerly belongs to; (see note) used to be; (t-note) (t-note) mercy (t-note) threatened (t-note) weeping embracing began to embrace Each was so glad of the other command came No one dared resist them very formerly By command To every towns [To] nothing will help them; (t-note) Commandments Unless they converted to his intention burnt catch contend burnt slay gathered at that time there (t-note) failed him in his need; (see note) i.e., farewell; (t-note) arrayed (dressed) armor together; go Since wait (expect) beasts clothes handsome go instructed (t-note) many times wept [that] were between them embracing royal town (belonging to the crown) to there together town trumpets; shawms (oboes) In heathen lands prepared themselves War against them to wage; (t-note) established (settled) recovered (t-note) good faith (see note)