Must be the speech that men most need.
Seldom was by any chance
Praised the English tongue in France;
Do we the same to their language
Methinks we do them no outrage.
For unlearned Englishman I spell,
That understandeth what I tell,
And specially I those address
That all their lives in idleness
On trifles waste and beggars' lies,
To them I say: "Take care, be wise,
And well unto my words attend,
And all your way with might amend."
Ill have they who in spending spend,
And find no fruit thereof at end.

(From The Pricke of Conscience,1 c. 1340) [When man] was born to this world's light, He had not either strength or might, Either to walk or yet to stand, Nor to creep with foot and hand.

Then has the man less might than beast;
When he is born, he seems the least;
For a beast, when it is born, may go
And run soon after to and fro;
But a man has no might thereto,
When he is born, such things to do;
For then he may not stand nor creep,
But only sprawl and cry and weep.
For a child is scarcely born before
It has begun to cry and roar;
And by that cry men tell truly
Whether it man or woman be.
When it is born it cries such way:
For if it be man it says "a, a,"
So that the letter is the same

As the first in Father Adam's name.
And if the child a woman be,

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And there an endless home made sure;

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There too are all delights and ease,

And sure tranquility and peace;

There peaceful joy forever is,

And pleasure there and lasting bliss. ...

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There's melody and angel's song,

And love and praise from that bright throng: There is all friendship that may be;

And perfect love and charitie;

There is accord, and its due mede Is given aye to each good deed; There's lowly awe and reverence, And meekness and obedience; There are all virtues and no sin, All dainties and delights therein, All wisdom's there from folly free, And honour without villany..

...

There is brightness and beautie
In everything that men shall see;
There joys are free and general,
But the most sovereign joy of all
Is the blest sight of God's bright face,
Beyond all joys and all solace.

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Lawrence Dinot

c. 1300-1352

THE BATTLE OF HALIDON HILL1 Listen, Lordings, if you will

Hear of the battle of Halidon Hill.

True King that sitteth on thy throne, Unto thee I tell my tale,

And unto thee I bid a boon,

For thou art balm of all my bale.

As thou hast made the earth and moon,

And beasts and foulés great and smale,
Unto me send thy succour soon
Direct my deedės in this dale.

In this dale I droup2 and dare
For evil deeds that cost me dear,
For England had my heart great care,
When Edward went at first to were.3
The men of France were bold to fare
Against him with the shield and spere;
They turned again with sidės sair
And all their pomp not worth a pere.

A pear is more of price sometide"
Than all the boast of Normandie.
They sent their ships on ilka side
With flesh and wine and wheat and rye;
With heart and hand, 'tis not denied,
For to help Scotland gan they hie,
They fled and durst no deed abide
And all their boast not worth a flye.

For all their boast they durst not fight, For dint of death they had such dout," Of Scotland had they never sight Although they were of wordės stout. They would have magnified their might And troubled were they there about. Now God help Edward in his right,Amen-and all his ready rout.

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They said it should full dear be bought, The land whence they were driven out. Philip Valois wordes wrought,

And said he should their foeman stay; But all these words they went for naught, Words must be meet or weak are they.

More menaces they boasting cry,
In spite of might they have their meed;
And many a night awake they lie
To harm all England by their deed;
But low is now that pride so high
Of those that were so stout on steed;
And some of them all naked lie
Not far from Berwick upon Tweed.

A little from that selfsame town,
Halidon Hill that is the name,
There was cracked many a crown
Of the wild Scot and eke of tame.
Then was their banner borne all down,

To make such boasts they were to blame;
But nathėless aye are they boune9
To hurt England with sorrow and shame.

Shame they have as I here say;
At Dundee now is done their dance,
And wend they must another way
Even through Flanders into France.
On Philip Valois10 fast cry they,
There for to dwell and him advance.
And nothing list they now to play
Since them befell this sorry chance.

There dwelled our king, the sooth to sayn, With his meniè14 a little while;

And save them both by night and day;
That Lord of Heaven may Edward lead,
And him maintain as well He may.
The Scotchmen now all wide will sprede
For they have failed of their prey,
Now are they daunted all for drede

He gave good comfort on that plain To all his men about a mile.

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That were before so stout and gay.

Man in this world was never born,
Who, if he Orpheo sat beforn,
And once might of his harping hear,
But he should thinkė that he were
In one of the joys of Paradis,
Such music in his harping is.
Orpheo lived in Crasséns,
A city noble in defence,

He hath a queen full fair of pris,3
That called is Dame Erodys,

The fairest woman for the nonės "

That might be made of flesh and bonės, Full of all love and of goodness,

No man may tell of her fairness.

It befel in time of May,

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When is merry and pleasing the summer's day,
Away have gone the winter's showers,
And every field is full of flowers,
Of blossoms springing on the bough,
O'er all the land 'tis merry enow,—
That this same Queen, Dame Erodys,
Took with her maidens two of pris,
And walked in the undertide
To play within her orchard-side,
To see the flowers spread and spring,
And see and hear the sweet birds sing.
Then down they seated them all three,
Fairly beneath an ympė tree,"

And full soon that fairest queen,
Fell fast asleep upon the green,
The maidens durst not her awake,
But round her they 'gan merry make,
And let her sleep till afternoon
When the undertide was gone;
And as soon as she gan wake

She cried, and loathsome 'gan her make,
Her hands and eke her feet she tore,
And scratched her till she bled full sore;
Her clothing rich she all to-rent,
All wild out of her wittės went.
The maidens two that sat beside,
They durst no longer there abide,
But straightway sought the castle hall
And told both knights and squires all,
How that their Queen away would go.
The knights went also, and ladies too,
And demoiselles fifty and many mo,7
To fetch her as they fain would do.
Into the orchard ran they out
And took her in their armès stout,
And brought her to her bed at last
And therein held her down full fast;
But still she cried in angry mood,
And rent herself as she were wode.8
When heard the King this dread tiding,
He was never so woe for any thing.
The King came with his knightės keen '
Into the chamber to his Queen,
And for her had he great pitíe.
"Sweet heart," he said, "how may this be,
That thou who ever wert so still,
Shouldst now cry out so loud and shrill?
Thy body that was white beforn,
Now with thy nails is rent and torn.

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Where thou comest thou shalt with me,
Whither thou goest I will with thee."
"Sir," said she, "it may not be thus,
I'll tell thee how it is with us.
As I lay this undertide
Asleep upon the orchard-side,

Two gallant knights came to me there,

Arrayed in richest garments fair,

The King gan to his chamber go,

He fell adown upon the stone,

And made great dole and mickle moan,

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Well nigh he had himself yschent14

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He saw there was no ámendement.

And bade me come without letting, To speak unto their lord the king.

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Right boldly then I answered there

He sent for earl and for baróun,
And other lords of great renown,
And, when they all together were,
"Lordės," he said, "assembled here,
I set mine steward of mine hall
To keep my landės over all.
Now my Queen is left forlorn,
The best ladie that e'er was born;
No more will I woman see,
In wilderness now will I be,
And there abide in woodlands hoar
And in the wilds forevermore.
Then when ye know I have left all,
Ye straight a parliament shall call,
And ye shall chose you a new King,
And do your best in everything."
Great sorrow then was in the hall,
Weeping and crying 'mongst them all,
And there might neither old nor young
For weeping speak a word with tongue.
They kneeled all a-down i-fere, 15
And begged him if his will it were,
That he would never from them
"Away!" he said, "I will not so.'
Then all his kindred he forsook
And unto him a sclaveyn 16 took,
He would have no other hood;
Hose, nor shoe, nor other good;

go,

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And after, back he brought me home,

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Back into our own orchard,

He journeyed barefoot through the gate.

And said to me this afterward:

No man there must with him go,

'Look tomorrow that thou be

Alas! there weeping was and woe.

Here beneath this ympė tree;

He that was King and bare the crown,

And if thou makest any let,

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Where'er thou be thou shalt be fet,12

Went out so poorly from the town, Into the wild he takes his road,

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And to tear thy limbės all,

Shall help thee naught whate'er befall, And although thou be all torn

Both through the heath and through the wood. Nothing he hath to give him ease,

13 Alas!

14 Disgraced.

18 Hair-shirt.

Now must dig and grub full sair,

Ere of roots he gets his fare.

In summer on the haws he lives,

That midst her leaves the hawthorne gives;
In winter, by the root and rind,
For other thing he may not find.
He was all shrunken, shriveled, pale,
With beating rain, and cutting hail;
No man could tell the travail sore
He had endured ten years or more.
He that had castles, halls and towers,
Forests, rivers, fields, and flowers,
Nothing that likes him18 now had he,
But savage beasts that from him flee.
His matted beard has shaggy grown,
Below his girdle has it gone.

He taketh harp and maketh glee,

And lies all night beneath a tree.

When bright and clear there dawns the day,
He takes his harp and makes no stay,
Amidst the wood he sits him down

And tunes his harp with a merry soun,
And harps all after his own will;
Through all the wood it ringeth shrill.
The savage beasts that there are found,
For joy about him gather round,

He saw her plain and she him eke, Yet ne'er a word did either speak. For him she did so poor espy

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That sometime was so rich and high,
The tears ran down her face, I wis,
And looking on her so did his,
And then away they made her ride,
For there no longer she might bide.
"Alas!" he said, "and woe is me!
Why will not death come suddenly!
Wretch that I am! O, that I might
Die now, when I have seen this sight!
Alas! too long lasteth my life,
Since I may speak not with my wife,
Nor she with me a word may speak!
Alas! why will my heart not break!
Parfay!" he said, "whate'er betide,
I will see where those ladies ride,
And in that way I too will go-
I care not for my life a sloe."

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And all the little birds that were,

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For joy they come about him there

His sclavyne put he on his back

To listen to that harping fine,

And took his harp right as he spak,

So mickle joy there was therein.

And swiftly after them is gone,

His harping when he laid aside,

Over stock and over stone.

Nor bird, nor beast would then abide,

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In at the rock the ladies ride,

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But all together they are flown,

He went straight after, he would not bide.

And leave him there to sit alone.

When he was into the rock y-go20

Often saw he him beside,

Full three mile and some deal mo,21

In the heat of summer-tide,

He came unto a fair countráy,

The Fairy King with all his rout,

Come a-hunting all about.

With shout and merry din they go And noise of hound and horn alsó; And yet forsooth, no beast they slay,

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Nor knows he where they take their way. 280 And other whiles he may espye,

A mighty hunt go passing by,

Full two hundred knights of pride

It was as bright as any day.

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Neither hill nor dale was seen,

All was lawn full fair and green,
Midst it a castle met his eye,
Noble and rich, and wondrous high,
Over all the topmost wall

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Shone as doth the clear crystál,

And the towers that were there

Were gaily set with pearles fair;

Armed through the forest ride.

The farthest, rising from the ditch,

Somewhile he saw other thing,

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Was all of gold and silver rich;

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Knights and ladies come riding

The front, that stood amidst them brade, 22

With raiment bright and courtly grace,

Was all of divers metals made;

Moving all with easy pace;

Within, a wondrous dwelling wide,

Tabors and pipes with them there be,

With gold and gems all glorified,

And every kind of minstrelsy

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The pillars fair thereon, were dight

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And ladies too there come riding,

With precious stones and sapphires bright. So fair the palace shone by night

Jolie they were in everything,
Gentle and gay they were I wis,
Nor no man there among them is.
Hawk on hand did each one bear,
And hawking went by the rivére,
Of game they found the favorite haunt,
Pheasant, hern, and cormorant.
17 Discomfort.

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18 Pleases him.

19 Pretty.

That all the town was full of light,

Those richė stones so fairly shone

They were as bright as any sun,

No man might tell, nor think in thought, The riches that therein were wrought. The ladies at the castle light,

20 Gone.

21 More.

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22 Broad.