fol. 76r 5 10 15 20 25 fol. 76v 31 35 40 45 50 55 60 fol. 77r 65 70 75 80 85 90 fol. 77v 96 100 105 110 115 120 fol. 78r 125 130 135 140 145 150 fol. 78v 155 160 165 170 175 180 fol. 79r 185 190 195 200 205 fol. 79v 211 215 220 225 230 235 fol. 80r 240 245 250 255 260 fol. 80v 266 270 275 280 285 290 fol. 81r 295 300 305 310 315 fol. 81v 321 325 330 335 340 345 fol. 82r 350 355 360 365 370 375 fol. 82v 380 385 390 395 400 405 fol. 83r 410 415 420 425 430 435 fol. 83v 440 445 450 455 460 465 fol. 84r 470 475 480 485 490 fol. 84v 496 500 505 510 515 520 525 fol. 85r 530 535 540 545 550 fol. 85v 555 560 565 570 575 580 fol. 86r 585 590 595 600 605 610 fol. 86v 615 620 625 630 635 640 fol. 87r 645 650 655 660 665 fol. 87v 670 675 680 685 690 695 fol. 88r 700 705 710 715 720 725 fol. 88v 730 735 740 745 750 755 fol. 89r 760 765 770 775 780 fol. 89v 785 790 795 800 805 810 fol. 90r 815 820 825 830 835 fol. 90v 841 845 850 855 860 865 fol. 91r 870 875 880 885 890 895 fol. 91v 900 905 910 915 920 925 fol. 92r 930 935 940 945 950 955 960 fol. 92v 965 970 975 980 985 990 fol. 93r 995 1000 1005 1010 1015 1020 fol. 93v 1025 1030 1035 1040 1045 1050 fol. 94r 1055 1060 1065 1070 1075 1080 fol. 94v 1085 1090 1095 1100 1105 1110 fol. 95r 1115 1120 1125 1130 1135 1140 1145 fol. 95v 1150 1155 1160 1165 1170 1175 fol. 96r 1180 1185 1190 1195 1200 1205 1210 fol. 96v 1215 1220 1225 1230 1235 1240 fol. 97r 1245 1250 1255 1260 1265 1270 fol. 97v 1275 1280 1285 1290 1295 1300 1305 fol. 98r 1310 1315 1320 1325 1330 1335 fol. 98v 1340 1345 1350 1355 1360 1365 fol. 99r 1370 1375 1380 1385 1390 1395 1400 fol. 99v 1405 1410 1415 1420 1425 1430 fol. 100r 1435 1440 1445 1450 1455 1460 fol. 100v 1466 1470 1475 1480 1485 1490 1495 fol. 101r 1500 1505 1510 1515 1520 1525 fol. 101v 1530 1535 1540 1545 1550 1555 fol. 102r 1561 1565 1570 1575 1580 1585 1590 fol. 102v 1595 1600 1605 1610 1615 1620 fol. 103r 1625 1630 1635 1640 1645 1650 1655 fol. 103v 1660 1665 1670 1675 1680 1685 fol. 104r 1690 1695 1700 1705 1710 1715 fol. 104v 1720 1725 1730 1735 1740 1745 1750 fol. 105r 1755 1760 1765 1770 1775 1780 fol. 105v 1785 1790 1795 1800 1805 1810 fol. 106r 1815 1820 1825 1830 1835 1840 1845 fol. 106v 1850 1855 1860 1865 1870 1875 fol. 107r 1880 1885 1890 1895 1900 1905 1910 fol. 107v 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 1940 fol. 108r 1945 1950 1955 1960 1965 1970 1975 fol. 108v 1980 1985 1990 1995 2000 2005 fol. 109r 2010 2015 2020 2025 2030 2035 2040 fol. 109v 2045 2050 2055 2060 2065 2070 fol. 110r 2075 2080 2085 2090 2095 2100 2105 fol. 110v 2110 2115 2120 2125 2130 2135 fol. 111r 2140 2145 2150 2155 2160 2165 fol. 111v 2171 2175 2180 2185 2190 2195 2200 fol. 112r 2205 2210 2215 2220 2225 fol. 112v 2231 2235 2240 2245 2250 2255 2260 fol. 113r 2265 2270 2275 2280 2285 2290 fol. 113v 2295 2300 2305 2310 2315 2320 fol. 114r 2325 2330 2335 2340 2345 2350 fol. 114v 2355 2360 2365 2370 2375 2380 fol. 115r 2385 2390 2395 2400 2405 2410 fol. 115v 2415 2420 2425 2430 2435 2440 fol. 116r 2445 2450 2455 2460 2465 2470 fol. 116v 2475 2480 2485 2490 2495 2500 2505 fol. 117r 2510 2515 2520 2525 2530 2535 fol. 117v 2540 2545 2550 2555 2560 2565 fol. 118r 2571 2575 2580 2585 2590 2595 2600 fol. 118v 2605 2610 2615 2620 2625 2630 fol. 119r 2635 2640 2645 2650 2655 2660 2665 fol. 119v 2670	Here bygynneth a good tale Of Torrente of Portyngale. God that ys worthy and bold Heven and erthe have in hold, Fyld, watyr, and wynde, Yeve us grace hevyn to wyne, And brynge us owt of dedly synne, And in Thy servyse to ende. A stounde and ye woll lyst be-dene, Ale dowghtty men that evyr hathe byn, Wher so that they lende. I schall yow tell, ore I hense pase, Of a knyght that dowghtty wase, In Rome ase clarkys fynde. In Portynggall, that ryche londe, An erell that wase wonande, That curtese wase and dowghtty. Sone aftyr he had a sone, The feyerest that on fot myght gon, Tyrrant, men seyd, he hyght. Be tyme he wase eighteen yer old, Of dedds of armys he wase bold, To felle bothe kyng and knyght. And now commythe dethe appon a day, And takythe hys father, ase I yow sey, For God ys most of myght. The kyng of Portynggall wase fayne, To warde hym he takythe Torrayne, 1 That dowghtty ys in dedde. And ther he fesomnyd in hys hond A good eyrldom in that lond, Bothe forest and downe. The kyng hathe a dowghttyr feyer ase flowyr, Desonell wase her name, Worthyest in wede. 2 When Torrent had of her a syght More he lovyd that swet wyte Than all ys fathyrys londe. For love of thys lady deyr, In dede of armys far and nere Aventorrs gan he take. With heve tymbyr and ovyr-ryde, Ther myght no man hys dent abydde, But to the erthe he them strake. Her father and other knyghtts mo Had farly how he ryd soo, And on a day to hyme spake. He seyd, “Torrent, howe may thys byne, That thow dysplesyst thes knyghtts kene, And ordurrs non woll take?” Torrent sayd, “So mut I thee, And other sayment woll I see, Ore I take ordor of knyght.” Tho he sware by hevyn kyng, Ther wase told hym a wondyr thyng In hys chambyr to nyght: “For the love of my doughter dere Thow makyst good, far and nere, In dedde of armys bryght. And wyt thow wyll, so God me save, Thow schalt her wyne, yf thow her have, Be thow never so wyttht.” Torrent sayd, “Be Mary dere, And I were of armyse clere, 3 Yowr dowghttyr me leve were.” The kyng seyd, “Yf yt be soo Ore seven yere be a-go, More schall we here. Durst thow, for my dowghttyr sake, A poynt of armys for to take, With owt helpe of fere?” Than seyd Torrant, “So God me sped, With anny man that syttythe on stede Other far ore nere.” Ther-of the kyng for tene wax wode: “Yf thow wylt make thy body good Be trew and hold thy contnance . . . . Tho seyd Torrant, “So God me sped ere! And I wyst in what sted they were, Fore no man wold I chaunce.” “Into the Greks See a mylle Ther lyghttythe a gyant in an yle, Full evyll thow dourst hyme stond. My fayer forests fellythe downe he, And ryche castells in that contré, No ston lyttythe he stond.” 4 Terrent sayd, “Be Marre bryght, Yt ys gret sorrow that he hathe syght, The devyll of hell hym blynd.” The kyng sayd, “Par la more le dewe, Thow darryst full evyll with thy ey hym sewe, He wold fell thee with hys wynde.” “Now be my trowthe,” seyd Torrent than, “Als I ame a jentylman, Yf I may hym fynd Won fot woll I not from hym pase, Thow he be stronger than Samson wase, Or anny man of hys kynd.” Hys squyerys, they mornyd sore, Withowt fere that he schold fare To that gret jorney, With the gyant heygh for to fyght. Begonmese that gyant hyght That fyndds fare for aye. To arme hyme Torrant goos, Hys good stede with hym he takythe, Withowt squyer that day. He takythe leve at lorddys hend, And on hys wey gan he wynd, For hym all they prayd. Lytyll wyst Desonell that jente, For whos love that he went, To fyght with that knave. Now God, that dyed appon a Rode, Strengithe hym both bone and blod, The fyld for to have. He that schall wend soche a wey, Yt were nede for hym to pray, That Jesu hym schuld save. Yt ys in the boke of Rome, Ther was no knyght of Kyrstendome, That jorney durst crave. 5 Six days rydythe he By the cost of the feyer see, To seke the gyant kene. By the cost, as he rode, In a forest longe and brode And symly wase to see, Hey sperrys ther he fonde, And gret olywys growonde, Coverd in levys grene. Sone wase he ware, ase Y yow say, Uppon a mounteyn ther he laye On slepe, ase I wene. Torrent on kne knelyd he, And be-sowght Jesu so fre, That bowght hym with Hys blod: “Lord, ase Thow dyd ryght for Maré, Let me never take velony, And gef me of Thy fode. Sertts, yf I hym slepyng slone, Manfull ded were yt none, For my body, be the Rode.” Tho Terrant blewe hys bugell bold, To loke that he awake wold, And sythe ner hyme rode. So fast aslepe he wase browght, Hys hornys blast awoke hyme nowght, He swellyd ase dothe the see. Torrent saw he woll not wake, He reynyd hys sted unto a stake, Ase a jentyll man in fere. So hy, he say, wase the mounteyne, Ther myght no horse wynd hym agen, But yf he nowyd wold be. 6 Thowe the wey never so wykkyd were, On hys wey gan he fare, In gret perayll went hee. Torent went to that mounten, He put hys spere hyme ageyne, “Aryse, fellow,” gan he saye. “Who made thee so bold here to dwell, My lords frethe thus to fell? Amends thee behovythe to pay.” The gyant rysythe as he had byn wod, And redyly by hyme stode, Besyd hyme on a lay, And seyd, “Sertes, yf I leve, Soche a wed I woll thee gef, To meve thee evyr and ay.” Thow the chyld were nevyr so yonge, The fynds spere sparrythe hyme no-thyng, In the holtts horee. Who had fare and nere byne, And never had of fytyng seyn, He myght a lernyd there. The gyant, the fyrst stroke to hym he cast, Hys good schyld all to-brast, In schevyrs spred wase there. Tho coud he no better ryd, 7 But stond styll tyll one were ded; The gyant lefte hym ther. Torrent undyr hys spryt he sprent 8 And abowght the body he hyme hente, As far as he myght last. “A! Fellow, wylt thow so?” And to the grownd gan they goo, Of the mounteyn bothe downe gan they pase. Ase the boke of Rome tellys, They tornyd xxxii tymys, In armys walloyng fast. Yt tellythe in the boke of Rome, Evyr ase the gyant above come, Hys gutts owt of hys body brast. At the fot of the mounteyn Ther lay a gret ragyd ston, serteyn, Yt nyhed ys schulder bon And also hys ryght syd. Ther to that gyant fell that tyd, Ase I herd in Rome. Thorrow Hyme, that mad man, Torrent sone abovyn wane, And fast he gan him warke With a knyfe feyer and bryght. Torrent with all hys myght Therewith he gard hyme dwell. Torent knelyd on hys kne, To Jesu Cryst prayd he, That hathe thys world to wyld: “Lord, lovyd, evyr lovyd Thowe be, The feyer fyld Thow hast lent me” (Upp bothe hys hands held) “All onely withowt any knave, Of the fynd the maystry to have, Of hym to wyn the fyld.” Now ys ther none other to say, Of hyme he wane the fyld that day. I pray God hyme schyld. Torrent went uppe ageyne To the mount, ase I gan sayne, The londs to se far and nere. In the see a myle, hyme thought, An hold wase rychyly wrowt, In that lond wase not here perre. The see wase ebbyd, I yow sey, Torrent thether toke the way, Werry all thow he were. And ther he fownd ryche wayes, Towrrs endentyd with presyos stonys, Schynyng ase crystall clere. The gattys of yron ther he fond, Ther in Torrent gan wonde, A nyghts rest there in he take. And at the hale dore ther wase A lyon and a lyonesse, Ther men betwene them twayne, Fast etyng, ase ye may here. Crystyn man thow he were, Hys browys be gan to blowe, And wit yow will, Lord God yt wote, He durst go no fote, Lest they wold hyme sle. Torrant stod and beheld, And prayd to God, that ale may wyld, To send hyme harborrow good. Sone hard he within a whalle The syghyng of a lady smalle, Sche weppte ase sche were wod. Sche mornyd sore and sayd, “Alas, That evyr kyngs dowghttyr wase Overcome of so jentyll blod, For now ame I holdyn here In lond with a fynds fere.” Torrent hard, wher he stod. “Dere God,” seyd Torrant than, “Yf ther be anny Crystyn man In thys hold of ston, That woll, for the love of God of myght, Harbourrow a jentylman thys nyght, For I ame but on.” “Seynt Marry,” seyd that lady clere, “What Crystyn man axithe harburrow here?” Nere hym sche gothe anon. “I wold harburrow thee full fayne, But a gyant wyll thee slayne.” To hym sche mad here mone. “Say me now, fayer lady wyght, Who owte of thys plase schall me hyght, Thes tourrs that are so feyer and bryght?” Ther sche seyd, “Be hevyn kyng, Here ys a gyant dwellyng, That meche ys of myght. Be my trowthe, and he thee see, Were there twenti lyvys in thee, Thy dethe than wyll he dyght. Jesu Cryst yef me grace To hyde thee in some preve plase, Owt of the fynds syght.” . . . . “Evyr me thynkythe by thy tale, The song of the burds smale On slepe hathe hyme browght.” “Ye,” seyd Torrent, “ore he be wakyn, I schall thee tell soche a tokyn, Of hym thow have no thowght. But woldds thow for thy gentry Do the lyonnys downe lye, That they nyee me nowght?” By the hand sche ganne hym tane And led hyme in betwe them twayne, Ryght ase sche wold, they wrowght. The lady wase nevyr so a-drad, Into the hale sche hym lad, That lemyred ase gold bryght. Sche byrlyd whyt wyne and rede: “Make use myrre ageyne owre dedd, 9 I wot will, yt ys so dyght!” “Be my trowthe,” seyd Torrent, “I wole be thy warrant, He comythe not here thys nyght. On soche a slepe he ys browght, All men of lyve wakythe hym nowght, But onely God on hyght!” Blythe then wase that lady jent, For to onharnes Torrent, That dowghtty wase and bold. “For sothe,” sche seyd, “I wot wher ys The kyngs sone of Provense, 10 Fast put in hold In a dongon that ys dym. Fowyre good erylls sonnys be with hyme, Ys fet in fere and fold. 11 The gyant wan theme in a tyde, Ase they rane be the watyr syd, And put them in preson cold. In an yron cage he hathe them done.” Torrent went thether sone: “Are ye yet levand?” The kyngs sone askyd than, Yf ther were anny Crysten man, “Wold bryng use owt of bond?” “Lord,” he seyd, “God all-myght, I had levyr on a day to fyght, Than all my fathyrys lond.” With an iryn mall styff and strong He brake upe an yron dore or longe, And sone the keyes he fond. Owt he toke thys chyldryn fyve, The feyrest that were on lyve, I-hold in anny sted. The lady wase full glad, Sche byrlyd whyt wyn and redd, And sethyn to soper sone they yed. “Lords,” he seyd, “syn yow are her, I red yow make ryght good cher, For now ys all thy nede.” Thus he covyrd owt of care. God that sofryd wondds sore, Grante use well to sped. Lordds, and ye wol lythe, The chyldyr namys I woll tell blythe, Herekyn, how they were me told. The kyngs sone, that dowghtty wase, Wase clepyd Verdownys, That dowghtty wase and bold. The kyngs dowghttyr of Gales lond, Elyoner, I undyrstond, That worthy wase in hold. And an erylls son that hyght Torren, Another Jakys of Berweyne, The forthe wase Amyas bold. Into hys chambyr sche hyme led, Ther gold and sylvyr wase spred, And asur, that wase blewe. In yron ther he gan stond, Body and armys lyghtand, In powynt to trusse and goo. Into a stabyll sche hym led, Eche toke a full feyer sted, They were redy to goo. And wote ye well and undyrstond, Had the gyant be levand, They had not partyd soo. They woll not to bed gan, Tyll on the morrow the day spronge, Thus awey to fare. Torrant sperryd the gattys, i-wyse, All that he lyst he clepyd hys, The keys and thyng he bare. The lyons at the dore Were led to her maysteer that wase befor; On hym thay fed them ther. Upp won of the horse that wase ther levyd, On hym thei trussyd the gyantts hed. Thus helpt hym God ther. But ore thre weks wer commyn to end, To Portynggall gan he wend, Ther ase the kyng gan lye. The porter ther sawe he stood, He fled awey ase he were wod, Flyngyng ase a fynd. “Syr kyng,” he seyd, “be Godds dede, Torrant bryngythe a devyll ys hed, Therwith he woll yow present.” Desonell seyd, “Porter, be styll.” . . . In hys walke ther ase he went. The kyng to the gatys gan pase, Gret lords that ther wase, Bothe knyghts and squyerres, Lords wase full sore a-dred Fore the lyonys that he had, They durst not come hyme ner. The kyng seyd, “I wyll thee kysse, Durst I for thy bests, i-wysse.” Torrent dyd them ly ther, And kyssyd the kyng with joy and blyse, And aftyr other lords of hys, And aftyr other ladys clere. Messengyrs toke the weye, To the kyng of Provyns to sey, Hys sone ys owt of hold. “Yoyng Torrent of Portynggall Hathe browght hym owt of balle And slayne the jeyant bold.” The kyng seyd, “So mot I thee, I woll geff thee towynnys three For the talls thow hast me told.” Lytyll and mykyll that ther wer, All they mad good cher, Her prynse fayne see wold. Than seyd they, that to Gales yede, Yeftys to hym were no ned, Then Verdownys had they. Ase they seylyd on a tyde, At Perrown on the see syd . . . The kyng of Provynse seyd: “So mot I thee, Yftles schall they not be, That dare I sothely sey. The kyng of Gales proferd hym feyer: “Wed my dowghttyr and myn eyer, When so evyr thow may!” The kyng of Pervense seyd, “So mot I thee, Thys seson yeftles schall thow not be, Have here my ryng of gold, My sword, that so wyll ys wrowyt, A better that yt know I nowght Within Crystyn mold. Yt ys ase glemyrryng ase the glase, Thorrow Velond wroght yt wase, Bettyr ys non to hold. I have syne sum tyme in lond, Loke thou hold yt with fulle hond, Whoso had yt of myn hond, I fawght therefore it bold.” Tho wase Torrent blythe and glad, The good swerd ther he had, The name was Adolake. A gret mayney let he make, That lest all a fortnyght, Who so will hys met take. Evyry man toke ys leve, as I yow say, Homward to wend ther wey, Every man ys rest to take. Tyll yt befell uppon a day, Ase they went be the wey, The kyng to hys dowghttyr spake: “Ye schall take hed of a jeentyll man, A feyer poynt for yow he wane, Desonell, at the last.” “Syr,” sche seyd, “be hevyn kyng, Tyll ye me told I knewe no thyng, For who ys love yt wase.” “Desonell, so mut I thee, Yt wase for the love of thee That he trovylld so fast. I warne yow, dowghttyr, be the Rode, Yt ys for yow bothe good, Ther to I red yow trust!” Forthe sche browght a whyt sted, And whyt as the flowyr in med, Ys fytte blac ase slo. 12 “Leman, have here thys fole, That dethe ys dynt schalt thou not have, Whyll thow settyste hyme appon, And yf thow had persewyd be, And hadyst ned fore to fle, Fast for to gone. The kyng of Nazareth sent hym me, Torrent, I wet-safe hym on thee, For better love may I none.” Aftyrward uppon a tyd, Ase they went be the watyrs syd, The kyng and yong Torrent, The kyng wold fayne that he ded were, And he wyst in what maner, How he schuld be schent. A false lettyr mad the kyng And dyd messengyrs forthe yt bryng, On the rever, ase they went, To Torrent, that was trew ase styll, Yf he love Desonell wyll, Get her a facon jent. Torrent the letter began to red, The kyng lestyned and nere yed, Ase he yt nevyr ad syne. “Syr,” he seyd, “what may thys be? Loo, lord, come ner and see, Abowght a facon schene. I ne wot, so God me sped, In what lond that they bred.” The kyng answerd, “I wene, In the forrest of Maudelayne, Ther be hawks ase I herd seyne, That byn of lenage gene. And than seyd the kyng ontrew: “Yf thow get hawkys of gret valew, Bryng on of them to me.” Torrent seyd, “So God me save, Yf yt betyd that I may have, 13 At yowr wyll they schal be.” Hys squyer bode he ther, Aftyr hys armor for to far, In the fyld byddythe he. They armyd hym in hys wed, Tho he bestrod a noble sted, And forthe than rod hee. Torrent toke the wey ageyn Into the forest of Mawdleyn, In the wyldsome way. Berys and apes there founde he, And wylde bestys great plenté, And lyons where they lay. In a wod that wase tyght, Yt drew nere-hand nyght, By dymmynge of the day. Lysten, lordes, of them came wo, He and his squyer departed in two; Carefull men then were they. At the schedyng of a rome, Eche partyd other frome, For sothe, ase I undyrstond. Torrent toke a dulful wey, Downe in a depe valey, Besyd a well strong. A lytyll before mydnyght, Of a dragon he had syght That grysly wase to fyght. He had hym nowght to were, But hys schyld and hys spere, That wase in hys squyers hond. Torrent knelyd on hys kne, To Jesu Cryst prayd he: “Lord, mykyll of myght, Syne I wase in meche care, Let me nevuyr owt of thys world far, Tyll I take order of knyght. Ase I ame falsely hether sent, Wyldsom weyes have I went, With fynds for to fyght. Now, Jesu, for Thy holy name, Ase I ame but man alone, Than be my helpe tonyght!” Ase Torrent Jesu gan pray, He herd the dragon, ther he lay, Undyr-nethe a clough. Off and on he wase stronge, Hys tayle wase seven yerds long, That aftyr hyme he drewe. Hys wynggs was long and wyght, To the chyld he toke a flyght, With a howge swowe. Had he nether schyld ne spere, But prayd to God he schold hyme were, For he wase in dred i-nowthe. On the tayle an hed ther wase, That byrnyd bryght as anny glase, In fyer whan it was dyght. Abowght the schyld he lappyd yt ther, Torrent the bowght asondyr schere, Thurrow the grace of God almyght. As the boke of Rome tellys, Of hys taylle he cut four ells, With hys sword so bryght. Than cryed the lothely thyng, That all the dall began to ryng, That the gyant hard wyght. The gyant seyd, “I undyrstond, There ys sum Crystyn man nere hond, My dragon here I cry. By Hym that schope bothe watyr and lond, All that I can se before me stond, Dere schall they abye. Me thynkythe I here my dragon schowt, I deme there be some dowghtty man hym abowght, I trow, to long I ly. Yf I dwell in my pyll of ston, And my chef foster were gone, A false mayster were I!” Be the gyant wase redy dyght, Torrent had slayne the dragon ryght; Thus gan God hyme scheld. To the mownteyne he toke the way To rest hyme all that day, He had myster to be kyllyd. Tyll the day began to spryng Fowllys gan myrre to syng, Bothe in frethe and in fold. Leve we now of Torrent there And speke we of thys squyer more: Jesu hys sole fro hell schyld. Hys squyer rod all nyght In a wod that wase full tyght, With meche care and gret fare, For to seke hys lord Torrent, That wysly wase frome hyme sent, And he wyst nevyr whethyr ne wher. He durst nevyr cry ne schuot, For wyld bests were hym abowght In the holtts hore. A lytyl whyll before the day He toke into a ryde wey, Hyme self to meche care. Forthe he rod, I undyrstond, Tyll he an hey wey fond, Withowtyn any delay, Also fast ase he myght fare, Fore berrys and apys that ther were, Lest they wold hym byght. The sone arose and schone bryght, Of a castyll he had a syght, That wase bothe feyer and whyte . . . . The gyant him se, and ny yed, And seyd, “Fellow, so God me sped, Thow art welcom to me. What dost thow here in my forest?” “Lord, to seke an hawkys nest, Yf yt yowr wyl be.” “Thee behovythe to ley a wede.” To an oke he hym led: Gret ruthe yt wase to se. In four quarters he hym drewe, And every quarter uppon a bowe. Lord, soche weys toke hee. Ase Torrent in the mounteyn dyd ly, Hym thowght he hard a reufull cry, Gret fere ther hyme thowght. “Seynt Marre,” seyd the chyld so fre, “Wher evyr my jentyll squyer myght be, That I with me to wod browght?” On he dyd hys harnes ageyne, And worthe on hys sted, serteyne, And thetherward he sowght. And wot yow wyll, I undyrstond, In fowre quartyrs he hym fownd, For otherwyse wase yt nowght. The gyant lenyd to a tre, And behyld Torrent so free, For sothe, ase I yow seye. Thys fend wase ferly to fyght, Rochense, seythe the boke, he hyght, Ther wase a dredfull fraye. To the chyld than gan he smyght: “A, thef, yeld thee asttyt, As fast as thow may!” “What,” seyd Torrent, “art thow wood? God, that dyed on the Rood, Gef thee evyll happe thys day!” He rawght Torrent suche a rowght, Hys stedds brayne he smot owte, So mykyll he began. Torrent tho a good sped, Ase fast abowte an eche went, Ase swefte ase he myght ryne. He gathyred sum of hys gere, Bothe hys schyld and hys spere; Nere hym yod he than. Bacward than be a browgh, Twenty fote he gard hyme goo, Thus erthe on hym he wane. 14 Yt solasyd Torrent than, When he sawe hyme bacward ron, Downe be a mounteyn of Perowne, Stomlyng thurrow frythe and fen, Tyll he com to a depe thorne, Ther myght non hym stere. Torrent wase glad and folowyd fast, And hys spere on hyme he brast, Good Adyloke yed hyme nere. The fynd in the watyr stod, He fawte ageyn, ase he were wod, All the day in fere. Tho nere hond wase the day gone, Torrent wase so werry than, That on hys kne he knelyd: “Helpe, God, that all may! Desonell, have good day!” Fro hym he cest hys schyld. Jesu wold not he were slayne, To hym He sent a schowyr of rayne, Torrent full wyll yt kelyd. The fynd saw he wase ny mate, Owt of the watyr he toke the gate, He thowght to wyne the fyld. Thoo wase Torrent fresse and good; Nere the fynd sore he stod, Cryst hym save and see. The fynd fawt with an yron staff, The fyrst stroke to hym he gafe, He brast hys schyld on thre. Torrent undyr hys staff rane, To the hart he baryd hym than, And lothely cry gane he. To the grownd he fell as tyght, And Torrent gan hys hed off smyght, And thus he wynnythe the gre. Torrent knelyd on the grownd, And thankyd God that ylke stownd, That soche grace hyme send. Thus two journeys in thys woo, With hys hands slew he gyantys too, That meny a man hathe schent. 15 Torrent forthe frome hyme than yod, And met hyme xxiiii fotte, Ther he lay on the bent. Hedles he left hym there, Howt of the fyld the hed he bare, And to the castell he went. To thys castell he gan far. Ther fond he armor and other gere, A sword that wase bryght. To the towre he toke the wey, Ther the gyants bed lay, That rychyly wase dyght. At the bedds hed he fond A swerd worthe an erllys lond, That meche wase of myght. On the pomell yt wase wret, Fro a prynce yt wase get, Mownpolyardns he hyght. The sarten, withowt lese, A schef chambyr he hym ches, Tyll on the morrow day. To the stabull tho he yod, There he fond a nobyll sted, Wase comely whyt and grey. The gyantts hed gan he take, And the dragonnys wold he not forsake, And went forthe on hys wey. He left mor good in that sale Than was within all Portynggall, Ther ase the gyant laye. Tho he rod bothe day and nyght, Tyll he come to a castell bryght, Ther ys lord gan dwell. Torrent on kne he fond ther at, Schort tall for to tell. “Have thow thys in thyn hond, No nother hawkys ther I fond, At Mawdlenys well.” The kyng seyd, “Ase so have I blyse, Torrent, I trow, slyke ys, To the dewell of hell!” “Here besyd dwellythe won on lond, Ther ys no knyght hys dynt may stond, So stronge he ys on grond.” “Syr,” he seyd, “fore Sen Jame, What ys the gyants name, So evyr good me sped?” “Syr,” he seyd, “so mut I thee, Slogus of Fuolls thus hyght hee, That wyt ys undyr wede.” . . . . Lytyll and mykyll, lese and more, Wondyr on the hedds thore, That Torrent had browght hol whome. The lords seyd, “Be Sen Myhell, Syr kyng, but ye love hyme wyll, To yow yt ys gret schame.” Torent ordeynyd prysts fyve, To syng for hys squyerys lyve, And menythe hym by name. Therfor the lady whyt ase swane To Torrant, here lord, sche went than, Here hert wase to hyme tane. Lettyrrs come hetherward To the kyng of Portynggall, To ax hys dowghttyr derre, Fro the kyng of Eragon, To wed her to hys yongest son, The lady that ys so clere. For Torrent schuld no her have, To hyme fyrst he here gafe, To the messenger, And hys way fast agayn dyd pase, Whyle Torrent an huntyng wase, Therof schuld he not be ware. On a mornyng ther ase he lay, The kyng to the quene gan sey: “Madame, for cherryté, Thow art oftyn hold wyse; Now woll ye tell me yowr devyce, That how I may governe me. The ryche kyng hathe to me sent, For to aske my dowghttyr gente, That ys so feyer and fre.” “Syr,” sche seyd, “so God me save, I red yow let Torrent her have, For best worthy ys he.” He seyd, “Madame, were that feyer, To make as erlls sone myn eyer? I will not, by Sen Jame! There he hathe done maystrs thre, Yt ys hys sword, yt ys not he, For Hatheloke ys ys name.” “Lord, he myght full wyll sped, A knyghts dowghttyr wase hyme bed, Ase whyt ase walls bone. And yf ye warne hym Desonell, All that therof here tell, Therof wyll speke schame.” “Madam, unto thys tyd Ther lythe a gyant here besyd, That many a man hathe slayne. I schall hyght hym my dowghttyr dere, To fyght with that fynds fere, Thus he holdythe hyme in trayne. But I schall make myn commnant so, That there schall non with hyme go, Squyer ne swayne.” “Syr,” sche seyd, “so mut I thee, So sore bestad hathe he be, And wyll commyn ageyne!” Tho the bells began to ryng, Upe rose that ryche kyng, And the lady in feree. And aftyrward they went to mase, Ase the law of Holy Chyrge wase, With notts and solemnyté. Trompettys on the wall gan blowe, Knyghts semlyd on a rowe, Gret joy wase to see. Torrent a syd bord began, 16 The squyers nexte hym than, That good knyghts schuld be. Ase they sat a-mydds the mete, The kyng wold not foreget; To Torrent the kyng gan sey, He seyd, “Torrent, so God me save, Thow wolds fayne my dowghttyr have, And hast lovyd her many a day.” “Ye, be trouthe,” seyd Torrent than, “And yf that I were a ryche man, Ryght glad, parmafay!” “Yf thow durst for her sake, A poynt of armys undyrtake, Thow broke her well fore ay!” “Ye,” seyd Torrent, “or I go, Sekyrnes ye schall make me so, Of yowr dowghttyr hend. And aftyrward my ryghts, Before xxvii knyghts.” . . . . And all were Torrents frende. “Now, good seris,” gan Torrant sey, “Bere wittnes her of som daye, Ageyne yf God me send!” Torrent seyd, “So mut I thee, Wyst I where my jorney schold be, Thether I wolde me dyght.” The kyng gaf hyme an answere: “In the lond of Calabur ther Wonnythe a gyant wyght, And he ys bothe strong and bold, Slochys he hyght, I thee told, God send thee that waye ryght.” Than quod Torrent, “Have good day, And, or I come ageyn, I schall asay, Whether the fynd can fyght!” Tho wold he no longer abyde, He toke ys wey for to ryde On a sted of gret valewe. Into a chambyr he gothe, Hys leve of Desonell he toke, Sche wepte, all men myght rewe. He seyd, “Lady, be styll. I schall come ageyn thee tyll, Thurrow helpe of Marry trewe.” Thus he worthe on a stede. In hys wey Cryst hyme sped, Fore he yt no thyng knewe. He toke hym a redy wey, Thurrow Prevyns he toke the wey, As hys jorney fell. Tyll the castell be the see, An hy stret heldythe hee, Ther the kyng dyd dwelle. To the porter he gan seye, “Wynd in, fellow, I thee pray, And thy lord than tell, Pray hym, on won nyght in hys sale, To harburrow Torrent of Portynggall, Yf yt bee ys will!” The porter dyd hys commandment, To the kyng he ys wente, And knelyd uppon ys kne: “God blyse thee, lord, in thy sale. Torrent of Portynggale Thus sendythe me to thee. He praythe yow, yf ye myght, To harburrow hym thys won nyght, Yf yowr will yt bee.” The kyng swere by Hym that dyed on tre, “There ys no man in Crystyanté More welcome to me!” The kyng arose and to the gat yod, Lords and other knyghts good, That were glad of hys commyng. Into the hale he hyme browght, Ryche met spare they nowght, Before Torrent fore to bryng. “Syr,” sayd the kyng, “I pray thee, Where be thy men of armys free, That with thee schuld wynd?” “Syr, to a lord I must ryde, My squyer hongythe be my syde, No man schall with me wend.” “Syr,” seyd the kyng, “I pray thee, Where schall thy ded of armys bee, Yf yt be thy wyll?” “Syr,” he seyd, “uttyrly, At Calabur, sekyrly, I ame all redy ther tyll With a squyer that will can ryde; Fast be the see sydde Schuld we play owr fyle. And wot ye wyll, and undyrstond, Ther schall no knyght come nere hond Fore dred of dentts yll.” The kyng seyd, “Be Goddes ore, I rede that thou come not there, Fore why, I wyll thee saye: Meche folke of that contré Come hether for sokor of me, Bothe be nyght and day. There ys a gyant of gret renowne, He destrowythe bothe seté and towyn, And all that evyr he may. And ase the boke of Rome dothe tell, He wase get of the dewell of hell, As hys moder on slepe lay.” The kyng seyd, “Be Seynt Adryan, I rede, another jentyll mane Be there and have the degré. I have a dowghttyr that ys me dere, Thow schalt here wed to thy fere, And yf yt thy wyll be Two duchyes in londe, I wille geve here in hande.” “Gramercy, syr,” sayd he, “With my tonge so have I wrowght, To breke my day than will I nowght, 17 Nedys me behovythe ther to bee.” “In Godds name,” the kyng gane sayne, “Jesu send thee will ageyne, Lord so mekyll of myghte!” Menstrells was them amonge, Trompetts, harpys, and myrre songe, Delycyous nottis on hyght. When tyme was, to bed they wente. On the morrow rose Torrente And toke leve of kyng and knyght, And toke a redy weyye, Be a see syd as yt laye. God send hym gatts ryght! A hye stret hathe he nome, Into Calabur hy ys come, Within to days ore thre. Soo come ther folks hym ageyne, Fast folloyng with cart and wayne, Forward the sytté. “Dere God,” seyd Torrent nowe, “Leve folks, what eyllythe yow Soo fast fore to flee?” “There ys a gyante here besyde, In ale thys countré fare and wyde, No mane on lyve levythe hee.” “Dere God,” sayd Torrant thane, “Where schall I fynd that lothly man?” Ther they answerd hym ageyne: “In a castyll besyd the see, Slongus, soo hyght hee, Many a man had he slayne. We wot will where he doth ly: Before the cyté of Hongryé; He will not thus gone, Tyll he have the ryche kyng To hys presone for to bryngg, To be lord of hymeself alone.” Tho wold he no lenger abyd, But to the sytte gan he ryde, As fast as he myght fare. Here barys fell and broke downe, And the gatts of gret renowne, Stondyng all baree. Men of armys stond hyme ageyne, Mo than fyfty had he slayne With gryme woundds and sare. 18 When Torrent of hym had a syght, Thowe Desonell be nevyr so bryght, He will rewe hym hys chafer. Torrent in the storrope stod And prayd to God that dyed on Rode: “Lord, ase Thow schalt ale wyld at wyle, Gyf me grace to wyn the fyld Undyr nethe spere and schyld, That thys fynd hym yeld Anon to me tyll. A man schall but onnys dyee, I will fyght whill I may dryee!” He mad nobyll cher. When he had Jesu prayd of grace, He wyscheyd hyme a battell place, There as hym lyst were. Torrent hys spere asay began, Bothe schyld and spere than, That they were sekyr and good. Aftyr that, within a throwe, Hys good horne gane he blowe. The gyant sawe wher he stodde; Slongs of Flonthus staryd than Quod Torrent, “Yf thow be a gentyll man, Or come of gentyll blod, Let thy beytyng and thy ermyght be And come prove thy strenghe on me, Therfor I sowght thee, be the Rodde!” The gyant sayd, “Be the Roode, Dewell of hell send thee fode, Hether to seche me. By the nose I schall thee wryng, Thow berdles gadlyng, That all hell schall thow see!” The wey than to hym he toke And on hys bake he bare a croke, Wase ten fot long and thre. And thow he never so gret were, Torrent thowght not fare to fare, Tyll wone of them ded bee, Thoo wold Torrent no lenger byd, Tyll the thef gan he ryde, Ase fast ase evyr he may. The thef had non ey but on, Soche sawe I never none, 19 Neyther be nyght nor be day. Thurrow Godds helpe and Sen Awsden, The spere anon he toke to hym, God send hym the ryght wey. Than the thef begane to rore. All that in the sytté were, Ovyr the wallys they laye. Thow the fynds ey were owte, Fast he leyd hym abowte, All that sommyrrs nyght. He set ys backe to an hyll, That Torrent schuld not come hym tyll, So meche that thef coud of fyght. He bled so sore, I undyrstond, Hys croke fell owt of hys hond, Hys dethe to hyme ys dyght. Torrent to hyme rane with a spere, Thurrow the body he gan hym bere, Thus helpe hym God of myght. That all in the sytté were, Mad full nobill chere, That thys fynd wase dedde. Forthe they ran with stavys of tre, Torrent seyd, “So mut I thee, Kepe hold hys hed! Yf yt be broke, so God me sped, Yt ys wyll the worse to lede.” That seson they dyd ase hyme bad; Mo than thre hunderd on a throng, Yt ys solas evyr among, Whan that he was dede. Than the kyng of Calaber ayen hym went, Torrent be the hond he hent, To the hall he gan hym lede And comaundid squiers tho, Of hys harnes for to do, And cloth hym in another wede. Waytes on the wall gan blowe, Knyghtis assemled on a rowe, And sith to the deyse they yede. “Sir,” quod the kyng, “of whens are ye?” “Of Portingale, sir,” said he, “I com heder to sech my deth.” Ful curtesly the kyng gan say, To Torrent on the other day: “Wyll ye wend with me A litull here beside to passe, There as the geaunts dwelling was, His manner now for to see?” To the castell gan they gone, Richer saw they never none, Better myght none be. “Sir,” he said, “by God allmyght, For thow hym slew, that it dight, I vouche it save of thee. 20 “I yeve yt thee, sir, of my hond, And thereto, an erledome of lond, For soth, ye shall it have. Omage thou shalte non fyne, 21 But ever more to thee and thyne, Frely, so God me save!” Lordys, and ye liston wold, What was clepud the riche hold: The castell of Cardove. Two days or thre dwellith he there, And sith he takyth the way to fare, Both at knyght and knave. By the kyng of Pervens he gan gane, That he had oute of preson i-tane His son uppon a day. Gentilmen, were blith and fayn, That he in helth was comyn agayn, That they myght with hym play. Thereof herd he, sertaynly, That Desonell wedid shold be, With an uncouth ray. And listonyth, lordis, of a chaunce, Howe he lefte his countenaunce, And takyth hym armes gay! Byfore the kyng he fell on kne “Good lord,” he said, “for charité, Yeve me order of knyght! I wott well, ye are leryd, My lordys doughter shall be wed To a man of myght.” “Sir,” he said, “I trow, she mone To the prynce of Aragon, By this day sevynnyght. Swith,” he seith, “that this be done, That thow be there and wyn thy shone, 22 Gete thee armes bryght.” Sir Torrent ordenyth hym a sheld, It was ryche in every feld, Listonyth what he bare: On azure a squier of gold, Richely bett on mold; Listonyth what he ware: A dragon lying hym besyde, His mouth grennyng full wyde, All fyghtyng as they were. The crest, that on his hade shold stond, Hit was all gold shynand, Thus previd he hym there. Lordys assembelid in sale, Well mo than I have in tale, Or ellis gret wonder were. There herd he tell for certayn, That Desonell wed shold be than, That was hymselfe full dere. And whan he herd of that fare, Wors tydingis than were thare, Might he none gladly here . . . . He wold not in passe, Till at the myd-mete was The kyng and meny a knyght. As they satt at theyre glade, In at the hall dur he rade In armes feye and bryght, With a squier that is fre. Up to the lady ryduth he, That rychely was i-dight. “Lordys,” he said, “among you all, I chalenge thre coursus in the hall, Or delyver her me with right!” The kyng of Aragon sett her bye, And he defendid her nobely: “I wyll none delyver thee.” His son said, “So muste I thryve, There shall no man just for my wife. But yf youre wyll it be, For her love did I never no dede, I shall today, so God me spede; Behold and ye shall se.” “Alas,” said Desonell the dere, “Full longe may I sitt here, Or Torrent chalenge me!” Trumpetts blew in the prese, Lordys stond on rengis, Ladyes lay over and beheld. The prynce and Torrent than Eyther to other gan ren, Smertely in that feld. Torrent sett on hym so sore, That hors and man down he bore, And all to-sheverd his sheld. So they tombelid all in fere, That afterward of seven yere The prynce none armes myght weld. Torrent said, “So God me save, Other two coursus wyll I have, Yf ye do me law of lond.” Gret lordys stond styll, They said nether good ne yll, For tynding of his hond. 23 The prynce of Aragon in they barr With littill worshipp and sydes sare, He had no fote on for to stond. Thus these lordys justid aye; Better he had to have be away, Suche comfort there he found. He wold not in passe, Till they at myd-mete was, On the other day at none. His squiers habite he had, Whan he to the deyse yad, Withoute couped shone, And the hede on the bord he laid. “Lo, sir kyng, hold this,” he said, “Or ellis wroth we anon!” They sett still at the bord, None of hem spake one word, They spake nether ylle ne good, But ryght that he had done. 24 Torrent at the syde bord stode: “Lystonyth, lordyngs, gentill of blood, For the love of God all-myght. The kyng heyght me his doughter dere, To fyght with a fendys fere, That wekyd was and wight, To wed her to my wyfe, And halfe his kyngdome be his life, And after his days all his ryght. Lokyth, lordys, yow among, Whether he do me ryght or wrong!” Tho waried hym both kyng and knyght. Tho said the kyng of Aragon, i-wys: “Torrent, I wiste no thing of thys, A gret maister arte thou.” The kyng sware be Seynt Gryffen: “With a sward thow shalte her wynne, Or thow have her nowe. For why, my son to her was wed, Gret lordys to churche her led, I take wittnes of all you.” “Kyng Calamond, have good day, Thow shalt i-bye it and I may, To God I make avowe.” The emperoure of Rome ther was, Betwene thes kyngs gan he passe, And said, “Lordys, as sone, This squier that hath brought this hede, The kyng had wend he had be dede, And aventurly gan he gone. I rede you take a day of ryghts, And do it uppon two knyghts, And let no man be slayn!” Gret lordys that were thare, This talis lovid at that fare, And ordenyd that anon. 25 To the kyng the thoght com was, To send unto Sathanas, For a geaunt that hight Cate, For to make hym knyght to his hond And sease hym in all his lond. The messingere toke the gate. Gret othes he sware hym than, That he shold fyght but with one man, And purvey hym he bad Iryn stavis two or thre, For to fyght with Torent fre, Though he there of ne wott. Than take counsell kyng and knyght, On lond that he shold not fyght, But far oute in the see, In an yle long and brod. A gret payn there was made, That holdyn shold it be. 26 Yf Cate slow Torent, that fre ys, Halfe Portyngale shold be his, To spend with dedys fre. And yf Sir Torrent myght hym overcom, He shold have halfe Aragon, Was better than suche thre. The gyaunt shyped in a while And sett hym oute in an yle, That was grow both grene and gay. Sir Torrent com prekand on a stede, Richely armed in his wede. “Lordyngys,” gan he say, It is semely for a knyght, Uppon a stede for to fyght.” They said sone: “Nay, He is so hevy he cannot ryde.” Torrent said, “Evil mut he betyde, Falshode, woo worth it aye!” 27 “Sir, takyth housell and shrefte!” To God he did his hondys lifte, And thankid hym of his sond: “Jesu Cryste, I thee praye, Send me myght and strengith this day, Ayen the fend to stond!” To the shipp Sir Torent went, With the grace God had hym sent, That was never fayland. All the lordys of that contré, Frome Rome unto the Grekys se, Stode and beheld on lond. Whan Sir Torrent into the ile was brought, The shipmen lenger wold tary nought, But hied hem sone ageyn. The giaunt said, “So must I thee, Sir, thow art welcom to me, Thy deth is not to layn!” The firste stroke to hym he yave, Oute of his hand flew his staff: That thefe was full fayn. Tho Sir Torent went nere Cate . . . He thought he wold hym have slayn. The thef couth no better wonne, Into the see rennyth he sone, As faste as he myght fare. Sir Torrent gaderd good cobled stonys Good and handsom for the nonys, That good and round were. Meny of them to hym he caste, He threw stonys on hym so faste, That he was sad and sore. To the ground he did hym fell, Men myght here the fend yell, Halfe a myle and more. Sir Torent said, as he was wonne, He thankid Jesu, Maryes son, That kyng that sent hym myght. He said, “Lordys, for charité, A bote that ye send to me, It is nere hand nyght.” They reysed a gale with a sayll, The geaunt to lond for to trayll, All men wonderid on that wight. Whan that they had so done, They went to Sir Torent full sone And shipped that comly knyght The emperoure of Rome was there, The kyngs of Pervens and of Calabere yare, And other two or thre. They yave Sir Torent, that he wan, Both the erth and the woman, And said well worthy was he. Sir Torent had in Aragon The riche cité of Cargon, And all that riche contré. Archbeshoppes, as the law fell, Departid the prynce and Dessonell, With gret solempnité. For Sir Torent the fend did fall, Gret lordys honoured hym all, And for a doughty knyght hym tase. The kyng said, “I understond, Thou hast fought for my doughter and my lond, And well wonne her thou hase.” He gave to Saint Nycholas de Barr A grett erldome and a marr, That abbey of hym redith For Jesus love, moch of myght, That hym helpeth day and nyght, Whan he to the batell yode. Lordys than at the laste, Echone on theyre way paste, And every man to his. The quene of Portingale was fayn, That Sir Torent was com agayn, And thankyd God of this Than said the kyng, “I understond, Thou hast fought for my doughter and my lond, And art my ward i-wys. And I wyll not ageyn thee say, But abyde halfe yere and a day, And broke her well with blis!” Torent said, “So muste I thee, Sith it wyll no better be, I cord with that assent.” After mete, as I you tell, To speke with mayden Desonell, To her chamber he went. The damysell so moche of pride Set hym on her bed syde, And said, “Welcom, verament!” Such gestenyng she a-right, That there he dwellid all nyght, With that lady gent. Sir Torent dwellid thare Twelfe wekys and mare, Till letters com hym till Fro the kyng of Norway. For Jesus love he did hym praye, Yf it were his wyll, He shold com as a doughty knyght, With a geaunt for to fyght, That wyll his londys spyll. He wold hym yeve his doughter dere, And halfe Norway far and nere, Both be hold and be hyll. Sir Torent said, “So God me save, I-nough to lyve uppon I have, I wyll desyre no more. But it be for Jesu is sake A poynt of armes for to take, That hath helpid me before. I yeve thee here oute of my hond, To thy doughter all my lond, Yf that I end there.” And whan he toke his way to passe, Mo than fyfty with hym was, That fals to hym were. Syr Torent to the lady went, Full curtesly and gent: . . . “Desonell, have good day. I muste now on my jurnay, A kyngis lond for to fend. These gold ryngs I shall yeve thee, Kepe well my lady fre, Yf God a child us send!” She toke the ryngis with moche care, Thries in sownyng fell she thare, Whan she saw that he wold wend. Shipp and takyll they dight, Stede and armour for to fyght, To the bote they bare. Gentilmen, that were hend, Toke her leve at theyre frend, With hym for to fare. Kyng Colomond, is not to layn, He wold that he cam never agayn, Therefore God yef hym care. So within the fyfty dayes He come into the lond of Norways, Hard contré found he thare. Thus Sir Torrent for soth is fare, A noble wynd droffe hym thare, Was blowyng oute of the weste. Of the coste of Norway they had a sight . . . Of sayling they were all preste. So feyre a wynd had the knyght, A litull before the mydnyght, He rode be a foreste. The shipmen said, “We be shent. Here dwellith a geaunt, verament, On his lond are we sett.” The maistershipmen said, “Nowe I rede we take down sayle and rowe, While we have this tyde. Sir,” he said, “be God allmyght, The giant lieth here every nyght, On the mowntayn here besyde. My lord the kyng wyll not fyght, Till he of you have a sight, On you ys all his pryde.” Sir Torrent said, “Here my hond! Sith we be ryven on this lond, Tonyght wyll I ryde.” Sir Torent armyd hym anon And his knyghts, everychone, With sheld and spere in hond. The shipmen said, “As mut I thryve, I rede that every man other shryve, Or that we go to the lond.” Sir Torent said, “As God me spede, We will firste se that fede, My lord was never fleand!” Gentilmen, make chere godd, For Jesu love, that died on Rood, He will be oure waraunt!” In a forest can they passe, Of Brasill, saith the boke, it was, With bowes brod and wyde. Lyons and berys there they found And wyld bests about goand, Reysing on every side. These men of armes, with trayn To the shipp they flew agayn, Into the see at that tyde. Fast from land row they began, Above they left that gentilman, With wyld bestis to habyde. The shipmen of the same lond, Ryved up, I understond, In another lond of hold. To the chamber they toke the way, There the kyng hymself lay, And fals talis hym told . . . . For he wold not the geaunt abyde, For all this contrey feyre and wyde, Though he yef it hym wold. “Sir kyng, ye have youreselfe Erlis ten or twelfe, Better know I none. Send youre messingeris far and wyde, For to fell the geaunts pride, That youre doughter hath tane.” “I had lever to have that knyght, With hym is grace of God allmyght, To be here at his bane.” Full litull wist that riche kyng, Of Sir Torrents ryding, In the forest all alone. Thorough helpe of God that with hym was, Fro the wyld bestis gan he passe, To an hye hyll. A litull while before the day, He herd in a valey, A dynnyng and a yell. Theder than riduth he, To loke what thing it myght be, What adventure that befell. It were two dragons stiff and strong, Uppon theyre lay they sat and song, Beside a depe well. Sir Torent said thanne, To God, that made man, And died uppon a tree: “Lord, as thou mayst all weld, Yeve me grace to wyn the feld, Of thes fendys ontrewe!” Whan he had his prayers made, Pertely to hem he rade, And one thoroughoute bare he. Thus sped the knyght at his comyng, Thorough the helpe of hevyn kyng; Lord, lovid muste thou be! The other dragon wold not flee, . . . But shotith all his myght. He smote fire, that lothely thing, As it were the lightenyng, Uppon that comly knyght. Therefore Sir Torent wold not lett, But on the dragon fast he bett, And overcome that foule wight. Tho anon the day sprong, Fowles rose, mery they song, The sonne arose on hyght. Torent of the day was full blithe, And of the valey he did hym swith, As fast as ever he may. To a mowntayn he rode ryght, Of a castell he had a sight With towrys hyght and gay . . . . He come into an hyghe strete, Few folke gan he mete, To wish hym the way. To the gatys tho he rode, Full craftely they were made, Of irun and eke of tree. One tre stonding there he found, Nyne oxen of that lond Shold no drawe the tre. The giaunt wrought up his well, And laid stonys gret and small; A lothely man was he. “Now,” quod Torrent, “I not whare My squiers be fro me to fare, Ever waried they be! “Lord God, what is beste, So Jesu me helpe, est or weste, I can not rede to done, Yf I to the shipp fare, And no shipmen fynd thare; It is long sith they were away. Other wayes yf I wend, Wyld bestis wyll me shend: Falshede, woo worth it aye. I fyght here, Jesu, for Thy sake; Lord, to me kepe Thou take, As Thou best may!” Down light this gentill knyght, To rest hym a litull wight, And unbrydelid his stede And let hym bayte on the ground, And aventid hym in that stound, Thereof he had gret nede. The gyaunt yode and gaderid stone, And sye where the knyght gan gone, All armed in dede. And wet ye well and not wene, Whan eyther of hem had other sene, Smertely they rerid her dede. For that Sir Torent had hym sene, He worth uppon his stede, I wene, And Jesu prayed he till: “Mary son, thou here my bone, As I am in venturis sad come, My jurnay to full-fyll!” A voys was from hevyn sent, And said, “Be blith, Sir Torent, And yeve thee no thing yll, 28 To fyght with my lordys enemy. Whether that thou lyve or dye, Quyte thy mede he wyll!” Be that the giaunt had hym dight, Cam ageyn that gentill knyght, As bold as any bore. He bare on his nek a croke, Woo were the man that he overtoke, It was twelfe fote and more. “Sir,” he said, “for charité, Loke, curtes man, that thou be, Yf thy wyll ware. I have so fought all this nyght With thy two dragons wekyd and wight, They have bett me full sore.” The geaunt said, “Be my fay, Wors tydings to me this day I myght not goodly here. Thorough the valey as thou cam, My two dragons hast thou slayne; My solempnité they were. To thee I have full good gate; For thou slow my brother Cate, That thou shalte by full dere!” Betwene the giaunt and the knyght Men myght se buffetts right, Who so had be there. Sir Torent yave to hym a brayd; He levid that the aungell said, Of deth yave he no dynt. Into the brest he hym bare, His spere hede lefte he thare, So evill was hitt mynt. The giaunt hym ayen smate Thorough his sheld and his plate, Into the flesh it sought. And sith he pullith at his croke, So fast into the flesh it toke, That oute myght he gete it nought. On hym he hath it broke, Glad pluckys there he toke, Set sadly and sore. Sir Torent stalworth satt, Oute of his handys he it gatt, No longer dwellid he there. Into the water he cast his sheld, Croke and all togeders it held, Fare after how so ever it fare. The geaunt folowid with all his mayn, And he come never quyk agayn: God wold that so it ware. Sir Torent bet hym there, Till that this fend did were, Or he thens wend. On hym had he hurt but ane, But lesse myght be a mannus bane, But God is full hend. Thorough grace of Hym, that all shall weld, There the knyght had the feld, Such grace God did hym send. Be than it nyed nere hand nyght, To a castell he rode right, All nyght there to lend. In the castell found he nought, That God on the Rode bought. High uppon a toure, As he caste a side lokyng, He saw a lady in her bed syttyng, White as lylye floure. Up arose that lady bryght, And said, “Welcom, sir knyght, That fast art in stoure!” “Damysell, welcom mut thou be. Graunt thou me for charité, Of one nyghtis socoure.” “By Mary,” said that lady clere, “Me for-thinkith, that thou com here, Thy deth now is dight. For here dwellith a geaunt, He is clepud Weraunt; He is of the devill be-taught. Today at morn he toke his croke, Forth at the yates the way he toke, And said he wold have a draught. And here be chambers two or thre, In one of hem I shall hide thee, God thee save frome harmes right!” “Certayn,” tho said the knyght, That thefe I saw tonyght, Here beside a slate. He was a ferly freke in fyght, With hym faught a yong knyght, Ech on other laid good lode. Me thought well, as he stode, He was of the fendus blood, So rude was he made. Dame, yf thou leve not me, Come here, and thou shalt se, Which of hem abode.” Blith was that lady bryght For to se that sight, With the knyght went she. Whan she cam where the geaunt lay, “Sir,” she said, “parmafay, I wott well it is he. Other he was of God allmyght, Or Seynt George, oure lady knyght, That there his bane hath be. Yf eny Cryston man smyte hym down, He is worthy to have renown Thoroughoute all Crystiaunté!” “I have wonder,” said the knyght, “How he gate thee, lady bryght, Fro my lord the kyng.” “Sir,” she said, “verament, As my fader on huntyng went Erly in a mornyng, Fore his men pursued a dere, To his castell that stondith here, That doth my handys wryng, This giaunt hym toke, wo he be! For his love he gevith hym me, He wold none other thinge.” 29 Forth she brought bred and wyne, Fayn he was for to dyne . . . . This knyght made noble chere, Though that he woundid were, With the geaunt strong. Sir Torrent dwellid no longer thare, Than he myght away fare With that lady bryght. “Now, Jesu, that made hell, Send me on lyve to Desonell, That I my trouth to plight!” Tho sye they be a forest syde Man of armes faste ride On coursers comly dight. The lady said, “So must I thee, It is my fader, is com for me, With the geaunt to fyght.” An harood said anon right: “Yon I se an armed knyght, And no squier, but hym one: He is so long of bone and blood, He is the geaunt, be the Rode!” Som seith, he riduth uppon. “Nay,” said the kyng, “verament, It is the knyght that I after sent, I thanke God and Seynt John, For the geaunt slayn hath he And wonne my doughter, well is me! All his men are tane!” Wott ye well, with joy and blis Sir Torent there recevid ys, As doughty man of dede. The kyng and other lordys gent Said, “Welcom, Sir Torent, Into this uncouth lond!” Into a state they hym brought, Lechis sone his woundis sought; They said, so God hem spede, Were there no lyve but ane, 30 His life they wyll not undertane, For no gold ne for mede. The lady wist not or than, That he was hurt, that gentilman, And sith she went hym tyll. She sought his woundis and said thare: “Thou shalte lyve and welfare, Yf thee no thing evyll. 31 My lord the kyng hath me hight, That thou shalt wed me, sir knyght, The forward ye to fullfyll.” “Damysell, loo here my hond: And I take eny wyfe in this lond, It shall be at thy wyll!” Gendres was that ladyes name. The geaunts hede he brought hame, And the dragons also. Mene myght here a myle aboute, How on the dede hedys they did shoute, For the shame that they had hem wrought, Both with dede and with tong Fyfté on the hedys dong, That to the ground they sought. Sir Torrent dwellid thare Twelfe monthis and mare, That further myght he nought. The kyng of Norway said, “Nowe, Fals thevis, woo worth you, Ferly sotell were ye: Ye said, the knyght wold not com. Swith oute of my kyngdome, Or hangid shall ye be!” His squiers, that fro hym fled, With sore strokys are they spred, Uppon the wanne see, And there they drenchid every man, Save one knave, that to lond cam, And woo begone is he. The child, to lond that God sent, In Portyngale he is lent, In a riche town, That hath hight be her day, And ever shall, as I you say, The town of Peron. Byfore the kyng he hym sett, “Full well thy men, lord, they grett, And in the see are they drowned.” Desonell said, “Where is Torent?” “In Norway, lady, verament.” On sownyng fell she down. As she sownyd, this lady myld, Men myght se tokenyng of her child, Steryng on her right syde. Gret ruth it was to tell, How her maydens on her fell, Her to cover and to hide. Tho the kyng said, “My doughter, do way, By God, thy myrth is gone for aye, Spousage wyll thou none lede. Therefore thou shalt into the see And that bastard within thee, To lerne you for to ride.” Erlis and barons, that were good, Byfore the kyng knelid and stode For that lady free. The quene, her moder, on knees fell: “For Jesu is love, that harood hell, Lord, have mercy on me. That ylke dede that she hath done, It was with an erlis sonne, Riche man inough is he. And yf ye wyll not let her lyve, Right of lond ye her yeve, Till she delyvered be!” Thus the lady dwellith there, Tyll that she delyverd were Of men children two. In all poyntes they were gent, And like they were to Sir Torent; For his love they sufferid woo. The kyng said, “So mut I thee, Thou shalte into the see, Withoute wordys moo. Every kyngis doughter fer and nere, At thee shall they lere, Ayen the law to do.” Gret ruth it was to se, Whan they led that lady free Oute of her faders lond. The quene wexid tho nere wood For her doughter, that gentill fode, And knyghtis stode wepand. A cloth of silke gan they ta, And partyd it betwene hem twa, Therin they were wonde. Whan they had shypped that lady yeng, An hunderid fell in sownyng At Peron on the sond. Whan that lady was downe fall, On Jesu Cryste dyd she call. Down knelid that lady clene: “Rightfull God, ye me send, Some good londe on to lende, That my chyldren may crystened bene!” She said, “Knyghtis and ladyes gent, Grete well my lord, Sir Torrent, Yf ye hym ever sene!” The wynd rose ayen the nyght, From lond it blew that lady bryght Uppon the see so grene. Wyndes and weders have her drevyn, That in a forest be they revyn, There wyld bestis were. The see was eb, and went her froo, And lefte her and her children two Alone withoute fere. Her one child woke and began to wepe, The lady awoke oute of her slepe And said, “Be still my dere, Jesu Cryst hath sent us lond; Yf there be any Cryston man nere hond, We shall have som socoure here.” The carefull lady was full blith, Up to lond she went swith, As fast as ever she myght. Tho the day began to spryng, Foules arose and mery gan syng Delicious notys on hight. To a mowntayn went the lady free, Sone was she warr of a cité, With towrus feyre and bryght. Therefore, i-wys, she was full fayn, She sett her down, as I herd sayn, Her two children for to dight. Uppon the low the lady found, An erber wrought with mannus hond, With herbis that were good. A grype was in the mowntayn wonne, Away he bare her yong son Over a water flood, Over into a wyldernes, There Seynt Antony ermet was, There as his chapell stode. The other child down gan she lay, And on the foule did shoute and crye, That she was nere hond wood. Up she rose ageyn the rough, With sorofull hert and care inough, Carefull of blood and bone . . . . She sye it myght no better be, She knelid down uppon her kne, And thankid God and Seynt John. There come a libard uppon her pray, And her other child bare away. She thankid God there And his moder Mary bryght. This lady is lefte alone ryght: The sorow she made there . . . . That she myght no further fare: “Of one poynt is my care, As I do now understond, So my children Crystonyd were, Though they be with beests there, Theyre life is in Goddus hond.” The kyng of Jerusalem had bene At his brothers weddyng, I wene, That was lord of all that lond. As he com homward on his way, He saw where the liberd lay, With a child pleyand. Torrent had yeve his lady rings two, And every child had one of tho, Hym with all to save. The kyng said, “Be Mary myld, Yonder is a liberd with a child, A mayden or a knave.” Tho men of armes theder went, Anon they had theyre hors spent, Her guttys oute she rave. For no stroke wold she stynt; Till they her slew with speris dynt, The child myght they not have. Up they toke the child yong, And brought it before the kyng, And undid the swathing band, As his moder before had done, A gold ryng they found sone, Was closud in his hond. Tho said the kyng of Jerusalem: “This child is come of gentill teme, Where ever this beest hym found.” The boke of Rome berith wytnes, The kyng hym namyd Leobertus, That was hent in hethyn lond. Two squiers to the town gan flyng, And a noryse to the child did bryng, Hym to kepe frome grame. He led it into his own lond And told the quene how he it fond By a water streme. Whan the lady saw the ryng, She said, withoute lettyng: “This child is com of gentill teme: Thou hast none heyre, thy lond to take, For Jesu love thou sholdist hym make Prynce of Jerusalem.” Now, in boke as we rede, As Seynt Antony aboute yede, Byddyng his orysoun, Of the gripe he had a sight, How she flew in a flight, To her birdus was she boun. Betwene her clawes she bare a child; He prayed to God and Mary myld, On lyve to send it down. That man was well with God allmyght, At his fote gan she light, That foule of gret renown. Up he toke the child thare, To his auter he did it bere, There his chapell stode. A knave child there he found, There was closud in his hond, A gold ryng riche and good. He bare it to the cité grett, There the kyng his fader sett, As a lord of gentill blood, For he wold save it fro dede. A grype flew above his hede And cryed as he were wood. This holy man hied hym tyte. To a cité with touris white, As fast as he may. The kyng at the yate stode, And other knyghts and lordys good, To se the squieris play. The kyng said, “Be Mary myld, Yonder comyth Antony, my child, With a gryffon gay. Som of his byrdus take hath he, And bryngith hem heder to me.” Gret ferly had thaye. The kyng thereof toke good hede, And ageyn his sonne he yede, And said, “Welcom ye be!” “Fader,” he said, “God you save. A knave child found I have, Loke that it be dere to thee. Frome a greffon he was reste, Of what lond that he is lefte, Of gentill blood was he. Thou hast none heyre, thy lond to take, For Jesu love thy sonne hym make, As in the stede of me!” The kyng said, “Yf I may lyve, Helpe and hold I shall hym yeve, And receyve hym as my son. Sith thou hast this lond forsake, My riche londys I shall hym take, Whan he kepe them can. To a font they hym yave, And crystonyd this yong knave; Fro care he is wonne. The holy man yave hym name, That Jesu shild hym frome shame, Antony Fice Greffoun. “Fader, than have thou this ryng, I found it on this swete thing, Kepe it, yf thou may. It is good in every fight, Yf God yeve grace that he be knyght, Other be nyght or day.” Let we now this children dwell, And speke we more of Desonell: Her song was welaway! God, that died uppon the Rode, Yf grace that she mete with good, Thus disparlid are thay. This lady walkyd all alone Amonge wyld bestis meny one, Ne wanted she no woo. Anon the day began to spryng, And the foules gan to syng, With blis on every bowghe. “Byrdus and bestis aye woo ye be. Alone ye have lefte me, My children ye slough.” . . . . As she walkid than alone, She sye lordis on huntyng gone, Nere hem she yode full sone. This carfull lady cried faste, Than she herd this hornes blaste, By the yatis gone . . . . But into a wildernes, 32 Amongst beests that wyld was, For drede the shold be slone. Till it were under of the day, She went in that wilsom way, Into a lond playn. The kyng of Nazareth huntid there, Among the herts that gentill were, Thereof she was full fayn . . . . They had ferly, kyng and knyght, Whens she come, that lady bryght, Dwelling here alone. She said to a squier that there stode: “Who is lord of most jentill blood?” And he answerid her anon: This ys the lond of Nazareth, Se where the kyng gethe, Of speche he is ful bone. All in gold coverid is he.” “Gramercy, sir,” said she, And nere hym gan she gone. Lordys anon ageyn her yode, For she was com of gentill blood, In her lond had they bene: “God loke thee, lady free, What makist thou in this contré?” “Sir,” she said, “I wene, Seynt Katryn I shold have sought, Wekyd weders me heder hath brought Into this forest grene. And all is dede, I understond, Save myselfe, that com to lond, With wyld beestis and kene.” 33 “Welcom,” he said, “Desonell, By a token I shall thee tell: Onys a stede I thee sent. Lady gent, feyre and free, To thee shold I have wedid be, My love was on thee lent.” Knyghtis and squiers that there were, They horsid the lady there, And to the cité they went. The quene was curtes of that lond And toke the lady be the hond, And said, “Welcom my lady gent!” “Lady, thou art welcom here, As it all thyn own were, All this feyre contree.” “Of one poynt was my care, And my two children Crystonyd ware, That in the wood were reft fro me.” “Welcom art thou, Desonell, In my chamber for to dwell, Inough therein shall ye see!” Leve we now that lady gent, And speke we of Sir Torrent, That was gentill and fre. The kyng of Norway is full woo, That Sir Torent wold wend hym fro, That doughty was and bold. “Sir,” he said, “abyde here, And wed my doughter, that is me dere!” He said, in no wise he wold. He shipped oute of the kyngs sale, And ryved up in Portingale, At another hold. Whan he herd tell of Desonell, Swith on sownyng there he fell To the ground so cold. The fals Kyng of Portingale Sparid the yatis of his sale, For Torent the free. He said, “Be Mary clere, Thou shalt no wyfe have here, Go sech her in the see! With her she toke whelpis two, To lerne to row wold she go.” “By God, thou liest,” quod he, “Kyng Colomand, here my hond! And I be knyght levand, I-quytt shall it be!” Torent wold no lenger byde, But sent letters on every side With force theder to hye. Theder com oute of Aragon Noble knyghts of gret renown, With grett chevalrye. Of Provens and Calaber also Were doughty knyghts meny moo, They come all to that crye. Kyng Colomond had no knyght, That with Sir Torent wold fyght, Of all that satt hym bye. There wold none the yatis defend, But lett Sir Torent in wend With his men everychone. Swith a counsell yede they to, What deth they wold hym do, For he his lady had slone. “Lordis,” he said, “he is a kyng, Men may hym nether hede ne heng.” Thus said they everychone. They ordenyd a shipp all of tree, And sett hym oute into the see, Among the wawes to gone. Gret lordis of that lond, Assentid to that command, That hold shold it be. In the havyn of Portyngale, There stode shippes of hede vale, Of irun and of tree. A bote of tre they brought hym beforn, Full of holis it was boryn, Howsell and shryfte askyd he. Sir Torent said, “Be Seynt John, Seth thou gave my lady none, No more men shall do thee!” The shippmen brought Sir Colomond, And sent hym forth within a stound, As far as it were. Wott ye well and understond, He come never ayen to lond, Such stormes found he there. Gret lordys of renown Betoke Sir Torent the crown To rejoyse it there. Loo, lordys of every lond: Falshode wyll have a foule end, And wyll have evermore. Sir Torent dwellid thare Fourty days in moche care, Season for to hold. Sith he takith two knyghts, To kepe his lond and his rights, That doughty were and bold. He said, “Madam,” to the quene, “Here than shall ye lady bene, To worth as ye wold.” He purveyd hym anon, To wend over the see fome, There God was bought and sold. And ye now will liston a stound, How he toke armes of Kyng Colomond, Listonyth, what he bare. On asure, as ye may see, With sylver shippes thre, Who so had be thare. For Desonell is love so bryght, His londis he takyth to a knyght, And sith he is home to fare. 34 “Portyngale, have good day, For sevyn yere, parmafay, Paraventure som dele more!” Sir Torent passid the Grekys flood, Into a lond both riche and good. Full evyn he toke the way, To the seté of Quarell; As the boke of Rome doth tell, There a soudan lay. There he smote and set a-down And yave asaute into the town, That well the storye say. To well they vetelid were, That he lay there two yere, And sith into the town went they. And tho Sir Torent found on lyve, He comaundid with spere and knyfe Smertely ded to be. He said, “We have be here Moche of this two yere And onward on the third.” All the good that Sir Torent wan, He partid it among his men, Sylver, gold, and fee. And sith he is boun to ride To a cité there besyde, That was worth such thre. There he stode and smote adown, And leyd sege to the town: Six yere there he lay. By the six yere were all done, With honger they were all slone, That in the cité lay. The soudan sent to Sir Torent than, With honger that thes people be slayn, All thes folke of this cité: “Yf ye thinke here to lye, Ye shall have wyne and spycery, I-nough is in this contré!” Now God do his soule mede. On the soudan he had a dede, Uppon every Good Fryday. Jesu sent hym strengith i-nough, With dynt of sword he hym slough, There went none quyk away. Down knelid that knyght, And thankid God with all his myght: So ought he well to say. The cité that Sir Torent was yn, Worldely goodis he left ther yn, To kepe it nyght and day. Sith he buskyd hym to ride, Into a lond there besyde, Antioche it hight. Sevyn yere at the cité he lay, And had batell every Good Fryday, Uppon the Sarzins bryght. And be the seven yere were gone, The child that the liberd had tane, Found hym his fill of fyght . . . . The kyng of Jerusalem herd tell Of this lord good and fell, How doughtyly he hym bare. Uppon his knyghts can he call, “Ordeyn swith among you all, For no thing that ye spare!” They buskyd hem oute of the lond, The nombre of fyfty thousand, Ageyn Torent for to fare . . . . The kyng of Jerusalem said thus: “My dere son, Leobertus, That thou be bold and wight! Thou shalt be here and defend the lond, From that fals traytors hond, And take the ordre of knyght!” He yave hym armes, or he did passe: Right as he found was, On gold he bare bryght A liberd of asure blay, A child betwene his armes tway: Full woo was her that see it myght! Sir Torent wold no lenger abyde, But thederward gan he ride; And to the feld were brought, Two knyghts that were there in stede; Many a man did they to blede, Such woundis they wrought. There durst no man com Torent nere, But his son, as ye may here, Though he knew hym nought. All to nought he bet his shild, But he toke his fader in the feld, Though he there of evill thought. Whan Sir Torent was takyn than, His men fled than, every man, They durst no lenger abyde. Gret ruth it was to behold, How his sword he did uphold, To his son that tyde. To Jerusalem he did hym lede, His actone and his other wede, 35 All be the kyngis side. “Sir,” he said, “have no care, Thou shalte lyve and welfare, But lower ys thy pryde.” Fro that Sir Torent was hom brought, Doughty men uppon hym sought, And in preson they hym throughe. His son above his hede lay, To kepe hym both nyght and day, He wist well that he was strong. Thus in preson as he was, Sore he sighed and said alas, He couth none other songe. Thus in bondys they held hym thare A twelfmonyth and som dele mare, The knyght thought full long. In a mornyng as he lay, To hymselfe gan he say: “Why lye I thus alone? God, hast thou forsakyn me? All my truste was in Thee, In lond where I have gone. Thou gave me myght for to slee Dragons two, other thre, And giauntes meny one. And now a man in wekid lond Hath myn armor and stede in hond; I wold my life were done!” His son herd hym say soo And in his hert was full woo, In chamber there he lay. “Sir,” he said, “I have thy wede, There shall no man rejoyse thy stede, Yf so be that I may. By oure lady Seynt Mary, Here shalt thou no lenger lye, Nether be nyght ne be day! As I am curtesse and hend, To the kyng I shall wend, For thy love this nyght pray! On the morow whan he rose, The prynce to the kyng gose And knelid uppon his knee. “Sir,” he said, “for Godds sonne, The knyght that lieth in the dungeon, Ye wold graunt hym me. I hard hym say be hym alone, Many geaunts had he slone And dragons two or thre.” The kyng said, “Be my fay, Be warr he scape not away; I vouch hym save on thee!” The prynce into the preson went, Torent by the hond he hent And toke hym oute of his bondys cold. To the castell he brought hym sone, And light fettouris did hym uppon, For brekyng oute of hold. The kyng said, “Be my faye, And he ever scape away, Full dere he shall be sold!” “Sir,” he said, “parmafay, We wyll hym kepe, and we may, Thereof be ye bold.” For he was curtes knyght and free, At the mete sett was he, By the kyng at the deyse. “Sir, thou haste i-bene At justis and at tornements kene, Both in warr and in peas. Sith thy dwelling shall be here, That thou woldist my son lere, Hys tymber for to asay.” “Sir,” he said, “I understond, After the maner of my lond, I shall withouten lese.” The castell court was large within, They made ryngis for to ren, None but they alone. Every of hem to other rode; Feyre turnaments than they made, Men sye never none. The prynce in armes was full preste, Thre shaftys on his fader he breste, In shevers they gan gone. Sir Torent said, “So mut I thee, A man of armes shall thou be, Stalworth of blood and bone!” Harroldys of armes cryed on hight, The prynce and that other knyght, No more juste shall thay. But lordys of other lond, Every one to other fond, And sith went theyre way. Sixe wekys he dwellid there, Till that all delyverd were, That in the cité were. Tho they held a gestonye, With all maner of mynstralsye, Tyll the sevynth day. Lordis with all other thing Toke leve at the kyng, Home theyre ways to passe. That tyme they yave Torent the floure And the gre with moch honowre, As he well worthy was. The kyng said, “I shall thee yeve, Life and lyvelode whill I lyve, Thyn armor, as it was.” Whan he sye feyre ladyes wend, He thought on her that was so hend, And sighed and said, “Alas!” The kyng of Nazareth home went, There that his lady lent, In his own lede. “Sir,” she said, “for Godds pité, What gentilman wan the gre?” He said, “So God me spede, One of the feyrest knyghtis That slepith on somer nyghts Or walkyd in wede. He is so large of lym and lith, All the world he hath justid with, That come to that dede.” “Good lord,” said Desonell, “For Godds love, ye me tell, What armes that he bare!” “Damysell, also muste I thee, Sylver and asure beryth he, That wott I well thare. His creste is a noble lond, A gyaunt with an hoke in hond, This wott I well he bare. He is so stiff at every stoure, He is prynce and victoure, He wynneth the gree aye where. Of Portyngale a knyght he ys, He wanne the town of Raynes, And the cité of Quarell. At the last jurney that he was sett, The prynce, my broders son, was gatt, And in his hond he fell. The prynce of Grece leth nere, There may no juster be his pere, For soth as I you tell. A dede of armes I shall do crye, And send after hym in hye.” Blith was Desonell. This dede was cried far and nere, The kyng of Jerusalem did it here, In what lond that it shold be. He said, “Sone, anon right, Dight thee and thy Cryston knyght, For sothe, theder will we.” Gret lordys that herith this crye, Theder come richely, Every man in his degré. The kyng of Grece did assigne, With hym come Antony fygh Greffon, With moche solempnité. . . . . “The kyng of Nazareth sent me, That there shold a justynge be, Of meny a Cryston knyght. And all is for a lady clere, That the justyng is cryed far and nere, Of men of armes bryght.” Gret joye it was to here tell, How thes kyngs with the knyghtis fell, Come and semled to that fyght. There come meny another man, That thought there to have to done, And than to wend her way. Whan they come to the castell gent, A roall fyght, verament, There was, the sothe to say. Trompes resyn on the wall, Lordys assembled in the hall, And sith to souper yede thay. They were recevid with rialté, Every man in his degré, And to her logyng went her way. The lordys rosyn all be-dene, On the morow, as I wene, And went masse for to here. And furthermore, withoute lent, They wesh and to mete went, For to the feld they wold there. After mete, anon right, They axid hors and armes bryght, To hors-bak went thay in fere. Knyghtis and lordys revelid all, And ladyes lay over the castell wall, That semely to se were. Than everyman toke spere in hond, And everych to other found, Smert boffetts there they yeld. The prynce of Jerusalem and his brother, Everiche of hem ran to other, Smertely in the feld . . . . Though Antony fy Gryffon yonger were, His brother Leobertus he can down bere, Sir Torent stode and beheld . . . . “Be my trouth,” said Torent thanne, “As I am a Cryston man, I-quytt shall it be!” Torent bestrode a stede strong, And hent a tymber gret and long, And to hym rode he. Torrent so sore to hym rode, That he bare hym to the ground, And let hym lye in the feld. There was no man hyghe ne lowe, That myght make Torent to bowe, Ne his bak to bend. They justyd and turneyd there, And everyman found his pere, There was caught no dethis dynt. Of all the justis that there ware, Torent the floure away bare, And his sonnys in that tyde. And on the morow, whan it was day, Amonge all the lordys gay, That worthy were in wede, Desonell wold no lenger lend, But to Sir Torent gan she wend And on her kne she knelid. She said, “Weclom, my lord Sir Torent!” “And so be ye, my lady gent!” In sownyng than fell she. Up they coveryd that lady hend, And to mete did they wend With joye and solempnité. Dame Desonell be sought the kyng, That she myght, withoute lesyng, Sytt with Torent alone. “Yes, lady, be hevyn kyng, There shall be no lettyng; For well worthy is he, be Seynt John!” Tho they washid and went to mete, And rially they were sett, And servid worthely, verament. Every lord in the hall, As his state wold befall, Were couplid with ladyes gent. But of all ladyes that were there sene, So feire myght there none bene, As was dame Desonell . . . . Thes two kyngis, that doughty ys, To the cité come i-wys, With moche meyne. To the castell they toke the way, There the kyng of Nazareth lay, With hym to speke on high. At none the quene ete in the hall, Amongst the ladyes over all, That couth moche curtesye. Desonell wold not lett, By Sir Torent she her sett, Thereof wonder had they. Whan eyther of hem other beheld, Of care no thyng they feld, Bothe her herts were blithe. Gret lordys told she sone, What poyntes he had for her done, They began to be blithe. And how her fader in the see did her do, With her she had men childre two; They waried hym fell sithe. “Sir kyng, in this wildernes, My two children fro me revid was, I may no lenger hem hide. The knyght yave me ryngs two, Everich of hem had one of thoo, Better saw I never none. A gryffon bare the one away, A liberd the other, parmafay, Down by a roche of stone.” Than said the kyng of Jerusalem: “I found one by a water streme, He levith yet with blood and bone!” The Kyng of Grece said, “My brother, Antony, my son, brought me another!” She saith, “Soth, be Seynt John?” The kyng said, “Sith it is sothe, Kys ye youre fader bothe, 36 And axe hym his blessyng.” Down they knelid on her knee: “Thy blessing, fader, for charité!” “Welcom, children yong!” Thus in armes he hem hent, A blither man than Sir Torent, Was there none levyng. It was no wonder, thoughe it so were; He had his wife and his children there, His joye began to spryng. Of all the justis that were thare, Away the gre his sonnys bare, That doughty were in dede. Torent knelid uppon his knee, And said, “God yeld you, lordys free, Thes children that ye have fed. Ever we will be at youre will. What jurney ye will put us tyll, So Jesu be oure spede. With that the kyng thre, Into my lond will wend with me, For to wreke oure stede.” They graunted that there was, Gret lordys more and lesse, Bothe knyght and squiere. And with Desonell went Al the ladyes that were gent, That of valew were. Shippis had they stiff and strong, Maistis gret and sayles long, Hend, as ye may here, And markyd into Portingale, Whan they had pullid up her sayll, With a wynd so clere. The riche quene of that lond In her castell toure gan stond, And beheld into the see. “Sone,” she said to a knyght, “Yonder of shippis I have a sight, For sothe, a grett meyne.” The quene said, “Verament, I se the armes of Sir Torent, I wott well it is he.” He answerid and said tho: “Madam, I will that it be so, God gefe grace that it so be!” A blither lady myght none be, She went ageyn hym to the see With armed knyghtis kene. Torent she toke by the hond: “Lordys of uncouth lond, Welcom muste ye bene!” Whan she sye Desonell, Swith in sownyng she fell To the ground so grene. Torent gan her up ta: “Here bene her children twa, On lyve thou shalt hem sene!” In the castell of Portyngale Arose trumpes of hede vale, To mete they went on hye. He sent letters far and nere; The lordys that of valew were, They come to that gestonye. The emperoure of Rome, To that gestonye he come, A noble knyght on hyghe. Whan all thes lordys com ware, Torrent weddid that lady clere, A justyng did he crye. So it fell uppon a day, The kyng of Jerusalem gan say, “Sir, thy sonne I found Lying in a liberts mouth, And no good he ne couth, 37 Dede he was nere hond. Wold thou that he dwellid with me, Till that I dede be, And sith rejoyse my lond?” . . . . Before lordys of gret renown, Torent gave hym his son . . . The kyng of Grece said, “Sir knyght, I yef thy son all my right To the Grekys flood: Vouch thou save, he dwell with me?” “Ye, lord, so mut I thee, God yeld you all this good!” For Sir Torent was stiff in stoure, They chose hym for emperoure, Beste of bone and blood. Grete lordys that there were, Fourty days dwellith there, And sith they yode her way. He yave his sonnys, as ye may here, Two swerdys that were hym dere, Ech of hem one had they. Sith he did make up-tyed Chirchus and abbeys wyde, For hym and his to praye. 38 In Rome this romans berith the crown Of all kerpyng of renown: He leyth in Rome in a feire abbey. Now Jesu Cryst, that all hath wrought, As He on the Rode us bought, He geve us His blessing. And as He died for you and me, He graunt us in blis to be, Oute of this world whan we shall wend! Amen Explicit Torent of Portyngale	(see note); (t-note) Land Give; win [In] a short time; hear immediately; (see note) valiant remain scholars; (see note) Portugal earl; dwelling courteous; manly Soon Torrent; was called; (see note) strike down glad; (see note) gathered fief; (see note) highland plains (see note) (t-note) (see note) person (see note) Adventures heavy lance; trample down; (see note) blow withstand marveled be displease; brave orders [of knighthood]; (see note) As I may prosper exploits; (t-note) Before Then (see note) succeed know; well strong would be dear to me; (t-note) have gone by; (t-note) Dare feat of arms companions So God help me grew mad from anger; (see note) prove your strength maintain your composure; (see note); (t-note) before knew; place deviate from my purpose; (t-note) (see note) comes; (t-note) dare; stand (remain) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) By the love of God; (t-note) eye; see (see note) truth (honor) gentleman One foot (see note) nature (i.e., any human man) (see note) companion; travel battle tall giant was called; (see note) fiends’ companion forever of courteous lords he went gentlewoman villain Cross; (see note) It is [recorded] (t-note) pleasing Tall trees olive trees growing (t-note) believe (see note) prayed Mary; (t-note) dishonor give; [spiritual] food Certainly; struck (killed) deed make sure sea; (see note) tied his steed [by the reins] saw toward dangerous (wicked) peril against [the giant] woods; chop down it is necessary mad field if I am allowed amends (tribute); give; (see note) move; ever and always (i.e., to kill) noble youth held him back dark woods; (t-note) have (t-note) burst in pieces splinters; (t-note) (see note); (t-note) grasped long turned thirty-two times tumbling from side to side together burst; (t-note) hard (rough) injured (t-note) time (t-note) By means of Him (i.e., God); made moved above [the giant] (t-note) put an end to him wield (t-note) alone; squire fiend (i.e., the giant) (t-note); (t-note) won (t-note) palace; built her (i.e., the palace's) peer receded rooms adorned; precious Shining; (see note) Quickly (t-note) brow; turn pale; (see note) well; knows (t-note) control (wield) shelter heard; wall; (t-note) (t-note) company heard enclosure one asks (t-note) gladly made her complaint (t-note) shall I call if he lives prepare; (t-note) secret place (see note); (t-note) (t-note) before sign of evidence gentility (i.e., noble lineage); (see note); (t-note) Make (cause) approach; (t-note) took (did take) him; (t-note) (t-note) [the lions] behaved just as she wished glimmered; (see note) poured know well; already done protector (t-note) unharness truth; know prison dark Four captured; time living (t-note) rather iron mace before long (t-note) place then; went advise recovered; trouble succeed; (t-note) if; listen; (t-note) knight's names; happily tell Pay attention called Galicia; (see note); (t-note) (see note) azure; blue (t-note) get ready; depart; (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) living; (t-note) departed go; (t-note) journey locked; indeed liked; called (i.e., claimed) carried away; (t-note) (t-note) their master (i.e., the giant); (t-note) (t-note) tied; (see note); (t-note) (t-note); before Where Flying death a devil's head; (see note) (t-note) went grievously afraid Because of (see note); (t-note) beasts had beautiful ladies (t-note) Provence torment (t-note) towns tales Lowborn and highborn (i.e., everyone) went Gift; not lacking; (t-note) (t-note) sailed (see note); (t-note) So may I prosper Giftless truly (t-note) heir occasion well; made than lands (see note) (see note) (t-note) seen fought; boldly; (t-note) (see note) celebration; (t-note) lasted food (t-note) man's; (t-note) heed fight most recently whose (t-note) labored so vigorously assure advise meadow; (see note) (see note) charger; (see note) death's blow (t-note) pursued; (t-note) (t-note) vouchsafe; (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) thought; (t-note) destroyed On the river (i.e., while hunting) steel; (see note); (t-note) falcon gentle (noble) came near As if; had seen (t-note) precious falcon (t-note) suppose (see note); (t-note) respectable pedigree dishonest king one asked; (t-note) fetch (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) wild (desolate) (see note); (t-note) dense; (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) Sorrowful; (t-note) parting; road sorrowful powerful spring terrifying; (t-note) nothing to protect himself great travel (i.e., die); (t-note) (t-note) small mound (t-note) yards powerful huge onrush; (t-note) protect enough head; (see note)  (see note) ready (i.e., when it wished); (t-note) wrapped around; (see note) loop [in the dragon’s tail] (t-note) (see note) dale heard right away (see note) created Dearly (i.e., at high cost); pay for it believe tower chief foster-child master need; refreshed (see note) Birds; merrily (i.e., everywhere) indeed knew (t-note) dark forest; (see note) (t-note) riding path highway (main road) bite (i.e., eat) (t-note) came near; (t-note) (see note) pay a forfeit; (see note) (see note) [tree] bough It seemed to him that fear generous (noble); (t-note) mounted (t-note) (t-note) terrifying noise quickly mad; (t-note) bad luck blow steed's brain strongly speed run (see note) steep slope; (see note) caused solaced (consoled) (t-note) lowland thicket of thorn trees nothing move him; (t-note) together [against Torrent]; (t-note) nearly (t-note) cast cooled exhausted path ferociously i.e., Christ protect him pierced quickly; (t-note) prize same time way two; (t-note) he measured twenty-four feet battlefield Out gear (equipment) written it is called; (see note) Certainly; lying chief; chose; (t-note) treasure (wealth); hall tale (see note) (t-note) is like; (t-note) devil one (t-note) (see note) (t-note) (t-note) home; (t-note) Michael; (see note) ; (t-note) unless (see note); (t-note) mourn (see note) given ask (t-note) (t-note) aware (see note); (t-note) advice (t-note)   (see note) deeds (see note); (t-note) Adolake is its name offered whale's; (see note); (t-note) refuse to give hear; (t-note) i.e., [the giant] has slain many men promise trap covenant attendant hard-pressed together mass; (see note) Holy Church [musical] notes; ceremony; (t-note) assembled in a line (see note) (t-note) (t-note) would by my faith (t-note) enjoy forever; (t-note) before; (t-note) Securities; in this way; (t-note) entitlements  twenty-seven; (t-note)  (t-note)  (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) Calabria; (see note) (t-note)  (t-note) Lives (t-note) (t-note) before; test; (t-note)   (t-note) feel pity to you; (t-note) mounted Provence; (see note) happened high street (highway); (t-note) (t-note) Go in (t-note) one; hall (t-note) asks gate; (t-note) (t-note) (see note) frankly certainly compete (fight); enough to satisfy us brutal blows mercy; (t-note) advise here; help city; (t-note) (t-note) begotten; (see note) (see note) (t-note) (t-note) duchies (t-note) (t-note) Minstrels; (see note); (t-note) Beautiful music (t-note) (t-note) good pathways taken; (t-note) (t-note) two or three days (t-note) heavy wagon; (t-note) Away from; city Dear; frightens; (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) know well; (t-note) city of Hungary; (see note);  (t-note) barriers bare (exposed) stand against him unfair dealings; (see note) stirrups govern at will (t-note) (t-note) (see note) have strength high spirits prayed for test; (see note) dependable in a short time harassment; misery; (t-note) (t-note) young knight search for low-born fellow; (see note) (t-note) (see note); (t-note) ten and three (i.e., thirteen) feet long (t-note) to move very far (t-note) Toward; (t-note) eye; one; (see note) (t-note) Saint Austin; (t-note) waited attacked on all sides knew how to fight; (t-note) done wooden clubs undamaged well; for everyone; (t-note) time; commanded toward grasped remove; (t-note) Musicians then; dais; went seek; (see note) (t-note) go mansion (manoral estate) that is awarded to you; (t-note) (see note); (t-note) also you and your sucessors (see note) rescued [from prison] compete in chivalric sport (t-note) foreign king; (t-note) happening courtly conduct took up bright armor knighthood aware must [be wedded] (t-note) wore square; (see note); (t-note) engraved on the heraldic field grinning (i.e., baring its teeth) head (i.e., helmet) more than I can count (t-note) (t-note) lunch; (t-note) merry-making; (t-note) door; rode; (see note); (t-note) beautiful adorned battle charges (i.e., jousts) (t-note) placed her beside [himself] joust deed beloved in a group leaned over [the castle walls] and watched Quickly completely splintered all together (i.e., the prince and his horse) (see note) honor; sore noon (see note) went to the high table slashed shoes; (see note) consider (t-note) promised wicked; monstrous during [Calamond's] lifetime cursed; (t-note) indeed know warrior (see note) Before Because (t-note) pay the price for it (see note) immediately supposed riskily chivalric competition; (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) Satan is called endow went off oaths prepare; asked for (see note) nothing knew (t-note) isle effort (see note) pricking (i.e., galloping) (see note) holy communion; confession; (see note) message against (t-note) failing (t-note) quickly took cannot be denied glad (t-note) knew; option (see note) easy to handle; indeed as he was wont [to do] boat nearly galley; sail drag [with the boat] transported by ship without delay; (t-note) (t-note) land; (see note) (see note) (see note) Separated observance of ceremony took (see note); (t-note) even more; (t-note) built Each one child under guardianship assay (test) enjoy; (see note) accord truly hospitality; prepared; (see note); (t-note) destroy give in woods and in hills (i.e., everything) Jesus' sake feat of arms die (t-note) (t-note) defend (see note) (t-note) sorrow Thrice; swooning; (see note) depart tackle; prepared Warhorse cannot be denied (t-note) determined (see note) anchored (t-note) landed confess; (see note) enemy wanting; (t-note) (t-note) protector (see note) (t-note) (see note) Rushing treachery encounter; (t-note) arrived land with a fortified town or castle (t-note) (t-note) face in combat cut down taken rather; (t-note) his (i.e., the giant's) destruction knew song; (see note) false Briskly ran through; (t-note) (t-note) struck with repeated blows (t-note) quickly (t-note) show built (t-note) (t-note) decide what to do destroy be mindful of me graze; (t-note) cooled know you; doubt not fought; (t-note) leapt prayer adventures (t-note) (see note) Repay; reward; (t-note) (see note) crook courteous good cause to kill you; (see note) pay dearly stroke; (see note) believed aimed; (t-note) sudden sharp pulls however it came about alive beat dead injury; one man's death courteous neared stay nobody (i.e., people) (see note) strong; battle lodging regret (see note); (t-note) taught by the devil take a walk area of flat land terrifying warrior several blows survived by my faith a knight of the Virgin Mary; (see note) (t-note) (t-note) (see note) alive pledge herald large he is on the move captured foreign (pagan) chair Physicians; examined guarantee reward before then searched; (see note) fare well promise look If I were to take hear decapitated heads tongue Fifty; beat (see note) subtle dark sea drowned lost in woe come long ago; (t-note) (see note) kneeled cried out a sign; (see note) Marriage (see note) harrowed; (see note) same Law of the land; (see note) (t-note) (t-note) physical features; excellently formed; (t-note) (t-note) mad; (t-note) young woman weeping they (i.e., the queen and Desonell) take; (see note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (see note); (t-note) live (t-note) (t-note) Greet (see note); (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) at low tide (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) Birds; (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) prepare [to enter the enter the city] mound arbor grffin; mountain aerie; (see note) hermit; (see note) against the harsh [landscape] (t-note) (see note) leopard; (t-note) (t-note) Their guts (i.e., the horses' innards); tore stop swaddling family seized; heathen wet nurse harm (t-note) Reciting his prayers young; bound alter; (t-note) stayed took himself quickly towers his (i.e., the griffin's) young wonder toward taken heir Support; assistance (see note) (see note) (t-note) alas; (see note) separated lacked harm (t-note) (t-note) gates; (t-note) midday (noon) wild (desolate) flat (t-note) goes good protect Katherine; (see note) (see note) castle Barred (see note) If; living Repaid a band of armed men (t-note) call to arms (t-note) What [kind of] death behead (t-note) harbor great value; (see note) wooden boat; (see note) (t-note) Since Bestowed upon possess (rule) (see note) In order to hold court possess (see note) moment Calamond's coat of arms; (see note) (t-note) Desonell's (see note) By chance city; (see note); (t-note) sultan (Muslim leader); (see note) assault (t-note) provisioned (see note) (t-note) property; won distributed goods (wealth) (t-note) sixth year destroyed (t-note) battle prepared; (t-note) (see note) Saracens (Muslims) seventh year; (see note) (i.e., he gained experience in battle); (see note); (t-note) fierce carried himself Make preparations (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) blue (t-note) (i.e., Torrent and Leobertus) (t-note) threw; (t-note) guard (see note) slay; (t-note) wicked (sinful, heathen); (see note) possess (i.e., ride); warhorse (t-note) (t-note) fetters paid for assured meal [I pray] that; teach lance (i.e., his jousting) without lie (truly) ringed arenas for jousting (t-note) splinters knight strong proceeded (separated) (t-note) feast (festival) prize livelihood lived land limbs and joints (i.e., in all parts) (t-note) noble everywhere; (see note) strong (unwavering); battle victor in all places (see note) (t-note) captured attacked (t-note) many knights (t-note) Who thought to do business there royal (i.e., fit for a king, magnificent) Trumpets (i.e., trumpeters) arise royalty lodging immediately tardiness washed asked for (t-note) Swift blows; (t-note) (t-note) (see note); (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) peer (equal match) death's blow (i.e., no one was killed) remain (t-note) prayed to hesitating social rank (t-note) many troops (t-note) felt (t-note) many times stolen Truly (t-note) reward support avenge (t-note) Masts proceeded fair Young man; (see note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) greatest value; (t-note) celebration (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (see note) bound (restricted); (see note) (see note) romance talking (storytelling); (see note) (t-note)