[The text is lightly glossed; see the glossary in the Riverside Chaucer for words not glossed here.]
| Messenger: 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 Herodes: 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 First Soldier: Herodes: 150 155 Second Soldier: Third Soldier: 160 Herodes: 165 170 175 180 First Soldier: Second Soldier: 185 Third Soldier: 190 First Soldier: Herodes: 195 200 205 First Counselor: 210 215 Second Counselor: 220 Herodes: 225 230 235 240 245 First Counselor: 250 Second Counselor: 255 260 Herodes: 265 270 Messenger: 275 280 First Soldier: Second Soldier: Third Soldier: Messenger: 285 First Soldier: Messenger: Second Soldier: 290 Third Soldier: Messenger: First Soldier: 295 Herodes: 300 305 310 315 Second Soldier: Third Soldier: First Soldier: 320 Herodes: 325 Second Soldier: Third Soldier: First Soldier: 330 First Woman: First Soldier: 335 First Woman: First Soldier: First Woman: 340 First Soldier: First Woman: 345 Second Soldier: 350 Second Woman: Second Soldier: Second Woman: Second Soldier: 355 Second Woman: 360 365 370 Third Soldier: Third Woman: Third Soldier: Third Woman: 375 380 Third Soldier: Third Woman: 385 Third Soldier: Third Woman: 390 First Soldier: 395 Second Soldier: 400 Third Soldier: 405 First Soldier: Second Soldier: 410 First Soldier: Third Soldier: 415 First Soldier: 420 Second Soldier: Third Soldier: 425 Herodes: 430 First Soldier: 435 Second Soldier: Third Soldier: 440 Herodes: 445 450 First Soldier: Second Soldier: Third Soldier: 455 Herodes: 460 465 470 475 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 |
Moste mighty Mahowne meng you with mirth! Both of burgh and of towne, by felles and by firth, Both king with crowne, and barons of birth, That radly will rowne, many great girth Shall be happ. Take tenderly intent What sondes are sent, Else harmes shall ye hent, And lothes you to lap. Herode, the hend, king by grace of Mahowne, Of Jewry, surmounting sternly with crowne, On life that are living in towre and in towne, Gracius you greting, commaundes you be bowne At his bidding; Luf him with lewte, Drede him, that doughty! He charges you be redy Lowly at his liking. What man upon mold, menes him agane, Tit teen shall be told, knight, squiere, or swain; Be he never so bold, byes he that bargan, Twelf thowsand fold, more than I sayn May ye trast; He is worthy wonderly, Selcouthly sory; For a boy that is borne her by Standes he abast. A king thay him call, and that we deny; How shuld it so fall, great mervell have I; Therfor over all shall I make a cry, That ye busk not to brall, nor like not to ly This tide; Carpes of no king Bot Herode, that lording, Or busk to youre beylding, Youre heedes for to hide. He is King of Kinges, kindly I knowe, Chefe lord of lordinges chefe leder of law, Ther wates on his winges, that bold bost will blow, Great dukes downe dinges for his great awe, And him lowtes. Tuskane and Turky, All Inde and Italy, Cecyll and Surry, Drede him and doutes. From Paradise to Padwa, to Mownt Flascon; From Egypt to Mantua, unto Kemp Towne; From Sarceny to Susa, to Grece it abowne; Both Normondy and Norway loutes to his crowne; His renowne Can no tong tell, From heven unto hell; Of him can none spell Bot his cosyn Mahowne. He is the worthyest of all barnes that are borne; Free men are his thrall, full teenfully torne; Begin he to brall, many men cach skorne; Obey must we all, or els be ye lorne At ones. Downe ding of youre knees, All that him sees, Displesed he bees, And byrken many bones. Here he commes now, I cry, that lord I of spake; Fast afore will I hy, radly on a rake, And welcom him worshipfully, laghing with lake, As he is most worthy, and knele for his sake So low; Downe dernly to fall, As renk most ryall: Hail, the worthyest of all! To thee must I bow! Hail, luf lord! lo, thy letters have I layde; I have done I couth do, and peasse have I prayd, Mekill more therto openly desplayd; Bot romoure is rased so, that boldly thay brade Amanges thame; Thay carp of a king, Thay seasse not sich chatering. Bot I shall tame thare talking, And let thame go hang thame: Stint, brodels, youre din, yee, everychon! I red that ye harken to I be gone, advise For if I begin, I breke ilka bone, And pull fro the skin the carcass anone, Yee, perde! Sesse all this wonder, And make us no blonder, For I rife you in sonder, Be ye so hardy. Peasse both yong and old, at my bidding, I red, For I have all in wold; in me standes life and dede; Who that is so bold, I brane him thrugh the hede; Speke not or I have told, what I will in this stede; Ye wote not All that I will meve; Stir not bot ye have leve, For if ye do, I clefe You small as flesh to pot. My mirthes are turned to teen, my mekenes into ire, And all for oone I ween, with-in I fare as fire. May I se him with eyn, I shall gif him his hire; Bot I do as I meen, I were a full lewde sire In wones; Had I that lad in hand, As I am king in land, I shuld with this steell brand Byrken all his bones. My name springes far and nere; the doughtyest, men me call, That ever ran with spere, a lord and king ryall; What joy is me to here, a lad to sesse my stall! If I this crowne may bere, that boy shall by for all. I anger; I wote not what devil me ailes, Thay teen me so with tales, That by Goddes dere nailes, I will peasse no langer. What devil! me think I brast, for anger and for teen; I trow these kinges be past, that here with me has been; Thay promesed me full fast or now here to be seen, For els I shuld have cast an othere sleght, I ween; I tell you, A boy thay said thay soght, With offering that thay broght; It meves my hart right noght To breke his nek in two. Bot be thay past me by, by Mahowne in heven, I shall, and that in hy, set all on sex and seven; Trow ye a king as I will suffre thaym to neven Any to have mastry, bot my self full even? Nay, leefe! The devil me hang and draw, If I that losell knaw, Bot I gif him a blaw, That life I shall him reve. For perils yit I wold wist if thay were gone; And ye therof her told, I pray you say anone, For and thay be so bold, by God that sittes in trone, The pain can not be told, that thay shall have ilkon, ffor ire; Sich paines hard never man tell, For ugly and for fell, That lucifere in hell Thare bones shall all to-tire. Lord, think not ill if I tell you how thay are past; I kepe not layn, truly, syn thay cam by you last, An othere way in hy thay soght, and that full fast. Why, and are thay past me by? Wee! Out! For teen I brast! Wee! Fy! Fy on the devil! where may I bide? Bot fight for teen and al to-chide! Thefes, I say ye shuld, have spide And told, when thay went by; Ye are knightes to trast! Nay, losels ye ar, and theves; I wote I yelde my gast, so sore my hart it greves. What nede you be abast? Ther are no great meschefes For these maters to gnast. Why put ye sich repreves Without cause? Thus shuld ye not thret us, Ungainly to bete us, Ye shuld not rehet us, Without othere sawes. Ffy, losels and liars! Lurdans ilkon! Traitoures and well wars! Knaves, bot knightes none! Had ye bene worth youre eres, thus had thay not gone; Get I those land lepars, I breke ilka bone; First vengeance Shall I se on thare bones; If ye bide in these wones I shall ding you with stones, Yee, diti zance doutance. I wote not where I may sit, for anger and for teen; We have not done all yit, if it be as I ween; Fy! devil! now how is it? As long as I have eyn I think not for to flit, bot king I will be seen For ever. Bot stand I to quart, I tell you my hart, I shall gar thaym start, Or els trust me never. Sir, thay went sodanly, or any man west, Els had met we, yee, perdy, and may ye trest. So bold, nor so hardy agans oure lest, Was none of that company durst mete me with fest For ferd. Ill durst thay abide, Bot ran thame to hide; Might I thaym have spide, I had made thaym a berd. What couth we more do to save youre honoure? We were redy therto, and shal be ilk howre. Now syn it is so, ye shall have favoure; Go where ye will, go by towne and by towre, Goes hens! I have maters to mell With my prevey counsell; Clerkes, ye bere the bell, Ye must me encense. Oone spake in mine eere a wonderfull talking, And saide a maiden shuld bere anothere to be king; Sirs, I pray you inquere in all writing, In Virgill, in Homere, And all other thing Bot legende; Sekes poece-tales; Lefe pestyls and grales; Mes, matins, noght avales, All these I defende; I pray you tell hendely now what ye finde. Truly, sir, prophecy, it is not blind; We rede thus by Isay, he shal be so kinde, That a maiden, sothely, which never sinde, Shall him bere: "Virgo concipiet, Natumque pariet;" "Emanuell" is hete, His name for to lere, "God is with us," that is forto say. And othere sayes thus, trest me ye may: "Of Bedlem a gracius lord shall spray, That of Jewry mightius king shal be ay, Lord mighty; And him shall honoure both king and emperoure." Why, and shuld I to him cowre? Nay, ther thou lyes lightly! Fy! the devil thee speede, and me, bot I drink ones! This has thou done in dede, to anger me for the nones: And thou, knave, thou thy mede shall have, by cokes dere bones! Thou can not half thy crede! Out, theves, fro my wones! Fy, knaves! Fy, dotty-pols, with youre bookes! Go kast thaym in the brookes! With sich wiles and crokes My wit away raves! Hard I never sich a trant, that a knave so sleght Shuld com like a sant and reve me my right; Nay, he shall on slant; I shall kill him downe stright; War! I say, let me pant; now think I to fight For anger; My guttes will out thring Bot I this lad hing; Without I have a venging, I may lif no langer. Shuld a carll in a kave, bot of oone yere age, Thus make me to rave? Sir, peasse this outrage! A-way let ye wave all such langage, Youre worship to save, is he oght bot a page Of a yere? We two shall him teen With oure wittes between, That, if ye do as I meen, He shall dy on a spere. For drede that he reign, do as we red; Thrughout Bedlem, and ilk othere stede, Make knightes ordein, and put unto dede All knave children of two yeres brede, And with-in; This child, may ye spill Thus at youre awne will. Now thou says here til A right nobill gin! If I live in land, good life, as I hope, This dar I thee warand to make thee Pope. guarantee O, my hart is resand now in a glope! For this nobill tithand thou shall have a drope Of my good grace; Markes, rentes, and poundes, Great castels and groundes; Thrugh all sees and sandes I gif thee the chace. Now will I procede, and take vengeance; All the flowre of knighthede call to legeance; Bewshere, I thee bid, it may thee avance. Lord, I shall me spede, and bring, perchaunce, To thy sight. Hark, knightes, I you bring Here new tything; Unto Herode king Hast with all youre might! In all the hast that ye may, in armoure full bright, In youre best aray looke that ye be dight. Why shuld we fray? This is not all right. Sirs, withouten delay I drede that we fight. I pray you, As fast as ye may, Com to him this day. What, in oure best aray? Yee, sirs, I say you. Somwhat is in hand, what ever it meen. Tarry not for to stand ther or we have been. King Herode, all weldand, well be ye seen! all ruling Youre knightes are comand in armoure full sheen, At youre will. Hail, doughtiest of all! We are comen at youre call For to do what we shall, Youre lust to fullfil. Welcom, lordinges, Jewes both great and small! The cause now is this that I send for you all: A lad, a knave, borne is that shuld be king ryall; Bot I kill him and his, I wote I brast my gall; Therfor, Sirs, Vengeance shall ye take, All for that lad sake, And men I shall you make Where ye com ay where, sirs. To Bedlem loke ye go, and all the coste aboute, All knave children ye slo, and, lordes, ye shal be stoute; Of yeres if they be two and within, of all that route On life lieve none of tho that lyges in swedyll clowte, I red you; Spare no kins bloode, Let all run on floode, If women wax woode; I warn you, sirs, to spede you; Hens! Now go youre way. That ye were thore. I wote we make a fray; bot I will go before. A, think, sirs; I say I mon whet like a bore. Set me before ay good enogh for a skore; Hail hendely! We shall for youre sake Make a dulfull lake. Now if ye me well wrake Ye shall find me freindly. Go ye now til oure note, and handell thaim weell. I shall pay thaym on the cote, begin I to reel. Hark, felowse, ye dote; yonder commes unseel; I hold here a grote she likes me not weell Be we parte; Dame, think it not ill, thy knave if I kill. What, thefe! Agans my will? Lord, kepe him in qwarte! Abide now, abide! No farther thou gose. Peasse, thefe! Shall I chide and make here a noise? I shall reve thee thy pride; kill we these boyse! Tid may betide; kepe well thy nose, Fals thefe! Have on loft on thy hode. What, hoore, art thou woode? Out, alas, my childes bloode! Out, for repreve! Alas, for shame and sin! Alas that I was borne! Of weping who may blin to see hir childe forlorne? My comforth and my kin, my son thus al to-torne! Vengeance for this syn I cry both even and morne. Well done! Com hedir, thou old stry! That lad of thine shall dy. Mercy, lord, I cry! It is min awne dere son. No mercy thou meve; it mendes thee not, Maud! Then thy skalp shall I cleve! Lest thou be clawd? Lefe, lefe, now by lefe! peasse, bid I, bawd! Fy, fy, for reprefe! Fy, full of fraude! No man! Have at thy tabard, Harlot and holard! Thou shall not be sparde! I cry and I ban! Out! morder! Man, I say, strong tratoure and thefe! Out! alas! and waloway! My child that was me lefe! My luf, my blood, my play, that never did man grefe! Alas, alas, this day! I wold, my hart shuld clefe In sonder! Vengeance I cry and call, On Herode and his knightes all! Vengeance, lord, upon thaym fall, And mekill worldes wonder! This is well wroght gere that ever may be; Comes hederward here! Ye nede not to fle! Will ye do any dere to my child, and me? He shall dy, I thee swere his hart blood shall thou see. God for-bede! Thefe! thou shedes my childes blood! Out, I cry! I go near wood! Alas! my hart is all on flood, To see my child thus blede! By God, thou shall aby this dede that thou has done. I red thee not stry by sun and by moon. Have at thee, say I! Take the ther a foin! Out on thee I cry have at thy groin An othere! This kepe I in store. Peasse now, no more! I cry and I rore, Out on thee, mans mordere! Alas! my babe, min Innocent, my fleshly get! For sorow That God me derly sent of bales who may me borow? Thy body is all to-rent; I cry both even and morow, Vengeance for thy blod, thus spent out! I cry, and horow! Go lightly! Get out of thise wones, Ye trattes, all at ones, Or by cokes dere bones I make you go wightly! Thay are flayd now, I wote, thay will not abide. Let us run fote hote; now wold I we hide, And tell of this lot, how we have betide. Thou can do thy note; that have I aspide; Go furth now, Tell thou Herode oure tail! For all oure avail, I tell you, saunce fail, He will us alow. I am best of you all and ever has bene; The devil have my soul bot I be first sene; It fittes me to call my lord, as I wene. What nedes thee to brall? Be not so kene In this anger; I shall say thou did best, Save meself, as I gest. Wee! That is most honest. Go; tary no langer! Hail Herode, oure king full glad may ye be! Good tithing we bring; harken now to me; We have made riding thrugh out Jure: Well wit ye one thing, that morderd have we Many thousandes. I held, thaym full hote, I paid them on the cote; Thare dammes, I wote, Never binde them in bandes. Had ye sene how I fard when I cam amang them! Ther was none that I spard bot lade on and dang them. I am worthy a rewarde where I was amanges them. I stud and I stard no pitee to hang them Had I. Now, by mighty Mahowne, That is good of renowne! If I bere this crowne Ye shall have a lady Ilkon to him laid, and wed at his will. So have ye lang saide do somwhat thertil! And I was never flayde for good ne for ill. Ye might hold you well paide oure lust to fulfil, Thus think me, With tresure untold, If it like that ye wold, Both silver and gold, To gif us great plentee. As I am king crownde I think it good right! Ther goes none on grounde that has sich a wight; A hundreth thousand pounde is good wage for a knight, Of pennes good and rounde now may ye go light With store; And ye knightes of oures Shall have castels and towres, Both to you and to youres, For now and ever more. Was never none borne by downes ne by dales, Nor yit us beforne that had sich avales. We have castels and corne mych gold in oure males. It will never be worne without any tales; Hail hendely! Hail lord! Hail king! We are furth founding! Now Mahowne he you bring Where he is lord freendly; Now in peasse may I stand I thank thee, Mahowne! And gif of my lande that longes to my crowne; Draw therfor nerehande both of burgh and of towne; Markes ilkon a thowsande when I am bowne, Shall ye have. I shal be full fayn To gif that I sayn! Wate when I com again, And then may ye crave. I set by no good, now my hart is at ease, That I shed so mekill blode pes all my ryches! For to see this flode from the fote to the nese Meves nothing my mode I lagh that I whese; A, Mahowne! So light is my soul, That all of sugar is my gall; I may do what I shall, And bere up my crowne. I was casten in care so frightly afraid, Bot I thar not despare for low is he layd That I most dred are so have I him flayd; And els wonder ware and so many strayd In the strete, That oone shuld be harmeles, and skape away hafles, Where so many childes Thare bales can not bete. A hundreth thowsand, I wat, and fourty are slayn, And four thowsand; ther-at me aght to be fain; Sich a morder on a flat shall never be again. Had I had bot oone bat at that lurdan So yong, It shuld have bene spoken How I had me wroken, Were I dede and rotten, With many a tong. Thus shall I tech knaves ensampyll to take, In thare wittes that raves sich mastre to make; All wantoness wafes no langage ye crak! No sufferan you saves youre nekkes shall I shak In sonder; No king ye on call Bot on Herode the ryall, Or els many oone shall Upon youre bodes wonder. For if I here it spoken when I com again, Youre branes bese broken therfor be ye bayn; Nothing bese unloken it shal be so plain; Begin I to reken I think all desdain For-daunche. Sirs, this is my counsell -- Bese not too cruell, Bot adew! -- to the devil! I can nomore Fraunch! |
Mahowne = a pagan deity make you merry woods. . . forest quickly; whisper; protection notice messages take hatreds courteous Mahowne = a pagan deity ready love. . . loyalty pleasure man on earth speaks against him quickly sorrow quickly harm buys (i.e., pays for) trust unusually sad abashed hasten. . . brawl at this time speak rush. . . dwelling by nature are at his bidding beats, strikes bows to him Sicily and Syria fear above bow speak boys painfully if he begins to fight kneel break hasten quickly on my way pleasure quietly royal beloved much boast speak wretches to = until each by God Cease trouble tear you apart in my power brain or = ere move, do sorrow wrath say, intend break sieze my place pay for all pain hold my peace or = ere moves haste name mastery believe (it) scamp take away know and=if throne each one heard fierce (one) tear in pieces care not to conceal in haste sorrow. . . argue thieves trust scamps know mischiefs be troubled rebuke more talk louts each one land-leapers dwelling places beat I speak truly (fractured French) flee in safety make them jump west = wist, knew it trust desire fist I.e., I'd have tricked them deal with except ecclesiastical texts poetic narratives leave aside Epistles and Graduals mass-books, service-books do not avail forbid Isaiah sinned called learn trust spring forth cock's (God's) dwelling places crazy-heads crooked tricks trick saint take away come to grief thrust hang vengeance cease (peace) Bethelhem death growth and under (two years) here-to device racing palpitation tiding choice Fair Sir tiding ready be afraid where previously coming shall = must burst company lie in swaddling cloths kind of run (I would that) you whet (tusks); boar doleful amusement avenge business unhappiness bet here a groat (when) we part safety take away whore . . . crazy cease lost torn apart hither. . . hag own Do you want to be Leave it, dear, by my life debauchee curse flagrant dear cleave great harm pay for stab offspring evils. . . redeem trots, old women cock's (God's) tale praise brawl supposed Jewry murdered beat stood assistance much. . . purses worn out, used up forth hastening ready know nose breathe need not ere, previously were, would be unhurt know ought to be happy field lout example mastery waive, put aside sovereign message brains are ready is to be revealed squeamishness overnice, too squeamish |
- Spelling lightly regularized and glossed, from the edition by George England and Alfred W. Pollard, EETS, e.s. 71. London, 1897 [Widener 11473.71]. A newer and better edition is ed. by Martin Stevens and A.C. Cawley, EETS 1994. Note that this new edition has lineation that differs from that in the old EETS edition and that in the version printed above. This form of lineation as been adopted in this text, but note the line numbers of the old EETS edition are used (since this text is based on that edition).