Skip to main content

Sir Corneus





5





10





15





20





25




30





35





40





45





50





55




60





65





70





75





80





85




90





95





100





105





110





115




120





125





130





135





140





145




150





155





160





165





170





175




180





185





190





195





200





205




210





215





220





225





230





235




240





245





250




255     
 
All that wyll of solas lere,
Herkyns now and ye schall here,
And ye kane understond.
Of a bowrd I wyll you schew
That ys full gode and trew,
That fell sometyme in Ynglond.

  Kynge Arthour was of grete honour,
Of castelles and of many a toure,
And full wyde yknow.
A gode ensample I wyll you sey,
What chanse befell hym onne a dey:
Herkyn to my saw.

  Cokwoldes he lovyd, as I you plyght:
He honouryd them both dey and nyght
Yn all maner of thyng.
And as I rede in story,
He was kokwold, sykerly:
Forsothe, it is no lesyng.

  Herkynes, sires, what I sey:
Her may ye here solas and pley,
Yff ye wyll take gode hede.
Kyng Arthour had a bugyll-horn
That evermour stod hym beforn
Werso that ever he yede.

For when he was at the bord sete,
Anon the horne schuld be fette,
Therof that he myght drynke.
For myche crafte he couth therby,
And oftetymes the treuth he sey:
Non other couth he thynke.

Yff any cokwold drynke of it,
Spyll he schuld withouten lette:
Therfor thei wer not glade.
Gret dispyte thei had therby,
Because it dyde them vilony
And made them ofttymes sade.

When the kyng wold hafe solas,
The bugyll was fett into the plas,
To make solas and game.
And than changyd the cokwoldes chere.
The kyng them callyd, ferre and nere,
Lordynges, by ther name.

Than men myght se game inowghe,
When every cokwold on other leughe:
And yit thei schamyd sore.
Wherever the cokwoldes wer sought,
Befor the kyng thei were brought,
Both lesse and more.

  Kyng Arthour than, verament,
Ordeynd throw hys awne assent
(Ssoth as I yow sey)
The tabull dormonte, withoute lette,
Therat the cokwoldes wer ssette,
To have solas and pley.

For at the bord schuld be non other
Bot every cokwold and hys brother:
To tell treuth I must nedes.
And when the cokwoldes wer sette
Garlandes of wylos schuld be fette
And sett upon ther hedes.

  Of the best mete, withoute lesyng,
That stode on bord befor the kyng,
Both ferr and nere,
To the cokwoldes he sente anon,
And bad them be glad everychon,
For his sake make gode chere,

And seyd, “Lordynges, for your lyves,
Be never the wrother with your wyves,
For no maner of nede.
Of woman com duke and kyng;
I yow tell without lesyng,
Of them com owre manhed.”

  So it befell, serteynly,
The Duke of Gloseter com in hyghe
To the courte with full gret myght.
He was reseyved at the kynges palys
With mych honour and grete solas,
With lordes that were wele dyght.

With the kyng ther dyde he duell,
Bot how long I cannot tell:
Thereof knaw I non name.
Of Kyng Arthour a wonder case,
Frendes, herkyns how it was,
For now begynnes game.

  Uppon a dey, withouten lette,
The duke with the kyng was sette
At mete with mykell pride.
He lukyd abowte wonder faste:
Hys syght on every syde he caste
To them that sate besyde.

The kyng aspyed the erle anon
And fast he lowghe the erle upon
And bad he schuld be glad.
And yit for all hys grete honour,
Cokwold was Kyng Arthour,
Ne galle non he hade.

  So at the last, the duke he brayd,
And to the kyng these wordes sayd
(He myght no lenger forbere):
“Syr, what hath these men don
That syche garlondes thei were upon?
That skyll wold I lere.”

  The kyng seyd the erle to,
“Syr, non hurte thei have do,
For this was thrught a chans.
Sertes, thei be fre men all.
For non of them hath no gall,
Therfor this is ther penans.

“Ther wyves hath be merchandabull
And of ther ware compenabull:
Methinke it is non herme.
A man of lufe that wold them crave,
Hastely he schuld it have,
For thei couth not hym wern.

“All ther wyves, sykerlyke,
Hath usyd the baskefysyke
Whyll these men wer oute,
And oft thei have draw that draught,
To use wele the lecheres craft
With rubyng of ther toute.

“Syr,” he seyd, “now have I redd.
Ete we now and make us glad
And every man sle care.”
  The duke seyd to hym anon,
“Than be thei cokwoldes everychon?”
  The kyng seyd, “Hold thee there.”

  The kyng than after the erlys word
Send to the cokwoldes bord
(To make them mery among)
All maner of mynstralsy,
To glad the cokwoldes by and by
With herpe, fydell, and song,

And bad them, “Take no greffe,
Bot all with love and with ‘Leffe,’
Every man with other.”
  For after mete, without distans,
The cokwoldes schuld together danse,
Every man with hys brother.

Than began a nobull gamme:
The cokwoldes together samme
Befor the erle and the kyng.
In skerlet kyrtells ever one
The cokwoldes stodyn everychon
Redy unto the dansyng.

  Than seyd the kyng in hye,
“Go fyll my bugyll hastely,
And bryng it to my hond.
Y wyll asey with a gyne
All these cokwoldes that her be in;
To knaw them wyll I fonnd.”

  Than seyd the erle, “For charyté,
In what skyll, tell me,
A cokwold may I know?”
  To the erle the kyng ansuerd,
“Syr, be my hore berd,
Thou schall se within a throw.”

The bugull was brought the kyng to hond.
  Than seyd the kyng, “I understond,
Thys horne that ye here se,
Ther is no cokwold fer ne nere
Hereof to drynke hath no power,
As wyde as Crystianté,

“Bot he schall spyll on every syde.
For any cas that may betyde,
Schall non therof avanse.”
And yit for all hys grete honour,
Hymselfe noble Kyng Arthour
Hath forteynd syche a chans.

  “Syr Erle,” he seyd, “take and begyn.”
He seyd, “Nay, be Seynt Austyn:
That wer to me vylony.
Not for all a reme to wyn
Befor you I schuld begyn,
For honour of my curtassy.”

  Kyng Arthour, ther he toke the horn
And dyde as he was wont beforn,
Bot ther was yit gon a gyle.
Bot he wend to have dronke of the best.
Bot sone he spyllyd on hys brest,
Within a lytell whyle.

  The cokwoldes lokyd yche on other
And thought the kyng was ther awne brother,
And glad thei wer of that:
“He hath us scornyd many a tyme
And now he is a cokwold fyne,
To were a cokwoldes hate.”

  The quene was therof schamyd sore.
Sche changyd hyr colour lesse and mour,
And wold have ben awey.
Therwith the kyng gan hyr behold,
And seyd he schuld never be so bold
The soth agene to sey.

  “Cokwoldes no mour I wyll repreve,
For I ame one, and aske no leve,1
For all my rentes and londys.
Lordynges all, now may ye know
That I may dance in the cokwold row
And take you by the handes.”

  Than seyd thei all at a word
That cokwoldes schuld begynne the bord
And sytt hyest in the halle.
“Go we, lordinges, all samme,
And dance to make us gle and gamme,
For cokwoldes have no galle.”

  And after that, sone anon,
The kyng causyd the cokwoldes ychon
To wesch, withouten les.
For ought that ever may betyde,
He sett them by hys awne syde,
Up at the hyghe dese.

  The kyng hymselff a garlond fette:
Uppon hys hede he it sette,
For it myght be non other,
And seyd, “Lordynges, sykerly,
We be all of a freyry:
Y ame your awne brother.

“Be Jhesu Cryst that is aboffe,
That man aught me gode loffe
That ley by my quene.
Y wer worthy hym to honour,
Both in castell and in towre,
With rede skerlyt and grene.

“For he me helpyd when I was forth,
To cher my wyfe and make her myrth,
For women lovys wele pley.
And therfor, sirys, have ye no dowte
Bot many schall dance in the cokwoldes rowte,
Both by nyght and dey.

“And therfor, lordynges, take no care.
Make we mery: for nothing spare,
All brether in one rowte.”
  Than the cokwoldes wer full blythe,
And thankyd God a hundred syth,
For soth withouten doute.

  Every cokwold seyd to other,
“Kyng Arthour is owr awne brother:
Therfor we may be blyth.”
  The Erle of Glowsytour, vereament,
Toke hys leve and home he went,
And thankyd the kyng fele sythe.

Kyng Arthour left at Skarlyon
With hys cokwoldes everychon
And made both gamm and gle.
  A knyght ther was, withouten les,
That servyd at the kinges des:
Syr Corneus hyght he.
He made this gest in hys gamm,
And namyd it after hys awne name,
Yn herpyng or other gle.

  And after, nobull Kyng Arthour
Lyved and dyghed with honour,
As many hath don senne,
Both cokwoldes and other mo.
God gyff us grace that we may go
To hevyn. Amen, amen.
 
want to learn about entertainment; (t-note)
hear
If
funny story; show

happened once

domain
tower
widely known
lesson

story

Cuckolds; assure
(t-note)


certainly
lie

(t-note)
Here; jest

wild-ox horn

Wheresoever; went

table
Immediately; fetched

he could [do] much cunning by means of it
saw
could

(see note)
pause

indignation
disgrace




fun
expression

Gentlemen


laughed
felt shame painfully
pursued

those of low rank and high

truly
Ordered; own
Truth
fixed table, without delay; (see note)







willow; (see note)


[Some] of; food; lying



each one



angrier

From; came

humanity


in a hurry; (see note)

greeted

By; dressed



I cannot name the length of time




interruption

great pomp
very earnestly



espied; (see note)
laughed



spirit to resist injury; (see note)

broke into speech
(t-note)


wear
reason



through a mischance
generous

penance

saleable
companionable [with their commodities]

[Whatever] man; love; beg

refuse

certainly
(see note)

made that move; (see note)

rump

explained

drown his sorrows


I.e., Hold your tongue



meanwhile
minstrels
right away


Suffer; grief
fondness; Friend

discord



splendid
assemble

tunics of rich cloth all the same
each one


in haste
horn

test; device
(t-note)
identify; try


By; reason


by; gray
moment






Throughout the Christian world



succeed

[To]
happened; mischance



That would disgrace me
realm





But yet there happened a trick
expected








wear; hat


(see note)

look at; (see note)

To speak against [i.e., deny] the truth

taunt






at once
(see note)

together




(t-note)
wash, truly; (see note)


high dais



there could be no other way about it
certainly
brotherhood



(see note)

I am obliged

With rich clothing in red and green

away from home








brothers; group

times; (t-note)






(t-note)
many times

stayed; Caerleon; (see note)




was named
story as a joke; (see note)
(t-note)
instrumental music


died
since