King Estmere
Hearken to me, gentlemen,
Come and you shall heare;
Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren
That ever borne y-were.
The tone of them was Adler younge,
The tother was kyng Estmere;
The were as bolde men in their deeds,
As any were farr and nearr.
As they were drinking ale and wine
Within kyng Estmeres halle:
When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to glad us all?
Then bespake him kyng Estmere,
And answered him hastilee:
I know not that ladye in any land
That 's able to marrye with mee.
Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,
That ladye shold be my queene.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betwixt us towe to sende.
Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother,
Ile beare you companye;
Many throughe fals messengers are deceive
And I feare lest soe shold wee.
Thus the [har]nisht them to ryde
Of twoe good renisht steeds,
And when the came to king Adlands halle,
Of redd gold shone their weeds.
And when the came to kyng Adlands hall
Before the goodlye gate,
There they found good kyng Adland
Rearing himselfe theratt.
Now Christ thee save, good kyng Adland;
Now Christ you save and see.
Sayd, You be welcome, king Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee.
You have a daughter, said Adler younge,
Men call her bright and sheene,
My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene.
Yesterday was att my deere daughter
Syr Bremor the kyng of Spayne;
And then she nicked him of naye,
And I doubt sheele do you the same.
The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,
And 'leeveth on Mahound;
And pitye it were that fayre ladye
Shold marrye a heathen hound.
But grant to me, sayes kyng Estmere,
For my love I you praye;
That I may see your daughter deere
Before I goe hence awaye.
Although itt is seven yeers and more
Since my daughter was in halle,
She shall come once downe for your sake
To glad my guestes alle.
Downe then came that mayden fayre,
With ladyes laced in pall,
And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,
To bring her from bowre to hall;
And as many gentle squiers,
To tend upon them all.
The talents of golde were on her head sette,
Hanged low downe to her knee;
And everye ring on her small finger,
Shone of the chrystall free.
Saies, God you save, my deere madam;
Saies, God you save and see.
Said, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,
Right welcome unto mee.
And if you love me, as you saye,
Soe well and hartilee,
All that ever you are comen about
Soone sped now itt shal bee.
Then bespake her father deare:
My daughter, I saye naye;
Remember well the kyng of Spayne,
What he sayd yesterdaye.
He wold pull downe my halles and castles,
And reave me of my lyfe.
I cannot blame him if he doe,
If I reave him of his wyfe.
Your castles and your towres, father,
Are stronglye built aboute;
And therefore of the king of Spaine
Wee neede not stande in doubt.
Plight me your troth, nowe, kyng Estmere,
By heaven and your righte hand,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queene of your land.
Then Kyng Estmere he plight his troth
By heaven and his righte hand,
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queene of his land.
And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,
To goe to his owne countree,
To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,
That marryed the might bee.
They had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle forthe of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With kempes many one.
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With manye a bold barone,
Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carrye her home.
Shee sent one after kyng Estmere
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose his ladye.
One whyle then the page he went,
Another while he ranne;
Till he had oretaken king Estmere,
I wis, he never blanne.
Tydings, tydings, kyng Estmere!
What tydinges nowe, my boye?
O tydinges I can tell to you,
That will you sore annoye.
You had not ridden scant a mile,
A mile out of the towne,
But in did come the kynge of Spayne
With kempes many a one:
But in did come the kyng of Spayne
With many a bold barone,
Tone daye to marrye king Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carry her home.
My ladye fayre she greetes you well,
And ever-more well by mee:
You must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose your ladye.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother,
My reade shall ryse at thee,
Whether it is better to turne and fighte,
Or goe home and loose my ladye.
Now hearken to me, sayes Adler yonge,
And your reade must rise at me,
I quicklye will devise a waye
To sette thy ladye free.
My mother was a westerne woman,
And learned in gramarye,
And when I learned at the schole,
Something shee taught itt mee.
There growes an hearbe within this field,
And iff it were but knowne,
His color, which is whyte and redd,
It will make blacke and browne:
His color, which is browne and blacke,
Itt will make redd and whyte;
That sworde is not in all Englande,
Upon his coate will byte.
And you shal be a harper, brother,
Out of the north countrye;
And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte,
And beare your harpe by your knee.
And you shal be the best harper,
That ever tooke harpe in hand;
And I wil be the best singer,
That ever sung in this lande.
Itt shal be written in our forheads
All and in gramarye,
That we towe are the boldest men
That are in all Christentye.
And thus they [har]nisht them to ryde,
On tow good renish steedes:
And when they came to king Adlands hall,
Of redd gold shone their weedes.
And whan the came to kyng Adlands hall,
Untill the fayre hall yate,
There they found a proud porter
Rearing himselfe thereatt.
Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud porter
Sayes, Christ thee save and see.
Nowe you be welcome, sayd the porter,
Of what land soever ye bee.
Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge
Come out of the northe countrye;
Wee beene come hither untill this place
This proud weddinge for to see.
Sayd, And your color were white and
As it is blacke and browne,
I wold saye king Estmere and his brother
Were comen untill this towne.
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,
Layd itt on the porters arme:
And ever we will thee, proud porter
Thou wilt saye us no harme.
Sore he looked on kyng Estmere,
And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,
He lett for no kind of thyng.
Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede
Soe fayre att the hall bord;
The froth, that came from his brydle bitte,
Light in kyng Bremors beard.
Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper,
Saies, Stable him in the stalle;
It doth not beseeme a proud harper
To stable him in a kyngs halle.
My ladde he is so lither, he said,
He will doe nought that 's meete;
And is there any man in this hall
Were able him to beate?
Thou speakst proud words, sayes the king of Spain
Thou harper here to mee:
There is a man within this halle,
Will beate thy ladd and thee.
O let that man come downe, he said,
A sight of him wold I see;
And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,
Then he shall beate of mee.
Downe then came the kemperye man,
And looked him in the eare;
For all the gold, that was under heaven,
He durst not neigh him neare.
And how nowe, kempe, said the kyng of Spaine,
And how what aileth thee?
He saies, It is writt in his forhead
All and in gramarye,
That for all the gold that is under heaven,
I dare not neigh him nye.
Then kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe,
And plaid a pretty thinge:
The ladye upstart from the borde,
And wold have gone from the king.
Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper,
For Gods love I pray thee
For and thou playes as thou beginns,
Thou'lt till my bryde from mee.
He stroake upon his harpe againe,
And playd a pretty thinge;
The ladye lough a loud laughter,
As shee sate by the king.
Saies, sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper,
And thy stringes all,
For as many gold nobles thou shalt have
As heere bee ringes in the hall.
What wold ye doe with my harpe, he sayd
If I did sell itt yee?
To playe my wiffe and me a Fitt,
When abed together wee bee.
Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay,
As shee sitts by thy knee,
And as many gold nobles I will give,
As leaves been on a tree.
And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,
Iff I did sell her thee?
More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye
To lye by mee then thee.
Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,
And Adler he did syng,
O ladye, this is thy owne true love;
Noe harper, but a kyng.
O ladye, this is thy owne true love,
As playnlye thou mayest see;
And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim,
Who partes thy love and thee.
The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,
And blushte and lookt agayne,
While Adler he hath drawn his brande,
And hath the Sowdan slayne.
Up then rose the kemperye men,
And loud they gan to crye:
Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,
And therefore yee shall dye.
Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,
And swith he drew his brand;
And Estmere he, and Adler yonge
Right stiffe in stour can stand.
And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,
Throughe help of Gramarye,
That soone they have slayne the kempery men,
Or forst them forth to flee.
Kyng Estmere tooke the fayre ladye,
And marryed her to his wiffe,
And brought her home to merry England
With her to leade his life.
Come and you shall heare;
Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren
That ever borne y-were.
The tone of them was Adler younge,
The tother was kyng Estmere;
The were as bolde men in their deeds,
As any were farr and nearr.
As they were drinking ale and wine
Within kyng Estmeres halle:
When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to glad us all?
Then bespake him kyng Estmere,
And answered him hastilee:
I know not that ladye in any land
That 's able to marrye with mee.
Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,
That ladye shold be my queene.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betwixt us towe to sende.
Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother,
Ile beare you companye;
Many throughe fals messengers are deceive
And I feare lest soe shold wee.
Thus the [har]nisht them to ryde
Of twoe good renisht steeds,
And when the came to king Adlands halle,
Of redd gold shone their weeds.
And when the came to kyng Adlands hall
Before the goodlye gate,
There they found good kyng Adland
Rearing himselfe theratt.
Now Christ thee save, good kyng Adland;
Now Christ you save and see.
Sayd, You be welcome, king Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee.
You have a daughter, said Adler younge,
Men call her bright and sheene,
My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene.
Yesterday was att my deere daughter
Syr Bremor the kyng of Spayne;
And then she nicked him of naye,
And I doubt sheele do you the same.
The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,
And 'leeveth on Mahound;
And pitye it were that fayre ladye
Shold marrye a heathen hound.
But grant to me, sayes kyng Estmere,
For my love I you praye;
That I may see your daughter deere
Before I goe hence awaye.
Although itt is seven yeers and more
Since my daughter was in halle,
She shall come once downe for your sake
To glad my guestes alle.
Downe then came that mayden fayre,
With ladyes laced in pall,
And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,
To bring her from bowre to hall;
And as many gentle squiers,
To tend upon them all.
The talents of golde were on her head sette,
Hanged low downe to her knee;
And everye ring on her small finger,
Shone of the chrystall free.
Saies, God you save, my deere madam;
Saies, God you save and see.
Said, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,
Right welcome unto mee.
And if you love me, as you saye,
Soe well and hartilee,
All that ever you are comen about
Soone sped now itt shal bee.
Then bespake her father deare:
My daughter, I saye naye;
Remember well the kyng of Spayne,
What he sayd yesterdaye.
He wold pull downe my halles and castles,
And reave me of my lyfe.
I cannot blame him if he doe,
If I reave him of his wyfe.
Your castles and your towres, father,
Are stronglye built aboute;
And therefore of the king of Spaine
Wee neede not stande in doubt.
Plight me your troth, nowe, kyng Estmere,
By heaven and your righte hand,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queene of your land.
Then Kyng Estmere he plight his troth
By heaven and his righte hand,
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queene of his land.
And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,
To goe to his owne countree,
To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,
That marryed the might bee.
They had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle forthe of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With kempes many one.
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With manye a bold barone,
Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carrye her home.
Shee sent one after kyng Estmere
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose his ladye.
One whyle then the page he went,
Another while he ranne;
Till he had oretaken king Estmere,
I wis, he never blanne.
Tydings, tydings, kyng Estmere!
What tydinges nowe, my boye?
O tydinges I can tell to you,
That will you sore annoye.
You had not ridden scant a mile,
A mile out of the towne,
But in did come the kynge of Spayne
With kempes many a one:
But in did come the kyng of Spayne
With many a bold barone,
Tone daye to marrye king Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carry her home.
My ladye fayre she greetes you well,
And ever-more well by mee:
You must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose your ladye.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother,
My reade shall ryse at thee,
Whether it is better to turne and fighte,
Or goe home and loose my ladye.
Now hearken to me, sayes Adler yonge,
And your reade must rise at me,
I quicklye will devise a waye
To sette thy ladye free.
My mother was a westerne woman,
And learned in gramarye,
And when I learned at the schole,
Something shee taught itt mee.
There growes an hearbe within this field,
And iff it were but knowne,
His color, which is whyte and redd,
It will make blacke and browne:
His color, which is browne and blacke,
Itt will make redd and whyte;
That sworde is not in all Englande,
Upon his coate will byte.
And you shal be a harper, brother,
Out of the north countrye;
And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte,
And beare your harpe by your knee.
And you shal be the best harper,
That ever tooke harpe in hand;
And I wil be the best singer,
That ever sung in this lande.
Itt shal be written in our forheads
All and in gramarye,
That we towe are the boldest men
That are in all Christentye.
And thus they [har]nisht them to ryde,
On tow good renish steedes:
And when they came to king Adlands hall,
Of redd gold shone their weedes.
And whan the came to kyng Adlands hall,
Untill the fayre hall yate,
There they found a proud porter
Rearing himselfe thereatt.
Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud porter
Sayes, Christ thee save and see.
Nowe you be welcome, sayd the porter,
Of what land soever ye bee.
Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge
Come out of the northe countrye;
Wee beene come hither untill this place
This proud weddinge for to see.
Sayd, And your color were white and
As it is blacke and browne,
I wold saye king Estmere and his brother
Were comen untill this towne.
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,
Layd itt on the porters arme:
And ever we will thee, proud porter
Thou wilt saye us no harme.
Sore he looked on kyng Estmere,
And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,
He lett for no kind of thyng.
Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede
Soe fayre att the hall bord;
The froth, that came from his brydle bitte,
Light in kyng Bremors beard.
Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper,
Saies, Stable him in the stalle;
It doth not beseeme a proud harper
To stable him in a kyngs halle.
My ladde he is so lither, he said,
He will doe nought that 's meete;
And is there any man in this hall
Were able him to beate?
Thou speakst proud words, sayes the king of Spain
Thou harper here to mee:
There is a man within this halle,
Will beate thy ladd and thee.
O let that man come downe, he said,
A sight of him wold I see;
And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,
Then he shall beate of mee.
Downe then came the kemperye man,
And looked him in the eare;
For all the gold, that was under heaven,
He durst not neigh him neare.
And how nowe, kempe, said the kyng of Spaine,
And how what aileth thee?
He saies, It is writt in his forhead
All and in gramarye,
That for all the gold that is under heaven,
I dare not neigh him nye.
Then kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe,
And plaid a pretty thinge:
The ladye upstart from the borde,
And wold have gone from the king.
Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper,
For Gods love I pray thee
For and thou playes as thou beginns,
Thou'lt till my bryde from mee.
He stroake upon his harpe againe,
And playd a pretty thinge;
The ladye lough a loud laughter,
As shee sate by the king.
Saies, sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper,
And thy stringes all,
For as many gold nobles thou shalt have
As heere bee ringes in the hall.
What wold ye doe with my harpe, he sayd
If I did sell itt yee?
To playe my wiffe and me a Fitt,
When abed together wee bee.
Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay,
As shee sitts by thy knee,
And as many gold nobles I will give,
As leaves been on a tree.
And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,
Iff I did sell her thee?
More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye
To lye by mee then thee.
Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,
And Adler he did syng,
O ladye, this is thy owne true love;
Noe harper, but a kyng.
O ladye, this is thy owne true love,
As playnlye thou mayest see;
And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim,
Who partes thy love and thee.
The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,
And blushte and lookt agayne,
While Adler he hath drawn his brande,
And hath the Sowdan slayne.
Up then rose the kemperye men,
And loud they gan to crye:
Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,
And therefore yee shall dye.
Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,
And swith he drew his brand;
And Estmere he, and Adler yonge
Right stiffe in stour can stand.
And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,
Throughe help of Gramarye,
That soone they have slayne the kempery men,
Or forst them forth to flee.
Kyng Estmere tooke the fayre ladye,
And marryed her to his wiffe,
And brought her home to merry England
With her to leade his life.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.