Classic Poem

By a forest as I gan fare,
Walking all myselven alone,
I hard a morning of an hare,
Roufully schew mad here mone.

“Dereworth God, how schal I leve
And leid my life in lond?
Frow dale to doune I am idreve;
I not where I may site or stond!

I may nother rest nor slepe
By no vallay that is so derne,
Nor no covert may me kepe,
But ever I rene fro herne to herne.

Honteres will not heire ther Masse,
In hope of hunting for to wend;
They coupelleth ther houndes more and lasse,
And bringeth them to the feldes ende.

Roches rennen on every side
In forrows that hope me to find;
Honteres taketh ther horse and ride
And cast the contray to the wind.

Anon as they cometh me behinde,
I loke and sit full stille and lowe;
The furst man that me doth finde
Anon he crit, ‘So howe! so howe!’

‘Lo,’ he saith, ‘where sitteth an hare—
Arise up, Watte, and go forth blive!’
With sorroe and with mich care
I schape away with my life.

At winter in the depe snowe
Men will me seche for to trace,
And by my steppes I am iknowe;
And followeth me fro place to place.

And if I to the toune come or torne,
Be it in wortes or in leike,
Then will the wives also yeorne
Flece me with here dogges eke.

And if I sit and crope the koule,
And the wife be in the waye,
Anon schowe will swere, ‘By cokkes soule!
There is an hare in my haye!’

Anon sche wille clepe, ‘Forth, cure, knave!’
And loke right weel where I sitte;
Behind sche will with a stave
Full well porpos me to hitte.

‘Go forthe, Watte, with Cristes curse,
And if I leve, thou schalt be take;
I have an hare-pipe in my purce,
It schal be set all for thy sauke!’

Then hath this wyf two dogges grete,
On me sche biddeth heme goe;
And as a scrowe sche will me thret,
And ever sche crieth, ‘Go, doggee, goe!’

But all way this most I go,
By no banke I may abide;
Lord God, that me is wol
Many a happe hath me betide.

There is no beest in the world, I wene,
Hert, hind, buke, ne dove,
That sufferes halfe so miche tene
As doth the silly wat—go where he go.

If a gentilmane will have any game,
And find me in forme where I sitte,
For dred of losinge of his name
I wot welle he wille not me hitte.

For an acures bred he will me leve,
Or he will let his hondes rene;
Of all the men that beth alive
I am most behold to gentilmen!

As sone as I can ren to the laye,
Anon the greyhondes will me have;
My bowels beth ithrowe awaye,
And I am bore home on a stave.

Als soon as I am come home,
I am ihonge hie upon a pine;
With leeke-wortes I am eete anone,
And whelpes play with my skine!”

By a forrest as I gan fare,
Walking al myselven alone,
I herd a mourning of an hare;
Rewfully she made her mone:

‘Dereworth God, how shal I live
And leed my life in land?
Fro dale to downe I am y-drive;
I n'ot where I may sit or stand.

‘I may nother rest nor slepe
By no valley that is so derne;
Nor no covert may me kepe,
But ever I ren fro herne to herne.

‘Hunteres will not heer their masse,
In hope of hunting for to wende;
They coupeleth their houndes more and lasse
And bringeth them to the feeldes ende.

‘Raches rennen on every side
In furrows that hope me to find;
Hunteres taketh their horse and ride,
And cast the contrey by the wind.

‘Anon as they cometh me behind,
I sit ful stil and looke a-lowe;
The firste man that me doth find,
Anon he cryeth: “So howe! so howe!”

‘“Lo”, he saith, “where sitteth an hare.
Arise up, Watte, and go forth blive!”
With sorrow and with miche care
I scape away with my live.

‘At winter in the depe snowe
Men wil me seche for to trace—
And by my steppes I am y-knowe—
And followeth me fro place to place.

‘And if I to the towne come or torne,
Be it in wortes or in leeke,
Then wil the wives al so yorne
Fleche me with here dogges eeke.

‘And if I sit and crop the coule,
And the wife be in the waye,
Anon she will swere: “By Cokkes soule!
There is an hare in my haye!”

‘Anon she will clepe forth her knave,
And looke right wel wher I sitte;
Behind she will with a stave
Ful wel purpos me to hitte.

‘“Go forth, Watte, with Cristes curse,
And if I live, thou shalt be take;
I have an hare-pipe in my purse;
It shal be set al for thy sake”.

‘Then hath these wifes two dogges grete—
On me she biddeth hem go:
And as a shrew she will me threte,
And ever she cryeth: “Go, dogge, go!”

‘But all way this most I go;
By no banke I may abide;
Lord God, that me is wo!
Many a hap hath me betide.

‘There is no beest in the world, I wene—
Hert, hind, bukke ne do—
That sufferes half so miche tene
As doth the silly Wat—go where he go.

‘If a gentilman wil have any game,
And find me in forme where I sitte,
For dred of losing of his name
I wot wel he wil not me hitte.

‘For an aceres bred he will me leve
Or he will let his houndes ren;
Of all the men that beeth alive
I am most behold to gentilmen.

‘As soone as I can ren to the lay
Anon the grey-houndes wil me have;
My bowels beeth y-throwe away,
And I am bore home on a stave.

‘As soone as I am come home
I am y-hunge hye upon a pin;
With leeke-wortes I am eete anone,
And whelpes playe with my skin.’