5 10 15 20 fol. 68r 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 fol. 68v 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 fol. 69r 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 fol.69v 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 fol. 70r 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 fol. 70v 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 fol. 71r 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 380 385 fol. 71v 390 395 400 405 410 415 420 425 430 435 fol. 72r 440 445 450 455 460 465 470 475 480 485 fol. 72v 491 495 500 505 510 515 520 525 530 535 540 fol. 73r       545 550 555 560 565 570

Lystyns, lordyngys, and ye schall here Of ansytoures that befor us were,      Bothe herdy and wyght, In tyme of Uter and Pendragon, Kyng Artour fader of grete renoune,      A sembly man of syght. He had a knyght hyght Sir Clegys; A doughtyer man was non at nedys      Of the Ronde Tabull ryght. He was man of hy statour, And therto feyre of all fetour,      A man of mekyll myght. More curtas knyght than he was one In all this werld was ther non;      He was so gentyll and fre. To squyres that traveyled in lond of werre And were fallyn in poverté bare,      He gaff them gold and fe. Hys tenantys feyr he wold rehete; No man he wold buske ne bete;      Meke as meyd was he. Hys mete was redy to every man That wold com and vyset hym than;      He was full of plenté. The knyght had a gentyll wyff, A better myght non be of lyfe,      Ne none semblyer in syght. Dame Clarys hyght that lady; Of all godnes, sche had treuly      Glad chere bothe dey and nyght. Grete almysfolke bothe thei were, Both to pore man and to frere;      They cheryd many a wyght. For them had no man ought lore: Whether thei were ryche or pore,      Of hym thei schuld have ryght. Every yere Sir Clegys wold In Crystynmes a fest hold      In the worschype of that dey. Ryche and pore in that contré At that fest thei schuld be;      Ther wold no man sey nay. Mynstrellus wold not be behynd; Myrthys were thei may fynd,      That is most to ther pay. Mynstrellus, when the fest was don, Schuld not withoutyn gyftys gon      That were both rych and gode: Hors and robys and rych thyngys, Gold and sylver and other thyngys      To mend with ther mode. Ten yere or twelve sych festys thei held In worschype of hym that all weld      And for us dyghed upon the rode. Be than his gode began to slake, Sych festys he gan make,      The knyght of jentyll blode. To hold hys feste he wold not lete. Hys rych maners to wede he sete;      He thought hymselve oute to quyte. Thus he festyd many a yere Both gentyllmen and comener      In the name of God allmyght. So at the last, soth to sey, All hys gode was spendyd away;      Than he had bot a lyte. Thoff hys god were ne hond leste, In the wyrschyp he made a feste;      He hopyd God wold hym quyte. Hys ryalty he forderyd ay To hys maners were sold awey,      That hym was left bot one. And that was of lytell valew, That he and hys wyfe so trew      Oneth myght lyfe therone. Hys men, that were so mych of pride, Wente awey onne every syde;      With hym ther left not one. To duell with hym ther left no mo Bot hys wyfe and his chylder two.      Than made he mekyll mone. It fell on a Crystenmes Eve Syr Clegys and his wyfe      They duellyd by Cardyff syde. When it drew toward the none, Syr Clegys fell in suownyng sone.      Wo bethought hym that tyde: What myrth he was wonte to hold, And he had hys maners solde,      Tenandrys and landys wyde. Mekyll sorow made he ther; He wrong hys hondys and wepyd sore,      For fallyd was hys pride. And as he walkyd uppe and done, Sore sygheng, he herd a sowne      Of dyverse mynstralsy, Of trumpers, pypers, and nakerners Of herpers notys and gytherners,      Of sytall and of sautrey. Many carrals and grete dansyng In every syde herd he syng,      In every place, treuly. He wrong hys hondys and wepyd sore; Mekyll mon he made ther,      Sygheng full pytewysly. “A, Jhesu, heven kyng, Of nought thou madyst all thyng;      I thanke thee of thy sonde. The myrth that I was won to make In this tyme for thi sake!      I fede both fre and bond, And all that ever com in thi name; They wantyd nother wylde ne tame      That was in any lond. Of rych metys and drynkys gode, That longys for any manus fode,      Of cost I wold not wonde.” Als he stode in mournyng so, Anon hys wyfe com hym to;      In armys sche hym hente. Sche kyssed hym with glad cher, And seyd, “My trew wedyd fere,      I herd wele what ye ment. Ye se wele, syr, it helpys nought To take sorow in your thought;      Therfor I rede ye stynte. “Be Crystys sake, I rede ye lyne Of all the sorow that ye be ine      Agene this holy dey. Now every man schuld be mery and glad With sych godys as thei had;      Be ye so, I you pray. Go we to our mete belyve, And make us both merry and blythe,      Als wele as ever we may. I hold it for the best, trewly. I have made owre mete, treuly,      I hope, unto your pay.” “Now I assent,” quod Clegys tho. In with hyr he gan go,      Somwhat with better cher. When he fell in thought and care Sche comforth hym ever more,      Hys sorow for to stere. After he gan to wex blyth And wyped hys terys blyve      That hang on hys lyre. Than thei wesch and went to mete, With sych god as thei myght gete,      And made merry chere. When thei had ete, the soth to sey, With myrth thei drofe the dey awey,      The best wey that they myght. With ther chylder pley thei dyde, And after evensonge went to bede      At serteyn of the nyght. Thei sclepyd to it rong at the chyrche Godys servys for to wyrche,      As it was skyll and ryght. Up thei ros and went thether, They and ther chylder together,      When thei were redy dyght. Syr Clegys knelyd on hys kne; To Jhesu Cryst prayd he,      Be chesyn of hys wyfe. “Grasyos Lord,” he seyd tho, “My wyfe and my chylder two,      Kepe us out of stryffe.” The lady prayd hym ageyn: Sche seyd, “God, kepe my lord fro peyn,      Into ever lastyng lyffe.” Servys was don and hom thei wente; Thei thankyd God omnipotent.      They went home so ryfe. When he to hys palys com, He thought his sorow was overgon;      Hys sorow he gan stynt. He made hys wyfe befor hym gon, And hys chylder everychon.      Hymselve alone he wente Into a garthyn ther besyde. He knelyd a-don in that tyde      And prayd to God verament. He thankyd God with all hys hert Of all desesyd in poverté      That ever to hym he sent. As he knelyd onne hys kne Underneth a chery tre      Makyng hys praere, He rawght a bowghe in hys hond To ryse therby and upstond;      No lenger knelyd he ther. When the bowghe was in hys hond, Gren levys theron he fond      And ronde beryes in fere. He seyd, “Dere God in Trinyté! What maner beryes may this be      That grow this tyme of yere? “I have not se this tyme of yere That treys any fruyt schuld bere,      Als ferre as I have sought.” He thought to tayst it yff he couthe: One of them he put in hys mouthe;      Spare wold he nought. After a chery it relesyd clene, The best that ever he had sene      Seth he was man wrought. A lytell bow he gan of slyfe, And thought he wold schew it hys wyfe;      In hys hond he it brought. “Lo, dame, here is a newylté: In our garthyn upon a tre      I found it, sykerly. I ame aferd it is tokenyng, Because of our grete plenyng,      That more grevans is ny.” His wyfe seyd, “It is tokenyng Of more godnes that is comyng:      We schall have more plenté. Have we les or have we more, Allwey thanke we God therfore;      It is the best, treulye.” The lady seyd with gode cher, “Late us fyll a panyer      Of the frute that God hath sente. Tomorow when the dey do spryng Ye schall to Cardyff to the Kyng,      Full feyre hym to presente. Sych a gyft ye may hafe ther That we schall the beter fare,      I tell you, verament.” Syre Clegys grantyd sone therto: “Tomorow to Cardyff I wyll go,      After your entent.” The morne, when it was dey lyght, The lady had the panyer dyght.      To hyr eldyst son seyd sche, “Take up this panyer gladly And bere it at thy bake esyly,      After thi fader so fre.” Syre Clegys than a staff he toke — He had no hors, so seyth the boke,      To ryde hys jorneye. Nether sted ne palferey, Bot a staff was his hakney,      As a man in poverté. Syr Cleges and hys son gent The ryght wey to Cardyfe went      On Crystenmes dey. To the castell gate thei com full ryght, As thei were to mete dyght      At none, the soth to sey. As Syr Cleges wold in go, In pore clothyng was he tho,      In a symple aray. The porter seyd full spytously, “Thow schall withdraw thee smertly,      I rede, withoute deley. “Els, be God and Seynt Mary, I schall breke thi hede smertly.      Go stond in begers route. If thou draw any more inwerd, Thow schall rew it afterwerd,      I schall thee so cloute.” “Gode syr,” seyd Syr Cleges tho, “I pray you late me in go.      Thys is withouten doute: The Kyng I have a present browght Fro hym that made all thinge of nought.      Behold and loke aboute.” The porter to the pannyer wente. Sone the lyde up he hente;      The cherys he gan behold. Wele he wyst for his comyng, For hys presente to the Kyng,      Grete gyftys have he schuld. He seyd, “Be hym that me dere bought, In at this gate comys thou nought,      Be hym that made this mold, The thryd parte bot thou grante me Of that the Kyng wyll gyff thee,      Whether it be sylver or gold.” Syr Cleges seyd, “Therto I sente.” He gave hym leve, and in he wente      Withouten more lettyng. In he went a grete pas; The offycer at the dore was      With a staff standyng. In com Sir Cleges so wyght. He seyd, “Go, chorle, out of my syght      Without any more lettyng. I schall thee bete every lythe, Hede and body, withoutyn grythe,      And thou make more presyng.” “Gode syr,” seyd Sir Cleges than, “For hys love that made man,      Sese your angry mode. For I have a presante brought Fro hym that made all thyng of nowght      And dyed upon the rode. Thys nyght this fruyt grew. Behold whether I be fals or trew:      They be gentyll and gode.” The usscher lyfte up the syde smertly. The feyrest cherys that ever he sey      He mervyllyd in his mode. The usscher seyd, “Be Mary suete, Thou comyst not in the halle on fete,      I tell thee, sykerly, Bot thou grante me, without wernyng, The thyrd parte of thi wyneng      When thou comyst ageyn to me.” Syr Cleges sey non other wone, Bot ther he grantyd hym anon;      It wold non other weys be. Than Syr Cleges with hevy chere Toke his son and his panyer;      Into the hall went he. The stewerd stert fast in the hall, Among the lordys in the halle      That weryd ryche wede. He went to Syr Cleges boldly And seyd, “Who made thee so herdy      To come hether or thou were bede? Cherle,” he seyd, “thou arte to bolde: Withdraw thee with thi clothes olde      Smertly, I thee rede.” He seyd, “Syr, I have a presant brought Fro that Lord that us dere bought      And on the rode gan bled.” The stewerd stert forth wele sone, And plukyd up the lyde anon      Als smertly as he mought. The stewerd seyd, “Be Mary dere, Thys saw I never this tyme of yere      Seth I was man iwrought! Thow schall cum no nere the Kyng, Bot if thou grante me myn askyng,      Be hym that me dere bought. The thyrd parte of the Kyngys gyfte I wyll have, be my thryfte,      Or els go truse thee oute.” Syr Cleges stode and bethought hym than: “And I schuld parte betwyx thre men,      Myselve schuld have nothyng. For my traveyll schall I not gete, Bot if it be a melys mete?”      Thus thought hym sore sygheng. He seyd, “Herlot, has thou no tong? Speke to me and tary not long!      And grante me myn askyng Or with a staff I schall thee twake And bete thi raggys to thi bake      And schofe thee out hedlyng.” Syr Cleges saw non other bote. Hys askyng grante hym he mote,      And seyd with syghyng sore, “What that ever the Kyng rewerd, Ye schall have the thyrd parte,      Whether it be lesse or more.” When Syr Cleges had seyd that word, The stewerd and he were acorde,      And seyd to hym no more. Up to the Kyng sone he went; Full feyr he proferd hys presente      Knelyng onne hys kne hym befor. Syr Cleges uncoveryd the panyer And schewyd the Kyng the cherys clere,      Upon the ground knelyng. He seyd, “Jhesu, our Savyoure, Sente you this fruyt with grete honour,      Thys dey onne erth growyng.” The Kyng saw the cherys fressch and new And seyd, “I thanke thee, suete Jhesu!      Here is a feyre newyng!” He comandyd Syr Cleges to mete, A word after with hym to speke      Without any feylyng. The Kyng therfor made a presente And send unto a lady gente      Was borne in Corneweyle. Sche was a lady bryght and schen, After sche was hys awne Quen,      Withouten any feyle. The cherys were served throughe the hall; Than seyd the Kyng, a lord ryall,      “Be mery, be my conseyle! And he that brought me this present, I schall make hym so content,      It schall hym wele avayle.” When all men were merye and glad, Anon the Kyng a squyre bade:      “Bryng hym me beforne, The pore man that the cherys brought.” Anon he went and taryd nought;      Withouten any scorne He brought Cleges befor the Kyng. Anon he fell in knelyng;      He wend hys gyft had be lorn. He spake to the Kyng with wordys felle: He seyd, “Lege lord, what is your wylle?      I ame your man fre borne.” “I thanke thee hertely,” seyd the Kyng, “Of thi grete presentyng      That thou hast to me do. Thow hast honouryd all my feste With thi deyntys, moste and leste,      And worschyped me allso. What that ever thou wyll have, I wyll thee grante, so God me save,      That thin hert stondys to, Whether it be lond or lede, Or other gode, so God me spede,      How that ever it go.” He seyd, “Garemersy, lege Kyng, Thys is to me a hye thing,      For sych one as I be, For to grante me lond or lede, Or any gode, so God me spede.      Thys is to myche for me. Bot seth that I schall ches myselve, I aske no thyng bot strokys twelve.      Frely now, grante ye me With my staff to pay them all, Myn adversarys in this hall,      For Seynt Charyté.” Than ansuerd Uter the Kyng: He seyd, “I repent my grantyng,      The covenand that I made.” He seyd, “Be hym that made me and thee, Thou had be better take gold or fe;      More nede therto thou hade.” Syr Cleges seyd withouten warryng, “Lord, it is your awne grante;      It may not be deleyd.” The Kyng was angary and grevyd sore. Nevertheles, he grante hym thore      The dyntys schuld be payd. Syr Cleges went into the hall Among the grete lordys all,      Withouten any more. He sought after the stewerd: He thought to pay hym his rewerd,      For he had grevyd hym sore. He gafe the stewerd sych a stroke That he fell doune lyke a bloke      Among all that ther were. And after he gaff hym strokys thre, He seyd, “Syr, for thi curtassie,      Stryke thou me no more.” Out of the hall Sir Cleges wente; To pay mo strokys he had mente,      Withowtyn any lette. To the usscher he gan go: Sore strokys gaffe he tho      When thei togeder mette, That afterwerd many a dey He wold wern no man the wey,      So grymly he hym grete. Syr Cleges seyd, “Be my thryfte, Thou hast the thyrd parte of my gyfte,      Ryght evyn as I thee hyght.” To the porter com he yare. Foure strokys payd he thare;      His parte had he tho. Aftyrwerd many a dey He wold wern no man the wey,      Nether to ryde ne go. The fyrst stroke he leyd hym onne He brake a-two hys schulder bone      And hys ryght arme also. Syr Cleges seyd, “Be my thryfte, Thow hast the thyrd parte of my gyfte;      Covenant made we so.” The Kyng was sett in hys parlere Myrth and revell for to here;      Syr Cleges theder wente. An harper had a geyst iseyd That made the Kyng full wele a-payd      As to hys entente. Than seyd the Kyng to this herper, “Mykyll thou may ofte tyme here,      For thou hast ferre wente. Tell me trew, if thou can, Knowyst thou thys pore man      That this dey me presente?” He seyd, “My lege, withouten les, Som tyme men callyd hym Cleges;      He was a knyght of youre. I may thinke when that he was Full of fortone and of grace,      A man of hye stature.” The Kyng seyd, “This is not he, indede. It is long gon that he was dede      That I lovyd par amour. Wold God that he were wyth me! I had hym lever than knyghtys thre —      That knyght was styff in stoure.” Syr Cleges knelyd befor the Kyng, For he had grantyd hym hys askyng;      He thankyd hym curtasly. Spesyally the Kyng hym prayd, The thre men that he strokys payd      Wherfor it was and why. He seyd, “I myght not com inwerd To I grantyd iche of them the thyrd      Of that ye wold gyff me; Be that I schuld have noght myselve. To dele among them strokys twelve,      Me thought it best, trewly.” The lordys lewghe, both old and yenge, And all that ther were wyth the Kyng,      They made solas inowghe. They lewghe so thei myght not sytte. They seyd, “It was a nobull wytte,      Be Cryst we make a vow!” The Kyng send after hys stewerd And seyd, “And he grante thee any reward,      Askyth it be the law.” The stewerd seyd and lokyd grym, “I thynke never to have a-do with hym.      I wold I had never hym knaw.” The Kyng seyd, withouten blame, “Tell me, gode man, what is thi name,      Befor me anon ryght.” “My lege,” he seyd, “This man you tellys, Som tyme men callyd me Syr Cleges;      I was your awne knyght.” “Arte thou my knyght that servyd me, That was so gentyll and so fre,      Both strong, herdy and wyght?” “Ye, lord,” he seyd, “so mote I thé, Tyll God allmyght hath vyset me;      Thus poverté hath me dyght.” The Kyng gaffe hym anon ryght All that longys to a knyght      To aray hys body with, The castell of Cardyff also, With all the pourtenas therto,      To hold with pes and grythe. Than he made hym hys stuerd Of all hys londys, afterwerd,      Of water, lond and frythe. A cowpe of gold he gafe hym blythe, To bere to Dam Clarys hys wyfe,      Tokenyng of joy and myrthe. The Kyng made hys son squyre, And gafe hym a coler for to were,      With a hundryth pownd of rente. When thei com home in this maner, Dame Clarys, that lady clere,      Sche thankyd God verament. Sche thankyd God of all maner, For sche had both knyght and squyre      Somwhat to ther entente. Upon the dettys that they hyght, They payd als fast as thei myght,      To every man were content. A gentyll stewerd he was hold; All men hym knew, yong and old,      In lond were that he wente. Ther fell to hym so grete ryches He vansyd hys lyne, more and les,      The knyght curtas and hend. Hys lady and he lyved many yere With joy and mery chere,      Tyll God dyde for them send. For ther godnes that thei dyd here, Ther saulys went to heven clere,      Ther is joy withouten ende. AMEN

gentlemen; (see note); (t-note) Of ancestors brave Uther Pendragon; (see note) Arthur’s father handsome named; (see note) in [times of] need (see note) tall features gracious war-torn lands; (see note) fee encourage (support) harry nor beat; (see note) food more attractive was named; (see note) givers of alms friar cheered; person any harm (see note) region neglected Where they may find mirth to their liking restore; spirits rules cross By then his goods; diminish; (t-note) cease; (t-note)       offered his rich manors as collateral; (t-note) get himself out of debt little Though his goods; nearly lost repay royal estate; spent continually; (see note) Until; (see note) [So] that only one was left to him Scarcely; live upon it all around him remained no more children It happened [that] on (see note) drew towards noon swooning he thought to himself; time accustomed (t-note) Holdings sound (see note) trumpeters; drummers harpers’ and gitterns’ (guitars’) notes citole and psaltrey; (t-note) carols moan piteously grace accustomed bondsmen (serfs) wild nor domestic game Whatever belongs to any man’s meal spare held companion expressed (contemplated) stop; (see note) advise you to cease Against (on) without delay liking then; (t-note) (t-note) restrain cheerfully cheeks passed At an appropriate time slept until it rang; (t-note) reasonable dressed For his wife’s sake; (see note) Gracious; then prayed to Him; (t-note) (t-note) quickly gone forever did cease (t-note) garden moment For all those who wretched in poverty That He had ever sent to him grabbed a bough round berries in abundance (see note) i.e., As far as I have seen Like a cherry it tasted exactly; (see note) Since began to split off novelty an omen complaining basket rises (t-note) (t-note) According to your will (t-note) steed nor riding horse hackney (horse, i.e., transport) (t-note) gentle (noble) (see note) ready to eat a meal noon then dress scornfully; (see note) quickly the beggars’ crowd knock raised       he [the porter] knew for his [Cleges’] arrival earth Unless you promise me a third I agree obstruction way (see note); (t-note) brave delay limb mercy If; advance further Cease cross admired in his mind during the feast Unless; without refusal saw no other choice jumped up; (see note) wore rich clothing before you were asked (t-note) Quickly (t-note) quickly as he might by my fortune throw you out If get nothing Except for a meal’s food He [the steward]; Harlot (Churl) delay beat shove; headlong remedy demand; must agreed [he] said nothing more to him (t-note) novelty dine Without fail; (t-note) gentle beautiful Later; (see note) royal (excellent) benefit delayed though; lost worthy Liege (t-note) dainties honored your heart desires people Grant mercy high honor too much (see note) (t-note) regret my gift; (see note) promise without hesitation there blows more (delay) block [So] that refuse greeted (t-note) promised readily (see note) to there story told; (see note); (t-note) well pleased to his liking You may often hear much [news] presented [a gift to] me Some time [ago] men yours I can recall; (t-note) dearly rather staunch in battle asked Until; (t-note) (t-note) laughed joke If he granted (t-note) (t-note) brave may I prosper Until; afflicted treated belongs dress appurtenances (other properties and rights) order (see note) forest cup (see note); (t-note) to their liking owed Until everyone was satisfied (t-note) wherever advanced his line (lineage) gracious (see note)