Classic Poem

Grim was fishere swithe good
And mikel couthe on the flood.
Many good fish therinne he took
Bothe with net and with hook:
He took the sturgiun and the whal
And the turbut and lax with-al;
He took the sele and the el
(He spedde ofte swithe wel);
Keling he took and tumberel,
Hering and the makerel,
The butte, the shulle, the thornebake.
Goode paniers dide he make —
One til him, and other thrinne
Til hise sones — to beren fish inne
Up o lande to selle and change.
Forbar he neither town ne grange
That he ne to yede with his ware;
Cam he nevere home hand-bare,
That he ne broughte bred and sowel
In his shirte or in his cowel,
In his poke benes and corn:
His swink ne havede he nought forlorn.
And when he took the grete laumprey,
Ful wel he couthe the righte wey
To Lincolne, the goode borough:
Ofte he yede it thorough and thorough
Til he havede al wel sold
And ther-fore the penies told.
Then he com thenne hy were blithe,
For home he broughte fele sithe
Wastels, simenels with the horn,
Hise pokes fulle of mele and corn,
Netes flesh, shepes, and swines,
And hemp to maken of goode lines,
And stronge ropes to hise nettes,
In the see-weres he ofte settes.
Thusgate Grim him faire ledde:
Him and his genge wel he fedde
Wel twelf winter other more.
Havelok was war that Grim swank sore
For his mete, and he lay at home;
Thought he: " Ich am now no grome;
Ich am wel waxen and wel may eten
More than evere Grim may geten:
Ich ete more, by God on live,
Than Grim and hise children five!
It ne may nought been thus longe.
Goddot! I wille with thee gonge
For to leren sum good to gete:
Swinken ich wolde for my mete.
It is no shame for to swinken:
The man that may wel eten and drinken
That n'ought ne have but on swink long.
To liggen at home it is ful strong!
God yelde him, ther I ne may,
That haveth me fed to this day!
Gladlike I wille the paniers bere;
Ich wot ne shal it me nought dere
Thegh ther be inne a birthen gret
Al so hevy as a net.
Shal ich nevere lengere dwelle:
Tomorwen shal ich forth pelle."
On the morwen, when it was day,
He stirt up soone and nought ne lay,
And cast a panier on his bac
With fish giveled as a stac.
Al so michel he bar him one
So hy foure, by mine mone!
Wel he it bar and solde it wel:
The silver he broughte home ilke del,
Al that he ther-fore took —
Withheld he nought a ferthinges nook.
So yede he forth ilke day
That he nevere at home lay,
So wolde he his mester lere.
Bifel it so a strong dere
Bigan to rise of corn of bred,
That Grim ne couthe no good red
How he sholde his meine fede.
Of Havelok havede he michel drede,
For he was strong and wel moughte ete
More than evere moughte he gete;
Ne he ne moughte on the see take
Neither lenge ne thornebake,
Ne none other fish that doughte
His meine feden with he moughte.
Of Havelok he havede care
Whilgat that he mighte fare —
Of his children was him nought;
On Havelok was al his thought —
And saide: " Havelok, dere sone,
I wene that we deye mone
For hunger: this dere is so strong,
And oure mete is outen long.
Betere is that thou henne gonge
Than thou here dwelle longe:
Hethen thou maght gangen to late!
Thou canst ful wel the righte gate
To Lincolne, the goode borough —
Thou havest it gon ful ofte thorough;
Of me ne is me nought a slo.
Betere is that thou thider go,
For ther is many good man inne;
Ther thou maght thy mete winne.
But wo is me thou art so naked!
Of my sail I wolde thee were maked
A cloth thou mightest inne gonge,
Sone, no cold that thou ne fonge."
He took the sheres of the nail
And made him a cowel of the sail,
And Havelok dide it soone on;
Haved he neither hosen ne shon,
Ne none kinnes other wede:
To Lincolne barfoot he yede.
When he cam ther he was ful wil,
Ne havede he no frend to gangen til.
Two dayes ther fastinde he yede,
That none for his werk wolde him fede.
The thridde day herde he calle:
" Bermen, bermen, hider forth alle!"
Povre that on foote yede
Sprongen forth so sparke on glede.
Havelok shof down nine or ten
Right amideward the fen,
And stirte forth to the cook,
Ther the erles mete he took
That he boughte at the brigge;
The bermen let he alle ligge
And bar the mete to the castel,
And gat him there a ferthing wastel.
That other day kepte he ook
Swithe yerne the erles cook,
Til that he sagh him on the brigge
And by him many fishes ligge.
The erles mete havede he bought
Of Cornwalie, and calde oft:
" Bermen, bermen, hider swithe!"
Havelok it herde and was ful blithe
That he herde " Bermen!" calle.
Alle made he hem down falle
That in his gate yeden and stoode —
Wel sixtene laddes goode;
As he lep the cooke til
He shof hem alle upon an hil,
Astirte til him with his rippe
And bigan the fish to kippe.
He bar up wel a carte-lode
Of segges, laxes, of playces brode,
Of grete laumprees, and of eles;
Sparede he neither tos ne heles
Til that he to the castel cam,
That men fro him his birthen nam.
Then men haveden holpen him down
With the birthen of his crown,
The cook stood and on him low,
And thoughte him stalworthe man ynow,
And saide: " Wilt thou been with me?
Gladlike wille ich feden thee.
Wel is set the mete thou etes
And the hire that thou getes."
" Goddot!" quoth he, " leve sire,
Bidde ich you none other hire,
But yeveth me ynow to ete;
Fir and water I wille you fete,
The fir blow and ful wel maken;
Stickes can ich breken and craken,
And kindlen ful wel a fir
And maken it to brennen shir;
Ful wel can ich cleven shides,
Eles to-turven of here hides;
Ful wel can ich dishes swillen,
And don al that ye evere willen."
Quoth the cook: " Wille I no more.
Go thou yonder and sit thore,
And I shal yeve thee ful fair bred,
And make thee broÿès in the led.
Sit now down and et ful yerne —
Datheit who thee mete werne!"
Havelok sette him down anon,
Also stille as a ston,
Til he havede ful wel eten —
Tho havede Havelok faire geten!
When he havede eten ynow,
He cam to the welle, water up-drow,
And filde ther a michel so.
Bad he non agein him go,
But bitween his handes he bar it in
Al him one to the kichin.
Bad he none him water to fete,
Ne fro brigge to bere the mete;
He bar the turves, he bar the star,
The wode fro the brigge he bar;
Al that evere shulden hy nitte,
Al he drow and al he kitte:
Wolde he nevere haven rest
More than he were a best.
Of alle men was he most meke,
Laughinde ay and blithe of speke:
Evere he was glad and blithe —
His sorwe he couthe ful wel mithe.
It ne was none so litel knave
For to leiken ne for to plawe
That he ne wolde with him playe;
The children that yeden in the waye
Of him hy diden al her wille
And with him leikeden her fille.
Him loveden alle, stille and bolde,
Knightes, children, yunge and olde —
Alle him loveden that him sowe,
Bothen heye men and lowe.