Classic Poem

Grim was fishere swithe god,
And mikel couthe on the flod;
Mani god fish therinne he tok,
Bothe with net and with hok.
He tok the sturgiun and the qual,
And the turbut and lax withal;
He tok the sele and the hwel —
He spedde ofte swithe wel.
Keling he tok, and tumberel,
Hering and the makerel,
The butte, the schulle, the thornebake.
Gode paniers dede he make
On til him, and other thrinne
Til hise sones, to beren fish inne,
Up o londe to selle and fonge.
Forbar he neyther tun ne gronge
That he ne to-yede with his ware;
Kam he nevere hom hand-bare,
That he ne brouchte bred and sowel
In his shirte, or in his couel,
In his poke, benes and korn —
His swink ne havede he nowt forlorn.
And hwan he tok the grete laumprei,
Ful wel he couthe the rihte wei
To Lincolne, the gode boru.
Ofte he yede it thoru and thoru,
Til he havede al wel sold,
And therefore the penies told.
Thanne he com thenne, he were blithe,
For hom he brouhte fele sithe
Wastels, simenels with the horn,
Hise pokes fulle of mele and korn,
Netes flesh, shepes and swines,
And hemp to maken of gode lines,
And stronge ropes to hise netes:
In the se weren he ofte setes.

Thusgate Grim him fayre 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 hom:
Thouhte, " Ich am nou no grom,
Ich am wel waxen, and wel may eten
More than evere Grim may geten.
Ich ete more, bi God on live,
Than Grim and hise children five!
It ne may nouht ben thus longe,
Goddot! Y wile with them gange
For to leren sum god to gete;
Swinken Ich wolde for mi mete.
It is no schame forto swinken —
The man that may wel eten and drinken
That nouht ne have but on swink long;
To liggen at hom it is ful strong.
God yelde him ther I ne may,
That haveth me fed to this day!
Gladlike I wile the paniers bere;
Ich wot, ne shal it me nouht dere,
They ther be inne a birthene gret
Al so hevi als a net.
Shal Ich nevere lengere dwelle,
Tomorwen shal Ich forth pelle."

On the morwen, hwan it was day,
He stirt up sone and nought ne lay,
And cast a panier on his bac
With fish giveled also a stac;
Also michel he bar him one
So he foure, bi mi mone!
Wel he it bar, and solde it wel,
The silver he brouhte hom ilk del;
Al that he ther-fore tok,
Withheld he nouht a ferthinges nok.
So yede he forth ilke day,
That he nevere at home lay,
So wolde he his mestere lere.
Bifel it so a strong dere
Bigan to rise of korn of bred,
That Grim ne couthe no god red,
Hu he sholde his meine fede.
Of Havelok havede he michel drede,
For he was stronge and wel mouhte ete
More thanne hevere mouhte he gete;
Ne he ne mouhte on the se take
Neyther lenge ne thornbake,
Ne non other fish that douhte
His meyne feden with he mouhte.
Of Havelok he havede kare,
Hwilgat that he mihte fare.

Of his children was him nouht,
On Havelok was al hise thouht,
And seyde, " Havelok, dere sone,
I wene that we deye mone
For hunger, this dere is so strong,
And hure mete is uten long.
Betere is that thu henne gonge
Than thu here dwelle longe;
Hethen thou mayt gangen to late.
Thou canst ful wel the rihte gate
To Lincolne, the gode borw,
Thou havest it gon ful oft thoru.
Of me ne is me nouht a slo,
Betere is that thu thider go,
For there is mani god man inne,
There thou mayt thi mete winne.
But wo is me! thou art so naked,
Of mi seyl Y wolde the were maked
A cloth, thou mihtest inne gongen,
Sone, no cold that thu ne fonge."
He tok the sheres of the nayl,
And made him a couel of the sayl,
And Havelok dide it sone on.
Havede neyther hosen ne shon,
Ne none kines other wede;
To Lincolne barefot he yede.
Hwan he kam ther, he was ful wil,
Navede he no frend to gangen til;
Two dayes ther fastinde he yede,
That non for his werk wolde him fede;
The thridde day herde he calle:
" Bermen, bermen, hider forth alle!"
Sprongen forth so sparke on glede.
Havelok shof dun nyne or ten
Riht amidewarde the fen,
And stirte forth to the kok,
That he bouhte at the brigge.
The bermen let he alle ligge,
And bar the mete to the castel
And gat him there a ferthing wastel.

Thet other day kepte he the ok
Swithe yerne the erles kok,
Til that he say him on the brigge,
And bi him mani fishes ligge.
The erles mete havede he bouht
Of Cornwalie, and kalde oft:
" Bermen, bermen, hider swithe!"
Havelok it herde and was ful blithe
That he herde " Bermen" calle.
Alle made he hem dune falle
That in his gate yeden and stode —
Wel sixtene laddes gode.
Als he lep the kok til,
He shof hem alle upon an hyl,
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 neyther tos ne heles
Til that he to the castel cam,
That men from him his birthene nam.
Than men haveden holpen him doun
With the birthene of his croun,
The kok stod and on him low,
And thouhte him stalworthe man ynow,
And seyde, " Wiltu ben with me?
Gladlike wile Ich feden the;
Wel is set the mete thu etes,
And the hire that thu getes."

" Goddot!" quoth he, " leve sire,
Bidde Ich you non other hire,
But yeveth me inow to ete,
Fir and water Y wile you fete,
The fir blowe, and ful well maken;
Stickes kan Ich breken and kraken,
And kindlen ful wel a fir,
And maken it to brennen shir;
Ful wel kan Ich cleven shides,
Eles to-turven of here hides;
Ful wel kan Ich dishes swilen,
And don al that the evere wilen."
Quoth the kok, " Wile I no more;
Go thu yunder and sit thore,
And Y shal yeve the ful fair bred,
And make the broys in the led.
Sit now doun and et ful yerne:
Datheit hwo the mete werne!"

Havelok sette him dun anon,
Also stille als a ston,
Til he havede ful wel eten.
Tho havede Havelok fayre geten.
Hwan he havede eten inow,
He kam to the welle, water up-drowe,
And filde ther a michel so;
Bad he non ageyn him go,
But bitwen his hondes he bar it in,
Al him one he to the kichin.
Bad he non 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 he nytte,
Al he drow and al he citte;
Wolde he never haven rest,
More than he were a best.
Of alle men was he mest meke,
Lauhwinde ay and blithe of speke;
Evere he was glad and blithe,
His sorwe he couthe ful wel mithe.
It ne was non so litel knave,
For leyken ne for to plawe,
That he ne wode with him pleye:
The children that yeden in the weie
Of him, he deden al here wille,
And with him leykeden here fille.

Him loveden alle, stille and bolde,
Knihtes, children, yunge and holde;
Alle him loveden that him sowen,
Bothen heye men and lowe.
Of him ful wide the word sprong,
Hu he was mikel, hu he was strong,
Hu fayr man God him havede maked,
Buton that he was almest naked;
For he ne havede nouht to shride
But a kouel ful unride,
That ful [was] and swithe wicke —
Was it nouht worth a fir-sticke.
The cok bigan of him to rewe,
And bouhte him clothes al spannewe;
He bouhte him bothe hosen and shon,
And sone did him dones on.
Hwan he was clothed, osed and shod,
Was non so fayr under God
That evere moder bere.
It was nevere man that yemede
In kinneriche, that so wel semede
King or cayser forto be,
Than he was shrid, so semede he;
For thanne he weren alle samen
At Lincolne, at the gamen,
And the erles men woren alle thore,
Than was Havelok bi the shuldren more
Than the meste that ther kam.
In armes him noman nam
That he doune sone ne caste.
Havelok stod over hem als a mast.
Als he was heie, al he was long,
He was bothe stark and strong.
In Engelond non hise per
Of strengthe that evere kam him ner.
Als he was strong, so was he softe;
They a man him misdede ofte,
Nevere more he him misdede,
Ne hond on him with yvele leyde.
Of bodi was he mayden clene;
Nevere yete in game ne in grene
With hire ne wolde leyke ne lye
No more than it were a strie.
In that time al Hengelond
Therl Godrich havede in his hond,
And he gart komen into the tun
Mani erl and mani barun;
And alle that lives were
In Englond thanne wer there
That they haveden after sente
To ben ther at the parlement.
With hem com mani champioun,
Mani wiht ladde, blac and brown,
And fel it so that yunge men,
Wel abouten nine or ten,
Bigunnen there for to layke.
Thider komen both stronge and wayke,
Thider komen lesse and more,
That in the borw thanne weren thore;
Chaunpiouns and stark laddes,
Bondemen with here gaddes,
Als he comen fro the plow;
Ther was sembling inow!
For it ne was non horse-knave,
Tho thei sholden in honde have,
That he ne kam thider the leyk to se.
Biforn here fet thanne lay a tre,
And putten with a mikel ston
The starke laddes, ful god won.
The ston was mikel and ek gret,
And al so hevi so a net;
Grund-stalwurthe man he sholde be
That mouhte liften it to his kne.
Was ther neyther clerc ne prest
That mihte liften it to his brest.
Therwith putten the chaunpiouns
That thider comen with the barouns.
Hwo-so mihte putten thore
Biforn another an inch or more,
Wore he yung, wore he hold,
He was for a kempe told.
Also thei stoden and often stareden,
The chaunpiouns, and ek the ladden,
And he made mikel strout
Abouten the altherbeste but.
Havelok stod, and lokede theretil,
And of puttingge he was ful wil,
For nevere yete ne saw he or
Putten the ston, or thanne thore.
Hise mayster bad him gon therto,
Als he couthe therwith do.
Tho hise mayster it him bad,
He was of him sore adrad;
Thereto he stirte sone anon,
And kipte up that hevi ston,
That he sholde puten withe.
He putte, at the firste sithe,
Over alle that ther wore,
Twelve fote and sumdel more.
The chaunpiouns that put sowen,
Shuldreden he ilc other and lowen:
Wolden he no more to putting gange,
But seyde, " We dwellen her to longe!"
This selkouth mihte nouht ben hyd,
Ful sone it was ful loude kid
Of Havelok, hu he warp the ston
Over the laddes everilkon;
Hu he was fayr, hu he was long,
Hu he was wiht, hu he was strong.
Thoruth England yede the speche
Hu he was strong and ek meke;
In the castle, up in the halle
The knihtes speken therof alle,
So that Godrich it herde wel
Ther speken of Havelok, everi del,
Hu he was strong man and hey,
Hu he was strong, and ek fri,
And thouhte Godrich, " Thoru this knave
Shal Ich Engelond al have,
And mi sone after me,
For so I wile that it be.
The king, Athelwald, me dide swere
Upon al the messe-gere
That I shude his douhter yeve
The hexte that mihte live,
The beste, the fairest, the strangest ok;
That garte he me sweren on the bok.
Hwere mihte I finden ani so hey
So Havelok is, or so sley?
Thou Y souhte hethen into Ynde,
So fayr, so strong ne mihte Y finde.
Havelok is that ilke knave
That shal Goldeborw have."
This thouhte [he] with trechery,
With traysoun and with felony,
For he wende that Havelok wore
Sum cherles sone, and no more;
Ne shulde he haven of Engellond
Onlepi forw in his hond
With hire that was thereof eyr,
That bothe was god and swithe fair.
He wende that Havelok wer a thral,
Ther-thoru he wende haven al
In Engelond, that hire riht was.
He was werse than Sathanas
That Jesu Crist in erthe shop:
Hanged worthe he on an hok!

Hwan it was comen time to ete,
Hise wif dede Ubbe sone in fete,
And til hire seyde, al on gamen:
" Dame, thou and Havelok shulen ete samen,
And Goldeboru shal ete with me,
That is so fayr so flour on tre;
In al Denemark nis wimman
So fayr so sche, bi seint Johan!"
Thanne were set, and bord leyd,
And the beneysun was seyd,
Biforn hem com the beste mete
That king or cayser wolde ete:
Kranes, swannes, veneysun,
Lax, lampreys, and god sturgiun,
Pyment to drinke, and god clare,
Wyn hwit and red, ful god plente.
Was therinne no page so lite
That evere wolde ale bite.
Of the mete forto telle,
Ne of the metes bidde I nouht dwelle:
That is the story for to lenge,
It wolde anuye this fayre genge.
But hwan he haveden the ilk thing deled,
And fele sithes haveden wosseyled,
And with gode drinkes seten longe,
And it was time for to gonge,
Ilk man to other he cam fro,
Thouhte Ubbe, " Yf I late hem go,
Thus one foure, withouten mo,
So mote Ich brouke finger or to,
For this wimman bes mikel wo!
For hire shal men hire louerd slo."
He tok sone knihtes ten,
And wel sixti other men
With gode bowes and with gleives,
And sende him unto the greyves,
The beste man of al the toun,
That was named Bernard Brun,
And bad him als he lovede his lif,
Havelok wel yemen and his wif,
And wel do wayten al the niht
Til the other day, that it were liht.
Bernard was trewe and swithe wiht,
In al the borw ne was no kniht
That betere couthe on stede riden,
Helm on heved, ne swerd bi side.
Havelok he gladlike understod,
With mikel love and herte god,
And did greythe a super riche,
Also he was no wiht chinche,
To his behove everilk dele,
That he mihte supe swithe wel.
Also he seten and sholde soupe,
So comes a ladde in a joupe
And with him sixti other stronge,
With swerdes drawen and knives longe,
Ilkan in hande a ful god gleive,
And seyde, " Undo, Bernard the greyve!
Undo swithe and lat us in,
Or thu art ded, bi Seint Austin!"
Bernard stirt up, that was ful big,
And caste a brinie upon his rig,
And grop an ar, that was ful god,
Lep to the dore so he wore wod,
And seyde, " Hwat are ye that are ther-oute,
That thus biginnen forto stroute?
Goth henne swithe, fule theves,
For, bi the Louerd that man on leves,
Shol Ich casten the dore open,
Summe of you shal Ich drepen!
And the othre shal Ich kesten
In feteres, and ful faste festen."
" Hwat, have ye seid?" quoth a ladde.
" Wenestu that we ben adradde?
We shole at this dore gonge
Maugre thin, carl, or ouht longe."
He gripen sone a bulder-ston
And let it fleye, ful god won,
Agen the dore, that it to-rof.
Avelok it saw and thider drof,
And the barre sone ut-drow,
That was unride and gret ynow,
And caste the dore open wide
And seide, " Her shal Y now abide:
Comes swithe unto me:
Datheyt hwo you henne fle!"
" No," quod on, " that shaltou coupe,"
And bigan til him to loupe,
In his hand his swerd ut-drawe;
Havelok he wende thore have slawe.
And with [him] comen other two,
That him wolde of live have do.
Havelok lifte up the dore-tre,
And at a dint he slow hem thre;
Was non of hem that his hernes
Ne lay ther-ute ageyn the sternes.
The ferthe that he sithen mette,
With the barre so he him grette
Bifor the heved, that the riht eye
Ut of the hole made he fleye,
And sithe clapte him on the crune
So that he stan-ded fel thor dune.
The fifte that he overtok
Gaf he a ful sor dint ok
Bitwen the sholdres ther he stod,
That he speu his herte blod.
The sixte wende for to fle,
And he clapte him with the tre
Riht in the fule necke so
That he smot hise necke on to.
Thanne the sixe weren doun feld,
The seventhe brayd ut his swerd,
And wolde Havelok riht in the eye.
And Havelok let the barre fleye,
And smot him sone ageyn the brest,
That havede he nevere schrifte of prest;
For he was ded on lesse hwile
Than men mouhte renne a mile.
Alle the othere weren ful kene:
A red thei taken hem bitwene
That he sholde him bihalve,
And brisen so that with no salve
Ne sholde him helen leche non.
They drowen ut swerdes, ful god won,
And shoten on him so don on bere
Dogges that wolden him to-tere
Thanne men doth the bere beyte.
The laddes were kaske and teyte,
And umbiyeden him ilkon.
Sum smot with tre, and sum with ston;
Sum putten with gleyve in bac and side
And yeven wundes longe and wide
In twenti stedes and wel mo,
Fro the croune til the to.
Hwan he saw that, he was wod,
And was it ferlik, hu he stod,
For the blod ran of his sides
So water that fro welle glides;
But thanne bigan he for to mowe
With the barre, and let hem shewe
Hu he cowthe sore smite;
For was ther non, long ne lite,
That he mouhte overtake,
That he ne garte his croun krake,
So that on a litel stunde
Feld he twenti to the grund.
Tho bigan gret dine to rise,
For the laddes on ilke wise
Him asayleden with grete dintes;
Fro fer he stoden, and with flintes
And gleyves schoten him fro ferne,
For drepen him he wolden yerne.
But dursten he newhen him no more
Thanne he bor or leun wore.
Huwe Raven that dine herde,
And thowhte wel that men misferde
With his louerd, for his wif,
And grop an ore and a long knif
And thider drof also an hert
And cam ther on a litel stert,
And saw how the laddes wode
Havelok his louerd umbistode,
And beten on him so doth the smith
With the hamer on the stith.

" Allas," quath Huwe, " that Y was boren!
That ever et Ich bred of koren!
That Ich here this sorwe se!
Roberd! Willam! hware are ye?
Gripeth ether unker a god tre,
And late we nouht thise doges fle,
Til ure louerd wreke [be].
Cometh swithe and folwes me!
Ich have in honde a ful god ore:
Datheit hwo ne smite sore!"
" Ya, leve, ya!" quod Roberd sone,
We haven ful god liht of the mone."
Roberd grop a staf strong and gret,
That mouhte ful wel bere a net,
And Willam Wendut grop a tre
Mikel grettere than his the,
And Bernard held his ax ful faste;
I seye was he nouht the laste;
And lopen forth so he weren wode
To the laddes ther he stode,
And yaf hem wundes swithe grete.
Ther mihte men wel se boyes bete,
And ribbes in here sides breke,
And Havelok on hem wel wreke.
He broken armes, he broken knes,
He broken shankes, he broken thes.
He dide the blod ther renne dune
To the fet riht from the croune,
For was ther spared heved non:
He leyden on hevedes ful god won,
And made croune breke and crake
Of the broune and of the blake.
He maden here backes also bloute
Als here wombes, and made hem rowte
Als he weren kradelbarnes:
So dos the child that moder tharnes.
Datheit the recke! for he it servede.
Hwat dide he thore? Weren he werewed!
So longe haveden he but and bet
With neves under hernes set,
That of tho sixti men and on
Ne wente ther awey lives non.

On the morwen, hwan it was day,
Ilc on other wirwed lay
Als it were dogges that weren henged;
And summe leye in dikes slenget,
And summe in gripes bi the her
Drawen ware, and laten ther.