Classic Poem

The emperor of gentylle blode,
Was a curteys lorde and a gode,
In alle maner of thynge.
Aftur, when hys wyf was dede,
He ledde hys lyf yn weddewede,
And myche loved playnge.
Sone aftur, yn a whyle,
The ryche kynge of Cesyle
To the emperour gan wende.
A ryche present wyth hym he browght,
A cloth that was wordylye wroght.
He wellecomed hym as the hende.

Syr Tergaunte that nobylle knyght hyghte;
He presented the emperor ryght,
And sette hym on hys kne,
Wyth that cloth rychyly dyght,
Fulle of stones ther hyt was pyght,
As thykke as hyt myght be:
Off topaze and rubyes,
And othur stones of myche prys,
That semely wer to se;
Of crapowtes and nakette,
As thykke ar they sette,
For sothe, as Y say the.

The cloth was dysplayed sone,
The emperour lokede ther-upone,
And myght hyt not se;
For glysteryng of the ryche ston
Redy syghte had he non,
And sayde, ‘How may thys be?’
The emperour sayde on hygh,
‘Sertes, thys ys a fayry,
Or ellys a vanyte!’
The Kyng of Cysyle answered than,
‘So ryche a jewelle ys ther non
In alle Crystyante.’

The Amerayle dowghter of hethennes
Made thys cloth wythouten less,
And wrowghte hyt alle wyth pride;
And purtreyed hyt wyth gret honour,
Wyth ryche golde and asowr,
And stones on ylke a syde.
And, as the story telles in honde,
The stones that yn thys cloth stonde,
Sowghte they wer fulle wyde.
Seven wynter hyt was yn makynge,
Or hyt was browghte to endynge,
In herte ys not to hyde.

In that on korner made was
Ydoyne and Amadas,
Wyth love that was so trewe;
For they loveden hem wyth honour,
Portrayed they wer wyth trewe-love-flour,
Of stones bryght of hewe:
Wyth carbunkulle and safere,
Kassydonys and onyx so clere,
Sette in golde newe;
Deamondes and rubyes,
And other stones of mychylle pryse
And menstrellys wyth her glewe.

In that othur corner was dyght
Trystram and Isowde so bryght,
That semely wer to se;
And for they loved hem ryght,
As fulle of stones ar they dyght,
As thykke as they may be:
Of topase and of rubyes,
And othur stones of myche pryse,
That semely wer to se;
Wyth crapawtes and nakette,
Thykke of stones ar they sette,
For sothe, as Y say the.

In the thrydde korner, wyth gret honour,
Was Florys and Dam Blawncheflour,
As love was hem betwene;
For they loved wyth honour,
Purtrayed they wer wyth trewe-love-flour,
Wyth stones bryght and shene:
Ther wer knyghtus and senatowres,
Emerawdes of gret vertues,
To wyte wythouten wene;
Deamoundes and koralle,
Perydotes and crystalle,
And gode garnettes bytwene.

In the fourthe korner was oon,
Of Babylone the Sowdan sonne,
The Amerayles dowghtyr hym by.
For hys sake the cloth was wrowght;
She loved hym in hert and thowght,
As testymoyeth thys storye.
The fayr mayden her byforn
Was portrayed an unykorn,
Wyth hys horn so hye;
Flowres and bryddes on ylke a syde,
Wyth stones that wer sowghte wyde,
Stuffed wyth ymagerye.
The lady and the lytylle chylde
Fleted forth on the water wylde,
Wyth fulle harde happes.
Her surkote that was large and wyde,
Therwyth her vysage she gan hyde,
Wyth the hynther lappes;
She was aferde of the see,
And layde her gruf upon a tre,
The chylde to her pappes.
The wawes, that were grete and strong,
On the bote faste they thonge,
Wyth mony unsemely rappes.

And when the chyld gan to wepe,
Wyth sory herte she songe hyt aslepe,
And putte the pappe yn hys mowth,
And sayde, ‘Myght Y onus gete lond,
Of the watur that ys so stronge,
By northe or by sowthe,
Wel owth Y to warye the, see,
I have myche shame yn the!’
And ever she lay and growht.
Then she made her prayer,
To Jhesu and hys moder dere,
In alle that she kowthe.

Now thys lady dwelled there
A fulle sevene nyght and more,
As hyt was Goddys wylle;
Wyth karefulle herte and sykyng sore,
Such sorow was her yarked yore,
And she lay fulle stylle.
She was dryven toward Rome,
Thorow the grace of God yn trone,
That alle thyng may fulfylle.
On the see she was so harde bestadde,
For hungur and thurste allemost madde,
Wo worth chawnses ylle!

A marchaunte dwelled yn that cyté,
A ryche mon of golde and fee,
Jurdan was hys name.
Every day wolde he
Go to playe hym by the see,
The eyer for to tane.
He wente forth yn that tyde,
Walkynge by the see sythe,
Alle hymself alone.
A bote he fonde by the brymme,
And a fayr lady therynne,
That was ryght wo-by-gone.

The cloth on her shon so bryht,
He was aferde of that syght,
For glysteryng of that wede;
And yn hys herte he thowght ryght,
That she was non erdyly wyght,
He sawe nevur non such yn leede.
He sayde, ‘What hette ye, fayr ladye?’
‘Lord,’ she sayde, ‘Y hette Egarye,
That lye her yn drede.’
Up he toke that fayre ladye,
And the yonge chylde her by,
And hom he gan hem lede.