Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AMIS AND AMILOUN, by ANONYMOUS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AMIS AND AMILOUN, by                    
First Line: For love of god in trinity / ye who be gentle hearken me
Last Line: "they have reward in heavenly bliss / that ne'er an end shall know! Amen, amen"
Subject(s): Friendship


FOR love of God in Trinity
Ye who be gentle hearken me,
I pray ye, par amour;
Hear what befell beyond the sea
To barons twain, of great bountie,
And men of high honour;
Their fathers, they were barons free,
And lordings come of high degree,
Renowned in town and tower;
The tale of these their children twain
Alike in pleasure and in pain
To hear is great dolour.

In weal and woe what was their lot,
And how their kinsmen knew them not,
Those children brave and fair;
(Courteous and good they were, forsooth,
And friends became from early youth,
E'en as in court they were.)
And how the twain they were dubbed knight,
And how together sware troth-plight,
And did as comrades fare;
The land from which those children came,
And how each one was called by name
I will to ye declare.

In Lombardie, I understand,
Of old it chanced, in that same land,
E'en as in Geste we read,
There dwelt two barons, brave and bold,
Who did as wives in wedlock hold
Two ladies, fair in weed.
And as it fell, those ladies fair
A son each to her lord did bear
Who doughty was in deed;
And true were they in everything,
And therefore Jesu, Heaven's King,
Requited them their meed.

The children's names as they were hight
In rhyme I will rehearse aright
And tell in tale to ye;
Begotten in the self-same night,
The self-same day they saw the light,
Forsooth and verily;
And the one baron's son, I wis,
They called him by his name, Amis,
When christened he should be;
The other was called Amiloun,
He was a child of great renown,
And came of high degree.

Those bairns, I trow, they well did thrive,
No fairer bairns were seen alive,
So courteous, true, and good;
Whenas their years they reckoned five
Then all their kin of them were blithe
So mild were they of mood;
When seven years were their's, I wis
That every man of them had bliss
Who saw them as they stood;
And when they were twelve winters old
Throughout the land all did them hold
Fairest of bone and blood.

Now in that time, I understand,
A duke was lord of that same land
Renowned in town and tower;
A message he sent speedily
To earl and baron, bond and free,
To ladies bright in bower,
A right rich feast he thought to make
And all for Our Lord Jesu's sake
Who is Our Saviour;
And many folk, the sooth to say,
He bade them come by a set day,
With mirth and great honour.

Those barons twain, who were so bold,
And these, their sons, of whom I told,
To court they came straightway,
When all were gathered, young and old,
Full many did the lads behold
Of lordings blithe and gay;
Saw them in body full of grace,
To all men's eyes alike in face,
Well taught in Wisdom's way;
And all men sware that: "Verily,
Children so fair as these shall be
We saw not ere to-day!"

In all the court there was no wight
Nor earl nor baron, swain nor knight,
Were he or lieve or loth,
For that they were so like to sight,
And in their growth of equal height,
(I tell this on my troth --)
Since that they were so like to see
Nor rich man there, nor poor might be,
Of those who saw them both,
Father nor mother of the two,
Who knew the one the other fro'
Save by their coat and cloth.

The rich duke, he his feast did hold
With earls, and many a baron bold,
As ye may list my lay,
A fourteen-night, as I was told,
With meat and drink, merry on mold,
He bade his guests be gay;
For mirth they had, and melody,
And every kind of minstrelsy,
To show their skill alway;
Upon the fifteenth day they make
Ready, their homeward way to take,
With thanks their host they pay.

Then ere the lordings forth had gone
The duke of gracious mien, anon,
He called to him that tide
These barons, proved in courtesie,
And prayed that they his friends should be
And in his court abide;
And let their two sons, of goodwill,
Be of his house to serve him still,
And fare forth at his side;
And he as knight would dub the twain
And would them fittingly maintain
As lordings proud in pride.

The barons answered him straightway,
And with their ladies spake that day
And made him answer fair,
And said, they were both glad and fain
That these their lovely children twain
In this his service were;
Blessing they gave their sons that day,
And Jesu, Heaven's King, did pray
To shield them both from care;
Full oft they thanked the duke that tide,
Then took their leave from thence to ride
And to their country fare.

. . . . . . .

Thus were those children twain, I wis,
Childe Amiloun and Childe Amis,
Made free in court to feed,
A-hunting 'neath the boughs to ride,
O'er all the land their praise was cried
As worthiest in weed;
Such love each to the other bore
Were never children who loved more
Neither in word nor deed;
Betwixt the twain, in blood and bone,
A truer love was never shown,
In Geste as ye may read.

Thus on a day, these children bright,
Their troth each to the other plight,
While they might live and stand,
That both alike, by day and night,
In weal or woe, for wrong or right,
By free and friendly band,
They 'ld hold together in all need,
In word and work, in will and deed,
Where'er they were in land;
From that day forward ne'er to fail
Each other, aye for bliss or bale,
To that they set their hand.

Thus in the Geste as ye may hear
Within that land, those children dear
Did with the duke abide;
The duke, he was both blithe and fain
Dear to him were those children twain
Who fared forth at his side.
When they were fifteen winters old
He dubbed them both, those bairns so bold,
As knights in that same tide,
And gave them all that they might need,
Horses and weapons, knightly weed,
As princes proud in pride.

That rich duke loved those lads so brave
All that they would he freely gave,
Steeds had they, white and brown;
Where'er they were to sojourn fain
The land, it spake but of those twain,
Were it in tower or town;
In whatsoever place they went,
Were it for joust or tournament,
Amis and Amiloun
The doughtiest were in every deed,
With shield and spear to ride on steed
They won them great renown.

The rich duke, he the twain did prize,
For that they wary were and wise,
Holden good knights to be,
Sir Amiloun, and Sir Amis,
He gave them office high, I wis,
In court for all to see;
Sir Amis, as I tell ye now,
Chief butler did he make, I trow,
Since he was fair and free;
Sir Amiloun, of his knights all
He made chief steward in his hall
To order his mesnie.

When thus into his service brought
To win them praise they spare them naught,
In courteous wise they fare;
With rich and poor so well they wrought
That they, I trow, in word and thought,
Well loved by many were,
For that they were so blithe of cheer
Throughout the land, both far and near,
All did their praise declare.
And the rich duke, an truth be told,
Above all men who lived on mold
Most love to them he bare.

The duke, for so I understand,
Had a chief steward o'er his land,
A doughty knight was he,
By envy urged, he, at this same,
Strove hard to bring them both to blame,
By guile and treachery;
For that they courteous were and good,
And high in the duke's favour stood,
He needs must envious be;
His lord with evil words he sought
And fain had shame upon them brought,
Such was his felonie.

Ere yet two years to end were brought
A messenger hath swiftly sought
Sir Amiloun in hall,
And said his parents twain were dead,
Father and mother, in that stead,
Must answer to God's call --
A sad man was the knight that day,
Unto the duke he took his way,
Told him what did befall,
How father brave, and mother fair,
Were dead, and he must homeward fare
And take his lands withal.

Then the duke rich, and fair to see,
He spake with kind words graciously,
And said: "So God me speed,
Sir Amiloun, thou hence shalt wend,
Ne'er grieved I so for any friend
Who left my court indeed!
But if the chance it falleth so
That thou shalt be in war or woe,
And of my help hast need,
Come thou thyself, or message send,
With all the force my land may lend
I'll aid thee in that deed."

Sir Amiloun was sad at heart
That he must from Sir Amis part,
On him was all his thought,
He with a goldsmith speech did hold,
And bade him make two cups of gold,
For pounds three hundred bought;
The twain they of one weight should be,
And of one fashion, verily, --
Full richly were they wrought; --
And both they were as like, I wis,
As Amiloun was like Amis,
Thereto there failed naught.

Whenas Sir Amiloun was dight
He took his leave to wend forthright
And ride as swift might be,
Sir Amis was so full of care
For grief and woe, and sighing sare
That well nigh swooned he --
He sought the duke in dreary mood,
And prayed of him e'en as he stood,
Spake, "Sire, of charitie,
Now give me leave to wend thee fro',
Save I may with my brother go
My heart shall break in three!"

But the rich duke, so fair to see,
With courteous words, and graciouslie,
Answered without delay
And said: "Sir Amis, my good friend,
Now would ye both from this court wend?
Certes, I tell ye nay!
For an ye both should me forsake
Then all my sorrow should ye wake,
My joy were all away.
Thy brother seeks his lands this tide,
Thou on his way with him shalt ride
And come again to-day."

When they were ready forth to ride
The barons bold who should abide,
They busked them up and down;
Now hearken here, naught would I hide,
Those doughty knights who, at that tide,
Fared forth from out the town,
E'en as they rode, throughout the day,
Great mourning did they make alway
Amis and Amiloun,
And when they needs must part, the twain,
Then fair together on a plain
From horse they lighted down.

And when the twain on foot were 'light,
Sir Amiloun, that courteous knight,
Was likewise of good rede,
Thus to Sir Amis spake forthright:
"Brother, as we our troth once plight,
Alike in word and deed,
From that day forward, without fail,
To be of aid in bliss or bale,
And help in every need,
So brother, now be true to me,
And I will be as true to thee,
So God give me good speed!

"And brother, here I would thee warn
For His Sake, Who the Crown of Thorn
To save Mankind once wore,
Against thy lord ne'er be foresworn,
For if thou art, shalt be forlorn,
And lost for evermore!
But hold to truth and treason shun,
And think of me, Sir Amiloun,
Since parting lies before.
And brother, this I pray of thee
Shun the false steward's companie,
He'll do thee mischief sore!"

As thus they stood, those brethren bold,
Amiloun took those cups of gold,
Alike in everything,
And bade Sir Amis that he should
Choose whether of the twain he would
Without more parleying;
And quoth to him: "now dear, my brother,
Take thou the one, and I the other,
For God's Love, Heaven's King;
And let this cup ne'er go from thee,
But look on it, and think on me,
For Friendship's tokening!"

With sorrow sore they part, I wis,
With weeping eyes and many a kiss,
Those knights so fair and free,
To God each doth commend his friend,
Then sprang on steed his way to wend,
And rode thence speedily;
Sir Amiloun, he sought his land,
And brought straightway beneath his hand
All that his sire's should be,
Then with a lady fair he wed,
His bride with honour homeward led,
And much solemnity.

. . . . . . . .

Sir Amiloun now leave we here,
In his own land, with wife so dear,
(God grant them well to fare,)
And of Sir Amis will we tell,
Who came again, at court to dwell,
Then blithe of him they were;
For that he courteous was and good
Men blessed the sire, in bone and blood,
Who him begat and bare;
Save but the steward, who ever strove,
Since hate and envy did him move,
To bring the knight to care.

Then as it chanced upon a day,
He met the steward on his way,
Who spake full courteouslie,
And quoth: "Sir Amis, thou art woe
In that thy brother hence must go,
Certes, 't is so with me,
But for his going cease to grieve,
If thou wilt now my rede believe
And let thy mourning be,
And wilt as comrade with me wend
I'll be to thee a better friend,
Than ever yet was he!"

He quoth: "Sir Amis, hear my prayer,
And brotherhood with me now swear,
Plight we our troth, we two;
Be true to me in word and deed,
And I shall be, so God me speed,
As true to thee also;"
Sir Amis quoth: "My troth I plight
Sir Amiloun, that gentle knight,
Ere that he hence must go,
And whiles that I in life shall be
That troth shall ne'er be broke by me,
Neither for weal nor woe!

"For by the truth that God doth send
I found him aye so good a friend
Since we each other knew,
For that to him my troth was plight,
Where'er he go, that gentle knight,
To him will I be true.
And if I now should be foresworn
And break my troth, I were forlorn,
And sore it should me rue.
But win me friends where'er I may
I ne'er shall change, by night or day,
This old friend for a new!"

The steward was of evil mood,
For wrath, I trow, he waxed nigh wood,
And spake without delay,
And sware by Him Who died on Rood:
"Thou traitor, of unnatural blood,
Shalt dearly buy this 'nay'";
And thus he spake: "Be warned by me,
A bitter foe I'll be to thee,
Henceforward, from this day!"
Sir Amis bold, he answered there,
"Sir, not a sloe for that I care,
Do all the ill ye may!"

'T was thus their quarrel rose that day,
In wrath upon their separate way
Those barons bold they go;
The steward ceased not day and night
Striving to shame that doughty knight
If chance the way should show.
In court together had they been
With wrathful cheer, and lowering mien,
For half a year or so,
And after that it chanced one while
The steward by treason and by guile
He wrought him mickle woe.

. . . . . . . .

Then on a time, 't is written fair,
The rich duke did a feast prepare
Seemly, in summer-tide,
And many a gentle guest there came,
Good meat and good drink, at that same,
Were served on every side;
Mickle the folk assembled all,
Of earl and baron, great and small,
And ladies proud in pride,
Nor greater joy on earth might be
Than in that hold of chivalrie
With bliss in bower to bide.

The duke, so doth the Geste declare,
He had a daughter passing fair,
Courteous and good was she,
When fifteen winters she had told
In all the land the people hold
Was none so fair to see;
Gentle she was, and avenant,
And by her name hight Belisant,
As ye may list from me;
Ladies and maidens bright in bower
They guarded her with great honour
And much solemnity.

The feast was held full fourteen-night,
With barons and with ladies bright,
And lords, full many a one,
And many a gentle knight was there,
And many a serjant, wise and ware,
To wait on every one;
Sir Amis, in that self-same hour,
As butler, he was deemed the flower,
So doth the true tale run;
The doughtiest in every deed,
The comeliest in every weed,
So, seemly, praise he won.

Then when the guests at the feast's end
Should from that lordly dwelling wend
E'en as in book we read,
That merry maid, she asked anon
Of these her maidens, every one,
Saying: "As God ye speed,
Say, who was held for bravest knight,
And seemliest in all men's sight,
And worthiest in weed?
Whose fame as fairest knight doth stand,
The most renowned throughout the land,
The doughtiest of deed?"

Her maidens answered her straightway,
And quoth: "Madame, we sure will say
The sooth in this same hour,
Of earl or baron, swain or knight,
The fairest man, and most of might,
And held in most honour,
Is the chief butler, Sir Amis,
The world hath not his peer, I wis,
Neither in town nor tower.
He is the doughtiest knight in deed,
He is the worthiest in weed,
Of praise he bears the flower!"

Then Belisant, that maid so fair,
When thus her maids the truth declare
As ye may hear from me,
Upon Sir Amis, gentle knight,
I wis, her love it now did light,
Yet in all secresy;
Where'er she saw him ride or go
Her heart was fain to break for woe
That speech there might not be,
Since she might not, by night or day,
Speak with that knight, the gentle may
Full oft wept bitterly.

That gentle maiden, young and fair,
Lay in love-languishing and care
Alike by night and day;
As in the tale I tell to ye
Since speech betwixt them might not be,
In bed sore sick she lay;
Her mother to her side did go,
Full fain was she her grief to know
And help her, if she may.
She answered her without debate
Her pain, it was so sore and great
Soon must she lie in clay.

That rich duke on a morn was fain,
With many a lording in his train,
As prince so proud in pride,
Without delay to dight him here
And go a-hunting of the deer, --
They busked them for to ride;
When as the lordings every one
From out that stately hold were gone,
(Here have I naught to hide --)
Sir Amis, so 't is sooth, that day
For that a sickness on him lay,
At home he would abide.

When as the lordings forth would go
With huntsmen keen, and bended bow,
To hunt 'neath greenwood tree,
Sir Amis, as the tale doth tell,
Was left behind, at home to dwell,
And guard what there should be.
That gentle knight was minded so
Into the garden fair to go,
For solace, verily;
Under a bough, I trow he lay
To listen to the birdling's lay --
In bliss, I trow, was he!

. . . . . . . .

Now, gentles, list, and ye shall hear
How the duke's daughter, fair and dear,
Sore sick in bed she lay,
Her mother came with doleful mien,
With all her ladies, so I ween,
To solace that sweet may;
"Arise," she said: "my daughter fair,
And to the garden now repair
This seemly summer's day,
There shall ye list the birdlings' song,
Hearkening their joy and bliss, ere long
Thy care shall pass away."

Then up she rose, that lady bright,
And to the garden went forthright
With maidens fair and free,
And bright and fair the summer's day,
The sun shone as a flame alway
Seemly it was to see;
They heard the birds both great and small,
The nightingale's sweet notes withal
That gaily sang on tree,
But in such straits her heart was brought,
On pain of love was all her thought
She would nor game nor glee.

And so that maiden in her pride
Forth to the orchard went that tide
To ease her of her care,
Then straight Sir Amis did she see
There, as he lay beneath a tree,
To hear that song so fair;
Great bliss, I trow, that maid must know,
Her joy she could to no man shew,
Whenas she saw him there;
She thought she would for no man stay,
But straight to him would take her way
And say how she did fare.

Then was that maiden blithe of mood,
When she beheld him as she stood
She sought to him, the sweet;
Not for all good the world might hold
Would she fail with this knight so bold
In courteous wise to treat.
And even as that gentle knight
Beheld that maid, in bower so bright,
As she would with him meet,
Straightway towards her did he go,
With courteous mien and word also
He did the lady greet.

With that, the gentle maid, anon
She bade her ladies all begone,
Withdraw from her away,
And when the twain were left alone
She to Sir Amis made her moan,
And thus to him did say --
"Sir Knight, t'ward thee my heart is brought,
And on thy love is all my thought
Alike by night and day;
Save that thou wilt my lover be
I trow my heart shall break in three,
Nor longer live I may!

"Thou art," she quoth, "a gentle knight,
And I a maid in bower bright
And of high lineage born,
Alike by night and e'en by day
My heart is set on thee alway,
I am of joy forlorn;
Plight me thy troth thou wilt be true
Nor change thine old love for a new,
For none in this world born,
And I will plight my troth again
Till God or Death part us in twain
I ne'er will be foresworn."

That gentle knight then still he stood,
And very thoughtful waxed his mood,
He spake with heart so free:
"Lady, for Him Who died on Rood
As thou art come of gentle blood,
And this land's heir shalt be,
Bethink thee of thy great honour,
For son of king and emperour,
Were none too high for thee!
Certes, I deem thou dost not right
To set thy love on a poor knight
Who hath nor land nor fee.

"And if we should Love's game begin
And any man of this thy kin
Should chance the same to know,
Then all our joy and praise that day
For this, our sin, we'ld lose straightway,
And win God's Wrath also;
Should I dishonour thus my lord
Traitor were I, of all abhorred,
Nay, it may not be so!
Sweet Lady, do thou by my rede,
Think what should come of this, our deed,
I trow me, naught but woe!"

. . . . . . . .

That maiden fair, of great renown,
Answered: "Sir Knight, hast shaven crown?
By God Who bought thee dear,
Or priest or parson shalt thou be,
Canon or monk, that thus to me
Dost preach in such wise here?
Thou never shouldst have been a knight
To company with maidens bright,
A Friar were thee more near!
Whoe'er he be who taught thee this
May have his lot in Hell, I wis,
Were he my brother dear!

"Alas! by Him Who hath us wrought
All this, thy preaching, helpeth naught
Withstand thou ne'er so long,
Save that my will thou doest here
Thou shalt pay this, my love, full dear,
With pains both sharp and strong,
My kerchief and my robe, anon,
I'll tear, and swear that thou hast done
To me a mickle wrong;
I'll say that thou hast forced me now,
By law they'll hang thee then, I trow,
On gallows-tree, ere long!"

With that, the courteous knight stood still,
For in his heart he liked it ill,
To speak, I trow, was slow;
He thought, "If here I steadfast be
With this, her tongue, she'll ruin me
Ere yet I hence may go;
And if I do my lord this wrong
Drawn with wild horses swift and strong
The punishment I'll know!"
Full loth to do her will that day,
More loth to lose his life alway,
Ne'er had he known such woe.

And then he thought that, verily,
To grant her will should better be
Than life to lose alway, --
Thus to the maid made answering:
"For love of Christ, our Heavenly King,
Hearken to me to-day;
As thou art maiden good and true
Bethink how rape doth turn to rue
And bitter grief and gray,
But wait we for a seven-night,
And I, as true and courteous knight,
Will do as thou shalt pray."

Then answered him that maiden bright,
And sware: "By Jesu, Lord of Might,
Thou goest not thus from me,
But here and now thy troth shalt plight
That thou, as true and gentle knight
To tryst shalt faithful be!"
With that her will he granted there,
Troth-plight each to the other sware
With kisses verily;
Into her bower she went again,
Then was the maid so glad and fain
Past speech her joy should be.

. . . . . . . .

Sir Amis tarried not, but straight
His lord's home-coming to await,
To hall he turned him there;
When from his hunting at that same
With many a noble lord he came
Unto that dwelling fair,
Then tidings of his daughter dear
He asked, they said that of good cheer
Was she, and free from care.
To eat in hall they brought that may,
And blithe and glad were all that day
And joyful hearts they bare.

Whenas the lords, without a lie,
Were set upon the dais high
With ladies fair and sweet,
As prince who was full proud in pride
The duke was richly served that tide
With mirth and worship meet;
Whenas that maid of whom I spake
Among the maids her place must take
There, as she sat in seat,
Upon that courteous knight, Amis,
A thousand times she looked, I wis,
And did with eyes entreat.

Upon that gentle knight, Amis,
For evermore she gazed, I wis,
Nor would her glances spare;
The steward, with a traitorous eye
He did that maiden well espy
And of her mien was ware,
For by her glances did he see
That love betwixt the twain should be,
Sore was he grieved there,
Bethought him how, within a while,
He might with treason and with guile
Bring both of them to care.

And thus, I wis, that merry may
She ate in hall, with joy and play,
For four days, or for five,
Whene'er Sir Amis she might see
Then was her heart from sorrow free,
She joyed to be alive,
Where'er he sat or stood in hall
Her eyes were fain on him to fall
With longing looks to strive;
The steward for envy he was fain
To bring much sorrow on the twain,
Now evil may he thrive!

. . . . . . . .

That rich duke, now, as ye shall hear,
He rode a-hunting of the deer
And with him many a knight;
Then Belisant, that gentle may,
The chamber where Sir Amis lay
Thither she sought forthright.
The steward, as I read, that tide
Was in a chamber near beside,
He saw that maiden bright
As secretly her love she sought,
To spy upon the twain he thought,
Followed as swift he might.

Whenas the maiden came, anon,
She found Sir Amis there alone,
"Hail!" quoth the lady bright,
"Sir Amis," swiftly did she say,
"It is a seven-night to-day
That we our troth did plight,
And therefore am I come to thee
To know, as thou art fair and free,
And held for courteous knight,
Whether thou wilt me now forsake
Or wilt me now unto thee take
To hold, in truth and right?"

"Lady," then quoth the knight again,
"To wed with thee I were full fain
As thou with me would'st wive;
But an thy father heard men say
That with his daughter dear I lay
From land he would me drive.
If I were ruler of this land
And had more gold in this, my hand,
Than other kings full five
Right gladly would I wed with thee;
Certes, I but a poor man be;
Alas, that I'm alive!"

"Sir Knight," then quoth that maiden kind,
"Now by Saint Thomas, slain in Ynde,
Why dost thou say me Nay?
Thou ne'er shalt be so poor, I trow,
But riches I may find enow
Alike by night and day!"
That courteous knight no more delayed,
But in his arms he took the maid
And kissed that gentle may;
They dealt with word and deed anon
Till he her maidenhood had won
Ere yet she went away.

And aye that steward did abide
In hiding, by the chamber side,
Their speech he hearkened there;
And thro' a hole, 't was none too wide,
He watched them both, at that same tide,
As they together were,
And as he saw the twain with sight,
Sir Amis, and that maiden bright,
The rich duke's daughter fair,
Then wroth was he, of angry mood,
And gat him thence, as he were wood,
Their counsel to declare.

Whenas the duke he homeward came
The steward he met him at that same
Their secret to betray;
"My lord, the Duke," he saith anon,
"Of thine own mischief, by Saint John,
I 'ld warn thee here to-day,
In this thy court thou hast a thief,
Who to my heart hath done sore grief,
Yea, shame it is to say;
Certes, he shall a traitor be, --
But now, by force and villainy,
He with thy daughter lay!"

The duke, his wrath it waxed to flame,
"Now who," he cried, "hath done this shame --
Tell me, with ne'er a lie?"
"Saint James," he quoth, "my witness be,
His name I'll truly tell to thee,
Now bid him hang on high;
It is thy butler, Sir Amis,
A traitor was he aye, I wis,
He with that maid did lie;
Myself I saw them, on my troth,
As I will prove before them both,
They shall me not deny!"

Then was the duke of wrathful mood;
To hall he ran, as he were wood,
For naught would he abide,
But with a falchion sharp and bright
Full fain would he Sir Amis smite,
The stroke, it went aside;
Sir Amis to a chamber fled,
And shut the door fast at that stead,
For fear his head would hide;
The duke, he smote so fierce a blow
That thro' the door the steel did go,
So wrathful he that tide.

And all who there around him stood
Besought the duke to calm his mood,
Both baron, earl, and swain,
He sware by Him Who died on Rood,
For all the world might hold of good
He 'ld have that traitor slain:
"Great honour hath he had from me,
And now a traitor vile shall be,
Hath with my daughter lain,
Not for the whole world's wealth, I trow,
The traitor shall escape me now,
But die by these hands twain!"

"Sire," quoth Sir Amis at the last,
"Let this, thy wrath, be overpast,
I pray, of Charitie,
If thou canst prove now, by Saint John,
That e'er such deed by me was done,
Then hang me high on tree!
If any man our harm hath sought,
And such a charge against us brought,
Then, whosoe'er he be,
He is a liar, shalt thou know --
As I will here in battle show,
And prove us quit and free!"

"Yea," quoth the duke, "and wilt thou so?
Say, dost thou dare to combat go
And make thee quit and clear?"
"Yea, certes, Sire," he answered free,
"And here my glove I give to thee,
His falsehood shall appear."
The steward answered back forthright,
And quoth: "Thou traitor, perjured knight,
Thou art attainted here,
Why, I myself have seen to-day
How that she in thy chamber lay,
Yourselves ye cannot clear!"

As thus the steward he said his say;
And thus Sir Amis answered, "Nay,
The thing it was not so."
The duke bade bring that maiden fair,
The steward did aye the same declare,
And sware: "'T was as I show!"
The maiden wept, her hands she wrung,
And ever on her mother hung,
Vowing it was not so.
Then quoth the duke: "Now, without fail,
Here shall we see the truth prevail
By combat 'twixt the two."

So 'twixt the twain they set the fight
For that day past a fourteen-night
For many a man to see;
The steward was of mickle might,
In all the court there was no knight
Would Amis' surety be;
The steward was so strong, I trow,
That sureties might he find enow,
Twenty at least they be;
Then quoth they all, that till that tide
Sir Amis should in prison bide
Lest he from thence should flee.

With that she spake, the maiden bright,
And sware by Jesu, Lord of Might,
That this were mickle wrong:
"Take ye my body for the knight,
And till the day he come for fight,
Hold me in prison strong;
And if the knight should flee away,
Nor durst abide the chance that day
That doth to fight belong,
Then, as the law is, deal with me,
And doom my body drawn to be,
And high on gallows hung!"

Then, with bold words, her mother still
Said she would be of right good will
His surety also;
That he fail not to keep the day
But as good knight and true alway
Should fight against his foe.
And thus those ladies fair and bright
Their lives for Amis, gentle knight,
As surety would forego,
With that, the lordings every one
Said, other hostage would they none,
The thing should aye be so.

. . . . . . . .

When this was done, as now I say,
And pledges ta'en without delay,
And thus they granted were,
Sir Amis sorrowed night and day
For all his joy was fled away
And come was all his care;
For that the steward was so strong,
And had the right, and he the wrong,
When he accused him there;
For his own life, he held it naught,
But of the maid was all his thought,
Such sorrow no man bare.

For that he knew he needs must swear,
Ere that he should to battle fare,
An oath, on that same morn,
Praying that God should be his speed,
As he was guiltless of the deed
That was against him borne.
And then he thought, with ne'er a lie,
Rather would he be hanged on high
Than thus to be foresworn;
And oft he did to Jesu pray
That He should save them both that day
Nor let them be forlorn!

So it befell upon a day
He met the lady, and that may,
Beneath an orchard side;
"Sir Amis," quoth the lady there,
"Why dost thou go so full of care?
Tell me the truth this tide;
Now dread thee naught," she spake forthright,
"Against thy foeman now to fight,
Whether thou go, or ride,
So well I'll arm thee, foot and head,
That thou of no man shalt have dread,
But battle well abide."

"Madam," then quoth that gentle knight,
"For love of Jesu, Lord of Might,
Take to my words good heed;
Mine is the wrong, and his the right,
For that I be afraid to fight,
So God give me good speed,
For I must swear, nor else may be,
So help me God to victory
As he in word and deed
Is false -- Therewith am I foresworn,
And am of life and soul forlorn,
Thereto I find no rede."

Then quoth the lady presentlie,
"None other way then, may there be
To bring that traitor down?"
"Yea, Lady," quoth he, "by Saint Giles,
There dwelleth distant many miles,
My brother Amiloun;
And if to him I now dare go,
Then, by Saint John, full well I know,
He wears of truth the crown,
An his own life should forfeit be,
His help he now would give to me,
And smite my foeman down."

"Sir Amis," did the lady say,
"Take leave to-morrow with the day,
And journey speedily,
And I will say that thou art gone
To thine own land, since thou anon
Thy parents fain would see.
When to thy brother com'st aright,
Pray him, as he be faithful knight,
And of great courtesie,
That he will here defend the right,
For thee against the steward fight
Who thinks to ruin us three."

. . . . . . . .

With morn Sir Amis busked him there,
And took his leave from thence to fare
And went upon his way,
For nothing would he slacken speed,
But, ruthless, forward spurred his steed.
Alike by night and day;
So fast he rode, and rested not,
The steed whereon he rode, I wot,
When far upon the way,
Was overpressed, and fell down dead, --
Sir Amis, brought in evil stead,
He cried, "Ah, wellaway!"

Then when the chance had fallen so
That he must needs on foot now go
Then, sorrowful, that knight,
He girt his skirts about him there,
And on his way began to fare
To hold what he had hight;
And all that day ran far and fast,
To a wild forest came at last,
Betwixt the day and night;
A slumber strong o'ercame him now,
Not for the whole world's wealth, I trow,
Further might fare that knight.

That courteous knight, so fair and free,
He laid him down beneath a tree,
And fell asleep that tide,
And all that night so still lay he,
Till on the morrow men might see
Daylight on every side.
And that knight's brother, Amiloun,
Whom all men held of great renown
Thro' all that country side,
Dwelt, from the spot where Amis lay,
But half the journey of a day
As men might walk or ride.

. . . . . . . .

Sir Amiloun, that gentle knight,
In slumber soft he lay that night,
In dream it seemed him so,
That he Sir Amis needs must see
His brother troth-plight, verily,
Beset by many a foe;
For of a bear, both wild and wood,
And other beasts that with it stood
The onslaught must he know,
Alone, amidst them all he stood,
Nor found 'gainst them resistance good,
I trow, he was full woe!

Whenas Sir Amiloun did wake,
Great sorrow he began to make,
His wife, he told her there,
How black beasts, so in dream he thought,
With wrath, his brother Amis sought
To slay, with mickle care;
"Certes," he quoth, "some man with wrong
Hath brought him into peril strong,
Of bliss shall he be bare";
And then he quoth: "Forsooth, I wis,
I may know neither joy nor bliss
Till I wot how he fare!"

From bed he sprang up in that tide,
Nor longer would he there abide,
But dight him fair, anon, --
His mesnie, too, without delay,
Made ready for to ride straightway;
With him they fain had gone,
But that he bade them now to cease,
For love of Heaven to hold their peace,
Thus spake he to each one,
And sware by Him Who made Mankind
That no companion there he 'ld find,
But would go forth alone.

He robed him then in right rich weed,
And leapt astride upon his steed,
For naught would he abide;
His folk, he straight forbade them there
That none among them all should dare
After their lord to ride;
So thro' the night he rode till day,
And came to where Sir Amis lay
All in that forest wide;
He saw, thro' weariness foregone,
A knight, who, sleeping, lay alone
And sought to him that tide.

With that, he called on him straightway,
"Rise up, Sir Knight, for it is day
And time from hence to go!"
Sir Amis he beheld with sight,
Straightway he knew that gentle knight
And he knew him also;
That courteous knight, Sir Amiloun,
From off his steed did light adown.
With that, they kissed the two:
"Brother," he quoth, "why liest thou here?
And why dost make such mournful cheer?
Say, who hath wrought thee woe?"

"Brother," Sir Amis answered there,
"In sooth such sorrow knew I ne'er
Since me my mother bore;
Since thou didst from me go, I wis,
With joy, and eke with mickle bliss,
I served my lord before,
But now the steward, thro' sheer envy,
By guile, and eke by treachery,
Hath wrought me sorrow sore;
Save that thou help me in my need
Certes, I see none other rede,
My life must I give o'er!"

"Brother," Sir Amiloun he said,
"What hath the steward 'gainst thee laid?
Why thus hath done thee shame?"
"Certes, he doth by treason strive
From out mine office me to drive
And bring upon me blame," --
With that Sir Amis told him there
How that he, and that maiden fair,
In love together came,
And how the steward did them betray,
And how the duke, he would him slay
In anger, at that same.

And how himself he needs must plight
His troth against the steward to fight
In battle fierce and strong,
And how, to save those ladies bright,
As surety, he ne'er a knight
Might find, the court among;
How ere he did to battle fare
Needs must that he should falsely swear
Since he was in the wrong, --
"A man foresworn can never speed, --
Since I can find no better rede
'Alas!' may be my song!"

. . . . . . . .

When thus Sir Amis told his tale
How the false steward should sure prevail
O'er him, with evil mood,
Sir Amiloun, with words so bold,
Sware: "By the Lord Whom Judas sold,
Who died upon the Rood,
Of this, his hope, he faileth now,
For I shall fight for thee, I trow,
Altho' he were well wood,
And if I meet him now aright,
With this, my brand, that is so bright
I'll shed his heart's best blood!

"But, Brother, this my weed take thou,
And in thy robes I'll clothe me now,
E'en as thyself I were,
And I shall swear, So God me speed,
That I am guiltless of the deed
And plaint he 'gainst me bare." --
With that, those courteous knights, anon,
Each other's raiment did they on;
When they were ready there,
Quoth Amiloun: "Now by Saint Gile,
Thus we the traitor shall beguile
Who would thy ruin prepare.

"Brother," he quoth, "go home forthright
Unto my wife, that lady bright,
And there with her remain;
And as thou art a gentle knight
Lie thou beside her every night
Until I come again;
Say, thou hast sent thy steed, I wis,
Unto thy brother Sir Amis,
Then will they be full fain,
They'll deem that thou my-self shalt be
For none shall know thee now from me,
So like we be, we twain."

And when he thus his word had plight
Sir Amiloun, that gentle knight,
He rode upon his way.
Sir Amis gat him home forthright
Unto his brother's lady bright
And made no more delay,
And said, how he had sent his steed
Unto his brother for his need
By a knight's hand that day.
And every man thought Sir Amis
To be their very lord, I wis,
So like, the twain, were they.

And when Sir Amis spake full fair
And told them now of all his care
Full well the thing did go,
For great or little. verily,
All men who there in court should be
They deemed it had been so.
When it was come unto the night
Sir Amis and that lady bright
To bed they fain would go;
When side by side the twain were laid
Sir Amis drew his shining blade
And laid it 'twixt the two.

The lady looked on him alway,
And wrathful gleamed her eyes of gray,
She deemed her lord were wood,
And, "Sir," she asked, "why dost thou so?
Thus wert thou never wont to do
Who now hath changed thy mood?"
"Lady," he answered, "verily
I be sick of a malady
That doth infect my blood,
And all my bones so sore they be
Thy flesh may not be touched by me
For all of this world's good!"

And thus, I wis, that faithful knight
He kept him for a fourteen-night,
As lord and prince in pride,
And he forgat not every night
Betwixt him and that lady bright
His sword to lay beside;
The lady deemed 't was rightly done
For that her lord, Sir Amilon,
He was sore sick that tide;
Therefore she thought to hold her still
And speak no word, but this, his will,
She would in peace abide.

. . . . . . . .

Now Lordings, hear, and I shall say
How Amiloun, he went his way,
And would for nothing spare;
He spurred his steed by night and day
As hero stout and stiff alway
To court he swift doth fare;
The self-same day, withouten let,
That was afore for battle set
Sir Amis was not there,
They take those ladies by the hand,
The judgment now they needs must stand,
With tears and sighing sare.

The steward mounts his steed that tide,
With shield and spear would combat bide
He boasteth loud alway;
Before the duke he spurs his steed
And saith, "Now, Sire, as God me speed
Hearken to what I pray, --
This traitor, he hath fled the land,
And if he now were nigh at hand
He should be hanged to-day,
Therefore 't is meet that judgment turn
Against his sureties, that they burn
E'en as the law doth say."

That rich duke, moved by anger there,
He bade them take those ladies fair
And lead them forth beside,
A great fire then he bade them make,
Therewith should they a barrel take
To burn them there, inside;
Then, as they looked upon the field,
They saw a knight with spear and shield
Come pricking in his pride,
With that each one he cried, "I wis,
Yonder comes hastening Sir Amis --"
They should his coming bide.

Sir Amiloun no stone doth heed,
But o'er them all he spurred with speed
The duke seeks hastily,
"My lord, the Duke," he saith, "for shame,
Set free these ladies at this same,
For good and true they be,
And hither am I come to-day
To save them both, if so I may,
From bond to set them free;
Certes, a mickle wrong it were
To make a roast of ladies fair,
'T were naught but crueltie!"

I trow it pleased those ladies well,
Their joy they might to no man tell
Their care was all away;
And sithen, as ye now may know,
The twain did to their chamber go
And made no more delay,
But richly did they arm that knight
With helm, and plate, and byrnie bright,
His tiring, it was gay;
When he was mounted on his steed
That God the knight should save and speed,
Full many a man did pray.

. . . . . . . .

As he came riding from the town,
There came a voice from Heaven adown
That no man heard save he,
And saith: "Thou knight, Sir Amilon,
The God Who died the Rood upon
Doth message send by me;
An thou this combat fight withal
A venture strange shall thee befall
And that within years three,
For ere these three years they be gone
Leper so foul was never none
As thou thyself shalt be.

"And since thou art good knight and free
Jesu this word hath sent by me
To warn thee now anon,
So foul a wretch thou shalt be sure,
Such grief and poverty endure,
As fell, I trow, to none;
O'er all the world, both far and near,
Thy best friends, whom thou held most dear,
They shall thy presence shun;
Yea, e'en thy wife and all thy kin
Shall flee the place that thou art in,
Forsake thee every one!"

That knight stood still as any stone;
Those words he hearkened every one
That were so drear and dread;
He knew not what were best to do,
To flee, or to the combat go,
His heart was e'en as lead;
He thought: "If I confess my name
Then is my brother put to shame,
His life in sorrow fled, --
Certes," he quoth, "for fear of care
To keep my troth I will not spare,
The Will of God be sped!"

And all the folk, they deemed, I wis,
That this knight he was Sir Amis,
Who came to fight indeed, --
He, and the steward, as I say,
Before the justice brought were they
To swear for this their deed,
Before the folk, the steward, he,
Sware that his word no lie should be,
God help him at his need!
Sir Amiloun, he steadfast sware
He ne'er e'en kissed that maiden fair,
Our Lady be his speed!

When they had sworn, as thus I told,
To fight were fain those barons bold
And busked them for to ride,
And young and old, all folk that day,
They straightly unto God did pray
He would Sir Amis guide!
On steeds that were both stiff and strong
They met, their spears, so sharp and long,
Were shivered on each side;
Then each man drew his sword so good
Together hew, as they were wood,
For naught would they abide.

Those champions, who were fierce to sight,
With falchion fell begin to fight,
As madmen hack and hew,
Hard on each other's helm they smite
With strokes so strong, and of such might
That fire from out them flew;
So hard they smote on head and side
That from their deadly wounds and wide
Blood wells in crimson hue;
From morning-tide till noon were past
The combat did betwixt them last,
Fiercer their anger grew.

Sir Amiloun, as flame of fire,
Sought for his foe with fierce desire
And smote with might and main,
His blow, it glanced aside that stead
And smote the good steed on the head,
Scattered was all the brain;
The steed fell dead upon the ground
Then was the steward, in that stound,
Fearful lest he be slain;
Sir Amiloun adown doth light,
Afoot he seeks the steward forthright
Raising him up again.

"Now rise up, Steward," the knight did say,
"Thou needs must fight afoot to-day
Since thou hast lost thy steed;
By Saint John, he were craven knight
Who with a fallen man would fight
Who thus were brought in need"; --
That courteous knight, so free and fair,
The steward by hand he taketh there,
Saying: "So God me speed,
Since that afoot thou needs must go
I'll fight with thee afoot also:
Other were falsehood's rede!"

The steward, and that man of might,
Anon together met in fight
With brands both bright and bare;
So fierce a fight they then began
The blood from out their armour ran
For nothing would they spare;
The steward his shoulder smote that tide,
And made a wound both deep and wide
A grisley gash it were,
And thro' that wound, as ye may hear,
That knight was known with rueful cheer,
When he was come to care.

Wroth was Sir Amiloun and wood,
Seeing his armour red with blood
That erst was white as swan,
Then, with his falchion sharp and bright,
He smote in wrath a blow of might
As hero bold, anon,
That even from the shoulder blade
Down to the breast a wound it made
Sheer thro' the heart hath gone; --
With that the steward fell down dead,
Sir Amiloun smote off his head
Thanked God the fight was won!

Then all the lordings, men of might,
Or lesser folk, who saw that sight
Were filled with joy that tide,
The head upon a spear they bare
And to the town they gat them there
For nothing would abide;
From town to meet the knight they came
In fair procession, at that same,
Seemly, from either side,
The victor to the tower they led
With mickle honour at that stead
As a prince proud in pride.

When to the hall they came, I wis,
All in that palace deemed Amis,
He stood their face before, --
"Sir Amis," quoth the duke anon
Before the lordings every one,
"What I forbade of yore
I grant thee now, that gentle may,
My daughter, dearly bought to-day
With grisley wounds and sore;
Therefore I freely grant thee here
My land, with this my daughter dear
To hold for evermore."

Then glad and blithe that courteous knight,
And thanked the duke with all his might,
Full glad was he, and fain;
In all the court was none, I ween,
Who wist what his true name had been
Who saved those ladies twain.
Then leeches to their will they found
Who handled these, his wounds, and bound,
And made him whole again,
And all were joyful in that hold,
To God gave thanks a thousand-fold
In that the steward was slain.

Sir Amiloun, he dight him there
And said that he from thence would fare
And get him on his way,
And tell his friends, both less and more,
And all who friendship to him bore
How he had sped that day;
The duke, he granted leave that tide,
And proffered knights with him to ride,
But he made answer, Nay,
No man he thought with him to take
But swiftly did him ready make
And rode from thence away.

Thus on his way he went alone
For never man with him had gone
Or were he knight or swain,
That knight, so brave in blood and bone,
He stayed for neither stock nor stone,
Till he came home again.
Sir Amis, as I now shall say,
Waited his coming every day,
Up in the forest plain,
There Amiloun and he they meet,
With joy he doth Sir Amis greet,
Tells how the steward he'd slain;

And saith how he should wed for meed
That gentle maid, in goodly weed,
Who was so fair of face.
Down from his steed he sprang anon,
The other's raiment each does on
As erst in that same place,
"Brother," he quoth, "now go thy way --"
And taught him all that he should say
Within a little space.
Sir Amis, he hath joy untold
And thanked him there a thousand-fold,
Who shewed him so much grace.

And as they needs must part, the twain,
Sir Amis thanked him oft again
For this, his right good deed:
"Brother," he saith, "an it should be
That care or woe befalleth thee
And of my help hast need,
Send thou thy messenger nor spare,
Be sure that I shall fail thee ne'er,
As God shall be my speed,
For be thy peril ne'er so strong
I'll be thy help, for right or wrong,
If life I lose for meed!"

. . . . . . . .

With that they part asunder there, --
Sir Amiloun, that knight so fair,
Went homeward in that tide
Unto his wife, who scarce was kind,
Welcome he from his friends did find
As a prince proud in pride;
And when it came unto the night
And he, with this, his lady bright,
In bed lay, side by side,
Within his arms with many a kiss
He clasped her close, in joy and bliss,
For nothing would abide.

His wife, she was full fain to know
For what cause he had acted so
For this last fourteen-night,
And laid his sword betwixt them two
That she durst not, for weal or woe,
Touch him, her lord, aright?
With that, Sir Amiloun, he knew
That Amis, as a knight so true,
Had kept the troth he plight;
"Lady," he quoth, "I now will say
And tell the truth to thee alway --
Betray me to no wight!"

With that the lady straitly prayed
For love of Him, Who this world made,
To tell her how it were;
Without delay, that gallant knight,
The truth he told to her forthright
How he to court did fare,
And how he slew the steward strong
Who would, by treason and by wrong,
His brother bring to care;
And how Sir Amis, courteous knight,
Had lain beside her every night
While he afar did fare.

The lady wrathful waxed that tide
And angrily her lord did chide,
Words waxed betwixt the two;
She quoth: "With wrong, and not with right
Now hast thou slain a gentle knight,
I wot thou ill didst do."
"Lady," he quoth, "by Heaven's King,
I did it for no other thing
Only to save from woe
My brother; and were I in need
I hope he'ld give his life for meed
If he might help me so!"

And thus, as now the Geste doth say,
Sir Amis, he was glad and gay,
To court went speedily;
And when he thither came again
By earl and baron, knight and swain,
Honoured, I trow, was he;
The rich duke took him by the hand,
And gave him seizin of his land
That his for aye it be;
Sithen, with joy upon a day
He wed with Belisant, the may,
And true and kind was she.

A seemly folk, and great, withal,
Came to that bridal, there in hall,
Whenas he wed that flower,
And earls and barons, many a score,
With other lordings, less and more,
And ladies bright in bower;
A royal feast they there did hold
Of earls and many a baron bold
With joy and great honour;
Throughout that land, from east to west,
Amis was held of knights the best,
For praise elect in tower.

. . . . . . . .

And then, within a two years' space,
Unto the twain there chanced a grace
By God's hand was it told,
For the rich duke, he needs must die,
With him his lady low did lie
Buried in clay so cold;
Then men Sir Amis, fair and free,
As duke, and lord, in majesty
O'er all that land did hold,
Two bairns begat he on his wife,
No fairer children e'er saw life
As in the Geste 't is told.

So was that knight of great renown,
The lord of many a tower and town,
A mighty duke was he,
While this, his brother Amiloun,
In grief and care was brought adown
Who erst was fair and free;
For as the Angel had foretold
No fouler leper did one hold
Within the world than he,
In Geste to read it is sore ruth,
What grief he had for this his truth
Ere years had passed but three.

For ere three years had come to end
He wist not whither he might wend --
Such woe was his, alway;
For all who erst his friends had stood,
And most of all his kinsmen good
As foes they turned away;
Yea, and his wife, as I say truth,
By day and night she wrought him ruth
More than they all, i' fay.
When this hard lot befell the knight
A man in a more friendless plight
Were not on earth that day.

A wicked shrew she was, his wife,
She pierced his heart, as with a knife,
With words so sharp and keen,
She quoth: "Thou caitiff wretch, in strife
The steward he wrongful lost his life
As may by thee be seen,
Therefore, by Saint Denys of France,
This evil sore to thee doth chance,
Pity were sin, I ween!"
Then oft his hands for woe he wrung
Vowing that he hath lived too long
Whose life but loss hath been!

Alas! Alas! that gentle knight
Who whilom was so fair to sight
And suffered so much woe,
That from his wife, so fair and bright,
From his own chamber, of a night
Was bidden forth to go!
And in his own hall, in the day,
From the high board was turned away
For it was ordered so,
At the board's end he ate, to wit,
For no man would beside him sit,
Sore sorrow must he know.

When but six months had passed withal
That he had eaten thus in hall
And had good nourishing,
His lady's anger waxed full strong,
She deemed that he had lived too long,
No lie I here do bring --
"Now thro' the land there runs this word,
I feed a leper at my board,
He is so foul a thing
My kin these tidings sore displease,
No longer shall he sit at ease,
By Jesu, Heaven's King!"

She summoned him upon a day,
"Sir, it doth chance," so did she say,
"'T is truth, I swear to thee,
That thou dost eat too long in hall,
Thy presence doth displease us all,
My kin be wroth with me!"
The knight, he wept, and spake so still:
"Now send me where it be thy will
That no man shall me see,
And I from thee no more will pray
Than meat for but one meal a day,
For holy charitie!"

That lady then, for her lord's sake,
She bade that men should timber take,
For nothing would she stay,
Without the gates, but half a mile,
She bade them build a lodge that while,
That stood beside the way,
And when that lodge, I trow, was wrought
With him, of all his wealth, he brought
But his gold cup away;
When he was in his lodge alone
To God in Heaven he made his moan,
Gave thanks to Him alway.

When he within that lodge was dight
In all the court there was no knight
Would do him service there
Save but one child, who with him came,
Childe Owen, did they call his name,
Who wept for this, his care;
The child was true, of good renown,
And sister's son to Amiloun,
He spake with words full fair,
Saying he would beside him stand
Nor cease to serve him, foot and hand,
While that in life he were.

. . . . . . . .

The child, who was so fair and bold,
As Owen was his name first told,
He came of noble blood,
When he was twelve years old withal
Then Amoraunt his name they call,
Courteous was he, and good,
Beside his lord each night he lay
And fetched from out the hall each day
What they should have for food;
And when each man made mirth and song
For his lord's sake, he sat among
Them all in dreary mood.

Thus Amoraunt, as I now say,
To court he cometh every day,
Nor stayed for all they strive,
For all, that he should come away
And leave the leper, straitly pray,
Then should he better thrive.
He answered them in gentle mood,
Swearing by Him Who died on Rood
And suffered Wounds full five,
That for the whole world's wealth to take
His lord he never would forsake
Whiles that he were alive.

When as the twelvemonth's end did fall
And Amoraunt came to the hall
Their food to take, one day,
The lady, she waxed wroth anon
And bade her servants every one
To drive that child away;
She sware by Him Whom Judas sold,
That tho' for hunger and for cold
Stark dead her lord, he lay,
Nor meat nor drink, nor anything
To succour him should any bring
From her, from that same day.

The child, his hands he wrung, the twain,
And, weeping, gat him home again
With mickle grief and care,
His lord, he did him straightway pray
And bade him tell without delay
What thus had grieved him there?
He answered him, and said also;
"I wis I well may be in woe,
And grief and sorrow bear,
Thy wife hath sworn in evil mood
That she no more will give us food,
Alas! how shall we fare?"

"God help me!" quoth that gentle knight;
"Whilom was I a man of might,
To deal out meat and cloth,
And now I am so foul to see
That every man who looks on me
The sight of me doth loathe!
Now son," he saith, "thy weeping stay,
Tho' these be tidings ill to-day,
I tell thee by my troth,
Certes none other rede I know
Than that to beg our bread we go,
So it behoves us both."

The morrow soon as it was light
The child, and eke that gentle knight,
Made ready to be gone,
And forth they journeyed in that stead
As needs they must, to beg their bread,
Since they of meat had none.
So long they journeyed up and down
They came unto a market town,
A five mile further on;
Weeping, they go from street to street,
For love of God they pray for meat,
Much grief they knew anon.

In that same time, I understand,
Great plenty was throughout the land
Both meat and drink had they;
The folk, they were of hand right free,
And brought unto them willingly
Of everything that day,
Since they the man a leper see,
And the child passing fair to be,
Pity upon them lay,
They brought enow of all their good,
Then was the boy right blithe of mood,
And let his weeping stay.

The good knight's foot, it waxed so sore
That he, I trow, might walk no more
For all of this world's good,
To the town's end the lad him bare
And straight a hut he built him there
That by the highway stood;
And as the country folk, each day,
To market bound, must pass that way,
They gat from them their food,
And Amoraunt oft went to town
And meat and drink begged up and down
When most in need they stood.

Thus in the Geste 't is writ to see
That here they dwelt for years full three
The lad and he, also,
In poverty and care they live
On what the country folk may give
As thus they come and go;
But it fell out in the fourth year
That corn began to wax full dear,
Hunger stalked to and fro,
Was neither young nor old, I trow,
Who meat and drink would give them now,
Then want they needs must know.

Oft Amoraunt to town hath gone
But meat and drink there found he none,
Neither of man nor wife,
And when the twain they were alone
Then ruefully they made their moan,
Weary were they of life;
Amiloun's wife, the sooth to say,
Within that land she dwelt alway
Of miles but distant five,
And lived in joy both night and day
While he in care and sorrow lay,
Now evil may she thrive!

One day, as thus they sat alone,
That gentle knight, he made his moan,
Spake to the child that tide,
And saith: "Now must thou go, my son,
And seek my lady swift anon,
Who dwelleth here beside,
Pray her, by Him Who died on Rood,
She grant me now, of all my good,
An ass, whereon to ride,
Forth from the land we now will fare
And beg our bread with grief and care
Nor longer here abide."

Then Amoraunt, to court went he,
Before that lady fair to see,
With courteous speech alway:
"Lady," he quoth, "with good intent,
My lord a message by me sent,
For walk no more he may,
He prayeth thee, in humble mood,
This much to grant of all his good,
An ass to ride to-day;
Then forth from out this land we'll fare,
And come again I trow me, ne'er,
Tho' hunger should us slay."

The lady quoth she were full fain
To send unto them asses twain
If they from hence would fare,
Afar, in distant lands remain --
"Nay, certes, Lady, ne'er again
Thou seest us --" he sware.
The lady, she was blithe and glad,
An ass she bade them give the lad,
And said in anger there:
"Now ye from out my land shall go,
God grant that it may fall out so
That I behold ye ne'er!"

The lad, he would no longer bide,
But swift his ass he did bestride
And gat him home again,
And told his lord in that same tide
All that his lady, in her pride,
Did shamelessly maintain;
He set the knight upon the ass,
Forth from the city gate they pass
Thereof were they full fain,
Through many a country, up and down,
They begged their meat from town to town,
Alike in wind and rain.

By God's Will, o'er that land, ere long,
The famine waxed so grim and strong
As they went far and wide,
That they for hunger were nigh dead,
They had not half their fill of bread,
The twain were sorely tried,
Then quoth the knight upon a day:
"We needs must sell our ass away,
'T is our sole wealth this tide,
Save this, my goodly cup of gold,
And certes, that shall ne'er be sold,
Tho' I for hunger died!"

Amoraunt, and the good knight, there,
With rueful cheer, in grief and care,
With morn, upon a day,
They gat them to a market-town,
And when the knight had lighted down,
With never more delay,
Amoraunt, to the town he sped,
And this, their ass, with him he led,
Five shillings, did men pay;
And on that money lived they long,
The whiles the dearth, it waxed full strong,
Nor more might get alway.

And when that ass they now had sold,
For shillings five, as here I told,
There they abode days three,
Amoraunt, he waxed strong, I ween,
Of winters had he told fifteen,
Courteous, and fair, and free,
For this, his lord, he well did care,
Upon his back he set him there,
Forth from the town went he,
And thus, for half a year and more,
To seek his meat the knight he bore,
Now blessed shall he be!

Thus Amoraunt waxed strong and stout,
And thus he bare his lord about
As read in Geste ye may,
Then winter came, so hard and strong
That oft, "Alas!" must be their song,
For deep the country lay;
The roads in mud were deep, that tide,
And oft-times did they slip and slide,
And fall down in the clay;
True was the lad, and kind of blood,
And served his lord in gentle mood,
Nor thought to go his way.

Thus Amoraunt, as now I say,
He served his lord by night and day
And on his back still bore,
But "Wellaway" was oft his cry,
So deep in mire the land did lie
His bones they waxed full sore,
And all their money, it was gone,
Till but twelve pence was left alone,
Therewith, so runs my lore,
The twain, a hand-cart did they buy,
So that the knight therein might lie,
He might not bear him more.

Thus the lad pushed Sir Amiloun
Thro' many a country, up and down,
As ye may understand,
Till to a town they came, I wis,
Wherein that baron, Sir Amis,
Was duke and lord in land,
Then straitly did he pray, the knight,
"Bear me to the duke's court forthright,
Good lad, 't is my command,
He is a man of gentle mood,
And there, I ween, we'll get some good,
Thro grace of God's own Hand.

"But hearken to me now, dear son,
And for His Love, Who this world won,
As thou art fair and free,
See thou tell no man, at this same,
Whither I go, or whence I came,
Or what my name shall be."
The lad, he heard and answered, "Nay,"
Forthwith to court he took his way
As ye may hear from me,
Before the other beggars then
He pushed his cart thro' mire and fen,
Great dole it was to see!

And it befell that self-same day
As now I tell, in this my Lay,
It was mid-winter tide,
And the rich duke now at the same
With joy and bliss from church he came
As lord and prince in pride;
When he came to his castle-gate
The beggars all who stood thereat
They drew them on one side,
And with his knights and serjaunts all
He passed into his noble hall
In joy and bliss to bide.

As in king's court, 't is law, I know,
The trumpets for the meat 'gan blow,
To board they went so bold,
When all were set in order there
Then in due time they served them fair
As men most blithe on mold;
And that rich duke, no lie I tell,
E'en as a prince they served him well
With right rich cups of gold,
While he who brought him to that state,
He lay shut out, without the gate,
A-hungered sore, and cold.

Forth from the gate a knight there came,
With him a serjaunt at that same,
To field they passed anear,
And thro' the Grace of God on high
On Amiloun he cast his eye
Saw him of loathly cheer,
Sithen, they Amoraunt behold,
And very fair the lad they hold,
As ye in Geste may hear;
Then said they both that, by Saint John,
In all the court they knew of none
For beauty half his peer!

That good knight straight to him did go
And courteously was fain to know,
As ye may understand,
Whither he went, and whence he came,
And why he stood there at that same,
And whom he served in land?
He answered: "Sir, so God me save
Here am I but mine own lord's knave
Who lieth in God's Hand,
As thou be knight of gentle blood
I pray thee, that to us some good
Be done, at thy command!"

With that the good knight asked him fair
If he would leave the leper there
And service with him take?
And promised him, by sweet Saint John,
To serve the duke in court anon,
And rich he would him make.
The lad, he answered, mild of mood,
And sware, by Him Who died on Rood,
Whiles he might walk and wake,
That, might he win this whole world's good,
This, his dear lord, by whom he stood,
He never would forsake!

The good man deemed him mad to be,
Or fool to a wise man was he,
Who was of wit forlorn;
Or else his lord, so foul to eye,
Had been a man of station high
Of noble lineage born;
Therefore he thought no more to say,
But back to hall he took his way,
Spake to the duke that morn:
"My lord," he said, "now hearken me,
The best jest, by my loyalty,
Shalt hear, since thou wert born!"

Then the rich duke bade him anon
To tell before them every one
His tale, without delay --
"Now, Sire," he said, "by sweet Saint John,
Without this gate I now had gone
Intent on this my play,
Of poor men many, at thy door,
Both old and young, both less or more,
There I beheld them stay,
And midst the men who there did stand,
The foulest thing in any land,
A leper, there he lay.

"That leper in a cart doth lie,
He is so feeble, verily,
On foot he may not go,
A naked lad by him doth stay,
No fairer child, the sooth to say,
In this world do I know.
In Christendom, I trow, there be
No fairer lad to-day than he
That any land can show;
And yet the greatest fool he is
With whom I ever spake, I wis,
Here in this world below."

The rich duke answered him straightway,
"What folly, tell me, did he say,
How is he mad of mood?"
"Now, Sire," he said, "I bade him part
From this, the leper in the cart,
By whom but now he stood,
And in thy service should he be,
I proffered him both land and fee,
Enough of this world's good.
He answered me straightway with No,
He from his lord would never go,
Therefore I hold him wood."

Then quoth the duke: "Perchance of yore
His lord, who now doth suffer sore,
Hath holpen him in need;
Or of his blood the boy was born;
Or he an oath, may be, hath sworn
With him his life to lead.
Or stranger he, or of his blood,
That lad," he said, "is true and good,
As God, He shall me speed,
I'ld speak with him ere hence they go,
Since he such steadfast truth doth show,
I would requite his meed."

With that the duke, in Geste 't is told,
He called to him a squire so bold,
And spake as he was fain:
"Take thou," he quoth, "my cup of gold,
As full of wine as thou may'st hold,
Within these, thy hands twain;
Forth to the gate the cup now bear,
A leper shalt thou seek out there,
He lieth in a wain;
This wine, now, by Saint Martin, say,
He and his page shall drink straightway, --
My cup, bring thou again."

The squire, he took the cup that stead,
And to the castle gate he sped,
The cup brimfull he bare,
And to the leper straight did say:
"This cup of wine, my lord to-day
Sends, drink it if ye dare."
The leper took his cup of gold,
'T was fashioned in the self-same mould,
E'en as the duke's it were,
And the rich wine therein did pour
Till both alike, nor less, nor more,
Of wine had equal share.

The squire gazed those cups upon,
The leper's and his lord's, anon,
E'en as he stood before,
And never in that moment he
Could say which should the better be
So like the guise they wore;
Back to the hall he ran that day,
And, "Certes, Sire," he straight did say,
"Hast lost good deeds of yore,
Here a good deed was wasted now,
He is a richer man than thou,
I swear thy face before!"

With that the rich duke answered, "Nay,
That may not be, by night or day,
Against the law it were!"
The squire again he answered, "Yea,
A traitor is he, by my fay,
Who should to judgment fare,
For when I brought him this, thy wine,
A gold cup he drew forth, so fine,
Thine own, methought it were,
Thro' all the world, by sweet Saint John,
So wise a man there shall be none,
Who could discern the pair!"

"Certes," Sir Amis quoth anon,
"In all the world, of cups were none
So like in everything,
Save mine, and his, my brother's true,
The twain were wrought for us anew,
At this, our severing;
If it be so, then, so I ween,
Sir Amiloun, he slain hath been,
An here no lie ye bring,
If any stole his cup away
Then I myself that thief shall slay
By Jesu, Heaven's King!"

Then from his seat he sprang, the lord,
And, like a madman, drew his sword,
Urged on by wrath and wrake,
Straight to the castle gate he ran
In all the world there was no man
Who might him overtake;
He saw the leper in the wain,
And gripped him fast with his hands twain,
And soused him in the lake,
And smote him e'en as he were wood,
And all who there about him stood,
Great dole began to make.

"Traitor," then quoth the duke so bold,
"Say, whence had'st thou that cup of gold;
How didst thou come thereto?
For now, by Him Whom Judas sold,
My brother did that same cup hold,
Whenas he went me fro'."
"Yea, certes, Sire, so doth it stand,
'T was his, while he in his own land
Abode, now is it so
As certainly, while I be here,
That it is mine, I bought it dear,
And have a right thereto!"

With that the duke waxed fierce of mood,
There was no man who by him stood
Durst lay upon him hand,
But with his foot he spurned him there,
And smote him, as he frenzied were,
With this, his naked brand.
The leper fast by feet he made,
And in the slough and mire he laid,
For naught would he withstand,
But cried: "Thief, shalt be slain straightway,
Save of the cup the truth dost say
How came it in thine hand?"

Amoraunt stood the folk among,
Saw how his lord with woe and wrong
So ruefully was dight,
A hardy lad and strong was he,
He gripped the duke right manfully,
With arms he held him tight,
And saith: "Sire, of discourteous mind
Art thou, and in thy deeds unkind,
To slay this gentle knight,
For he the day may rue full sore
That for thy sake such wounds he bore,
And saved thy life in fight!

"For he Sir Amiloun is hight,
Who whilom was a noble knight
Alike to ride or go,
Now must he thole sore pain and loss,
May God Who died upon the Cross
Bring him from out his woe!
For thy sake he of bliss is bare, --
Full ill didst thou repay him there,
Breaking his bones in two!
He helped thee at thy sorest need,
Full ill dost thou repay his meed,
Alas, why dost thou so?"

Whenas Sir Amis heard, forthright,
He turned him swiftly to the knight
With never more delay,
Clasped him within his arms that tide,
And often-times, "Alas!" he cried,
His song was "Wellaway!"
He looked upon his shoulder bare,
The grisley wound he saw it there
As Amoraunt did say,
Therewith fell swooning to the ground,
And oft he cried "Alas!" that stound,
That e'er he saw this day!

"Alas!" he cried, "my joy is gone,
Unkinder blood was never none,
I wot not what to do!
For he that saved my life of yore,
With scorn did I requite him sore,
And wrought him mickle woe!
Brother," he cried, "of charitie,
This wicked deed forgive it me,
That I did smite thee so!"
Then swift he gave forgiveness fair,
And many times he kissed him there
While fast the tears they flow.

Then was Sir Amis glad and fain,
For very joy he wept again
And seized his brother there,
He took him in his arms withal
And carried him into the hall,
None other might him bear;
Within the hall his wife, she stood,
She deemed her lord were surely wood,
And ran, that lady fair,
Crying: "Now, Sire, what is thy thought?
Why hast this leper hither brought?
For Christ's sake now declare!"

"Oh, wife!" he cried, "by sweet Saint John,
Such woe ne'er lay my heart upon
As thou must know to-day,
In all the world so good a knight
Was none, yet sore I did him smite,
Well nigh I did him slay!
It is my brother Amiloun,
Who now by grief is cast adown,
Who erst was knight so gay!"
Swooning, that lady fell to ground,
Weeping, she wrung her hands that stound,
And oft "Alas!" did say.

Tho' he was leper foul, I wis,
That lady straightway did him kiss,
For nothing would she spare,
And oft-times she "Alas!" did cry,
That such hard fate on him should lie,
To live in woe and care,
Into her bower she did him lead,
And cast aside his beggar's weed,
And bathed his body bare;
Then to a bed the knight they brought
Covered with clothes so richly wrought,
Right glad of him they were.

And thus, as now the Geste doth say,
Twelvemonths he in her chamber lay
For true they were and kind,
And ne'er denied him with a "Nay,"
Whate'er he asked, by night or day,
It tarried not behind,
He every meat and drink must share
That men at board before them bare,
They kept him aye in mind;
And after this a twelvemonth's space
God granted them a wondrous Grace,
As in the Geste we find.

For it befell upon a night
The duke, Sir Amis, that good knight,
In slumber as he lay,
An angel bright he saw that stead,
From Heaven, stand before his bed
Who thus to him did say:
An he would rise on Christmas Morn,
E'en at the hour that Christ was born
And his two children slay,
Anoint his brother with their blood,
By grace of God, Who aye is good,
His ill were turned away.

And thus he thought that, for nights three,
That angel bright he sure did see,
Who warned him evermore,
And said, an he did as he hight,
His brother were as fair a knight,
As e'er he was before.
Sir Amis, he was blithe that day,
Yet for his children grieved alway,
Fairer no woman bore,
Full loth was he his bairns to kill,
More loth to fail his brother still
Who was so true of yore.

To Amiloun, too, did it seem,
An angel warned him in a dream,
And did to him declare,
An Amis had his children slain
The virtue of their heart's blood twain
Might cleanse him from his care.
With morn Sir Amis went his way,
And sought his brother as he lay
And asked how he did fare?
And Amiloun quoth low and still:
"Brother, I here abide God's Will,
My hope, it lieth there!"

Then, as they sat together there
Spake of adventures as it were,
Those knights so fair and free,
Sir Amiloun quoth at that tide:
"Brother, I naught from thee would hide
But tell thee privilie,
As in a dream I saw last night
An Angel come from Heaven bright,
Forsooth, he said to me,
The blood of these, thy children twain,
Might make me whole and clean again,
From sorrow set me free."

Then thought the duke that, sooth to say,
These children young, the twain to slay
It were a deadly sin, --
And then, by Heaven's King, he thought,
An Amiloun from grief were brought,
He'ld risk the wrong therein;
So it befell, on Christmas Night,
What time that Jesu, Lord of Might,
Was born, to save men's kin,
That all the men in court who were,
They dight them, forth to church to fare
With joy, for this world's win.

When all were ready forth to fare
The duke bade all men who were there
To church to wend straightway,
And, as they all his friends should be,
Of great or small, none, verily,
Should there in chamber stay;
He quoth, that he himself that night
Would guard his brother, the true knight,
Who was so good alway.
To say him "Nay," I trow, was none,
To church the household went anon,
The duke at home did stay.

The duke, with care he did espy
The keys of this the nursery,
Ere that they should be gone;
And privily he watched them there,
And of the place he was aware
Where they had laid them down.
When all men thus to church did go,
Sir Amis, as the Geste doth show,
He there was left alone;
He took a candle, burning bright,
And to the keys he went forthright,
Bare them away anon.

With that alone, with no delay,
He to the chamber made his way
Where these, his children, were;
Beheld them both, as in that stead
They lay together in the bed,
Sleeping together there,
And thus unto himself did say:
"By Saint John, it were ill to slay
What God hath wrought so fair!"
His knife, he drew it forth that tide,
For very grief he turned aside,
And wept for sorrow sare!

Awhile he wept there as he stood,
Anon he changed again his mood,
And saith without delay:
"My brother was so true and good,
From grisley wounds he shed his blood
For love of me that day;
Then why should I my children spare
To bring my brother out of care?
O certes!" he quoth, "nay!
To help my brother in his need,
Maid Mary grant that well I speed,
God prosper me alway!"

No longer lingering, as he stood,
He grasped the knife in dreary mood,
And took the children two,
And, since he would not spill their blood,
Over a basin fair and good,
Their throats, he slit them thro'.
And when the two he thus had slain
He laid them back in bed again,
Small marvel he were woe!
Covered them, that by none 't were seen
That any man with them had been,
From chamber forth did go.

When from the chamber he had gone,
The door, behind him shut, anon,
Fast as it had been aye,
The keys he laid beneath a stone,
Thinking that men would deem, each one,
That they had gone astray.
Straight to his brother did he go,
Quoth to that man so full of woe,
By dawn of Christmas Day:
"Here have I brought my children's blood,
I trust that it may do thee good,
So did the Angel say!"

"Brother," Sir Amiloun did say,
"Didst thou indeed thy children slay?
Alas! Why didst thou so?"
He wept, and cried: "Ah! Wellaway!
Liever had I till Judgment Day
Lived thus in pain and woe!"
Then quoth Sir Amis: "Be thou still,
Thro' Jesu, an it be His Will,
I bairns again may know,
For my sake thou of bliss art bare,
I wis, to bring thee out of care,
To death I'ld freely go!"

He took the life-blood, red and bright,
Anointed there that gentle knight,
Who erst was fair and hale,
And then in bed he did him lay
And wrapt him warm and soft alway
Nor coverings rich did fail;
"Brother," he quoth, "now lie thou still
And fall asleep, now, as God's Will
The Angel told in tale;
And well I trust, with ne'er a lie,
That Jesu, King of Heaven High,
Shall bring thee out of bale."

Sir Amis let him lie alone
And to his chamber went anon
As ye in Geste may hear,
And for the bairns whom he had slain
To God in Heaven he did complain,
Praying, with rueful cheer,
That he be saved from shame that day
Thro' Mary Mother, who alway
Was to his heart full dear.
And Jesu Christ, in his sore need,
To that knight's prayer He gave good heed,
As ye in Geste may hear.

The morrow, soon as it was day,
Homeward she came, that lady gay,
With knights in train, I trow,
They sought the keys where they should lie,
And might no trace of them descry,
Woeful were they enow;
The duke, he bade their mourning cease,
And prayed them all to hold their peace,
And quiet keep them now,
He had the keys, his wife alone
Should thither go, beside them, none,
That did he surely vow.

Anon, his wife he prayed her hear,
And quoth to her: "My love so dear,
Prithee be glad of mood,
By Him Who for mankind was born
Our children have I slain this morn,
Who were so fair and good,
For that in dream I saw, by night,
An Angel come from Heaven's height,
Who told me, by their blood
My brother should be freed from pain,
For his sake did I slay the twain
To help him, as I should."

Then was that lady full of woe,
Seeing her lord in sorrow go
She comforted him there:
"Oh! dearest life," thus did she say,
"God, He can give us bairns alway,
Of them have thou no care,
For if it were mine own heart's blood,
An it might do thy brother good,
My life I would not spare;
Our eyes alone our bairns shall see,
To-morrow shall they buried be,
As natural death it were."

Thus did that lady, fair and bright,
Comfort her lord with all her might,
As ye may understand;
With that, the twain, they go their way,
Sought Amiloun, there, where he lay
Who erst was free of hand;
When Amiloun, he woke anon,
Behold, his foulness all was gone,
Thro' grace of God's Command!
And then was he as fair a knight
As ever he was seen by sight
Since he was born in land!

With that full blithe and glad they were,
Their joy they might to none declare,
They thanked God oft, that day,
And then, as here the Geste doth shew,
They swiftly to the chamber go
Wherein the children lay,
Without a wound the bairns they found,
With ne'er a scar, but whole and sound,
The twain, they lie, and play!
They wept for joy as there they stood,
Gave thanks to God in humble mood,
Their care was all away.

. . . . . . . .

When Amiloun was whole and fair
And all his strength had waxen there,
And he might go and ride,
Amoraunt, as a squire so bold,
Of gladsome cheer he then did hold
To serve his lord beside;
Then quoth the knight upon a day
That homeward would he take his way,
Speak with his wife that tide,
For that she so had helped his need
He thought to well requite her deed,
Nor longer there abide.

Sir Amis, then, with swift intent,
For many a valiant knight he sent,
Who doughty were in deed,
Five hundred knights, both true and keen,
And many a baron more, I ween,
On palfrey and on steed,
And night and day they, at that same,
Rode swift, till to his land they came
There was he lord indeed;
A knight of that same country there
He had espoused that lady fair
As now in Geste we read.

And thus in Geste as now I say,
Home came her lord the self-same day
They would the bridal hold,
To castle rode without delay,
Anon began a sorry play
Among those barons bold;
A messenger to run was fain
Crying, her lord was come again
As fairest man on mold!
The lady, she waxed pale and wan,
And there was many a mournful man
Among them, young and old!

Sir Amiloun, and Sir Amis,
With many a baron bold, I wis,
And knights and squires withal,
With helmet, and with habergeoun,
And with their sword blades bright and brown,
They gat them to the hall,
And all whom they within it caught
With many a mighty stroke they sought,
Yea, were they great or small,
And glad and blithe they were that day
Whoso alive might flee away,
Such bridal did befall!

And thus, when they had vengeance ta'en,
And brown and black to flee were fain
From out that hall, anon,
Amiloun, for his lady's sake,
A great lodge there he bade them make
Builded of lime and stone,
Within it was that lady led,
On bread and water was she fed,
Till her life-days were done.
In such wise died that lady -- He
Who mourns her fate, a knave must be
As ye have heard, each one!

Then Amiloun sent speedily
To earls and barons, bond and free,
All who were frank and fair,
And when they came, he seized in hand
Childe Owen, over all this land,
Who true and kind was e'er;
And when he thus had done, I wis,
With this, his brother, Sir Amis,
He back again did fare;
There, in much joy and little strife,
Together did they lead their life
Till called of God they were.

Anon those courteous barons twain
To build an Abbey were they fain
Endow it well also,
In Lombardy, till Judgment-Day
Mass for their souls to sing alway
And for their parents' too.
The same day died those knights so brave,
Were laid together in one grave,
As men to-day shall show;
For this, their steadfast truth, I wis,
They have reward in Heavenly Bliss
That ne'er an end shall know!





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