¶ Syr Degore LOrdynges and ye wyll holde you styll A gentyll tale tell you I wyll Of knyghtes of this countree That hath trauayled beyonde the see To seke auentures bothe nyght daye And how they myght theyr strengh assay As dyde a knyght his name was syr Degore One of the best that was founde hym before Somtyme in Englonde there was a kynge A noble man of maners in all thynge Stoute in armes and vnder shylde Full moche doubted in batayll and felde There was no man than veramente That with hym Iusted in turmente That out of his styrope myght brynge his fote He was so stronge without doubte The kynge had no chyldern but one A doughter as whyte as whalles bone That mayden he loued as his lyfe Her moder was deed the quene his wyfe In trauayll of chylde she dyed alas But whan that mayden of aege was Kynkes sones her woed then Emperours Dukes and other men To haue that mayden in maryage For loue of her grete herytage But than the kynge dyde them answere That no man sholde wedde her But yf that he myght with stoute Iustynge The kynge out of his sadyll brynge And downe hym lose his styropes two Many one assayed and myght nought do Euery yere of ryght it wolde A grete feest wole he holde Vpon his quenes murnynge daye That was buryed in an abbaye So on a daye the kynge wolde ryde To an abbaye there besyde To do dyryges and masses bothe The poore to fede and the naked to clothe His owne doughter with hym rode And in the forest styll she abode She called her chamberlayne her to And other maydens she dyde also And sayd adowne she muste alyght Better her clothes to amende and ryght Adowne they ben alyght all thre Her damoysell and so dyde she A full longe stounde there she abode Tyll all the meyne frome her rode They gate vp and after they wolde But they coude not they ryght waye holde The wodde was roughe and thycke ywysse And they toke theyr waye all amysse They rode southe they rode west In to the thycke of that forest And in to a londe they came at the last Than weryed they wonder faste Than wyst the well amysse they had gone And downe the lyght euerychone And they called all in fere But there myght no man them here The weder was hote before the none They wyst neuer what was best to done But layde them downe vpon the grene Some fel on slepe as I wene Thus they fell on slepe euerychone Saue the kynges doughter alone She went aboute and gadred floures And to here the songe of small foules So longe she dyde forth pas That she wyst neuer where she was the waye to her damoyselles she wolde haue nome But she wyst neuer how to come Than gan she crye wonder sore She wepte and wronge her handes thore And sayd alas that I was borne For well I wote I am forlorne For wylde bestes wyll me rynde Or ony man may me fynde And then she sawe a Ioyfull syght To her came prekynge a fayre knyght Full well he semed a gentyll man And ryche clothes hym vpon Well farynge both of fote and honde There was non suche in that londe So stout a man than was he He sayd madame god you se Be ye a drade of me ryght nought I haue none armes with me brought I haue the loued this many a yere And now I haue founde the here Thou shalte be my lēmanne or I go Wheder it tourne to wele or wo No more to done then coude she But wepte and cryed and wolde haue fle Anone began he her to be holde And dyde with her what he wolde And berafte her her mayden hode And than before the lady he stode He sayd madame gentyll and fre With chylde I wote well that ye be Well I wote it shall be a knaue Therfore my swerde he shall haue My good swerde of ameaunt For therwith I slewe a gyaunt I brake the poynt in his hede And in the felde I it leued Dame take it vp lo it is here For thou spekest not with me this many a yere And yet parauenture the tyme may come That I maye speke with my sone And by this sworde I may hym ken He kyssed his loue and wente then The knyght passed as he come All wepynge the lady that swerde vp nome She wente awaye sore wepynge And founde her maydens slepynge She hydde the swerde so as she myght And called them vp anone ryght And toke theyr horses euerychone And began to ryde soone anone And than ther came at the last Many a knyght prekynge fast Fro the kynge than were they sent To were wheder they wente They brought them in to the hye waye And rode in fere to that abbaye There was done seruyce and all thynge With many a masse and ryche offerynge And whan that seruyce was all done And gan to passe the hye none The kynge vnto his palays gan ryde And moche people by his syde Whan euery man was gladde and blythe The lady soned many a sythe Her baly waxed more and more She wepte and wronge her handes sore So vpon a daye she gan sore wepe A mayden of hers toke good kepe And sayd madame for charyte Why ye do wepe ye wyll tell me Mayden and I tell the before And thou me wrey I were but lore For I haue ben euer meke and mylde And truly nowe I am with chylde And yf ony man it vnder yede Euery man wolde tell in euery stede That my fader on me it wan For I loued neuer other man And yf my fader it may wete Suche sorowe his herte may gete That he shall neuer mery man be For all his Ioye is layde on me And tolde the damoysell all in fere How the chylde was begoten on here Now gentyll lady greue you nought For styll it shall be forth brought Shall no man it wytte certaynly Truely madame but you and I Tyme was come she was vnbounde And delyuered both hole and sounde A man chylde there was bore Gladde was the lady therfore The mayden serued her at her wyll And layde the chylde in a cradyll She wrapped hym in clothes anone And was all redy for to haue gone Yet was the chylde vnto the moder holde She gaue it .xx. pounde of golde And .x. pounde of syluer also Vnder his heed she gan it doo Moche it is that a chylde behoues She put with hym a payre of gloues Herlemman gaue her them in a stonde They wolde elles on no womans honde On chyldes nother woman they nolde But on his moders handes they wolde And bad the chylde no wyfe wedde in londe But the gloues wolde on her honde For they myght serue no where Saue the moder that dyde hym bere A letter with the chylde put she With the gloues also perde She knyt the letter with a threde A boute his necke a full good spede Than was it in the the letter
fayne take my londes And yf my gloues wyll not soo Thenne wyll I take my leue and goo All the women were out brought That there aboute myght be sought All the assayed the gloues than But they where mete for no woman Syr Degore toke vp his gloues anone And also toke leue for to gone The Erle was a lorde of gentyll blode He gaue syr Degore a stede ryght good And therto he gaue hym good armure The whiche was both fayre and sure And also a page his man to be And an hakneye to ryde on truely Syr Degore was glade and blythe And thanked the erle many a sythe He rode forthe vpon his waye Many a myle vpon somers daye Vpon a daye moche people he mette He houed styll and fayre them grette And asked a squyre what tydynge And frome whens came all that folke rydynge The squyre sayd syr veramente They come frome the parlamente Fro a counseyll the kynge dyde make The whiche is for his doughters sake But whan the parlament was moost plenere The kynge lete crye bothe fer and nere Yf ony man were soo bolde That with the kynge Iust wolde He sholde haue his doughter in maryage And all his londe and herytage It is a londe bothe good and fayre And the kynge therto had none ayre But sertes there dare no man graunt therto Many one sayd they myght not doo For euery man that rydeth to hym He beteth them with strokes grym Some he breketh the necke anone Of some he cracketh bothe backe and bone Some thrughe the body he glytte And some to deth he smytte And to hym may no man do nothynge Suche a grace euer had our kynge Syr Degore stode in a stody than And thought he was a doughty man And I am in my yonge blode And I haue horse and armure good And as I trowe a full good stede I wyll assaye yf that I may spede And yf I may bere the kynge downe I may be a man of grete renowne And yf that he me fell can There knoweth no body what I am Dethe or lyfe what so me be tyde I wyll ones ayenst hym ryde Thus in the cyte his ynne he takes And rested hym and mery makes So vpon a day the kynge he mette He kneled downe and fayre hym grette He sayde syr kynge of moche myght My lorde hath sent me to you ryght To warne you how it shall be My lorde wyll come and fyght with the To Iust with the my lorde hathe nome The kynge sayd he shall be welcome Be he knyghte or barowne Erle Duke or chorle in towne There is no man I wyll forsake Who all may wynne all may take ¶ How syr Degore Iusted with the kynge of Englonde and smote hym downe SO on the morowe the day was sette The kynge auysed moche the bette But thenne there was no lyuynge man That Degore trusted moche vpon But to chirche that tyme went he To here a masse of the trynyte To the fader he offered a floryne And to the sone another fyne The thyrde to the holy goost he offered The preest in his masse for hym prayed And whan the masse was done Vnto his ynne he wente anone He dyde arme hym well in dede In ryche armure good at nede His good stede he began to stryde And toke his spere and forthe dyde ryde His knaue toke an other spere And after his mayster gan it bere Thus in the felde syr degore a bode than They kynge came with many a man Many came theder redely To se the iustynge truely All that in the felde were They sayd and dyde swere That they neuer or that tyme se So fayre a man with theyr eye As was that yonge knyght syr Degore But non wyst what man was he They rode to gyder at the laste On theyr good stedes full faste The kynge had the gretter shafte And more he coude of that crafte To dasshe hym downe thenne had he mente And in his shylde sette shuche a dente That his good spere all to braste But Degore was stronge and sat fast Than sayd the kynge alas alas For me befell neuer suche a case There was neuer man that I myght hit That euer myght my stroke sytte This is a man all for the nones For he is a man of grete bones Thenne toke the kynge a gretter tre And square also mote I the And yf his necke wyll not a two His backe shall or that I goo The kynge rode to hym with grete randowne And thought to haue dasshed the chylde downe He smote syr Degore soone anone Ryght before the brst bone That his horse was rered on hye And syr Degore was fallen nye Syr Degore thus his cours out yode He was sore angry in his mode Alas he sayd I haue myssed yet And he hath me twyes hit And neuer ones with hym I met By god I shall me auyse bet They rode togyder with grete myght In theyr sheldes theyr speres pyght That theyr good speres all to broke Vnto theyr handes with the stroke And than the kynge began to speke Gyue me a spere that wyll not breke For he shall anone be smyten downe Thoughe he be as stronge as was sampsowne And yf he be the deuyll of hell I shall hym soone downe fell The kynge toke a spere styfe and stronke And Degore toke a nother good and longe And stouly to the kynge he smytte The kynge hym fayled and Degore hym it And syr Degore soo hym bete That he made the kynges horse torne vp his fete Boldely he rode vp than And semed a full goodly man The kynge was out of his sadyll caste Wherof his doughter was sore a gaste Thenne was there moche noyse and crye The kynge was sore asshamed for thy We le I wote his doughter was sory Fer thenne she wyste redely That she shulde maryed be To a man of a straunge countree And lede her lyfe with suche one That she wyste neuer fro whens he come The kynge sayd to syr Degore Come heder fayre sone me before And thou were as gentyll a man As thou semest to loke vpan And thou coude wyt and reason doo As thou arte doughty man to I wolde thynke my londe well beset And yf it were fyue tymes the bet For worde spoken I must nedes holde Before my barons that be so bolde I take the my doughter by the honde And sesse the in all my londe To be myn heyre after me In Ioye and blysse for to be ¶ How syr Degore wedded his moder the kȳges doughter of Englonde / and howe shewe knewe that he whas her sone by the gloues GRete ordynaunce was there wrought To the chyrche dore they were brought And were there wedded veramente Vnto the holy sacramente Loke what foly happened there That he sholde wedde his owne modere The whiche had borne hym one her syde And yet he knewe nothynge that tyde He knewe nothynge of her kenne Nor she knewe nothynge of hym And
they had souped all The dwerfe brought water in to the hall Thenne gan they wasshe euerychone And than to chambre gan they gone Truely quod Degore and after I wyll To loke on that lady all my fyll Who that me warneth he shall abye Or to do hym make a sory crye Vpon the stayre the waye he nome And soone in to the chambre he come They lady that was so fayre and bryght Vpno her bedde she sat downe ryght She harped notes swete and fyne Her maydens fylled a pyece of wyne And syr Degore sat hym downe For to here the harpes sowne That thorowe the notes of the harpe shyll He layde hym downe and slepte his fyll This fayre lady that ylke nyght She bad go couer that gentyll knyght And ryche clothes aboute hym caste And the lady wente to a nother bed at the laste So on the morowe whan it was daye The lady rose the sothe to saye And in to the chambre her waye gan take She sayd syr knyght a ryse and wake They lady sayd all in game Ye be well worthy to haue blame For as a beest all nyght thou dyde slepe And of my maydens tokest no kepe And than answered the knyght so fre Mercy madame and forgyue it me The notes of thyne harpe it made Or elles the good wyne that I hade But tell me now my lady hende Or I out of this chambre wende who hathe this castell in his honde And who is lorde of this londe wheder that ye be mayden or wyfe And in what maner ye lede your lyfe And why ye haue so many women Alone withouten ony men Syr fayne I wolde the tell And thou coude it amende well My fader was a bolde barowne And holden a lorde of toure and towne He had neuer chylde but me I am ayre in this countre ¶ How syr Degore foughte for a lady with a gyaunt and slewe hym THere hathe me wowed many a knyght And many a squyre well dyght But than theyr wonned here besyde A stoute gyaunt full of pryde He hathe me desyred longe nad yore And hym to loue may I neuer more He is a boute with his mestrye To do me shame and velonye And he hathe slayne my men ychone Saue my sory dwerfe alone Ryght as they stode she fell to grounde And soned there in that stounde All her damoyselles to her come To comforte her and her vp nome The lady loked on syr Degore Lefe dame thenne sayd he Be not adrad whyles I am here I wyll the helpe to my powere Syr she sayd thenne all my londe I wll it cesse in to thy honde And all my good I wyll the gyue And all my body whyle I lyue For to be at all your wyll Erly and late loude and styll And thy lemman for to be To wreke me nowe on myn eneme That was Degore fayne to fyght For to defende that ladyes ryght And to sle that other knyght And wynne that lady that was so bryght And as they stode bothe in fere Her maydens came rydynge with heuy chere She bad drawe the bryge hastely For here cometh youre enemy Or elles he wyll sle vs ychone Syr Degore sterte vp anone Oute at a wyndowe he hym se He was sone armed on horse hye So stoute a man as he was one In armes sawe she neuer none Syr Degore armed hym by lyue And oure of the castell he gan dryue And rode euen the gyaunt agayne They smote togyder with moche mayne That theyr good speres all to brast Degore was stroge and sat fast But his stedes bake braste a two Thenne syr Degore fell to the grounde tho And thenne he sterte vp and loughe And his good swerde he out drughe Than sayd the gyaunt to hym anone On fote we wyll to gyder gone Thou hast sayd Degore slayne my good stede I hope to quyte the thy mede To sle thy stede nought I wyll But to fyght with the my fyll And tho they fought on fote in fere With stronge strokes on helme clere The gyaunt gaue syr Degore Houge strokes grete plente And syr Degore dyde hym also Tyll helme and basynet barste in two The gyanut was a greued sore Bycause he hadde his blode lore He stroke vpon syr Degore soo That to the grounde he made hym goo Syr Degore recouered soone a plyght And suche a stroke he gaue that knyght And on the crowne soo it sette That throwe his helme and basynet He made the swerde go thorowe his het And anone the gyaunt fell downe deed The lady sat in her castell And fawe all the holde batayll How the gyaunt was slayne That wolde her haue forlayne She was as glade of that syght As euer was bryde of the daye lyght Syr Degore came to the caestll Ano agaynst hym came that damoysell She thanked hym of his good dede And in her chambre she dyde hym lede She sette hym on her bed anone And vnarmed hym full sone She toke hym in her harmes two And kyssed hym C. tymes and mo And sayd all my good I wyll the gyue And my body whyle I lyue Gramercy damoysell then sayd he Of that ye haue graunted me But I must in to ferre contree Mo auentures for to se Vnto this twelue monthes be ago And thenne I shall come you to He betoke her to the heuen kynge The lady wepte at his departynge Syr Degore rode vpon his waye Many a longe Iourney And euer more he rode west Tyll a lande he founde in a forest To hym came prekynge a knyght Well armed and on his horse dyght In armes that wolde endure With fyne golde and ryche asure Thre bore hedes were theryne They whiche were of golde fyne As soone as euer he sawe that knyght He spake to hym a none ryght And sayd velayne what doost thou here In my forest to sle my dere Syr Degore sayd with wordes meke Syr of thy dere I take no kepe For I am auenturous knyght That gothe to seke warre and fyght His fader answered and sayd saunfayll And thou be come to seke batayll Thenne make the redy in a stounde For thou haste thy felowe founde And thenne syr Degore without daungere Armed hym to fyght with his fadere ¶ How syr Degore fought with his fader how his fader knewe hym by the broken swerde A Well godd helme for the nones And well sette with precyus stones It myght well be his owne saunfayll For he wanne it ones in batayll He kest his shelde aboute his swere Of ryall armes good and dere His good stede he began to stryde He toke his spere and began to ryde And his man toke an other spere And by his syde he gan it bere But loke what foly began that tyde The sone agaynst the fader gan ryde But neyther knewe other a ryght And thus began they to fyght Syr Degore had the greater shafte And wonder well he coude his crafte To dasshe hym downe than had he wente And in his shelde gaue suche a dente That his good spere all to brast But his fader was stronge and sat fast Another cours than haue they take The fader for the sones sake So harde they smote togyder in sothe That theyr horses backes broke bothe And thenne they fought on fote in fere Wirh harde strokes on helme clere And thus his fader a meruayled was Of his swerde that was poyntles And to hym sayd anone ryght Abyde a whyle thou gentyll knyght Where was thou borne and in what londe Syr he sayd in Englonde A kynges doughter is my moder But I wote not who is my fader What is thy name thenne sayd he Syr my name is Degore Syr Degore thou arte welcome For well I wote thou arte my sone By this swerde I knowe the here The poynt is in my pautenere He toke the poynt and sette it to And they accorded bothe two So longe they haue spoke togyder Bothe the sone and the fader That they be ryght well at one The fader and the sone alone Syr Degore and his fader dere In to Englonde they rode in fere They were bothe armed and well dyght As it becometh euery knyght They rode forth on theyr Iourney Many a myle of that countrey And on theyr way they rode full fast In to Englonde they came at the laste Whan they myght Englonde se They drewe theder as they wolde be Whan they wher to that palays come They wher welcome all and some And they behelde ouer all The lady them spyed ouer a wall And whan that lady sawe that syght She wente to them with all her myght And ryght well she them knewe And than she chaunged all her hewe And sayd my dere sone Degore Thou hast thy fader brought with the Truely madame than sayd he Full well I wote that it is he Now thanked be god than sayd the kynge For nowe I wote without lesynge Who is syr Degores fader in dede The lady swoned in that stede And sone after sekerly The knyght wedded that lady She and her sone was departed I twynne For he and she were to nye of kynne Forth thenne wente syr degore With the kynge and his meyne His fader and his moder dere Vnto they castell they wente in fere Where as dwelled that lady bryght That he had wonne in fyght And wedded her witth grete solempnyte Before all the lordes of that countre Thus came the knyght out of his care God gyue vs grace well to fare And that we all vpon domes day Come to the blysse that lasteth ay AMEN ¶ Thus endeth the treatyse of syr Degore Enprynted at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the sonne by Wynkyn de worde