With armes and with other vytayle Kynge Rycharde wente forth with his apparayle Towarde marcell he gan ryde With his hoost on eyther syde Fouke doly and Thomas of multon With erles dukes many a bolde baron Rychardes mayster Roberte of leycester In Englonde was none his better And also syr Roberte of turname Moche englysshe people with hym came And redy they founde theyr flete Charged with armure drynke and mete They shypped armure man and stede And other store folke to fede They shypped all by the see stronde To wende in to the holy londe The wynde was bothe good and kene And droue them ouer in to messene Before the gates of the gryffons Kynge Rycharde pyght his pauylyons The kynge of fraunce there he founde In pauylyons square and rounde And eyther of them kyste other And became sworne brother To wende in to the holy londe To wreke Ihesu I vnderstonde A treason thought the kynge of fraunce To do kynge Rycharde dystaunce To kynge Tanker he sente a wrytte That tourned hym to lytell wytte The kynge Rycharde with strength of honde Wolde hym haue dryuen out of his londe Tanker kynge of puyle was For this wryte he sayd alas He sente anone his messenger To his sone that hyght Roger That was kynge of Cysyle londe He sholde come to his honde And sente after his barownes Erles and lordes of renownes And whan they were comen euerychone The kynge sayd to them anone And tolde how the kynge of fraunce Had hym warned of a dystaunce Kynge Roger spake fyrste aboue And smote peas with his gloue Mercy my fader at this tyme Kynge Rycharde is a pylgryme And crossed in to the holy londe That wryte lyeth I vnderstonde I dare for kynge Rycharde swere That he neuer thought you to fere But sende to hym a messengere That he come vnto you here He wyll come to you full soone And his thought he wyll tell you anone The kynge was glad of that counsayle And sente after hym without fayle On the morowe he came to hym Iwys In to the ryche cyte of thys And founde kynge Tanker in his hall Amonge his erles and barons all Eyther gret te other in fayre maner With mylde wordes and deboner Than sayd Tanker to kynge Rycharde Lo syr kynge by saynt Leonarde It is done me for to wytte Of a frende here ryght well wrytte That thou arte come with grete powere For to reue me of my londes here Thou were fayre to be a pylgrym For to slee many a paynym Than for to greue a crysten kynge That neuer the mysdyde no thynge Kynge Rycharde was sore asshamed And also of his wordes agramd And sayd Tanker thou arte mystought For to haue this in thy thought And suche a rage on me to bere That I the sholde with armes dere Suche a treason on me to touche And on my flesshe I bere the crouche I ne wyll dwell here but a daye To morowe I wyll wende my waye And I praye the syr Tanker kynge Procure me none euyll thynge For many men weneth to greue other And on his heed falleth the fother For who so wayteth me despyte Hym selse shall nought passe quyte Syr quod Tanker be not wrothe for this Lo here are the letter forsothe Iwys That the kynge of fraunce me sente That other daye in presente Kâ—nge Rycharde sawe vnderstode The kynge of fraunce wolde hym no gode Kynge Rycharde and kynge Tanker kyste And were frendes with the beste That myght be in ony londe I loued be Ihesu crystes sonde Kynge Rycharde wente agayne well styll And suffred the frensshe kynges wyll He vndyde his tresore And bought hym bestes to his store He let bothe salte and slene Thre thousande of oxen and kene Swyne and shepe so many also No man coude tell tho And of fysshe foules and venyson I ne can nought acccount in ryght reason The kynge of fraunce without wene Laye in the cyte of messene And kynge Rycharde without the wall Vnder the house of the hospytall The englysshe men wente to shyppynge And ofte hente harde knockynge The frensshe and gryffons downe ryghtes Slewe there our englysshe knyghtes Kynke Rycharde herde of that dystaunce And playned to the kynge of fraunce And he answered he had no wardes Of the englysshe taylardes Chase thy gryffons yf thou myght For of my men getest thou no ryght Quod kynge Rycharde syth it is so I wote well what I haue to do I shall me of them so a wreke That all the worlde therof shall speke Crystmasse is a tyme full honeste Kynge Rycharde it honoured with grete faste All his clerkes and barons Were set in theyr pauylyons And serued with grete plente Of mete and drynke and eche deynte Than came there a knyght in grete haste Vnneth he myght drawe his blaste He fell on knees and thus he sayd Mercy Rycharde for Mary mayde With the frensshe men and the gryffownes My brother lyeth slayne in the townes And with hym lyeth slayne fyftene Of thy knyghtes good and kene This daye and yesterdaye I tolde arowe That syxe and thyrty they had I slowe Faste lesseth your englysshe hepe Good syr take good kepe A wreke vs syr manly Or we shall hastely Flee peryll I vnderstonde And tourne agayne to englonde Kynge Rycharde was wrothe eger of mode And began to stare as he were wode The table with his fote he smote That it wente on the erth fote hote And swore he wolde be awreked in haste He wolde not wende for crystes faste The hygh daye of crystmasse They gan them arme more and lasse Before wente kynge Rycharde The erle of salysbury afterwarde That was called by that daye Syr Wyllyam the longe spaye The erle of leysestre the erle of herdforde Fulll comly folowed they theyr lorde Erles barons and squyers Bowmen and arblasteres With kynge Rycharde they gan reke Of frensshe and gryffons to be awreke The folke of that cyte aspyed rathe That englysshe men wolde do them skathe They shette hastely the gate With barres that they founde therate And swythe they ranne on the wall And shotte with bowe and spryngall And called our men saunce fayle Awaye dogges with your tayle For all your boost and your orguyle Men shall threste in your cuyle Thus they mysdyde and myssayde All that daye kynge Rycharde they trayde Our kynge that daye for no nede In batayll myght no thynge spede On a nyght kynge Rycharde his barons Wente to theyr pauylyous Who that slepte or who that woke That nyght kynge Rycharde no rest toke On the morowe he of sente his counseyllers Of the portes the mayster maryners Lordynges he sayd ye ben with me Your counseyll ought for to be pryue All we sholde vs venge fonde With queyntyse and with strength of honde Of frensshe and of gryffons That haue dyspysed our nacyons I haue a castell I vnderstonde Is made of tembre of Englonde With syxe stages full of tourelles Well flourysshed with cornelles Therin I and many a
waxed ny wode Her kerchers she drewe and heer also Alas she sayd what shall I do She cratched her selfe in the vysage As a woman that was in a rage She fomed all on blode And rente her robe that she in stode And sayd alas that I was borne That thus my sone haue forlorne Lorde she sayd how may this be These knyghtes he sayd tolde it me Now tell the sothe the kynge sayd than In what maner saye ye this dede began And but ye the sothe sey An euyll deth shall ye dey The knyghtes called the Iaylere And badde he sholde stonde nere To bere wytnes of that sawe In what maner he was slawe The Iayler sayd yesterdaye at pryme Your sone came in an euyll tyme To the pryson dore to me And the palmers he wolde se And I fet them forth anone Rycharde formest gan gone Wardrewe asked without let If he wolde stonde hym a buffet And he hym wolde another stonde As he was trewe knyght in londe Rycharde sayd by this lyght Smyte on with all thy myght Rycharde had suche a stroke of Wardrewe That full nygh he hym ouerthrewe Rycharde he sayd now bydde I the To morowe another thou gyue me They departed in this wyse On the morowe Rycharde began to ryse And your sone anone came And Rycharde ayenst hym name As couenaunt was bytwene them twayne Rycharde smote the sothe to sayne Euen all a two his cheke bone That he fell deed as ony stone And as I am sworne to you here Thus it was in this manere The kynge sayd with eger wyll In pryson they shall be styll And fetters vpon theyr fete feste For this dede done vnwreste And for he hath my sone slawe He shall dye by ryght lawe The Iaylere yede as he was sent To do the kynges cōmaundement That daye ete they no mete Nor no drynke myght they gete The kynges doughter laye in her boure With ladyes and maydens of honoure Margery her name hyght She loked Rycharde with all her myght At the mydde daye before the none To the pryson she wente soone With her wente maydens thre Porter she sayd let me se The prysoners hastely Blythly he sayd sykerly He brought them forth anone ryght Fayre they grette that lady bryght And sayd to her with herte fre With vs lady what wyll ye Whan she sawe Rycharde with her eyen two Her loue she caste vpon hym tho She sayd Rycharde saue god aboue Of all thynge moost I the loue Alas quod Rycharde in that stounde With wronge I am brought to grounde I poore prysoner as ye may se What may my loue do to the This is the thyrde daye agone That mete nor drynke had I none The lady had of hym pyte Certes it shall amended be She commaunded the Iaylere Mete and drynke to fetche them there And the Irons frome them take I praye the for my sake ¶ Of the loue bytwene the kynges doughter and kynge Rycharde / and after how that kynge Rycharde slewe a lyon / and how he ete the herte of the lyon all rawe / wherfore he hadde the name / stronge kynge Rycharde cure de lyon ANd after souper in the euenynge To my chambre thou Rycharde brynge In the tyre of a squyere My selfe I shall kepe hym there By Ihesu cryst and by saynt Symon Thou shalte haue thy waryson The Iayler forgate it nought To her chambre he hym brought With that mayde he dwelled styll And played with her his wyll Tyll the seuenth daye sykerly He yede and came pryuely He was aspyed of a knyght That to the chambre he came ryght Pryuely he tolde the kynge That forlayne was his doughter yinge The kynge asked hym soone Who hath he sayd that dede done Rycharde he sayd that traytour He hath done you the dyshonour Syr he sayd by my crystendome I sawe whan he wente and come The kynge in herte syghed sore To hym spake he tho no more But swythe without fayle Sente after his counsayle Erles and barons and wyse clerkes For to counseyll hym of his werkes The messengers gan forth gone His counseyliours came anone By that it was the .xiiii. daye They were come as I you saye All at ones they grette the kynge Sothe to saye without lesynge He sayd lordes welcome be ye all He wente forth in to the hall Amonge them the kynge hym set I shall you tell without let Why I haue after you sente To gyue a traytour Iugement That hath done grete treason Kynge Rycharde that is in my pryson All he them tolde in his sawe How he had his sone I slawe And he were deed than were I fayne For he shall neuer home agayne And now it is ordeyned so Men shall no kynge to deth do To hym spake a bolde baron How came kynge Rycharde in your pryson He is holden so noble a kynge To hym dare no man do thynge The kynge tolde hym in all wyse How he hym founde and in what guyse And with hym other two barons Noble men of grete renouns I toke them through suspeccyon In this maner to my pryson He toke leue of them euerychone In to a chambre he bad them gone For to take theyr counsayle That them myght best auayle In theyr speche they dwelled thore Two dayes and somdele more And stroue as they were wode With grete errour with grete mode Some wolde hym hange and drawe And some sayd it was no lawe On this maner to slee a kynge They ne myght accorde for no thynge The wysest sayd verament We wyll gyue hym no Iugement Thus answered they the kynge Syr greue you no thynge For syr Eldrede forsothe Iwys He can you tell what best is For he is a wyse man of rede That many a man hath dampned to dede The kynge badde without lette That he were before hym fette He was brought before the kynge The whiche hym axed at his comynge Canst thou me tell in what manere On Rycharde that I auenged were He answered I tell the Theron I must auyse me Ye wote well it is no lawe A kynge to hange ne to drawe Therfore do by my reason Hastely take your lyon And with holde hym his mete Thre dayes that he none ete And Rycharde in a chambre do And put the lyon than hym to In this maner he shall be slawe Than doost thou not ayenst the lawe The lyon there shall hym sloo Than arte thou awreked of thy foo The mayde aspyed of that reasone And than bethought her soone And after hym soone she sent To warne hym of that Iugement Whan he to her chambre came than Welcome she sayd my lemman My lorde hath ordeyned thorugh rede The thyrde daye thou shalte be dede In to a chambre thou shalte be do And a lyon shall be put the to That shall haue honger sore Than wote I well thou lyuest no more But swete lemman sayd she thare Let vs out of this londe fare With golde and syluer moche mony I nought to spende than haue
these men as it is skyll The kynge sayd I gyue them leue I shall them no more greue And toke his doughter by the honde And bad her swythe voyde the londe The quene sawe what wolde fall Her doughter to her she gan call And sayd thou shalte dwell with me Tyll Rycharde sende after the As a kynge dooth after his quene Thus I rede that it bene Kynge Rycharde and his feres twaye To Englonde toke theyr waye Now they be come to Englonde Blessyd be Ihesu crystes sonde He wente to London to that cyte His erles and his barons fre Thanked god of his good grace That theyr kynge was in that place His two feres wente ryght soone home Theyr frendes were glad that they come They bathed theyr bodyes that were sore For trauayll that they had had before Thus they dwelled halfe a yere Amonge theyr frendes of grete powere Tyll they were able for to stonde The kynge commaunded thorugh the londe At London to make a parlyament Of his comyns and lordes gent As they wolde saue theyr lyfe Or theyr chyldren or theyr wyfe To London to his sommon Came bysshoppes erles many a baron Abbottes pryours knyghtes squyers Burgeyses and many bachelers All the best of his londe The kynges heste to vnderstonde Before that tyme the grete countre That was before the grekes see Acrys and surrey and many londes Were in crysten mennes hondes And the countre of Bedleem And also Iherusalem And Nazareth and Ieryco And all Galyce therto Euery palmer and pylgryme That wolde theder go that tyme Myght passe with good entente Without raunsom or ony rente Other of syluer or of golde To euery stede where they wolde Founde he no man to myssayne Neyther no hondes on hym layne Of surrey londe the duke myllon Was lorde in that stounde a bolde baron Maugre the sowdan the londe he helde And kepte it well with spere and shelde He and the doughty erle Reynawte Full ofte gaue hym harde assawte And full ofte in batayll Slewe his knyghtes and pewtayll Of sarasynes that mysbyleued The sowdan therof was agreued Now harken of a treason stronge Of the erle Roys was them amonge To whome the duke myllon trust mekle And he was a traytour false and fekle The sowdan styll to hym sente And he asked hym londes and rente The crysten hoost to betraye Who he hath wonne hym to paye Of golde many a thousande pounde And he graunted hym that stounde Another traytour Markes feraunt He wyste also of that couenaunt And after his crystendome forsoke And to the deuyll hym betoke And thorugh treason of the erle Roys Surrey was lorne and the holy croys The dukes rewarde was hewe smale All to peces sayth our tale The duke myllon was full lyfe He fledde out of the londe with his wyfe He was erle of surrey londe Kynge bawdewyns sone I vnderstonde That no man wyste neuer sythe Where he became ne in what kythe So this losse and this pyte Spronge in to all crystente An holy pope that hyght Vrban Sente to all crystendome than And assoyled them of theyr synne And gaue them paradyse to wynne All that wyll theder gone To wreke Ihesu of his fone The kynge of fraunce without fayle Theder wente with moche vytayle The duke of bloys the duke of burgon The duke of estryche the duke of fusson And also the Emperour of almayne And many good knyghtes of brytayne The erle of flaunders the erle of babelyne The erle of arteys the erle of Colyne Moche folke wente theder before That nygh had theyr lyues lore With grete warre and honger harde As ye may here afterwarde In haruest after the natyuyte Kynge Rycharde with grete solempnyte At westmynster he helde a noble feste With bysshoppes and barons honeste Abbottes pryours and swynes stronge After mete yede them amonge Kynge Rycharde stode vp and gan sayne My selfe frendes wyll you sayne Be in pease and harken vnto my tale Erles barons grete and smale Bysshops abbotte lewde and lerned All crystendome may be afered The pope Vrban hath vs sente By bull and by cōmaundement How the sowdan hath fyght begon The towne of Acrys is I won Thorugh the erle Roys trechery All the kyngdome of surry Iherusalem and the crosse is lorne And bedleem there Ihesu was borne Crysten knyghtes be hanged and drawe The sarasynes hath them all slawe Crysten men wyfe and grome Therfore my lorde pope of Rome Is sore agreued and anoyed That crystendome is so dystroyed All crystendome he hath sente and bod And byddeth them in the name of god To wende theder with grete hoost For to fell the sarasynes boost Wherfore I haue mente To wende theder with swerdes dente To wynne the crosse and gete the lose Frendes what is your purpose Wyll ye wende saye ye or nay Erle baron knyght and all that may They sayd we ben at one accorde With the to wende Rycharde our lorde Quod Rycharde frendes gramercy It is our honour lysteneth why The kynge of fraunce is wente forth Ryden este and weste south and north Thorugh Englonde we wyll do crye And make a playne treasourye Moche folke the crosse haue nome And to kynge Rycharde ben come On horse and on fote well apparaylled Thre hondred shyppes well vytaylled Hawberkes swerdes and knyues Thyrty shyppes laden benlyues Of tembre grete and sheldes longe He let make a toure stronge That queynte engyners made Therwith thre shyppes were lade Another shyppe was laden yet With a gynne that hyght robynet With Rycharde a mangenell With all the takell that therto fell Whan they were dyght and yare Out of the heuen for to fare Ihesu them sente wynde so goode To bere them ouer the salte flood Kynge Rycharde sayd to his shypmen Frendes do as I you ken And mayster Alyn trenchmere Where that ye come ferre and nere And ye mete by the see stronde Shyppes of ony other londe Crysten men on lyue and lymme Loke that ye no good benymme And yf ye the sarasyns mete Loke on lyue that ye none lete Catell dormonde or galaye Also I gyue it to your praye But at the cyte of maryle There ye must abyde a whyle By cable and auncker there to ryde Me and myn hoost there to abyde For I and my knyghtes and eke swayne Wyll wende thorugh out all almayne To speke with Medarde the kynge To wote why and for what thynge That he me in his pryson helde And but he my treasour agayne yelde That he toke of me with falsshede I shall acquyte hym his mede Now thynketh Rycharde as I wene Or he fether goth auenged to bene Thus kynge Rycharde as ye may here Became goddes palmere Ayenst his enemys The archebysshop syr bawdemys Before wente with knyghtes fyue By bourdes and by constantyue At the last there afterwarde Came the doughty kynge Rychrde Kynge Rycharde called his Iustyse Lo ye do at my deuyse My londe kepe with skyll and lawe Traytours loke ye hange and drawe In
herte full of care Well sore than wepte kynge Rycharde Wronge his hondes and tare his barde A Ihesu now thy socour To longe I haue made soiour Now slayne is Roberte mortemere That was erle of leycestere Euery here of hym was worth a knyght And Roberte turnam that was so wyght And syr Brandys and syr Pyttarde That in batayll was wyse and harde And all my good barons The best of all my regyons They ben slayne and all to tore How myght I lenger lyue therfore I myght haue saued all myne If I had comen betyme Certes I shall neuer be blythe man Tyll I be awreked on the sowdan Thus syghed kynge Rycharde aye Tyll it came ayenst the daye A wayte there stode at a cornell And pyped a note with a flagell He ne pyped but one sythe Many an herte he made blythe He loked downe and sawe galyes Kynge Rycharde and his nauyes Shyppe and sayle well he knewe A mery note than he blewe And cryed seygnyours or sus sus Kynge Rycharde is come amonge vs Whan the crysten herde this Theyr hertes became lyght I wys Erles barons squyers and knyght To the walles ranne ryght And sawe kynge Rycharde theyr lorde And welcomed hym with blythe worde And sayd lorde welcome in goddes name All our sorowe is tourned to game Rycharde had neuer in herte Iwys Halfe dele so moche blys Hors and harneys he cryed thare Ayenst the sarasynes for to fare We ne haue lyfe but one Sell we it dere bothe flesshe bonē For to chalenge our herytage Slee we the sarasynes on euyll rage Who so hym douteth for menace Ne se he neuer in goddes face Take me myn axe in myn honde It was made in englonde No more theyr armure I ne doute Than it were a pylche cloute The sothe to saye men shall se Thorugh goddes helpe in trynyte He was the fyrst that on londe dyde lepe Of a dosyn he made an hepe He gan to crye with voyce clere Where ben these hethen pantenere That haue the cyte of Iaffe I nome With my pollaxe I am come For to waraunt that I haue do Wassayll he sayd I drynke you to He layde on I saye you a plyght And slewe the sarasynes downe ryght The sarasynes fledde and wente mate Full faste out at the castell gate In herte they were full of sorowe That them thought the gate to narowe And ranne to the walles of the towne By euery syde they lepte downe And eueryche cryed in this manere Herken now and ye shall here Malkan sterran nayre arbru Loyre fermoyre touz memoru That is for to saye in englysshe The englysshe deuyll I come is And but we flee out of his waye An euyll deth shall we dye to daye They fledde out of the towne anone Therin abode not so moche as one But foure hondred or fyue They were soone brought out of lyue They lepte on theyr destreres And at the gate set porters Kynge Rycharde lepte on fauell Well armed in yren and in stele And rode hym out at the gate The kynge of egypte he mette therate With syxty thousande of sarasynes fers With armes bryght and brode baners Rycharde a duke on the helme hytte Downe to the grounde he hym slytte Another he smote on the yren hode That at his breste his swerde stode His templers and his barons Fared ryght lyke wood lyons And slewe the sarasynes swythe As grasse falleth before the sythe The sarasynes sawe no better wone But fledde awaye euerychone To Salandynes grete hoost That fyftene myle laye in coost Syxty thousande as I you saye The sowdan loste that same daye For theyr armure fared as waxe Ayenst kynge Rychardes axe Many a sarasyne hygh lordynge Yelded them to Rycharde our kynge Rycharde put them in hostage tho There were a thousande prysoners mo The chase lasted swythe longe Tyll the tyme of euensonge Rycharde rode after tyll it was nyght So many of them to deth he dyght That no nombre it may accounte How many of them it wolde amounte Rycharde lefte without the towne And pyght there his pauylyowne And that nyght with mylde herte He comforted his barons smarte And ye shall here on the morowe How there was a daye of sorowe For the gretest batayll I vnderstonde That neuer was in ony londe And ye that this batayll wyll lere Herken now and ye shall here As kynge Rycharde sate at his soupere And gladded his barons with mylde chere And comforted them with ale and wyne Two messengers came frome Salandyn And stode kynge Rycharde before With longe berdes and with hore Of two mules they were a lyght In golde and sylke they were I dyght Eyther helde other by the honde And sayd kynge Rycharde now vnderstonde Our lorde Salandyn the hygh kynge Hath the sente this askynge If that thou were so hardy a knyght That thou durste hym abyde in fyght Tyll to morowe that it daye ware Of blysse thou sholde ben all bare For thy lyfe and for thy barons He wyll not gyue two skalons He wyll the take with strength of hondes For he hath folke of many londes Egyens and of turkye Of moryens and of arabye Basyles and embosyens Well eger knyghtes of defens Egypcyens and of surrye Of ynde moror and of capadocye Of medes and of asclamoyne Of samarye and of babyloyne Two hondred knyghtes without fayle Fyue hondred of amarayle The grounde ne may them vnneth bere The folke that cometh the to dere By our rede do ryght well And tourne agayne to Iaffe castell In safe warde thou myght there be Tyll thou haue sente after thy meyne And yf thou se thou may not stonde Tourne agayne to thyn owne londe In anger Rycharde toke vp a lofe And in his hondes it all to rofe And sayd to that sarasyne God gyue the well euyll pyne And Salandyn your lorde The deuyll hym hange with a corde For your counseyll and your tydynge God gyue you well euyll endynge Now go and saye to Salandyn In despyte of his god appolyn I wyll abyde hym betyme Though he come to morowe or pryme And though I were but my selfe alone I wolde abyde them euerychone And yf the dogge wyll come to me My bollaxe shall his bane be And saye that I hym desyre And all his cursed company in fere Go now and saye to hym thus The curse haue he of swete Ihesus The menssengers wente to Salandyn And all the begynnynge tolde hym Salandyn meruayled than And sayd it was none erthly man He is a deuyll or a saynt His myght founde I neuer faynt Anone he made his ordeynynge For to take Rycharde the kynge Therof Rycharde toke no kepe But all nyght laye and slepe Tyll ayenst the dawnynge Than herde he a shyll cryenge Thorugh goddes grace an aungell of heuen Tho sayd to hym with mylde steuen Aryse and lepe on thy good stede fauell And tourne agayne to Iaffe castell Thou haste slepte longe I nough Thou shalte fynde harde and