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And every gras that groweth upon rote
She shal eke know; and whom it wol do bote,
Al be his woundes never so depe and wide.
"This naked swerd, that hangeth by my side,
Swiche vertue hath, that what man that it smite
Thurghout his armure it wol kerve and bite,
Were it as thick as is a braunched oke;

And what man that is wounded with the stroke
Shal never be hole, til that you list of grace
To stroken him with the platte in thilke place
Ther he is hurt; this is as much to sain,
Ye moten, with the platte swerd, again
Stroken him in the wound, and it wol close.
This is the veray soth withouten glose:
It failleth not while it is in your hold."

And whan this knight hath thus his tale told,
He rideth out of halle, and doun he light.
His stede, which that shone as sonne bright,
Stant in the court as stille as any ston.
This knight is to his chambre ladde, anon,
And is unarmed, and to the mete ysette.
Thise presents ben, ful richelich yfette,
This is to sain, the swerd and the mirrour;
And borne, anon, into the highe tour
With certain officers ordained therfore;
And unto Canace the ring is bore
Solempnely, ther she sat at the table.
But, sikerly, withouten any fable,

The hors of bras, that may not be remued;
It stant as it were to the ground yglued:
Ther may no man out of the place it drive
For non engine, of windas or polive;
And cause why, for they con not the craft,
And therfore in the place they han it laft
Til that the knight hath taught hem the manere
To voiden him, as ye shul after here.

Gret was the prees that swarmed to and fro
To gauren on this hors that stondeth so;
For it so high was, and so brod and long,
So wel proportioned for to be strong,
Right as it were a stede of Lumbardie;
Therwith so horsly, and so quik of eye,
As it a gentil Poileis courser were;
For certes fro his tayl unto his ere
Nature ne art ne coud him not amend
In no degree, as all the peple wend.

But evermore hir moste wonder was
How that it coude gon, and was of bras;
It was of Faerie, as the peple semed.
Diverse folk diversely han demed;
As many heds, as many wittes ben.
They murmured as doth a swarme of been,
And maden skilles after hir fantasies,
Rehersing of the olde poetries.
And sayd it was ylike the Pegasee,
The hors that hadde winges for to flee;
Or, elles, it was the Grekes hors Sinon,
That broughte Troye to destruction,
As men moun in thise olde gestes rede.
"Myn herte," quod on, " is evermore in drede;
I trow some men of armes ben therin,
That shapen hem this citee for to win;

It were right good that al swiche thing were know."
Another rowned to his felaw low,

And sayd: "He lieth, for it is rather like
An apparence ymade by some magike,
As jogelours plaien at thise festes grete."
Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trete,
As lewed peple demen comunly

Of thinges, that ben made more subtilly,
Than they can in hir lewednesse comprehende,
They demen gladly to the badder ende.

And som of hem wondred on the mirrour
That born was up in to the maister tour,
How men mighte in it swiche thinges see.
Another answerd and sayd: "It might wel be
Naturelly by compositions

Of angles, and of slie reflections;"
And sayd, that in Rome was swiche on.
They speke of Alhazen and Vitellon,
And Aristotle; that writen, in hir lives,
Of queinte mirrours and of prospectives,
As knowen they that han hir bookes herd.

And other folk han wondred on the swerd
That wolde percen thurghout every thing,
And fell in speche of Telephus the king,
And of Achilles for his queinte spere,
For he coude with it bothe hele and dere,
Right in swiche wise as men may with the swerd
Of which, right now, ye have yourselven herd.
They speken of sondry harding of metall,
And speken of medicines therwithall,
And how and whan it shuld yharded be,
Which is unknow algates unto me.

Tho, speken they of Canacees ring,
And saiden all, that swiche a wonder thing
Of craft of ringes herd they never non,—
Save that he Moises, and King Salomon,
Hadden a name of conning in swiche art.
Thus sain the peple, and drawen hem apart.

But, natheles, som saiden that it was
Wonder to maken of ferne ashen glas,
And yet is glas nought like ashen of ferne,-
But for they han yknowen it so, ferne,
Therforth ceseth hir jangling and hir wonder.

As sore wondren som on cause of thunder,
On ebbe and floud, on gossomer and on mist,
And on all thing, til that the cause is wist.

Thus janglen they, and demen and devise,
Til that the king gan fro his bord arise.

Phoebus hath left the angle meridional,
And yet ascending was the beste real,
The gentil Leon, with his Aldrian,
Whan that this Tartre king, this Cambuscan,
Rose from his bord, ther as he sat ful hie:
Beforne him goth the loude minstralcie,
Til he come to his chambre of parements,
Ther as they sounden divers instruments,
That it is like an heven for to here.

Now dauncen lusty Venus children dere;
For in the Fish hir lady set ful hie,
And loketh on hem with a frendly eye.

This noble king is set upon his trone;
This straunge knight is fet to him, ful sone,

And on the daunce he goth with Canace.
Here is the revell and the jolitee,
That is not able a dull man to devise:
He must han knowen Love and his service,
And ben a festlich man, as fresh as May,
That shulde you devisen swiche array.

Who coude tellen you the forme of daunces
So uncouth, and so freshe contenaunces,
Swiche subtil lokings and dissimulings,
For dred of jalous mennes apperceivings?
No man but Launcelot, and he is ded:
Therfore I passe over all this lustyhed;
I say no more, but in this jolinesse

I lete hem, til men to the souper hem dresse.
The steward bit the spices for to hie,
And eke the win, in all this melodie;
The ushers and the squierie ben gon;
The spices and the win is come anon:

They ete and drinke, and whan this had an end
Unto the temple, as reson was, they wend:
The service don, they soupen all by day.
What nedeth you rehersen hir array ?
Eche man wot wel that at a kinges feste
Is plentee, to the most and to the lest,
And deintees mo than ben in my knowing.
At after souper goth this noble king
To seen the hors of bras, with all a route
Of lordes and of ladies him aboute.
Swiche wondring was ther on this hors of bras,
That sin the gret assege of Troye was,
Ther as men wondred on an hors also,
Ne was ther swiche a wondring, as was, tho.
But, finally, the king asketh the knight
The vertue of this courser, and the might,
And praied him to tell his governaunce.

This hors, anon, gan for to trip and daunce,
Whan that the knight laid hond upon his rein;
And said, "Sire! ther n'is no more to sain,
But whan you list to riden any where,
Ye moten trill a pin, stant in his ere,
Which I shal tellen you betwixt us two,
Ye moten nempne him to what place also
Or to what contree, that you list to ride.
"And whan ye come ther as you list abide,
Bid him descend, and trill another pin,
(For therin lieth the effect of all the gin,)
And he wol doun descend and don your will,
And in that place he wol abiden still:
Though al the world had the contrary swore,
He shal not thennes be drawe ne be bore.
Or if you list to bid him thennes gon,
Trille this pin, and he wol vanish anon
Out of the sight of every maner wight,
And come agen, be it day or night,
Whan that you list to clepen him, again,
In swiche a guise as I shal to you sain
Betwixen you and me, and that ful sone.
Ride whan you list, ther n'is no more to done."
Enfourmed whan the king was of the knight,
And hath conceived in his wit aright
The maner and the forme of all this thing,
Ful glad and blith, this noble doughty king

Repaireth to his revel, as beforne, The bridel is in to the tour yborne,

And kept among his jewels lefe and dere:
The hors vanisht, I n'ot in what manere,
Out of hir sight: ye get no more of me;
But thus I lete, in lust and jolitee,
This Cambuscan his lordes festeying,
Til that wel nigh the day began to spring.


The norice of digestion, the slepe,

Gan on hem winke, and bad hem taken kepe
That mochel drinke and labour wol have rest,
And with a galping mouth hem all he kest
And said that it was time to lie adoun,
For blood was in his dominatioun:
Cherisheth blood, nature's frend, quod he.
They thanken him galping, by two, by three;
And every wight gan drawe him to his rest,
As slepe him bade; they take it for the best.
Hir dremes shul not now be told for me;
Ful were hir hedes of fumositee,

That causeth dreme, of which ther is no charge:
They slepen, til that it was prime large,
The moste parte, but it were Canace;
She was ful mesurable as women be.
For of hire father had she taken hire leve
To gon to rest, sone after it was eve;
Hire liste not appalled for to be,
Nor on the morwe unfestliche for to see,
And slept hire firste slepe and than awoke.
For swiche a joy she in her herte toke
Both of hire queinte ring, and of hire mirrour,
That twenty time she chaunged hire colour;
And in hire slepe right for the impression
Of hire mirrour she had a vision ;-
Wherfore, or that the sonne gan up glide,
She clepeth upon hire maistresse hire beside,
And saide that hire luste for to arise.

Thise olde women that ben gladly wise,
As is hire maistresse, answerd hire anon;
And said: "Madam! whider wol ye gon
Thus erly? for the folk ben all in rest."

"I wol," quod she," arisen (for me lest
No longer for to slepe) and walken aboute."
Hire maistresse clepeth women a gret route,
And up they risen, wel a ten or twelve;
Up riseth freshe Canace hireselve,
As rody and bright, as the yonge sonne,
That in the Ram is four degrees yronne;
No higher was he whan she redy was:
And forth she walketh esily a pas,
Arrayed after the lusty seson sote
Lightely for to playe, and walken on fote,
Nought but with five or sixe of hire meinie;
And in a trenche forth in the park goth she.

The vapour, which that fro the erthe glode,
Maketh the sonne to seme rody and brode:
But, natheles, it was so faire a sight,
That it made all hir hertes for to light,
What for the seson and the morwening
And for the foules that she herd sing.

For, right anon, she wiste what they ment
Right by hir song, and knew all hir entent.
The knotte why that every tale is tolde
If it be taried til the lust be colde
Of hem, that han it herkened after yore,
The savour passeth, ever lenger the more,
For fulsomnesse of the prolixitee;
And, by that same reson, thinketh me
I shuld unto the knotte condescende,
And maken of hire walking sone an ende.
Amidde a tree for-dry, as white as chalk,
As Canace was playing in hire walk,
Ther sat a faucon over hir hed ful hie,
That with a pitous vois so gan to crie,
That all the wood resouned of hire cry,-
And beten had hireself so pitously

With both hire winges, til the rede blood
Ran endelong the tree ther as she stood;
And, ever in on, alway she cried and shright;
And with hire bek hireselven she so twight;
That ther n'is tigre, ne no cruel best,
That dwelleth other in wood, or in forest,
That n'olde han wept, if that he wepen coude,
For sorwe of hire, she shright alway so loude.
For ther was never yet no man on live,
If that he coude a faucon wel descrive,
That herd of swiche another, of fayrenesse
As wel of plumage as of gentilesse,

Of shape; of all that might yrekened be.
A faucon peregrine semed she

Of fremde londe; and, ever, as she stood,
She swouned, now and now, for lack of blood,
Til wel neigh is she fallen fro the tree.

This faire kinges daughter Canace,
That on hire finger bare the queinte ring,
Thurgh which she understood wel every thing
That any foule may in his leden sain,
And coude answere him in his leden again,
Hath understonden what this faucon seyd,
And wel neigh, for the routhe, almost she deyd;
And to the tree she goth ful hastily,
And on this faucon loketh pitously,
And held hire lap abrode; for wel she wist
The faucon muste fallen from the twist
Whan that she swouned next, for faute of blood.
A longe while to waiten hire she stode.
Til at the last she spake in this manere
Unto the hauk, as ye shul after here.

"What is the cause if it be for to tell, That ye ben in this furial peine of hell?" Quod Canace unto this hauk above;

"Is this for sorwe of deth, or losse of love?
For as I trow, thise be the causes two,
That causen most a gentil herte wo.
Of other harme it nedeth not to speke,
For ye yourself upon yourself awreke,
Which preveth wel that other ire or drede
Mote ben enchesen of your cruel dede,
Sin that I se non other wight you chace.
For the love of God, as doth yourselven grace;
Or what may be your helpe? for west ne est,
Ne saw I never, er now, no brid ne best,

That ferde with himself so pitously.
Ye sle me with your sorwe veraily,
I have of you so gret compassioun.
For Goddes love, come fro the tree adoun,
And as I am a kinges daughter trewe
If that I veraily the causes knewe
Of your disese, if it lay in my might
I wold amend it, or that it were night,
As wisly help me the gret God of kind.
And herbes shal I, right ynough, yfind,
To helen with your hurtes, hastily."

Tho shright this faucon yet more pitously
Than ever she did, and fell to ground, anon,
And lithe aswoune, as ded as lith a ston,
Til Canace hath in hire lappe hire take
Unto that time she gan of swoune awake;
And after that she out of swoune abraide,
Right, in hire haukes leden, thus she sayde:
"That pitee renneth sone in gentil herte,
(Feling his similitude in peines smerte,)
Is proved alle day, as men may see
As wel by werke as by auctoritee,
For gentil herte kitheth gentilesse.
I se wel that ye have on my distresse
Compassion, my faire Canace!
Of veray womanly benignitee,
That Nature in your principles hath set.
But, for non hope for to fare the bet,
But, for to obey unto your herte free,
And for to maken other yware by me,
As by the whelpe chastised is the leon,
Right for that cause and that conclusion,
While that I have a leiser and a space,
Min harme I wol confessen er I pace."
And, ever, while that on hire sorwe told,
That other wept, as she to water wold,
Til that the faucon bad hire to be still;
And, with a sike, right thus she said hire till:

"Ther I was bred, (alas that ilke day!)
And fostred in a rocke of marble gray,
So tendrely, that nothing ailed me,

I ne wist not what was adversitee,
Til I coud flee ful high under the skie.
"Tho dwelled a tercelet me faste by.
That semed welle of alle gentilesse,
Al were he ful of treson and falsenesse.
It was so wrapped under humble chere,
And under hew of trouth in swiche manere,
Under plesance, and under besy peine,

That no wight coud have wend he coude feine;
So depe in greyn he died his coloures,
Right as a serpent hideth him under floures,
Til he may see his time for to bite;
Right so, this god of loves hypocrite
Doth so his ceremonies and obeisance,
And kepeth in semblaunt alle his observance,
That souneth unto gentillesse of love.
As on a tombe is all the faire above,
And under is the corps, swiche as ye wote,
Swiche was this hypocrite both cold and hote,
And in this wise he served his entent,
That, save the fend, non wiste what he ment;

Till he so long had weped and complained,
And many a yere his service to me fained,
Til that min herte, to pitous and to nice,
Al innocent of his crowned malice,
For-fered of his deth, as thoughte me,-
Upon his othes, and his seuretee,
Graunted him love on this conditioun,
That evermo min honour and renoun
. Were saved, both privee and apert;
This is to say, that after his desert,

I yave him all min herte and all my thought,
God wote, and in none other wise nought;
And toke his herte in chaunge of min, for ay.
But soth is said, gon sithen is many a day,
A trewe wight, and a theef, thinken not on.

"And whan he saw the thing so fer ygon,
That I had granted him fully my love,
In swiche a guise, as I have said above,
And yeven him my trewe herte as free
As he swore that he yaf his herte to me;
Anon this tigre, ful of doublenesse,
Fell on his knees, with so gret humblesse,
With so high reverence, as by his chere,
So like a gentil lover of manere,
So ravished, as it semed, for the joye,
That never Jason ne Paris of Troye,
Jason! certes, ne never other man
Sin Lamech was, that alderfirst began
To loven two, as writen folk beforne;
Ne never, sithen the first man was borne,
Ne coude man by twenty thousand part
Contrefete the sophimes of his art;
Ne were worthy to unbocle his galoche,
Ther doublenesse of faining shuld approche,
Ne coude so thanke a wight, as he did me,
His maner was an heven for to see
To any woman, were she never so wise,
So painted he, and kempt at point devise,
As wel his wordes, as his contenance:
And I so loved him for his obeisance,
And for the trouthe I demed in his herte,
That if so were that any thing him smerte,
Al were it never so lite, and I it wist,

Me thought I felt deth at myn herte twist.
And, shortly, so ferforth this thing is went,
That my will was his willes instrument;
This is to say, my will obeid his will
In alle thing, as fer as reson fill,
Keping the boundes of my worship ever:
Ne never had I thing so lefe, ne lever,
As him, God wot, ne never shal no mo.
"This lasteth lenger than a yere or two,
That I supposed of him nought but good;
But finally, thus at the last it stood,
That Fortune wolde that he muste twin
Out of that place, which that I was in.
Wher me was wo, it is no question;
I cannot make of it description.
For o thing dare I tellen boldely,

I know what is the peine of deth therby;
Swiche harme I felt, for he ne might byleve.
"So on a day of me he toke his leve,

So sorweful eke, that I wend veraily,

That he had felt as mochel harme as I,
Whan that I herd him speke and sawe his hewe:
But, nathelesse, I thought he was so trewe,
And eke that he repairen shuld again,
Within a litel while, soth to sain,—
And reson wold, eke, that he muste go
For his honour, as often happeth so,—
That I made vertue of necessitee,
And toke it wel, sin that it muste be.
As I best might I hid from him my sorwe,
And toke him by the hand, Seint John to borwe,
And said him thus: Lo, I am youres all
Both swiche as I have ben to you and shall.'

"What he answerd, it nedeth not reherse;
Who can say bet than he? who can Do werse?
Whan he hath al well said, than hath he done.
Therfore, behoveth him a full long spone
That shal ete with a fend; thus herd I say.

"So at the last, he muste forth his way; And forth he fleeth, til he com ther him lest. Whan it came him to purpos for to rest,

I trow that he had thilke text in mind,
That alle thing repairing to his kind
Gladeth himself; thus sain men, as I gesse :
Men loven of propre kind newefangelnesse,
As briddes don, that mer, in cages fede.

For though thou night and day take of hem hede
And strew hir cage faire and soft as silke,
And give hem sugre, hony, bred, and milke,—
Yet, right anon as that his dore is up,
He with his feet wol spurnen doun his cup,
And to the wood he wol, and wormes ete;
So newefangel ben they of hir mete,
And loven noveltees of propre kind;
No gentillesse of blood ne may hem bind.
"So ferd this tercelet, alas the day!
Though he were gentil borne, and fresh, and gay,
And goodly for to seen, and humble, and free.
He sawe upon a time a kite flee;
And, sodenly, he loved this kite so
That all his love is clene from me ago;
And hath his trouthe falsed in this wise,
Thus hath the kite my love in her service,
And I am lorn withouten remedy."

And with that word this faucon gan to cry,
And swouneth eft in Canacees barme.
Gret was the sorwe for that haukes harme,
That Canace and all hire women made;
They n'isten how they might the faucon glade.
But Canace home bereth hire in hire lap,
And softely in plastres gan hire wrap,
Ther as she with hire bek had hurt hireselve.
Now cannot Canace but herbes delve
Out of the ground; and maken salves newe
Of herbes precious and fine of hewe;
To helen with this hauk, fro day to night
She doth hire besinesse and all hire might.
And by hire beddes hed, she made a mew,
And covered it with velouettes blew,
In signe of trouthe that is in woman sene;
And, all without, the mew is peinted grene,

In which were peinted all thise false foules,
As ben thise tidifes, tercelettes, and owles;
And pies, on hem for to cry and chide,
Right for despit, were peinted hem beside.
Thus lete I Canace hire hauk keping.
I wol no more, as now, speke of hire ring,
Til it come eft to purpos for to sain,
How that this faucon gat hire love again
Repentant, as the story telleth us,
By mediation of Camballus,

The kinges sone, of which that I you told.
But hennesforth I wol my processe hold
To speke of avantures, and of batailles,
That yet was never herd so gret mervailles.
First, wol I tellen you of Cambuscan,
That in his time many a citee wan:-
And, after, wol I speke of Algarsif,
How that he wan Theodora to his wif;
For whom ful oft in gret peril he was,
Ne had he ben holpen by the hors of bras:-
And after wol I speke of Camballo,
That fought in listes, with the brethren two
For Canace er that he might hire winne;
And ther I left, I wol again beginne.

[The rest is wanting.


* O Lord our Lord! thy name how merveillous
Is in this large world yspread!” (quod she)·
"For, not al only, thy laude precious
Parfourmed is by men of dignitee;
But by the mouth of children thy bountee
Parfourmed is, for on the brest souking
Somtime shewen they thin herying.
"Wherfore in laude, as I can best and may,
Of thee and of the white lily flour
Which that thee bare, and is a maide alway,-
To tell a storie I wol do my labour;
Not that I may encresen hire honour,
For she, hireselven, is honour and rote

Of bountee, next hire sone; and soules bote.
"O mother maide! O maide and mother fre!
O bushe unbrent! brenning in Moyses sight,.
That ravishedst doun fro the deitee,

Thurgh thin humblesse, the gost that in thee alight:
Of whos vertue, whan he thin herte light,
Conceived was the fathers sapience;

Helpe me to tell it in thy reverence.

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Right so fare I; and, therfore, I you pray Gideth my song that I shal of you say."

Ther was in Asie, in a gret citee, Amonges Cristen folk a Jewerie,— Sustened by a lord (of that contree) For foul usure and lucre of vilanie, Hateful to Crist and to his compagnie,

And thurgh the strete men mighten ride and wende,
For it was free, and open at eyther ende.

A litel scole of Cristen folk there stood
Doun at the ferther end, in which ther were
Children an hepe, comen of Cristen blood,
That lerned in that scole yere by yere
Swiche manere doctrine as men used there;
This is to say, to singen and to rede,
As smale children don in hir childhede.
Among thise children was a widewes sone,
A litel clergion, sevene yere of age,
That day by day to scole was his wone;
And, eke also, wheras he sey the image
Of Cristes moder, had he in usage,

As him was taught, to knele adoun, and say
Ave Marie as he goth by the way.

Thus hath this widewe hire litel sone ytaught
Our blissful Lady, Cristes moder dere,
To worship ay; and he forgate it nought;
For sely childe wol alway sone lere.
But, ay, whan I remembre on this matere,
Saint Nicholas stant ever in my presence,
For he so yong to Crist did reverence.

This litel childe his litel book lerning,
As he sate in the scole at his primere,
He Alma Redemptoris herde sing
As children lered hir antiphonere:

And as he dorst, he drew him nere and nere,
And herkened, ay, the wordes and the note,
Til he the firste vers coude al by rote.

Nought wist he what this Latin was to say,
For he so yonge and tendre was of age;
But on a day his felaw gan he pray
To expounden him this song in his langage,
Or telle him why this song was in usage:
This prayde he him to construe and declare,
Ful often time upon his knees bare.

His felaw, which that elder was than he, Answer'd him thus; "This song, I have herd say, Was maked of our blissful Lady fre,

Hire to salue, and eke hire for to pray

To ben our help, and socour, whan we dey.

I can no more expound in this matere;

I lerne song; I can but smal gramere."
"And is this song maked in reverence
Of Cristes moder?" said this innocent;
"Now, certes, I wil don my diligence
To conne it all, or Cristemasse be went,
Though that I for my primer shal be shent,
And shal be beten thries in an houre,

I wol it conne our Ladie for to honoure."
His felaw taught him homeward, prively,
Fro day to day, til he coude it by rote,
And than he song it, wel and boldely,

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