[Illustration: _The Battle of Poitiersfrom the painting by H. Dupray(See page 52)_]

THE HARVARD CLASSICS

EDITED BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, LLD

CHRONICLE AND ROMANCE

FROISSART--MALORY--HOLINSHED

WITH INTRODUCTIONS, NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS

"DR ELIOT'S FIVE FOOT SHELF OF BOOKS"

1910

BY P. F. COLLIER & SONNEW YORK

CONTENTS

THE CHRONICLES OF FROISSART, TRANSLATED BY LORD BERNERS EDITED BY G. C. MACAULAY

The Campaign of CrecyThe Battle of PoitiersWat Tyler's RebellionThe Battle of Otterburn

THE HOLY GRAIL BY SIR THOMAS MALORY FROM THE CAXTON EDITION OF THE MORTE D'ARTHUR

A DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLANDWRITTEN BY WILLIAM HARRISON FOR HOLINSHED'S CHRONICLES

CHAPTER

 I. Of Degrees of People II. Of Cities and Towns III. Of Gardens and Orchards IV. Of Fairs and Markets V. Of the Church of England VI. Of Food and Diet VII. Of Apparel and Attire VIII. Of Building and Furniture IX. Of Provision for the Poor X. Of Air, Soil, and Commodities XI. Of Minerals and Metals XII. Of Cattle Kept for Profit XIII. Of Wild and Tame Fowls XIV. Of Savage Beasts and Vermin XV. Of Our English Dogs XVI. Of the Navy of England XVII. Of Kinds of PunishmentXVIII. Of Universities

THE CHRONICLES OF FROISSART

BY

JEAN FROISSART

HISTORICAL NARRATIVE OF MANY OF THE BATTLES OF THE HUNDRED YEAR'SWAR BETWEEN ENGLAND AND FRANCE. 

_INTRODUCTORY NOTE_

Jean Froissart, _the most representative of the chroniclers of thelater Middle Ages, was born at Valenciennes in 1337. The Chroniclewhich, more than his poetry, has kept his fame alive, was undertakenwhen he was only twenty; the first book was written in its earliestform by 1369; and he kept revising and enlarging the work to the endof his life. In 1361 he went to England, entered the Church, andattached himself to Queen Philippa of Hainault, the wife of EdwardIII, who made him her secretary and clerk of her chapel. Much of hislife was spent in travel. He went to France with the Black Prince, andto Italy with the Duke of Clarence. He saw fighting on the Scottishborder, visited Holland, Savoy, and Provence, returning at intervalsto Paris and London. He was Vicar of Estinnes-au-Mont, Canon ofChimay, and chaplain to the Comte de Blois; but the Church to him wasrather a source of revenue than a religious calling. He finallysettled down in his native town, where he died about 1410. 

Froissart's wandering life points to one of the most prominent of hischaracteristics as a historian. Uncritical and often inconsistentas he is, his mistakes are not due to partisanship, for he isextraordinarily cosmopolitan. The Germans he dislikes as unchivalrous;but though his life lay in the period of the Hundred Years' Warbetween England and France, and though he describes many of the eventsof that war, he is as friendly to England as to France. 

By birth Froissart belonged to the bourgeoisie, but his tastes andassociations made him an aristocrat. Glimpses of the sufferings whichthe lower classes underwent in the wars of his time appear in hispages, but they are given incidentally and without sympathy. Hisinterests are all in the somewhat degenerate chivalry of his age, inthe splendor of courts, the pomp and circumstance of war, in tourneys, and in pageantry. Full of the love of adventure, he would travelacross half of Europe to see a gallant feat of arms, a coronation, aroyal marriage. Strength and courage and loyalty were the virtues heloved; cowardice and petty greed he hated. Cruelty and injustice couldnot dim for him the brilliance of the careers of those brigand lordswho were his friends and patrons. 

The material for the earlier part of his Chronicles he took largelyfrom his predecessor and model, Jean Lebel; the later books are filledwith narratives of what he saw with his own eyes, or gathered from thelips of men who had themselves been part of what they told. This fact, along with his mastery of a style which is always vivacious ifsometimes diffuse, accounts for the vividness and picturesqueness ofhis work. The pageant of medieval life in court and camp dazzled anddelighted him, and it is as a pageant that we see the Middle Ages inhis book. 

Froissart holds a distinguished place among the poets as well as thehistorians of his century. He wrote chiefly in the allegorical stylethen in vogue; and his poems, though cast in a mold no longer infashion, are fresh and full of color, and were found worthy ofimitation by Geoffrey Chaucer. 

But it is as the supreme chronicler of the later age of chivalry thathe lives. "God has been gracious enough" he writes, "to permit me tovisit the courts and palaces of kings, . . . And all the nobles, kings, dukes, counts, barons, and knights, belonging to all nations, havebeen kind to me, have listened to me, willingly received me, andproved very useful to me. . . . Wherever I went I enquired of old knightsand squires who had shared in deeds of arms, and could speak withauthority concerning them, and also spoke with heralds in order toverify and corroborate all that was told me. In this way I gatherednoble facts for my history, and as long as I live, I shall, by thegrace of God, continue to do this, for the more I labour at this themore pleasure I have, and I trust that the gentle knight who lovesarms will be nourished on such noble fare, and accomplish still more. "_

THE CAMPAIGN OF CRECY

HOW THE KING OF ENGLAND CAME OVER THE SEA AGAIN, TO RESCUE THEM INAIGUILLON

The king of England, who had heard how his men were sore constrainedin the castle of Aiguillon, then he thought to go over the sea intoGascoyne with a great army. There he made his provision and sent formen all about his realm and in other places, where he thought to speedfor his money. In the same season the lord Godfrey of Harcourt cameinto England, who was banished out of France: he was well receivedwith the king and retained to be about him, and had fair landsassigned him in England to maintain his degree. Then the king caused agreat navy of ships to be ready in the haven of Hampton, and causedall manner of men of war to draw thither. About the feast of SaintJohn Baptist the year of our Lord God MCCCXLVI. , the king departedfrom the queen and left her in the guiding of the earl of Kent hiscousin; and he stablished the lord Percy and the lord Nevill to bewardens of his realm with (the archbishop of Canterbury, ) thearchbishop of York, the bishop of Lincoln and the bishop of Durham;for he never voided his realm but that he left ever enough at home tokeep and defend the realm, if need were. Then the king rode to Hamptonand there tarried for wind: then he entered into his ship and theprince of Wales with him, and the lord Godfrey of Harcourt, and allother lords, earls, barons and knights, with all their companies. Theywere in number a four thousand men of arms and ten thousand archers, beside Irishmen and Welshmen that followed the host afoot. 

Now I shall name you certain of the lords that went over with kingEdward in that journey. First, Edward his eldest son, prince of Wales, who as then was of the age of thirteen years or thereabout, [1] theearls of Hereford, Northampton, Arundel, Cornwall, Warwick, Huntingdon, Suffolk, and Oxford; and of barons the lord Mortimer, whowas after earl of March, the lords John, Louis and Roger of Beauchamp, and the lord Raynold Cobham; of lords the lord of Mowbray, Ros, Lucy, Felton, Bradestan, Multon, Delaware, Manne, [2] Basset, Berkeley, andWilloughby, with divers other lords; and of bachelors there was JohnChandos, Fitz-Warin, Peter and James Audley, Roger of Wetenhale, Bartholomew of Burghersh, and Richard of Pembridge, with divers otherthat I cannot name. Few there were of strangers: there was the earlHainault, [3] sir Wulfart of Ghistelles, and five or six other knightsof Almaine, and many other that I cannot name. 

 [1] He was in fact sixteen; born 15th June 1330. 

 [2] Probably 'Mohun'. 

 [3] The usual confusion between 'comté' and 'comte. ' It means, 'of the county of Hainault there was sir Wulfart of Ghistelles, ' etc. 

Thus they sailed forth that day in the name of God. They were wellonward on their way toward Gascoyne, but on the third day there rose acontrary wind and drave them on the marches of Cornwall, and therethey lay at anchor six days. In that space the king had other counselby the means of sir Godfrey Harcourt: he counselled the king not to gointo Gascoyne, but rather to set aland in Normandy, and said to theking: 'Sir, the country of Normandy is one of the plenteous countriesof the world: sir, on jeopardy of my head, if ye will land there, there is none that shall resist you; the people of Normandy have notbeen used to the war, and all the knights and squires of the countryare now at the siege before Aiguillon with the duke. And, sir, thereye shall find great towns that be not walled, whereby your men shallhave such winning, that they shall be the better thereby twenty yearafter; and, sir, ye may follow with your army till ye come to Caen inNormandy: sir, I require you to believe me in this voyage, '

The king, who was as then but in the flower of his youth, desiringnothing so much as to have deeds of arms, inclined greatly to thesaying of the lord Harcourt, whom he called cousin. Then he commandedthe mariners to set their course to Normandy, and he took into hisship the token of the admiral the earl of Warwick, and said now hewould be admiral for that viage, and so sailed on before as governourof that navy, and they had wind at will. Then the king arrived in theisle of Cotentin, at a port called Hogue Saint-Vaast. [4]

 [4] Saint-Vaast-de la Hogue. 

Tidings anon spread abroad how the Englishmen were aland: the towns ofCotentin sent word thereof to Paris to king Philip. He had well heardbefore how the king of England was on the sea with a great army, buthe wist not what way he would draw, other into Normandy, Bretayne orGascoyne. As soon as he knew that the king of England was aland inNormandy, he sent his constable the earl of Guines, and the earl ofTancarville, who were but newly come to him from his son from thesiege at Alguillon, to the town of Caen, commanding them to keep thattown against the Englishmen. They said they would do their best: theydeparted from Paris with a good number of men of war, and daily therecame more to them by the way, and so came to the town of Caen, wherethey were received with great joy of men of the town and of thecountry thereabout, that were drawn thither for surety. These lordstook heed for the provision of the town, the which as then was notwalled. The king thus was arrived at the port Hogue Saint-Vaast nearto Saint-Saviour the Viscount[5] the right heritage to the lordGodfrey of Harcourt, who as then was there with the king of England. 

 [5] Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte. 

HOW THE KING OF ENGLAND RODE IN THREE BATTLES THROUGH NORMANDY

When the king of England arrived in the Hogue Saint-Vaast, the kingissued out of his ship, and the first foot that he set on the ground, he fell so rudely, that the blood brast out of his nose. The knightsthat were about him took him up and said: 'Sir, for God's sake enteragain into your ship, and come not aland this day, for this is but anevil sign for us. ' Then the king answered quickly and said:'Wherefore? This is a good token for me, for the land desireth to haveme. ' Of the which answer all his men were right joyful. So that dayand night the king lodged on the sands, and in the meantime dischargedthe ships of their horses and other baggages: there the king made twomarshals of his host, the one the lord Godfrey of Harcourt and theother the earl of Warwick, and the earl of Arundel constable. And heordained that the earl of Huntingdon should keep the fleet of shipswith a hundred men of arms and four hundred archers: and also heordained three battles, one to go on his right hand, closing to thesea-side, and the other on his left hand, and the king himself in themidst, and every night to lodge all in one field. 

Thus they set forth as they were ordained, and they that went by thesea took all the ships that they found in their ways: and so long theywent forth, what by sea and what by land, that they came to a goodport and to a good town called Barfleur, the which incontinent waswon, for they within gave up for fear of death. Howbeit, for all that, the town was robbed, and much gold and silver there found, and richjewels: there was found so much riches, that the boys and villains ofthe host set nothing by good furred gowns: they made all the men ofthe town to issue out and to go into the ships, because they would notsuffer them to be behind them for fear of rebelling again. After thetown of Barfleur was thus taken and robbed without brenning, then theyspread abroad in the country and did what they list, for there was notto resist them. At last they came to a great and a rich town calledCherbourg: the town they won and robbed it, and brent part thereof, but into the castle they could not come, it was so strong and wellfurnished with men of war. Then they passed forth and came toMontebourg, and took it and robbed and brent it clean. In this mannerthey brent many other towns in that country and won so much riches, that it was marvel to reckon it. Then they came to a great town wellclosed called Carentan, where there was also a strong castle and manysoldiers within to keep it. Then the lords came out of their ships andfiercely made assault: the burgesses of the town were in great fear oftheir lives, wives and children: they suffered the Englishmen to enterinto the town against the will of all the soldiers that were there;they put all their goods to the Englishmen's pleasures, they thoughtthat most advantage. When the soldiers within saw that, they went intothe castle: the Englishmen went into the town, and two days togetherthey made sore assaults, so that when they within saw no succour, theyyielded up, their lives and goods saved, and so departed. TheEnglishmen had their pleasure of that good town and castle, and whenthey saw they might not maintain to keep it, they set fire therein andbrent it, and made the burgesses of the town to enter into theirships, as they had done with them of Barfleur, Cherbourg andMontebourg, and of other towns that they had won on the sea-side. Allthis was done by the battle that went by the sea-side, and by them onthe sea together. [1]

 [1] Froissart is mistaken in supposing that a division of the land army went to these towns. Barfleur and Cherbourg were visited only by the fleet. According to Michael of Northburgh, who accompanied the expedition, Edward disembarked 12th July and remained at Saint Vaast till the 18th, and meanwhile the fleet went to Barfleur and Cherbourg. The army arrived at Caen on the 26th. 

Now let us speak of the king's battle. When he had sent his firstbattle along by the sea-side, as ye have heard, whereof one of hismarshals, the earl of Warwick, was captain, and the lord Cobham withhim, then he made his other marshal to lead his host on his left hand, for he knew the issues and entries of Normandy better than any otherdid there. The lord Godfrey as marshal rode forth with five hundredmen of arms, and rode off from the king's battle as six or sevenleagues, in brenning and exiling the country, the which was plentifulof everything--the granges full of corn, the houses full of allriches, rich burgesses, carts and chariots, horse, swine, muttons andother beasts: they took what them list and brought into the king'shost; but the soldiers made no count to the king nor to none of hisofficers of the gold and silver that they did get; they kept that tothemselves. Thus sir Godfrey of Harcourt rode every day off from theking's host, and for most part every night resorted to the king'sfield. The king took his way to Saint-Lo in Cotentin, but or he camethere he lodged by a river, abiding for his men that rode along by thesea-side; and when they were come, they set forth their carriage, andthe earl of Warwick, the earl of Suffolk, sir Thomas Holland and sirRaynold Cobham, and their company rode out on the one side and wastedand exiled the country, as the lord Harcourt had done; and the kingever rode between these battles, and every night they lodged together. 

OF THE GREAT ASSEMBLY THAT THE FRENCH KING MADE TO RESIST THE KING OFENGLAND

Thus by the Englishmen was brent, exiled, robbed, wasted and pilledthe good, plentiful country of Normandy. Then the French king sent forthe lord John of Hainault, who came to him with a great number: alsothe king sent for other men of arms, dukes, earls, barons, knights andsquires, and assembled together the greatest number of people that hadbeen seen in France a hundred year before. He sent for men into so farcountries, that it was long or they came together, wherefore the kingof England did what him list in the mean season. The French king heardwell what he did, and sware and said how they should siever returnagain unfought withal, and that such hurts and damages as they haddone should be dearly revenged; wherefore he had sent letters to hisfriends in the Empire, to such as were farthest off, and also to thegentle king of Bohemia and to the lord Charles his son, who fromthenceforth was called king of Almaine; he was made king by the aid ofhis father and the French king, and had taken on him the arms of theEmpire: the French king desired them to come to him with all theirpowers, to the intent to fight with the king o£ England, who brent andwasted his country. These princes and lords made them ready with greatnumber of men o£ arms, of Almains, Bohemians and Luxemburgers, and socame to the French king. Also king Philip sent to the duke ofLorraine, who came to serve him with three hundred spears: also therecame the earl (of) Salm in Saumois, the earl of Sarrebruck, the earlof Flanders, the earl William of Namur, every man with a fair company. 

Ye have heard herebefore of the order of the Englishmen, how they wentin three battles, the marshals on the right hand and on the left, theking and the prince of Wales his son in the midst They rode but smalljourneys and every day took their lodgings between noon and three ofthe clock, and found the country so fruitful, that they needed not tomake no provision for their host, but all only for wine; and yet theyfound reasonably sufficient thereof. [1] It was no marvel though theyof the country were afraid, for before that time they had never seenmen of war, nor they wist not what war or battle meant. They fled awayas far as they might hear speaking of the Englishmen, [2] and lefttheir houses well stuffed, and granges full of corn, they wist not howto save and keep it. The king of England and the prince had in theirbattle a three thousand men of arms and six thousand archers and a tenthousand men afoot, beside them that rode with the marshals. 

 [1] Or rather, 'thus they found reasonably sufficient provisions. '

 [2] That is, they fled as soon as they heard their coming spoken of. 

Thus as ye have heard, the king rode forth, wasting and brenning thecountry without breaking of his order. He left the city ofCoutances[3] and went to a great town called Saint-Lo, a rich town ofdrapery and many rich burgesses. In that town there were dwelling aneight or nine score burgesses, crafty men. When the king came there, he took his lodging without, for he would never lodge in the town forfear of fire: but he sent his men before and anon the town was takenand clean robbed. It was hard to think the great riches that there waswon, in clothes specially; cloth would there have been sold goodcheap, if there had been any buyers. 

 [3] That is, he did not turn aside to go to it. Froissart says, 'He did not turn aside to the city of Coutances, but went on toward the great town of Saint-Lo in Cotentin, which at that time was very rich and of great merchandise and three times as great as the city of Coutances. ' Michael of Northburgh says that Barfleur was about equal in importance to Sandwich and Carentan to Leicester, Saint-Lo greater than Lincoln, and Caen greater than any city in England except London. 

Then the king went toward Caen, the which was a greater town and fullof drapery and other merchandise, and rich burgesses, noble ladies anddamosels, and fair churches, and specially two great and rich abbeys, one of the Trinity, another of Saint Stephen; and on the one side ofthe town one of the fairest castles of all Normandy, and captaintherein was Robert of Wargny, with three hundred Genoways, and in thetown was the earl of Eu and of Guines, constable of France, and theearl of Tancarville, with a good number of men of war. The king ofEngland rode that day in good order and lodged all his battlestogether that night, a two leagues from Caen, in a town with a littlehaven called Austrehem, and thither came also all his navy of shipswith the earl of Huntingdon, who was governour of them. 

The constable and other lords of France that night watched well thetown of Caen, and in the morning armed them with all them of the town:then the constable ordained that none should issue out, but keep theirdefences on the walls, gate, bridge and river, and left the suburbsvoid, because they were not closed; for they thought they should haveenough to do to defend the town, because it was not closed but withthe river. They of the town said how they would issue out, for theywere strong enough to fight with the king of England. When theconstable saw their good wills, he said: 'In the name of God be it, yeshall not fight without me, ' Then they issued out in good order andmade good face to fight and to defend them and to put their lives inadventure. 

OF THE BATTLE OF CAEN, AND HOW THE ENGLISHMEN TOOK THE TOWN

The same day the Englishmen rose early and apparelled them ready to goto Caen. [1] The king heard mass before the sun-rising and then tookhis horse, and the prince his son, with sir Godfrey of Harcourtmarshal and leader of the host, whose counsel the king much followed. Then they drew toward Caen with their battles in good array, and soapproached the good town of Caen. When they of the town, who wereready in the field, saw these three battles coming in good order, withtheir banners and standards waving in the wind, and the archers, thewhich they had not been accustomed to see, they were sore afraid andfled away toward the town without any order or good array, for allthat the constable could do: then the Englishmen pursued them eagerly. When the constable and the earl Tancarville saw that, they took a gateat the entry and saved themselves[2] and certain with them, for theEnglishmen were entered into the town. Some of the knights and squiresof France, such as knew the way to the castle, went thither, and thecaptain there received them all, for the castle was large. TheEnglishmen in the chase slew many, for they took none to mercy. 

 [1] This was 26th July. Edward arrived at Poissy on 12th August. Philip of Valois left Paris on the 14th, the English crossed the Seine at Poissy on the 16th, and the Somme at Blanche-taque on the 24th. 

 [2] 'Set themselves for safety in a gate at the entry of the bridge. '

Then the constable and the earl of Tancarville, being in the littletower at the bridge foot, looked along the street and saw their menslain without mercy: they doubted to fall in their hands. At last theysaw an English knight with one eye called sir Thomas Holland, and afive or six other knights with him: they knew them, for they had seenthem before in Pruce, in Granade, and in other viages. Then theycalled to sir Thomas and said how they would yield themselvesprisoners. Then sir Thomas came thither with his company and mountedup into the gate, and there found the said lords with twenty-fiveknights with them, who yielded them to sir Thomas, and he took themfor his prisoners and left company to keep them, and then mountedagain on his horse and rode into the streets, and saved many lives ofladies, damosels, and cloisterers from defoiling, for the soldierswere without mercy. It fell so well the same season for theEnglishmen, that the river, which was able to bear ships, at that timewas so low, that men went in and out beside the bridge. They of thetown were entered into their houses, and cast down into the streetstones, timber and iron, and slew and hurt more than five hundredEnglishmen, wherewith the king was sore displeased. At night when heheard thereof, he commanded that the next day all should be put to thesword and the town brent; but then sir Godfrey of Harcourt said: 'Dearsir, for God's sake assuage somewhat your courage, and let it sufficeyou that ye have done. Ye have yet a great voyage to do or ye comebefore Calais, whither ye purpose to go; and, sir, in this town thereis much people who will defend their houses, and it will cost many ofyour men their lives, or ye have all at your will; wherebyperadventure ye shall not keep your purpose to Calais, the whichshould redound to your rack. Sir, save your people, for ye shall haveneed of them or this month pass; for I think verily your adversaryking Philip will meet with you to fight, and ye shall find manystraight passages and rencounters; wherefore your men, an ye had more, shall stand you in good stead: and, sir, without any further slayingye shall be lord of this town; men and women will put all that theyhave to your pleasure. ' Then the king said: 'Sir Godfrey, you are ourmarshal, ordain everything as ye will. ' Then sir Godfrey with hisbanner rode from street to street, and commanded in the king's namenone to be so hardy to put fire in any house, to slay any person, norto violate any woman. When they of the town heard that cry, theyreceived the Englishmen into their houses and made them good cheer, and some opened their coffers and bade them take what them list, sothey might be assured of their lives; howbeit there were done in thetown many evil deeds, murders and robberies. Thus the Englishmen werelords of the town three days and won great riches, the which they sentby barks and barges to Saint-Saviour by the river of Austrehem, [3] atwo leagues thence, whereas all their navy lay. Then the king sent theearl of Huntingdon with two hundred men of arms and four hundredarchers, with his navy and prisoners and riches that they had got, back again into England. And the king bought of sir Thomas Holland theconstable of France and the earl of Tancarville, and paid for themtwenty thousand nobles. 

 [3] Froissart says that they sent their booty in barges and boats 'on the river as far as Austrehem, a two leagues from thence, where their great navy lay. ' He makes no mention of Saint-Sauveur here. The river in question is the Orne, at the mouth of which Austrehem is situated. 

HOW SIR GODFREY OF HARCOURT FOUGHT WITH THEM OF AMIENS BEFORE PARIS

Thus the king of England ordered his business, being in the town ofCaen, and sent into England his navy of ships charged with clothes, jewels, vessels of gold and silver, and of other riches, and ofprisoners more than sixty knights and three hundred burgesses. Then hedeparted from the town of Caen and rode in the same order as he didbefore, brenning and exiling the country, and took the way to Evreuxand so passed by it; and from thence they rode to a great town calledLouviers: it was the chief town of all Normandy of drapery, riches, and full of merchandise. The Englishmen soon entered therein, for asthen it was not closed; it was overrun, spoiled and robbed withoutmercy: there was won great riches. Then they entered into the countryof Evreux and brent and pilled all the country except the good townsclosed and castles, to the which the king made none assault, becauseof the sparing of his people and his artillery. 

On the river of Seine near to Rouen there was the earl of Harcourt, brother to sir Godfrey of Harcourt, but he was on the French party, and the earl of Dreux with him, with a good number of men of war: butthe Englishmen left Rouen and went to Gisors, where was a strongcastle: they brent the town and then they brent Vernon and all thecountry about Rouen and Pont-de-l'Arche and came to Mantes and toMeulan, and wasted all the country about, and passed by the strongcastle of Rolleboise; and in every place along the river of Seine theyfound the bridges broken. At last they came to Poissy, and found thebridge broken, but the arches and joists lay in the river: the kinglay there a five days: in the mean season the bridge was made, to passthe host without peril. The English marshals ran abroad just to Paris, and brent Saint-Germain in Laye and Montjoie, and Saint-Cloud, andpetty Boulogne by Paris, and the Queen's Bourg:[1] they of Paris werenot well assured of themselves, for it was not as then closed. 

 [1] Bourg-la-Reine. 

Then king Philip removed to Saint-Denis, and or he went caused all thepentices in Paris to be pulled down; and at Saint-Denis were readycome the king of Bohemia, the lord John of Hainault, the duke ofLorraine, the earl of Flanders, the earl of Blois, and many othergreat lords and knights, ready to serve the French king. When thepeople of Paris saw their king depart, they came to him and kneeleddown and said: 'Ah, sir and noble king, what will ye do? leave thusthis noble city of Paris?' The king said: 'My good people, doubt yenot: the Englishmen will approach you no nearer than they be. ' 'Whyso, sir?' quoth they; 'they be within these two leagues, and as soonas they know of your departing, they will come and assail us; and wenot able to defend them: sir, tarry here still and help to defend yourgood city of Paris. ' 'Speak no more, ' quoth the king, 'for I will goto Saint-Denis to my men of war: for I will encounter the Englishmenand fight against them, whatsoever fall thereof. '

The king of England was at Poissy, and lay in the nunnery there, andkept there the feast of our Lady in August and sat in his robes ofscarlet furred with ermines; and after that feast he went forth inorder as they were before. The lord Godfrey of Harcourt rode out onthe one side with five hundred men of arms and thirteen[2] hundredarchers; and by adventure he encountered a great number of burgessesof Amiens a-horseback, who were riding by the king's commandment toParis. They were quickly assailed and they defended themselvesvaliantly, for they were a great number and well armed: there werefour knights of Amiens their captains. This skirmish dured long: atthe first meeting many were overthrown on both parts; but finally theburgesses were taken and nigh all slain, and the Englishmen took alltheir carriages and harness. They were well stuffed, for they weregoing to the French king well appointed, because they had not seen hima great season before. There were slain in the field a twelve hundred. 

 [2] A better reading is 'twelve. '

Then the king of England entered into the country of Beauvoisis, brenning and exiling the plain country, and lodged at a fair abbey anda rich called Saint-Messien[3] near to Beauvais: there the kingtarried a night and in the morning departed. And when he was on hisway he looked behind him and saw the abbey a-fire: he causedincontinent twenty of them to be hanged that set the fire there, forhe had commanded before on pain of death none to violate any churchnor to bren any abbey. Then the king passed by the city of Beauvaiswithout any assault giving, for because he would not trouble hispeople nor waste his artillery. And so that day he took his lodgingbetime in a little town called Milly. The two marshals came so near toBeauvais, that they made assault and skirmish at the barriers in threeplaces, the which assault endured a long space; but the town withinwas so well defended by the means of the bishop, who was there within, that finally the Englishmen departed, and brent clean hard to thegates all the suburbs, and then at night they came into the king'sfield. 

 [3] Commonly called Saint-Lucien, but Saint Maximianus (Messien) is also associated with the place. 

The next day the king departed, brenning and wasting all before him, and at night lodged in a good village called Grandvilliers. The nextday the king passed by Dargies: there was none to defend the castle, wherefore it was soon taken and brent. Then they went forth destroyingthe country all about, and so came to the castle of Poix, where therewas a good town and two castles. There was nobody in them but two fairdamosels, daughters to the lord of Poix; they were soon taken, and hadbeen violated, an two English knights had not been, sir John Chandosand sir Basset; they defended them and brought them to the king, whofor his honour made them good cheer and demanded of them whither theywould fainest go. They said, 'To Corbie, ' and the king caused them tobe brought thither without peril. That night the king lodged in thetown of Poix. They of the town and of the castles spake that nightwith the marshals of the host, to save them and their town frombrenning, and they to pay a certain sum of florins the next day assoon as the host was departed. This was granted them, and in themorning the king departed with all his host except a certain that wereleft there to receive the money that they of the town had promised topay. When they of the town saw the host depart and but a few leftbehind, then they said they would pay never a penny, and so ran outand set on the Englishmen, who defended themselves as well as theymight and sent after the host for succour. When sir Raynold Cobham andsir Thomas Holland, who had the rule of the rearguard, heard thereof, they returned and cried, 'Treason, treason!' and so came again toPoix-ward and found their companions still fighting with them of thetown. Then anon they of the town were nigh all slain, and the townbrent, and the two castles beaten down. Then they returned to theking's host, who was as then at Airaines and there lodged, and hadcommanded all manner of men on pain of death to do no hurt to no townof Arsyn, [4] for there the king was minded to lie a day or two to takeadvice how he might pass the river of Somme; for it was necessary forhim to pass the river, as ye shall hear after. 

 [4] A mistranslation. The original is '(Il avoit) deffendu sus le hart que nuls ne fourfesist rien à le ville d'arsin ne d'autre cose, ' 'he had commanded all on pain of hanging to do no hurt to the town by burning or otherwise. ' The translator has taken 'arsin' for a proper name. 

HOW THE FRENCH KING FOLLOWED THE KING OF ENGLAND IN BEAUVOISINOIS

Now let us speak of King Philip, who was at Sant-Denis and his peopleabout him, and daily increased. Then on a day he departed and rode solong that he came to Coppegueule, a three leagues from Amiens, andthere he tarried. The king of England being at Airaines wist not wherefor to pass the river of Somme, the which was large and deep, and allbridges were broken and the passages well kept. Then at the king'scommandment his two marshals with a thousand men of arms and twothousand archers went along the river to find some passage, and passedby Longpré, and came to the bridge of Remy, [1] the which was well keptwith a great number of knights and squires and men of the country. TheEnglishmen alighted afoot and assailed the Frenchmen from the morningtill it was noon; but the bridge was so well fortified and defended, that the Englishmen departed without winning of anything. Then theywent to a great town called Fountains on the river of Somme, the whichwas clean robbed and brent, for it was not closed. Then they went toanother town called Long-en-Ponthieu; they could not win the bridge, it was so well kept and defended. Then they departed and went toPicquigny, and found the town, the bridge, and the castle so wellfortified, that it was not likely to pass there: the French king hadso well defended the passages, to the intent that the king of Englandshould not pass the river of Somme, to fight with him at his advantageor else to famish him there. 

 [1] Pont-à-Remy, corrupted here into 'bridge of Athyne. '

When these two marshals had assayed in all places to find passage andcould find none, they returned again to the king, and shewed how theycould find no passage in no place. The same night the French king cameto Amiens with more than a hundred thousand men. The king of Englandwas right pensive, and the next morning heard mass before thesun-rising and then dislodged; and every man followed the marshals'banners and so rode in the country of Vimeu approaching to the goodtown of Abbeville, and found a town thereby, whereunto was come muchpeople of the country in trust of a little defence that was there; butthe Englishmen anon won it; and all they that were within slain, andmany taken of the town and of the country. The king took his lodgingin a great hospital[2] that was there. The same day the French kingdeparted from Amiens and came to Airaines about noon; and theEnglishmen were departed thence in the morning. The Frenchmen foundthere great provision that the Englishmen had left behind them, because they departed in haste. There they found flesh ready on thebroaches, bread and pasties in the ovens, wine in tuns and barrels, and the tables ready laid. There the French king lodged and tarriedfor his lords. 

 [2] That is, a house of the knights of Saint John. 

That night the king of England was lodged at Olsemont. At night whenthe two marshals were returned, who had that day overrun the countryto the gates of Abbeville and to Saint-Valery and made a greatskirmish there, then the king assembled together his council and madeto be brought before him certain prisoners of the country of Ponthieuand of Vimeu. The king right courteously demanded of them, if therewere any among them that knew any passage beneath Abbeville, that heand his host might pass over the river of Somme: if he would shew himthereof, he should be quit of his ransom, and twenty of his companyfor his love. There was a varlet called Gobin Agace who stepped forthand said to the king: 'Sir, I promise you on the jeopardy of my head Ishall bring you to such a place, whereas ye and all your host shallpass the river of Somme without peril. There be certain places in thepassage that ye shall pass twelve men afront two times between day andnight: ye shall not go in the water to the knees. But when the floodcometh, the river then waxeth so great, that no man can pass; but whenthe flood is gone, the which is two times between day and night, thenthe river is so low, that it may be passed without danger botha-horseback and afoot. The passage is hard in the bottom with whitestones, so that all your carriage may go surely; therefore the passageis called Blanche-taque. An ye make ready to depart betimes, ye may bethere by the sun-rising. ' The king said: 'If this be true that ye say, I quit thee thy ransom and all thy company, and moreover shall givethee a hundred nobles. ' Then the king commanded every man to be readyat the sound of the trumpet to depart. 

OF THE BATTLE OF BLANCHE-TAQUE BETWEEN THE KING OF ENGLAND AND SIRGODEMAR DU FAY

The king of England slept not much that night, for at midnight hearose and sowned his trumpet: then incontinent they made readycarriages and all things, and at the breaking of the day they departedfrom the town of Oisemont and rode after the guiding of Gobin Agace, so that they came by the sun-rising to Blanche-taque; but as then theflood was up, so that they might not pass: so the king tarried theretill it was prime; then the ebb came. 

The French king had his currours in the country, who brought him wordof the demeanour of the Englishmen. Then he thought to close the kingof England between Abbeville and the river of Somme, and so to fightwith him at his pleasure. And when he was at Amiens he had ordained agreat baron of Normandy, called sir Godemar du Fay, to go and keep thepassage of Blanche-taque, where the Englishmen must pass or else innone other place. He had with him a thousand men of arms and sixthousand afoot, with the Genoways: so they went by Saint-Riquier inPonthieu and from thence to Crotoy, whereas the passage lay; and alsohe had with him a great number of men of the country, and also a greatnumber of them of Montreuil, so that they were a twelve thousand menone and other. 

When the English host was come thither, sir Godemar du Fay arrangedall his company to defend the passage. The king of England let not forall that; but when the flood was gone, he commanded his marshals toenter into the water in the name of God and Saint George. Then theythat were hardy and courageous entered on both parties, and many a manreversed. There were some of the Frenchmen of Artois and Picardy thatwere as glad to joust in the water as on the dry land. 

The Frenchmen defended so well the passage at the issuing out of thewater, that they had much to do. The Genoways did them great troublewith their cross-bows: on the other side the archers of England shotso wholly together, that the Frenchmen were fain to give place to theEnglishmen. There was a sore battle, and many a noble feat of armsdone on both sides. Finally the Englishmen passed over and assembledtogether in the field. The king and the prince passed, and all thelords; then the Frenchmen kept none array, but departed, he that mightbest. When sir Godemar saw that discomfiture, he fled and savedhimself: some fled to Abbeville and some to Saint-Riquiers. They thatwere there afoot could not flee, so that there were slain a greatnumber of them of Abbeville, Montreuil, Rue and of Saint-Riquiers: thechase endured more than a great league. And as yet all the Englishmenwere not passed the river, and certain currours of the king of Bohemiaand of sir John of Hainault came on them that were behind and tookcertain horses and carriages and slew divers, or they could take thepassage. 

The French king the same morning was departed from Airaines, trustingto have found the Englishmen between him and the river of Somme: butwhen he heard how that sir Godemar du Fay and his company werediscomfited, he tarried in the field and demanded of his marshals whatwas best to do. They said, 'Sir, ye cannot pass the river but at thebridge of Abbeville, for the flood is come in at Blanche-taque': thenhe returned and lodged at Abbeville. 

The king of England when he was past the river, he thanked God and sorode forth in like manner as he did before. Then he called Gobin Agaceand did quit him his ransom and all his company, and gave him ahundred nobles and a good horse. And so the king rode forth fair andeasily, and thought to have lodged in a great town called Noyelles;but when he knew that the town pertained to the countess d'Aumale, sister to the lord Robert of Artois, [1] the king assured the town andcountry as much as pertained to her, and so went forth; and hismarshals rode to Crotoy on the sea-side and brent the town, and foundin the haven many ships and barks charged with wines of Poitou, pertaining to the merchants of Saintonge and of Rochelle: they broughtthe best thereof to the king's host. Then one of the marshals rode tothe gates of Abbeville and from thence to Saint-Riquiers, and after tothe town of Rue-Saint-Esprit. This was on a Friday, and both battlesof the marshals returned to the king's host about noon and so lodgedall together near to Cressy in Ponthieu. 

 [1] She was in fact his daughter. 

The king of England was well informed how the French king followedafter him to fight. Then he said to his company: 'Let us take heresome plot of ground, for we will go no farther till we have seen ourenemies. I have good cause here to abide them, for I am on the rightheritage of the queen my mother, the which land was given at hermarriage: I will challenge it of mine adversary Philip of Valois. ' Andbecause that he had not the eighth part in number of men as the Frenchking had, therefore he commanded his marshals to chose a plot ofground somewhat for his advantage: and so they did, and thither theking and his host went. Then he sent his currours to Abbeville, to seeif the French king drew that day into the field or not. They wentforth and returned again, and said how they could see none appearanceof his coming: then every man took their lodging for that day, and tobe ready in the morning at the sound of the trumpet in the same place. This Friday the French king tarried still in Abbeville abiding for hiscompany, and sent his two marshals to ride out to see the dealing ofthe Englishmen, and at night they returned, and said how theEnglishmen were lodged in the fields. That night the French king madea supper to all the chief lords that were there with him, and aftersupper the king desired them to be friends each to other. The kinglooked for the earl of Savoy, who should come to him with a thousandspears, for he had received wages for a three months of them at Troyesin Champagne. 

OF THE ORDER OF THE ENGLISHMEN AT CRESSY, HOW THEY MADE THREE BATTLESAFOOT

On the Friday, as I said before, the king of England lay in thefields, for the country was plentiful of wines and other victual, andif need had been, they had provision following in carts and othercarriages. That night the king made a supper to all his chief lords ofhis host and made them good cheer; and when they were all departed totake their rest, then the king entered into his oratory and kneeleddown before the altar, praying God devoutly, that if he fought thenext day, that he might achieve the journey to his honour: then aboutmidnight he laid him down to rest, and in the morning he rose betimesand heard mass, and the prince his son with him, and the most part ofhis company were confessed and houselled; and after the mass said, hecommanded every man to be armed and to draw to the field to the sameplace before appointed. Then the king caused a park to be made by thewood side behind his host, and there was set all carts and carriages, and within the park were all their horses, for every man was afoot;and into this park there was but one entry. Then he ordained threebattles: in the first was the young prince of Wales, with him the earlof Warwick and Oxford, the lord Godfrey of Harcourt, sir RaynoldCobham, sir Thomas Holland, the lord Stafford, the lord of Mohun, thelord Delaware, sir John Chandos, sir Bartholomew de Burghersh, sirRobert Nevill, the lord Thomas Clifford, the lord Bourchier, the lordde Latimer, and divers other knights and squires that I cannot name:they were an eight hundred men of arms and two thousand archers, and athousand of other with the Welshmen: every lord drew to the fieldappointed under his own banner and pennon. In the second battle wasthe earl of Northampton, the earl of Arundel, the lord Ros, the lordLucy, the lord Willoughby, the lord Basset, the lord of Saint-Aubin, sir Louis Tufton, the lord of Multon, the lord Lascelles and diversother, about an eight hundred men of arms and twelve hundred archers. The third battle had the king: he had seven hundred men of arms andtwo thousand archers. Then the king leapt on a hobby, [1] with a whiterod in his hand, one of his marshals on the one hand and the other onthe other hand: he rode from rank to rank desiring every man to takeheed that day to his right and honour. He spake it so sweetly and withso good countenance and merry cheer, that all such as were discomfitedtook courage in the seeing and hearing of him. And when he had thusvisited all his battles, it was then nine of the day: then he causedevery man to eat and drink a little, and so they did at their leisure. And afterward they ordered again their battles: then every man laydown on the earth and by him his salet and bow, to be the more fresherwhen their enemies should come. 

 [1] 'Un petit palefroi. '

THE ORDER OF THE FRENCHMEN AT CRESSY, AND HOW THEY BEHELD THEDEMEANOUR OF THE ENGLISHMEN

This Saturday the French king rose betimes and heard mass in Abbevillein his lodging in the abbey of Saint Peter, and he departed after thesun-rising. When he was out of the town two leagues, approachingtoward his enemies, some of his lords said to him: 'Sir, it were goodthat ye ordered your battles, and let all your footmen pass somewhaton before, that they be not troubled with the horsemen. ' Then the kingsent four knights, the Moine (of) Bazeilles, the lord of Noyers, thelord of Beaujeu and the lord d'Aubigny to ride to aview the Englishhost; and so they rode so near that they might well see part of theirdealing. The Englishmen saw them well and knew well how they were comethither to aview them: they let them alone and made no countenancetoward them, and let them return as they came. And when the Frenchking saw these four knights return again, he tarried till they came tohim and said: 'Sirs, what tidings?' These four knights each of themlooked on other, for there was none would speak before his companion;finally the king said to (the) Moine, who pertained to the king ofBohemia and had done in his days so much, that he was reputed for oneof the valiantest knights of the world: 'Sir, speak you, ' Then hesaid: 'Sir, I shall speak, sith it pleaseth you, under the correctionof my fellows. Sir, we have ridden and seen the behaving of yourenemies: know ye for truth they are rested in three battles abidingfor you. Sir, I will counsel you as for my part, saving yourdispleasure, that you and all your company rest here and lodge forthis night: for or they that be behind of your company be come hither, and or your battles be set in good order, it will be very late, andyour people be weary and out of array, and ye shall find your enemiesfresh and ready to receive you. Early in the morning ye may order yourbattles at more leisure and advise your enemies at more deliberation, and to regard well what way ye will assail them; for, sir, surely theywill abide you. '

Then the king commanded that it should be so done. Then his twomarshals one rode before, another behind, saying to every banner:'Tarry and abide here in the name of God and Saint Denis. ' They thatwere foremost tarried, but they that were behind would not tarry, butrode forth, and said how they would in no wise abide till they were asfar forward as the foremost: and when they before saw them come onbehind, then they rode forward again, so that the king nor hismarshals could not rule them. So they rode without order or goodarray, till they came in sight of their enemies: and as soon as theforemost saw them, they reculed then aback without good array, whereofthey behind had marvel and were abashed, and thought that the foremostcompany had been fighting. Then they might have had leisure and roomto have gone forward, if they had list: some went forth and some abodestill. The commons, of whom all the ways between Abbeville and Cressywere full, when they saw that they were near to their enemies, theytook their swords and cried: 'Down with them! let us slay them all. 'There is no man, though he were present at the journey, that couldimagine or shew the truth of the evil order that was among the Frenchparty, and yet they were a marvellous great number. That I write inthis book I learned it specially of the Englishmen, who well beheldtheir dealing; and also certain knights of sir John of Hainault's, whowas always about king Philip, shewed me as they knew. 

OF THE BATTLE OF CRESSY BETWEEN THE KING OF ENGLAND AND THE FRENCHKING

The Englishmen, who were in three battles lying on the ground to restthem, as soon as they saw the Frenchmen approach, they rose upon theirfeet fair and easily without any haste and arranged their battles. Thefirst, which was the prince's battle, the archers there stood inmanner of a herse and the men of arms in the bottom of the battle. Theearl of Northampton and the earl of Arundel with the second battlewere on a wing in good order, ready to comfort the prince's battle, ifneed were. 

The lords and knights of France came not to the assembly together ingood order, for some came before and some came after in such haste andevil order, that one of them did trouble another. When the French kingsaw the Englishmen, his blood changed, and said to his marshals: 'Makethe Genoways go on before and begin the battle in the name of God andSaint Denis. ' There were of the Genoways cross-bows about a fifteenthousand, [1] but they were so weary of going afoot that day a sixleagues armed with their cross-bows, that they said to theirconstables: 'We be not well ordered to fight this day, for we be notin the case to do any great deed of arms: we have more need of rest. 'These words came to the earl of Alengon, who said: 'A man is well atease to be charged with such a sort of rascals, to be faint and failnow at most need. ' Also the same season there fell a great rain and aclipse[2] with a terrible thunder, and before the rain there cameflying over both battles a great number of crows for fear of thetempest coming. Then anon the air began to wax clear, and the sun toshine fair and bright, the which was right in the Frenchmen's eyen andon the Englishmen's backs. When the Genoways were assembled togetherand began to approach, they made a great leap[3] and cry to abash theEnglishmen, but they stood still and stirred not for all that: thenthe Genoways again the second time made another leap and a fell cry, and stept forward a little, and the Englishmen removed not one foot:thirdly, again they leapt and cried, and went forth till they camewithin shot; then they shot fiercely with their cross-bows. Then theEnglish archers stept forth one pace and let fly their arrows sowholly (together) and so thick, that it seemed snow. When the Genowaysfelt the arrows piercing through heads, arms and breasts, many of themcast down their cross-bows and did cut their strings and returneddiscomfited. When the French king saw them fly away, he said: 'Slaythese rascals, for they shall let and trouble us without reason. ' Thenye should have seen the men of arms dash in among them and killed agreat number of them: and ever still the Englishmen shot whereas theysaw thickest press; the sharp arrows ran into the men of arms and intotheir horses, and many fell, horse and men, among the Genoways, andwhen they were down, they could not relieve[4] again, the press was sothick that one overthrew another. And also among the Englishmen therewere certain rascals that went afoot with great knives, and they wentin among the men of arms, and slew and murdered many as they lay onthe ground, both earls, barons, knights and squires, whereof the kingof England was after displeased, for he had rather they had been takenprisoners. 

 [1] Villani, a very good authority on the subject, says 6000, brought from the ships at Harfleur. 

 [2] A mistranslation of 'une esclistre, ' 'a flash of lightning. '

 [3] These 'leaps' of the Genoese are invented by the translator, and have passed from him into several respectable English text-books, sometimes in company with the eclipse above mentioned. Froissart says 'Il commencièrent à juper moult epouvantablement'; that is, 'to utter cries. ' Another text makes mention of the English cannons at this point: 'The English remained still and let off some cannons that they had, to frighten the Genoese. '

 [4] The translator's word 'relieve' (relyuue) represents 'relever, ' for 'se relever. '

The valiant king of Bohemia called Charles of Luxembourg, son to thenoble emperor Henry of Luxembourg, for all that he was nigh blind, when he understood the order of the battle, he said to them about him:'Where is the lord Charles my son?' His men said: 'Sir, we cannottell; we think he be fighting. ' Then he said: 'Sirs, ye are my men, mycompanions and friends in this journey: I require you bring me so farforward, that I may strike one stroke with my sword. ' They said theywould do his commandment, and to the intent that they should not losehim in the press, they tied all their reins of their bridles each toother and set the king before to accomplish his desire, and so theywent on their enemies. The lord Charles of Bohemia his son, who wrotehimself king of Almaine and bare the arms, he came in good order tothe battle; but when he saw that the matter went awry on their party, he departed, I cannot tell you which way. The king his father was sofar forward that he strake a stroke with his sword, yea and more thanfour, and fought valiantly and so did his company; and they adventuredthemselves so forward, that they were there all slain, and the nextday they were found in the place about the king, and all their horsestied each to other. 

The earl of Alençon came to the battle right ordinately and foughtwith the Englishmen, and the earl of Flanders also on his part. Thesetwo lords with their companies coasted the English archers and came tothe prince's battle, and there fought valiantly long. The French kingwould fain have come thither, when he saw their banners, but there wasa great hedge of archers before him. The same day the French king hadgiven a great black courser to sir John of Hainault, and he made thelord Tierry of Senzeille to ride on him and to bear his banner. Thesame horse took the bridle in the teeth and brought him through allthe currours of the Englishmen, and as he would have returned again, he fell in a great dike and was sore hurt, and had been there dead, anhis page had not been, who followed him through all the battles andsaw where his master lay in the dike, and had none other let but forhis horse, for the Englishmen would not issue out of their battle fortaking of any prisoner. Then the page alighted and relieved hismaster: then he went not back again the same way that they came, therewas too many in his way. 

This battle between Broye and Cressy this Saturday was right cruel andfell, and many a feat of arms done that came not to my knowledge. Inthe night[5] divers knights and squires lost their masters, andsometime came on the Englishmen, who received them in such wise thatthey were ever nigh slain; for there was none taken to mercy nor toransom, for so the Englishmen were determined. 

 [5] 'Sus le nuit, ' 'towards nightfall. '

In the morning[6] the day of the battle certain Frenchmen and Almainsperforce opened the archers of the prince's battle and came and foughtwith the men of arms hand to hand. Then the second battle of theEnglishmen came to succour the prince's battle, the which was time, for they had as then much ado; and they with the prince sent amessenger to the king, who was on a little windmill hill. Then theknight said to the king: 'Sir, the earl of Warwick and the earl ofOxford, sir Raynold Cobham and other, such as be about the prince yourson, are fiercely fought withal and are sore handled; wherefore theydesire you that you and your battle will come and aid them; for if theFrenchmen increase, as they doubt they will, your son and they shallhave much ado. ' Then the king said: 'Is my son dead or hurt or on theearth felled?' 'No, sir, ' quoth the knight, 'but he is hardly matched;wherefore he hath need of your aid. ' 'Well, ' said the king, 'return tohim and to them that sent you hither, and say to them that they sendno more to me for any adventure that falleth, as long as my son isalive: and also say to them that they suffer him this day to win hisspurs;[7] for if God be pleased, I will this journey be his and thehonour thereof, and to them that be about him. ' Then the knightreturned again to them and shewed the king's words, the which greatlyencouraged them, and repoined[8] in that they had sent to the king asthey did. 

 [6] The text has suffered by omissions. What Froissart says is that if the battle had begun in the morning, it might have gone better for the French, and then he instances the exploits of those who broke through the archers. The battle did not begin till four o'clock in the afternoon. 

 [7] 'Que il laissent à l'enfant gaegnier ses esperons. '

 [8] i. E. 'they repoined': Fr. 'se reprisent. '

Sir Godfrey of Harcourt would gladly that the earl of Harcourt hisbrother might have been saved; for he heard say by them that saw hisbanner how that he was there in the field on the French party: but sirGodfrey could not come to him betimes, for he was slain or he couldcome at him, and so was also the earl of Aumale his nephew. In anotherplace the earl of Alençon and the earl of Flanders fought valiantly, every lord under his own banner; but finally they could not resistagainst the puissance of the Englishmen, and so there they were alsoslain, and divers other knights and squires. Also the earl Louis ofBlois, nephew to the French king, and the duke of Lorraine foughtunder their banners, but at last they were closed in among a companyof Englishmen and Welshmen, and there were slain for all theirprowess. Also there was slain the earl of Auxerre, the earl ofSaint-Pol and many other. 

In the evening the French king, who had left about him no more than athree-score persons, one and other, whereof sir John of Hainault wasone, who had remounted once the king, for his horse was slain with anarrow, then he said to the king: 'Sir, depart hence, for it is time;lose not yourself wilfully: if ye have loss at this time, ye shallrecover it again another season. ' And so he took the king's horse bythe bridle and led him away in a manner perforce. Then the king rodetill he came to the castle of Broye. The gate was closed, because itwas by that time dark: then the king called the captain, who came tothe walls and said: 'Who is that calleth there this time of night?'Then the king said: 'Open your gate quickly, for this is the fortuneof France. '[9] The captain knew then it was the king, and opened thegate and let down the bridge. Then the king entered, and he had withhim but five barons, sir John of Hainault, sir Charles of Montmorency, the lord of Beaujeu, the lord d'Aubigny and the lord of Montsault. Theking would not tarry there, but drank and departed thence aboutmidnight, and so rode by such guides as knew the country till he camein the morning to Amiens, and there he rested. 

 [9] 'C'est la fortune de France': but the better MSS. Have 'c'est li infortunés rois de France. '

This Saturday the Englishmen never departed from their battles forchasing of any man, but kept still their field, and ever defendedthemselves against all such as came to assail them. This battle endedabout evensong time. 

HOW THE NEXT DAY AFTER THE BATTLE THE ENGLISHMEN DISCOMFITED DIVERSFRENCHMEN

On this Saturday, when the night was come and that the Englishmenheard no more noise of the Frenchmen, then they reputed themselves tohave the victory, and the Frenchmen to be discomfited, slain and fledaway. Then they made great fires and lighted up torches and candles, because it was very dark. Then the king avaled down from the littlehill whereas he stood; and of all that day till then his helm camenever on his head. Then he went with all his battle to his son theprince and embraced him in his arms and kissed him, and said: 'Fairson, God give you good perseverance; ye are my good son, thus ye haveacquitted you nobly: ye are worthy to keep a realm. ' The princeinclined himself to the earth, honouring the king his father. 

This night they thanked God for their good adventure and made no boastthereof, for the king would that no man should be proud or make boast, but every man humbly to thank God. On the Sunday in the morning therewas such a mist, that a man might not see the breadth of an acre ofland from him. Then there departed from the host by the commandment ofthe king and marshals five hundred spears and two thousand archers, tosee if they might see any Frenchmen gathered again together in anyplace. The same morning out of Abbeville and Saint-Riquiers inPonthieu the commons of Rouen and of Beauvais issued out of theirtowns, not knowing of the discomfiture of the day before. They metwith the Englishmen weening they had been Frenchmen, and when theEnglishmen saw them, they set on them freshly, and there was a sorebattle; but at last the Frenchmen fled and kept none array. There wereslain in the ways and in hedges and bushes more than seven thousand, and if the day had been clear there had never a one escaped. Anonafter, another company of Frenchmen were met by the Englishmen, thearchbishop of Rouen and the great prior of France, who also knewnothing of the discomfiture the day before, for they heard that theFrench king should have fought the same Sunday, and they were goingthitherward. When they met with the Englishmen, there was a greatbattle, for they were a great number, but they could not endureagainst the Englishmen; for they were nigh all slain, few escaped; thetwo lords were slain. This morning the Englishmen met with diversFrenchmen that had lost their way on the Saturday and had lain allnight in the fields, and wist not where the king was nor the captains. They were all slain, as many as were met with; and it was shewed methat of the commons and men afoot of the cities and good towns ofFrance there was slain four times as many as were slain the Saturdayin the great battle. 

HOW THE NEXT DAY AFTER THE BATTLE OF CRESSY THEY THAT WERE DEAD WERENUMBERED BY THE ENGLISHMEN

The same Sunday, as the king of England came from mass, such as hadbeen sent forth returned and shewed the king what they had seen anddone, and said: 'Sir, we think surely there is now no more appearanceof any of our enemies. ' Then the king sent to search how many wereslain and what they were. Sir Raynold Cobham and Sir Richard Staffordwith three heralds went to search the field and country: they visitedall them that were slain and rode all day in the fields, and returnedagain to the host as the king was going to supper. They made justreport of that they had seen, and said how there were eleven greatprinces dead, fourscore banners, twelve hundred knights, and more thanthirty thousand other. [1] The Englishmen kept still their field allthat night: on the Monday in the morning the king prepared to depart:the king caused the dead bodies of the great lords to be taken up andconveyed to Montreuil, and there buried in holy ground, and made a cryin the country to grant truce for three days, to the intent that theyof the country might search the field of Cressy to bury the deadbodies. 

 [1] Another text makes the loss of persons below the rank of knight 15, 000 or 16, 000, including the men of the towns. Both estimates must be greatly exaggerated. Michael of Northburgh says that 1542 were killed in the battle and about 2000 on the next day. The great princes killed were the king of Bohemia, the duke of Lorraine, the earls of Alençon, Flanders, Blois, Auxerre, Harcourt, Saint-Pol, Aumale, the grand prior of France and the archbishop of Rouen. 

Then the king went forth and came before the town ofMontreuil-by-the-sea, and his marshals ran toward Hesdin and BrentWaben and Serain, but they did nothing to the castle, it was so strongand so well kept. They lodged that night on the river of Hesdintowards Blangy. The next day they rode toward Boulogne and came to thetown of Wissant: there the king and the prince lodged, and tarriedthere a day to refresh his men, and on the Wednesday the king camebefore the strong town of Calais. 

THE BATTLE OF POITIERS

OF THE GREAT HOST THAT THE FRENCH KING BROUGHT TO THE BATTLE OFPOITIERS

After the taking of the castle of Romorantin and of them that weretherein, the prince then and his company rode as they did before, destroying the country, approaching to Anjou and to Touraine. TheFrench king, who was at Chartres, departed and came to Blois and theretarried two days, and then to Amboise and the next day to Loches: andthen he heard how that the prince was at Touraine[1] and how that hewas returning by Poitou: ever the Englishmen were coasted by certainexpert knights of France, who alway made report to the king what theEnglishmen did. Then the king came to the Haye in Touraine and his menhad passed the river of Loire, some at the bridge of Orleans and someat Meung, at Saumur, at Blois, and at Tours and whereas they might:they were in number a twenty thousand men of arms beside other; therewere a twenty-six dukes and earls and more than sixscore banners, andthe four sons of the king, who were but young, the duke Charles ofNormandy, the lord Louis, that was from thenceforth duke of Anjou, andthe lord John duke of Berry, and the lord Philip, who was after dukeof Burgoyne. The same season, pope Innocent the sixth sent the lordBertrand, cardinal of Perigord, and the lord Nicholas, cardinal ofUrgel, into France, to treat for a peace between the French king andall his enemies, first between him and the king of Navarre, who was inprison: and these cardinals oftentimes spake to the king for hisdeliverance during the siege at Bretuel, but they could do nothing inthat behalf. Then the cardinal of Perigord went to Tours, and there heheard how the French king hasted sore to find the Englishmen: then herode to Poitiers, for he heard how both the hosts drew thitherward. 

 [1] 'En Touraine. '

The French king heard how the prince hasted greatly to return, and theking feared that he should scape him and so departed from Haye inTouraine, and all his company, and rode to Chauvigny, where he tarriedthat Thursday in the town and without along by the river of Creuse, and the next day the king passed the river at the bridge there, weening that the Englishmen had been before him, but they were not. Howbeit they pursued after and passed the bridge that day more thanthreescore thousand horses, and divers other passed at Chatelleraut, and ever as they passed they took the way to Poitiers. 

On the other side the prince wist not truly where the Frenchmen were;but they supposed that they were not far off, for they could not findno more forage, whereby they had great fault in their host of victual, and some of them repented that they had destroyed so much as they haddone before when they were in Berry, Anjou and Touraine, and in thatthey had made no better provision. The same Friday three great lordsof France, the lord of Craon, the lord Raoul of Coucy and the earl ofJoigny, tarried all day in the town of Chauvigny, and part of theircompanies. The Saturday they passed the bridge and followed the king, who was then a three leagues before, and took the way among busheswithout a wood side to go to Poitiers. 

The same Saturday the prince and his company dislodged from a littlevillage thereby, and sent before him certain currours to see if theymight find any adventure and to hear where the Frenchmen were. Theywere in number a threescore men of arms well horsed, and with them wasthe lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt and the lord John of Ghistelles, andby adventure the Englishmen and Frenchmen met together by the foresaidwood side. The Frenchmen knew anon how they were their enemies; thenin haste they did on their helmets and displayed their banners andcame a great pace towards the Englishmen: they were in number a twohundred men of arms. When the Englishmen saw them, and that they wereso great a number, then they determined to fly and let the Frenchmenchase them, for they knew well the prince with his host was not farbehind. Then they turned their horses and took the corner of the wood, and the Frenchmen after them crying their cries and made great noise. And as they chased, they came on the prince's battle or they were warethereof themselves; the prince tarried there to have word again fromthem that he sent forth. The lord Raoul de Coucy with his banner wentso far forward that he was under the prince's banner: there was a sorebattle and the knight fought valiantly; howbeit he was there taken, and the earl of Joigny, the viscount of Brosse, the lord of Chauvignyand all the other taken or slain, but a few that scaped. And by theprisoners the prince knew how the French king followed him in suchwise that he could not eschew the battle:[2] then he assembledtogether all his men and commanded that no man should go before themarshals' banners. Thus the prince rode that Saturday from the morningtill it was against night, so that he came within two little leaguesof Poitiers. Then the captal de Buch, sir Aymenion of Pommiers, thelord Bartholomew of Burghersh and the lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt, allthese the prince sent forth to see if they might know what theFrenchmen did. These knights departed with two hundred men of armswell horsed; they rode so far that they saw the great battle of theking's, they saw all the fields covered with men of arms. TheseEnglishmen could not forbear, but set on the tail of the French hostand cast down many to the earth and took divers prisoners, so that thehost began to stir, and tidings thereof came to the French king as hewas entering into the city of Poitiers. Then he returned again andmade all his host do the same, so that Saturday it was very late or hewas lodged in the field. The English currours returned again to theprince and shewed him all that they saw and knew, and said how theFrench host was a great number of people. 'Well, ' said the prince, 'inthe name of God let us now study how we shall fight with them at ouradvantage. ' That night the Englishmen lodged in a strong place amonghedges, vines and bushes, and their host well watched, and so was theFrench host. 

 [2] Or rather, 'that the French king had gone in front of them (les avoit advancez) and that he could in no way depart without being fought with. '

OF THE ORDER OF THE FRENCHMEN BEFORE THE BATTLE OF POITIERS

On the Sunday in the morning the French king, who had great desire tofight with the Englishmen, heard his mass in his pavilion and washouselled, and his four sons with him. After mass there came to himthe duke of Orleans, the duke of Bourbon, the earl of Ponthieu, thelord Jaques of Bourbon, [1] the duke of Athens, constable of France, the earl of Tancarville, the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl ofDammartin, the earl of Ventadour, and divers other great barons ofFrance and of other neighbours holding of France, as the lordClermont, the lord Arnold d'Audrehem, marshal of France, the lord ofSaint-Venant, the lord John of Landas, the lord Eustace Ribemont, thelord Fiennes, the lord Geoffrey of Charny, the lord Chatillon, thelord of Sully, the lord of Nesle, sir Robert Duras and divers other;all these with the king went to counsel. Then finally it was ordainedthat all manner of men should draw into the field, and every lord todisplay his banner and to set forth in the name of God and SaintDenis: then trumpets blew up through the host and every man mounted onhorseback and went into the field, where they saw the king's bannerwave with the wind. There might a been seen great nobless of fairharness and rich armoury of banners and pennons; for there was all theflower of France, there was none durst abide at home without he wouldbe shamed for ever. Then it was ordained by the advice of theconstable and marshals to be made three battles, and in each wardsixteen thousand men of arms all mustered and passed for men of arms. The first battle the duke of Orleans to govern, with thirty-sixbanners and twice as many pennons, the second the duke of Normandy andhis two brethren the lord Louis and the lord John, the third the kinghimself: and while that these battles were setting in array, the kingcalled to him the lord Eustace Ribemont, the lord John of Landas andthe lord Richard of Beaujeu, and said to them; 'Sirs, ride on beforeto see the dealing of the Englishmen and advise well what number theybe and by what means we may fight with them, other afoot ora-horseback. ' These three knights rode forth and the king was on awhite courser and said a-high to his men: 'Sirs, among you, when ye beat Paris, at Chartres, at Rouen or at Orleans, then ye do threat theEnglishmen and desire to be in arms out against them. Now ye be comethereto: I shall now shew you them: now shew forth your evil will thatye bear them and revenge your displeasures and damages that they havedone you, for without doubt we shall fight with them. ' Such as heardhim said: 'Sir, in God's name so be it; that would we see[2] gladly. '

 [1] That is, Jaques de Bourbon, earl of la Marche and Ponthieu. 

 [2] 'Verrons': but a better reading is 'ferons, ' 'that will we do gladly. '

Therewith the three knights returned again to the king, who demandedof them tidings. Then sir Eustace of Ribemont answered for all andsaid: 'Sir, we have seen the Englishmen: by estimation they be twothousand men of arms and four thousand archers and a fifteen hundredof other. Howbeit they be in a strong place, and as far as we canimagine they are in one battle; howbeit they be wisely ordered, andalong the way they have fortified strongly the hedges and bushes: onepart of their archers are along by the hedge, so that none can go norride that way, but must pass by them, and that way must ye go an yepurpose to fight with them. In this hedge there is but one entry andone issue by likelihood that four horsemen may ride afront. At the endof this hedge, whereas no man can go nor ride, there be men of armsafoot and archers afore them in manner of a herse, so that they willnot be lightly discomfited, '[3] 'Well, ' said the king, 'what will yethen counsel us to do?' Sir Eustace said: 'Sir, let us all be afoot, except three hundred men of arms, well horsed, of the best in yourhost and most hardiest, to the intent they somewhat to break and toopen the archers, and then your battles to follow on quickly afoot andso to fight with their men of arms hand to hand. This is the bestadvice that I can give you: if any other think any other way better, let him speak. '

 [3] The translation of this passage is unsatisfactory. It should be: 'Howbeit they have ordered it wisely, and have taken post along the road, which is fortified strongly with hedges and thickets, and they have beset this hedge on one side (_or according to another text_, on one side and on the other) with their archers, so that one cannot enter nor ride along their road except by them, and that way must he go who purposes to fight with them. In this hedge there is but one entry and one issue, where by likelihood four men of arms, as on the road, might ride a-front. At the end of this hedge among vines and thorn-bushes, where no man can go nor ride, are their men of arms all afoot, and they have set in front of them their archers in manner of a harrow, whom it would not be easy to discomfit. 

The king said: 'Thus shall it be done': then the two marshals rodefrom battle to battle and chose out a three hundred knights andsquires of the most expert men of arms of all the host, every man wellarmed and horsed. Also it was ordained that the battles of Almainsshould abide still on horseback to comfort the marshals, if need were, whereof the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl of Nidau and the earl ofNassau were captains. King John of France was there armed, and twentyother in his apparel; and he did put the guiding of his eldest son tothe lord of Saint-Venant, the lord of Landas and the lord Thibault ofVaudenay; and the lord Arnold of Cervolles, called the archpriest, [4]was armed in the armour of the young earl of Alençon. 

 [4] Arnaud de Cervolles, one of the most celebrated adventurers of the 14th century, called the archpriest because though a layman he possessed the ecclesiastical fief of Vélines. 

HOW THE CARDINAL OF PERIGORD TREATED TO MAKE AGREEMENT BETWEEN THEFRENCH KING AND THE PRINCE BEFORE THE BATTLE OF POITIERS

When the French king's battles was ordered and every lord under hisbanner among their own men, then it was commanded that every manshould cut their spears to a five foot long and every man to put offtheir spurs. Thus as they were ready to approach, the cardinal ofPerigord[1] came in great haste to the king. He came the same morningfrom Poitiers; he kneeled down to the king and held up his hands anddesired him for God's sake a little to abstain setting forward till hehad spoken with him: then he said: 'Sir, ye have here all the flowerof your realm against a handful of Englishmen as to regard yourcompany, [2] and, sir, if ye may have them accorded to you withoutbattle, it shall be more profitable and honourable to have them bythat manner rather than to adventure so noble chivalry as ye have herepresent. Sir, I require you in the name of God and humility that I mayride to the prince and shew him what danger ye have him in, ' The kingsaid: 'It pleaseth me well, but return again shortly. ' The cardinaldeparted and diligently he rode to the prince, who was among his menafoot: then the cardinal alighted and came to the prince, who receivedhim courteously. Then the cardinal after his salutation made he said:'Certainly, fair son, if you and your council advise justly thepuissance of the French king, ye will suffer me to treat to make apeace between you, an I may, ' The prince, who was young and lusty, said: 'Sir, the honour of me and of my people saved, I would gladlyfall to any reasonable way. ' Then the cardinal said: 'Sir, ye saywell, and I shall accord you, an I can; for it should be great pity ifso many noblemen and other as be here on both parties should cometogether by battle, ' Then the cardinal rode again to the king andsaid: 'Sir, ye need not to make any great haste to fight with yourenemies, for they cannot fly from you though they would, they be insuch a ground: wherefore, sir, I require you forbear for this day tilltomorrow the sun-rising. ' The king was loath to agree thereto, forsome of his council would not consent to it; but finally the cardinalshewed such reasons, that the king accorded that respite: and in thesame place there was pight up a pavilion of red silk fresh and rich, and gave leave for that day every man to draw to their lodgings exceptthe constable's and marshals' battles. 

 [1] Talleyrand de Périgord. 

 [2] The meaning is, 'Ye have here all the flower of your realm against a handful of people, for so the Englishmen are as compared with your company. '

That Sunday all the day the cardinal travailed in riding from the onehost to the other gladly to agree them: but the French king wouldnot agree without he might have four of the principallest of theEnglishmen at his pleasure, and the prince and all the other to yieldthemselves simply: howbeit there were many great offers made. Theprince offered to render into the king's hands all that ever he hadwon in that voyage, towns and castles, and to quit all prisoners thathe or any of his men had taken in that season, and also to swear notto be armed against the French king in seven year after; but the kingand his council would none thereof: the uttermost that he would dowas, that the prince and a hundred of his knights should yieldthemselves into the king's prison; otherwise he would not: the whichthe prince would in no wise agree unto. 

In the mean season that the cardinal rode thus between the hosts intrust to do some good, certain knights of France and of England bothrode forth the same Sunday, because it was truce for that day, tocoast the hosts and to behold the dealing of their enemies. So itfortuned that the lord John Chandos rode the same day coasting theFrench host, and in like manner the lord of Clermont, one of theFrench marshals, had ridden forth and aviewed the state of the Englishhost; and as these two knights returned towards their hosts, they mettogether: each of them bare one manner of device, a blue ladyembroidered in a sunbeam above on their apparel. Then the lordClermont said: 'Chandos, how long have ye taken on you to bear mydevice?' 'Nay, ye bear mine, ' said Chandos, 'for it is as well mine asyours. ' 'I deny that, ' said Clermont, 'but an it were not for thetruce this day between us, I should make it good on you incontinentthat ye have no right to bear my device. ' 'Ah, sir, ' said Chandos, 'yeshall find me to-morrow ready to defend you and to prove by feat ofarms that it is as well mine as yours, ' Then Clermont said: 'Chandos, these be well the words of you Englishmen, for ye can devise nothingof new, but all that ye see is good and fair. ' So they departedwithout any more doing, and each of them returned to their host. 

The cardinal of Perigord could in no wise that Sunday make anyagreement between the parties, and when it was near night he returnedto Poitiers. That night the Frenchmen took their ease; they hadprovision enough, and the Englishmen had great default; they could getno forage, nor they could not depart thence without danger of theirenemies. That Sunday the Englishmen made great dikes and hedges abouttheir archers, to be the more stronger; and on the Monday in themorning the prince and his company were ready apparelled as they werebefore, and about the sun-rising in like manner were the Frenchmen. The same morning betimes the cardinal came again to the French hostand thought by his preaching to pacify the parties; but then theFrenchmen said to him: 'Return whither ye will: bring hither no morewords of treaty nor peace: and ye love yourself depart shortly. ' Whenthe cardinal saw that he travailed in vain, he took leave of the kingand then he went to the prince and said: 'Sir, do what ye can; thereis no remedy but to abide the battle, for I can find none accord inthe French king. ' Then the prince said: 'The same is our intent andall our people: God help the right!' So the cardinal returned toPoitiers. In his company there were certain knights and squires, menof arms, who were more favourable to the French king than to theprince; and when they saw that the parties should fight, they stalefrom their masters and went to the French host; and they made theircaptain the chatelain of Amposte, [3] who was as then there with thecardinal, who knew nothing thereof till he was come to Poitiers. 

 [3] Amposta, a fortress in Catalonia. 

The certainty of the order of the Englishmen was shewed to the Frenchking, except they had ordained three hundred men a-horseback and asmany archers a-horseback to coast under covert of the mountain and tostrike into the battle of the duke of Normandy, who was under themountain afoot. This ordinance they had made of new, that theFrenchmen knew not of. The prince was with his battle down among thevines and had closed in the weakest part with their carnages. 

Now will I name some of the principal lords and knights that werethere with the prince: the earl of Warwick, the earl of Suffolk, theearl of Salisbury, the earl of Oxford, the lord Raynold Cobham, thelord Spencer, the lord James Audley, the lord Peter his brother, thelord Berkeley, the lord Bassett, the lord Warin, the lord Delaware, the lord Manne, the lord Willoughby, the lord Bartholomew deBurghersh, the lord of Felton, the lord Richard of Pembroke, the lordStephen of Cosington, the lord Bradetane and other Englishmen; and ofGascon there was the lord of Pommiers, the lord of Languiran, thecaptal of Buch, the lord John of Caumont, the lord de Lesparre, thelord of Rauzan, the lord of Condon, the lord of Montferrand, the lordof Landiras, the lord soudic of Latrau and other that I cannot name;and of Hainowes the lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt, the lord John ofGhistelles, and two other strangers, the lord Daniel Pasele and thelord Denis of Morbeke: all the prince's company passed not an eightthousand men one and other, and the Frenchmen were a sixty thousandfighting men, whereof there were more than three thousand knights. 

OF THE BATTLE OF POITIERS BETWEEN THE PRINCE OF WALES AND THE FRENCHKING

When the prince saw that he should have battle and that the cardinalwas gone without any peace or truce making, and saw that the Frenchking did set but little store by him, he said then to his men: 'Now, sirs, though we be but a small company as in regard to the puissanceof our enemies, let us not be abashed therefor; for the victory liethnot in the multitude of people, but whereas God will send it. If itfortune that the journey be ours, we shall be the most honoured peopleof all the world; and if we die in our right quarrel, I have the kingmy father and brethren, and also ye have good friends and kinsmen;these shall revenge us. Therefore, sirs, for God's sake I require youdo your devoirs this day; for if God be pleased and Saint George, thisday ye shall see me a good knight. ' These words and such other thatthe prince spake comforted all his people. The lord sir John Chandosthat day never went from the prince, nor also the lord James Audley ofa great season; but when he saw that they should needs fight, he saidto the prince: 'Sir, I have served always truly my lord your fatherand you also, and shall do as long as I live. I say this because Imade once a vow that the first battle that other the king your fatheror any of his children should be at, how that I would be one of thefirst setters on, [1] or else to die in the pain: therefore I requireyour grace, as in reward for any service that ever I did to the kingyour father or to you, that you will give me licence to depart fromyou and to set myself thereas I may accomplish my vow. ' The princeaccorded to his desire and said, 'Sir James, God give you this daythat grace to be the best knight of all other, ' and so took him by thehand. Then the knight departed from the prince and went to theforemost front of all the battles, all only accompanied with foursquires, who promised not to fail him. This lord James was a rightsage and a valiant knight, and by him was much of the host ordainedand governed the day before. Thus sir James was in front of the battleready to fight with the battle of the marshals of France. In like wisethe lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt did his pain to be one of the foremostto set on. When sir James Audley began to set forward to his enemies, it fortuned to sir Eustace d'Aubrecicourt as ye shall hear after. Yehave heard before how the Almains in the French host were appointed tobe still a-horseback. Sir Eustace being a-horseback laid his spear inthe rest and ran into the French battle, and then a knight of Almaine, called the lord Louis of Recombes, who bare a shield silver, fiveroses gules, and sir Eustace bare ermines, two branches ofgules[2], --when this Almain saw the lord Eustace come from hiscompany, he rode against him and they met so rudely, that both knightsfell to the earth. The Almain was hurt in the shoulder, therefore herose not so quickly as did sir Eustace, who when he was up and hadtaken his breath, he came to the other knight as he lay on the ground;but then five other knights of Almaine came on him all at once andbare him to the earth, and so perforce there he was taken prisoner andbrought to the earl of Nassau, who as then took no heed of him; and Icannot say whether they sware him prisoner or no, but they tied him toa chare and there let him stand[3]. 

 [1] The first setter-on and the best combatant. 

 [2] That is, two hamedes gules on a field ermine. 

 [3] They tied him on to a cart with their harness. 

Then the battle began on all parts, and the battles of the marshals ofFrance approached, and they set forth that were appointed to break thearray of the archers. They entered a-horseback into the way where thegreat hedges were on both sides set full of archers. As soon as themen of arms entered, the archers began to shoot on both sides and didslay and hurt horses and knights, so that the horses when they feltthe sharp arrows they would in no wise go forward, but drew aback andflang and took on so fiercely, that many of them fell on theirmasters, so that for press they could not rise again; insomuch thatthe marshals' battle could never come at the prince. Certain knightsand squires that were well horsed passed through the archers andthought to approach to the prince, but they could not. The lord JamesAudley with his four squires was in the front of that battle and theredid marvels in arms, and by great prowess he came and fought with sirArnold d'Audrehem under his own banner, and there they fought longtogether and sir Arnold was there sore handled. The battle of themarshals began to disorder by reason of the shot of the archers withthe aid of the men of arms, who came in among them and slew of themand did what they list, and there was the lord Arnold d'Audrehem takenprisoner by other men than by sir James Audley or by his four squires;for that day he never took prisoner, but always fought and went on hisenemies. 

Also on the French party the lord John Clermont fought under his ownbanner as long as he could endure: but there he was beaten down andcould not be relieved nor ransomed, but was slain without mercy: somesaid it was because of the words that he had the day before to sirJohn Chandos. So within a short space the marshals' battles werediscomfited, for they fell one upon another and could not go forth;[4]and the Frenchmen that were behind and could not get forward reculedback and came on the battle of the duke of Normandy, the which wasgreat and thick and were afoot, but anon they began to open behind;[5]for when they knew that the marshals' battle was discomfited, theytook their horses and departed, he that might best. Also they saw arout of Englishmen coming down a little mountain a-horseback, and manyarchers with them, who brake in on the side of the duke's battle. Trueto say, the archers did their company that day great advantage; forthey shot so thick that the Frenchmen wist not on what side to takeheed, and little and little the Englishmen won ground on them. 

 [4] 'Ne posient aler avant. '

 [5] 'Which was great and thick in front (pardevant), but anon it became open and thin behind. '

And when the men of arms of England saw that the marshals' battle wasdiscomfited and that the duke's battle began to disorder and open, they leapt then on their horses, the which they had ready by them:then they assembled together and cried, 'Saint George! Guyenne!' andthe lord Chandos said to the prince: 'Sir, take your horse and rideforth; this journey is yours: God is this day in your hands: get us tothe French king's battle, for their lieth all the sore of the matter. I think verily by his valiantness he will not fly: I trust we shallhave him by the grace of God and Saint George, so he be well foughtwithal: and, sir, I heard you say that this day I should see you agood knight. ' The prince said, 'Let us go forth; ye shall not see methis day return back, ' and said, 'Advance, banner, in the name of Godand of Saint George, ' The knight that bare it did his commandment:there was then a sore battle and a perilous, and many a manoverthrown, and he that was once down could not be relieved againwithout great succour and aid. As the prince rode and entered in amonghis enemies, he saw on his right hand in a little bush lying dead thelord Robert of Duras and his banner by him, [6] and a ten or twelve ofhis men about him. Then the prince said to two of his squires and tothree archers: 'Sirs, take the body of this knight on a targe and bearhim to Poitiers, and present him from me to the cardinal of Perigord, and say how I salute him by that token. ' And this was done. The princewas informed that the cardinal's men were on the field against him, the which was not pertaining to the right order of arms, for men ofthe church that cometh and goeth for treaty of peace ought not byreason to bear harness nor to fight for neither of the parties; theyought to be indifferent: and because these men had done so, the princewas displeased with the cardinal, and therefore he sent unto him hisnephew the lord Robert of Duras dead: and the chatelain of Amposte wastaken, and the prince would have had his head stricken off, because hewas pertaining to the cardinal, but then the lord Chandos said: 'Sir, suffer for a season: intend to a greater matter: and peradventure thecardinal will make such excuse that ye shall be content. '

 [6] The original adds, 'qui estoit de France au sentoir (sautoir) de gueulles. '

Then the prince and his company dressed them on the battle of the dukeof Athens, constable of France. There was many a man slain and cast tothe earth. As the Frenchmen fought in companies, they cried, 'Mountjoy! Saint Denis!' and the Englishmen, 'Saint George! Guyenne!'Anon the prince with his company met with the battle of Almains, whereof the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl Nassau and the earl Nidauwere captains, but in a short space they were put to flight: thearchers shot so wholly together that none durst come in their dangers:they slew many a man that could not come to no ransom: these threeearls was there slain, and divers other knights and squires of theircompany, and there was the lord d'Aubrecieourt rescued, by his own menand set on horseback, and after he did that day many feats of arms andtook good prisoners. When the duke of Normandy's battle saw the princeapproach, they thought to save themselves, and so the duke and theking's children, the earl of Poitiers and the earl of Touraine, whowere right young, believed their governours and so departed from thefield, and with them more than eight hundred spears, that strake nostroke that day. Howbeit the lord Guichard d'Angle and the lord Johnof Saintré, who were with the earl of Poitiers, would not fly, butentered into the thickest press of the battle. The king's three sonstook the way to Chauvigny, and the lord John of Landas and the lordThibauld of Vaudenay, who were set to await on the duke of Normandy, when they had brought the duke a long league from the battle, thenthey took leave of the duke and desired the lord of Saint-Venant thathe should not leave the duke, but to bring him in safeguard, wherebyhe should win more thank of the king than to abide still in the field. Then they met also the duke of Orleans and a great company with him, who were also departed from the field with clear hands: there weremany good knights and squires, though that their masters departed fromthe field, yet they had rather a died than to have had any reproach. 

Then the king's battle came on the Englishmen: there was a sore fightand many a great stroke given and received. The king and his youngestson met with the battle of the English marshals, the earl of Warwickand the earl of Suffolk, and with them of Gascons the captal of Buch, the lord of Pommiers, the lord Amery of Tastes, the lord of Mussidan, the lord of Languiran and the lord de Latrau. To the French partythere came time enough the lord John of Landas and the lord ofVaudenay; they alighted afoot and went into the king's battle, and alittle beside fought the duke of Athens, constable of France, and alittle above him the duke of Bourbon and many good knights ofBourbonnais and of Picardy with him, and a little on the one sidethere were the Poitevins, the lord de Pons, the lord of Partenay, thelord of Dammartin, the lord of Tannay-Bouton, the lord of Surgieres, the lord John Saintré, the lord Guichard d'Angle, the lord Argenton, the lord of Linieres, the lord of Montendre and divers other, also theviscount of Rochechouart and the earl of Aunay;[7] and of Burgoyne thelord James of Beaujeu, the lord de Chateau-Vilain and other: inanother part there was the earl of Ventadour and of Montpensier, thelord James of Bourbon, the lord John d'Artois and also the lord Jameshis brother, the lord Arnold of Cervolles, called the archpriest, armed for the young earl of Alençon; and of Auvergne there was thelord of Mercoeur, the lord de la Tour, the lord of Chalençon, the lordof Montaigu, the lord of Rochfort, the lord d'Acier, the lord d'Acon;and of Limousin there was the lord de Melval, the lord of Mareuil, thelord of Pierrebuffiere; and of Picardy there was the lord William ofNesle, the lord Arnold of Rayneval, the lord Geoffrey of Saint-Dizier, the lord of Chauny, the lord of Helly, the lord of Montsault, the lordof Hangest and divers other: and also in the king's battle there wasthe earl Douglas of Scotland, who fought a season right valiantly, butwhen he saw the discomfiture, he departed and saved himself; for in nowise he would be taken of the Englishmen, he had rather been thereslain. On the English part the lord James Audley with the aid of hisfour squires fought always in the chief of the battle: he was sorehurt in the body and in the visage: as long as his breath served himhe fought; at last at the end of the battle his four squires took andbrought him out of the field and laid him under a hedge side for torefresh him; and they unarmed him and bound up his wounds as well asthey could. On the French party king John was that day a full rightgood knight: if the fourth part of his men had done their devoirs aswell as he did, the journey had been his by all likelihood. Howbeitthey were all slain and taken that were there, except a few that savedthemselves, that were with the king. [8] There was slain the duke Peterof Bourbon, the lord Guichard of Beaujeu, the lord of Landas, and theduke of Athens, constable of France, the bishop of Chalons inChampagne, the lord William of Nesle, the lord Eustace of Ribemont, the lord de la Tour, the lord William of Montaigu, sir Grismouton ofChambly, sir Baudrin de la Heuse, and many other, as they fought bycompanies; and there were taken prisoners the lord of Vaudenay, thelord of Pompadour, and the archpriest, sore hurt, the earl ofVaudimont, the earl of Mons, the earl of Joinville, the earl ofVendome, sir Louis of Melval, the lord Pierrebuffiere and the lord ofSerignac: there were at that brunt, slain and taken more than twohundred knights. [9]

 [7] Le conte d'Aulnoy, ' but it should be 'visconte. '

 [8] 'Howbeit they that stayed acquitted them as well as they might, so that they were all slain or taken. Few escaped of those that set themselves with the king': or according to the fuller text: 'Few escaped of those that alighted down on the sand by the side of the king their lord. '

 [9] The translator has chosen to rearrange the above list of killed, wounded or taken, which the French text gives in order as they fought, saying that in one part there fell the duke of Bourbon, sir Guichard of Beaujeu and sir John on Landas, and there were severely wounded or taken the arch-priest, sir Thibaud of Vodenay and sir Baudouin, d'Annequin; in another there were slain the duke of Athens and the bishop of Chalons, and taken the earl of Vaudemont and Joinville and the earl of Vendome: a little above this there were slain sir William de Nesle, sir Eustace de Ribemont and others, and taken sir Louis de Melval, the lord of Pierrebuffière and the lord of Seregnach. 

OF TWO FRENCHMEN THAT FLED FROM THE BATTLE OF POITIERS AND TWOENGLISHMEN THAT FOLLOWED THEM

Among the battles, recounterings, chases and pursuits that were madethat day in the field, it fortuned so to sir Oudart of Renty that whenhe departed from the field because he saw the field was lost withoutrecovery, he thought not to abide the danger of the Englishmen;wherefore he fled all alone and was gone out of the field a league, and an English knight pursued him and ever cried to him and said, 'Return again, sir knight, it is a shame to fly away thus. ' Then theknight turned, and the English knight thought to have stricken himwith his spear in the targe, but he failed, for sir Oudart swervedaside from the stroke, but he failed not the English knight, for hestrake him such a stroke on the helm with his sword, that he wasastonied and fell from his horse to the earth and lay still. Then sirOudart alighted and came to him or he could rise, and said, 'Yieldyou, rescue or no rescue, or else I shall slay you. ' The Englishmanyielded and went with him, and afterward was ransomed. Also itfortuned that another squire of Picardy called John de Hellenes wasfled from the battle and met with his page, who delivered him a newfresh horse, whereon he rode away alone. The same season there was inthe field the lord Berkeley of England, a young lusty knight, who thesame day reared his banner, and he all alone pursued the said John ofHellenes. And when he had followed the space of a league, the saidJohn turned again and laid his sword in the rest instead of a spear, and so came running toward the lord Berkeley, who lift up his sword tohave stricken the squire; but when he saw the stroke come, he turnedfrom it, so that the Englishman lost his stroke and John strake him ashe passed on the arm, that the lord Berkeley's sword fell into thefield. When he saw his sword down, he lighted suddenly off his horseand came to the place where his sword lay, and as he stooped down totake up his sword, the French squire did pike his sword at him, and byhap strake him through both the thighs, so that the knight fell to theearth and could not help himself. And John alighted off his horse andtook the knight's sword that lay on the ground, and came to him anddemanded if he would yield him or not. The knight then demanded hisname. 'Sir, ' said he, 'I hight John of Hellenes; but what is yourname?' 'Certainly, ' said the knight, 'my name is Thomas and am lord ofBerkeley, a fair castle on the river of Severn in the marches ofWales. ' 'Well, sir, ' quoth the squire, 'then ye shall be my prisoner, and I shall bring you in safe-guard and I shall see that you shall behealed of your hurt. ' 'Well, ' said the knight, 'I am content to beyour prisoner, for ye have by law of arms won me. ' There he sware tobe his prisoner, rescue or no rescue. Then the squire drew forth thesword out of the knight's thighs and the wound was open: then hewrapped and bound the wound and set him on his horse and so broughthim fair and easily to Chatelleraut, and there tarried more thanfifteen days for his sake and did get him remedy for his hurt: andwhen he was somewhat amended, then he gat him a litter and so broughthim at his ease to his house in Picardy. There he was more than a yeartill he was perfectly whole; and when he departed he paid for hisransom six thousand nobles, and so this squire was made a knight byreason of the profit that he had of the lord Berkeley. 

HOW KING JOHN WAS TAKEN PRISONER AT THE BATTLE OF POITIERS

Oftentimes the adventures of amours and of war are more fortunate andmarvellous than any man can think or wish. Truly this battle, thewhich was near to Poitiers in the fields of Beauvoir and Maupertuis, was right great and perilous, and many deeds of arms there was donethe which all came not to knowledge. The fighters on both sidesendured much pain: king John with his own hands did that day marvelsin arms: he had an axe in his hands wherewith he defended himself andfought in the breaking of the press. Near to the king there was takenthe earl of Tancarville, sir Jaques of Bourbon earl of Ponthieu, andthe lord John of Artois earl of Eu, and a little above that under thebanner of the capital of Buch was taken sir Charles of Artois anddivers other knights and squires. The chase endured to the gates ofPoitiers: there were many slain and beaten down, horse and man, forthey of Poitiers closed their gates and would suffer none to enter;wherefore in the street before the gate was horrible murder, men hurtand beaten down. The Frenchmen yielded themselves as far off as theymight know an Englishman: there were divers English archers that hadfour, five or six prisoners: the lord of Pons, a great baron ofPoitou, was there slain, and many other knights and squires; and therewas taken the earl of Rochechouart, the lord of Dammartin, the lord ofPartenay, and of Saintonge the lord of Montendre and the lord John ofSaintré, but he was so sore hurt that he had never health after: hewas reputed for one of the best knights in France. And there was leftfor dead among other dead men the lord Guichard d'Angle, who foughtthat day by the king right valiantly, and so did the lord of Charny, on whom was great press, because he bare the sovereign banner of theking's: his own banner was also in the field, the which was of gules, three scutcheons silver. So many Englishmen and Gascons come to thatpart, that perforce they opened the king's battle, so that theFrenchmen were so mingled among their enemies that sometime there wasfive men upon one gentleman. There was taken the lord of Pompadourand[1] the lord Bartholomew de Burghersh, and there was slain sirGeoffrey of Charny with the king's banner in his hands: also the lordRaynold Cobham slew the earl of Dammartin. Then there was a greatpress to take the king, and such as knew him cried, 'Sir, yield you, or else ye are but dead. ' There was a knight of Saint-Omer's, retainedin wages with the king of England, called sir Denis Morbeke, who hadserved the Englishmen five year before, because in his youth he hadforfeited the realm of France for a murder that he did atSaint-Omer's. It happened so well for him, that he was next to theking when they were about to take him: he stept forth into the press, and by strength of his body and arms he came to the French king andsaid in good French, 'Sir, yield you, ' The king beheld the knight andsaid: 'To whom shall I yield me? Where is my cousin the prince ofWales? If I might see him, I would speak with him. ' Denis answered andsaid: 'Sir, he is not here; but yield you to me and I shall bring youto him. 'Who be you?' quoth the king. 'Sir, ' quoth he, 'I am Denis ofMorbeke, a knight of Artois; but I serve the king of England because Iam banished the realm of France and I have forfeited all that I hadthere, ' Then the king gave him his right gauntlet, saying, 'I yield meto you, ' There was a great press about the king, for every manenforced him to say, [2] 'I have taken him, ' so that the king could notgo forward with his young son the lord Philip with him because of thepress. 

 [1] This 'and' should be 'by, ' but the French text is responsible for the mistake. 

 [2] 'S'efforçoit de dire. '

The prince of Wales, who was courageous and cruel as a lion, took thatday great pleasure to fight and to chase his enemies. The lord JohnChandos, who was with him, of all that day never left him nor nevertook heed of taking of any prisoner: then at the end of the battle hesaid to the prince: 'Sir, it were good that you rested here and setyour banner a-high in this bush, that your people may draw hither, forthey be sore spread abroad, nor I can see no more banners nor pennonsof the French party; wherefore, sir, rest and refresh you, for ye besore chafed. ' Then the prince's banner was set up a-high on a bush, and trumpets and clarions began to sown. Then the prince did off hisbassenet, and the knights for his body and they of his chamber wereready about him, and a red pavilion pight up, and then drink wasbrought forth to the prince and for such lords as were about him, thewhich still increased as they came from the chase: there they tarriedand their prisoners with them. And when the two marshals were come tothe prince, he demanded of them if they knew any tiding of the Frenchking. They answered and said: 'Sir, we hear none of certainty, but wethink verily he is other dead or taken, for he is not gone out of thebattles. ' Then the prince said to the earl of Warwick and to sirRaynold Cobham: 'Sirs, I require you go forth and see what ye canknow, that at your return ye may shew me the truth. ' These two lordstook their horses and departed from the prince and rode up a littlehill to look about them: then they perceived a flock of men of armscoming together right wearily:[3] there was the French king afoot ingreat peril, for Englishmen and Gascons were his masters; they hadtaken him from sir Denis Morbeke perforce, and such as were most offorce said, 'I have taken him, ' 'Nay, ' quoth another, 'I have takenhim': so they strave which should have him. Then the French king, toeschew that peril, said: 'Sirs, strive not: lead me courteously, andmy son, to my cousin the prince, and strive not for my taking, for Iam so great a lord to make you all rich. ' The king's words somewhatappeased them; howbeit ever as they went they made riot and brawledfor the taking of the king. When the two foresaid lords saw and heardthat noise and strife among them, they came to them and said: 'Sirs, what is the matter that ye strive for?' 'Sirs, ' said one of them, 'itis for the French king, who is here taken prisoner, and there be morethan ten knights and squires that challenged the taking of him and ofhis son. ' Then the two lords entered into the press and caused everyman to draw aback, and commanded them in the prince's name on pain oftheir heads to make no more noise nor to approach the king no nearer, without they were commanded. Then every man gave room to the lords, and they alighted and did their reverence to the king, and so broughthim and his son in peace and rest to the prince of Wales. 

 [3] 'Lentement. '

OF THE GIFT THAT THE PRINCE GAVE TO THE LORD AUDLEY AFTER THE BATTLEOF POITIERS

As soon as the earl of Warwick and the lord Cobham were departed fromthe prince, as ye have heard before, then the prince demanded of theknights that were about him for the lord Audley, if any knew anythingof him. Some knights that were there answered and said: 'Sir, he issore hurt and lieth in a litter here beside. ' 'By my faith, ' said theprince, 'of his hurts I am right sorry: go and know if he may bebrought hither, or else I will go and see him thereas he is. ' Then twoknights came to the lord Audley and said: 'Sir, the prince desirethgreatly to see you, other ye must go to him or else he will come toyou. ' 'Ah, sir, ' said the knight, 'I thank the prince when he thinkethon so poor a knight as I am. ' Then he called eight of his servants andcaused them to bear him in his litter to the place whereas the princewas. Then the prince took him in his arms and kissed him and made himgreat cheer and said: 'Sir James, I ought greatly to honour you, forby your valiance ye have this day achieved the grace and renown of usall, and ye are reputed for the most valiant of all other, ' 'Ah, sir, 'said the knight, 'ye say as it pleaseth you: I would it were so: andif I have this day anything advanced myself to serve you and toaccomplish the vow that I made, it ought not to be reputed to me anyprowess. ' 'Sir James, ' said the prince, 'I and all ours take you inthis journey for the best doer in arms, and to the intent to furnishyou the better to pursue the wars, I retain you for ever to be myknight with five hundred marks of yearly revenues, the which I shallassign you on mine heritage in England. ' 'Sir, ' said the knight, 'Godgrant me to deserve the great goodness that ye shew me': and so hetook his leave of the prince, for he was right feeble, and so hisservants brought him to his lodging. And as soon as he was gone, theearl of Warwick and the lord Cobham returned to the prince andpresented to him the French king. The prince made lowly reverence tothe king and caused wine and spices to be brought forth, and himselfserved the king in sign of great love. 

HOW THE ENGLISHMEN WON GREATLY AT THE BATTLE OF POITIERS

Thus this battle was discomfited, as ye have heard, the which was inthe fields of Maupertuis a two leagues from Poitiers the twenty-secondday of September the year of our Lord MCCCLVI. It begun in themorning[1] and ended at noon, but as then all the Englishmen were notreturned from the chase; therefore the prince's banner stood on a bushto draw all his men together, but it was well nigh night or all camefrom the chase. And as it was reported, there was slain all the flowerof France, and there was taken with the king and the lord Philip hisson a seventeen earls, beside barons, knights and squires, and slain afive or six thousand of one and other. When every man was come fromthe chase, they had twice as many prisoners as they were in number inall. Then it was counselled among them because of the great charge anddoubt to keep so many, that they should put many of them to ransomincontinent in the field, and so they did: and the prisoners found theEnglishmen and Gascons right courteous; there were many that day putto ransom and let go all only on their promise of faith and truth toreturn again between that and Christmas to Bordeaux with theirransoms. Then that night they lay in the field beside whereas thebattle had been: some unarmed them, but not all, and unarmed all theirprisoners, and every man made good cheer to his prisoner; for that daywhosoever took any prisoner, he was clear his and might quit or ransomhim at his pleasure. All such as were there with the prince were allmade rich with honour and goods, as well by ransoming of prisoners asby winning of gold, silver, plate, jewels, that was there found: therewas no man that did set anything by rich harness, whereof there wasgreat plenty, for the Frenchmen came thither richly beseen, weening tohave had the journey for them. 

 [1] 'Environ heure de prime. '

HOW THE LORD JAMES AUDLEY GAVE TO HIS FOUR SQUIRES THE FIVE HUNDREDMARKS OF REVENUES THAT THE PRINCE HAD GIVEN HIM

When sir James Audley was brought to his lodging, then he sent for sirPeter Audley his brother and for the lord Bartholomew of Burghersh, the lord Stephen of Cosington, the lord of Willoughby and the lordRalph Ferrers, all these were of his lineage, and then he calledbefore him his four squires, that had served him that day well andtruly. Then he said to the said lords: 'Sirs, it hath pleased my lordthe prince to give me five hundred marks of revenues by year inheritage, for the which gift I have done him but small service with mybody. Sirs, behold here these four squires, who hath always served metruly and specially this day: that honour that I have is by theirvaliantness. Wherefore I will reward them: I give and resign intotheir hands the gift that my lord the prince hath given me of fivehundred marks of yearly revenues, to them and to their heirs for ever, in like manner as it was given me. I clearly disherit me thereof andinherit them without any repeal[1] or condition. The lords and otherthat ere there, every man beheld other and said among themselves: Itcometh of a great nobleness to give this gift. ' They answered him withone voice: 'Sir, be it as God will; we shall bear witness in thisbehalf wheresoever we be come. ' Then they departed from him, and someof them went to the prince, who the same night would make a supper tothe French king and to the prisoners, for they had enough to dowithal, of that the Frenchmen brought with them, [2] for the Englishmenwanted victual before, for some in three days had no bread before. 

 [1] 'Rappel, ' i. E. Power of recalling the gift. The word 'repeal' is a correction of 'rebel. '

 [2] 'Who was to give the king of France a supper of his own provisions; for the French had brought great abundance with them, and provisions had failed among the English, ' etc. 

HOW THE PRINCE MADE A SUPPER TO THE FRENCH KING THE SAME DAY OF THEBATTLE

The same day of the battle at night the prince made a supper in hislodging to the French king and to the most part of the great lordsthat were prisoners. The prince made the king and his son, the lordJames of Bourbon, the lord John d'Artois, the earl of Tancarville, theearl of Estampes, the earl Dammartin, the earl of Joinville and thelord of Partenay to sit all at one board, and other lords, knights andsquires at other tables; and always the prince served before the kingas humbly as he could, and would not sit at the king's board for anydesire that the king could make, but he said he was not sufficient tosit at the table with so great a prince as the king was. But then hesaid to the king: 'Sir, for God's sake make none evil nor heavy cheer, though God this day did not consent to follow your will; for, sir, surely the king my father shall bear you as much honour and amity ashe may do, and shall accord with you so reasonably that ye shall everbe friends together after. And, sir, methinks ye ought to rejoice, though the journey be not as ye would have had it, for this day yehave won the high renown of prowess and have passed this day invaliantness all other of your party. Sir, I say not this to mock you, for all that be on our party, that saw every man's deeds, are plainlyaccorded by true sentence to give you the prize and chaplet. 'Therewith the Frenchmen began to murmur and said among themselves howthe prince had spoken nobly, and that by all estimation he shouldprove a noble man, if God send him life and to persevere in such goodfortune. 

HOW THE PRINCE RETURNED TO BORDEAUX AFTER THE BATTLE OF POITIERS

When supper was done, every man went to his lodging with theirprisoners. The same night they put many to ransom and believed them ontheir faiths and troths, and ransomed them but easily, for they saidthey would set no knight's ransom so high, but that he might pay athis ease and maintain still his degree. The next day, when they hadheard mass and taken some repast and that everything was trussed andready, then they took their horses and rode towards Poitiers. The samenight there was come to Poitiers the lord of Roye with a hundredspears: he was not at the battle, but he met the duke of Normandy nearto Chauvigny, and the duke sent him to Poitiers to keep the town tillthey heard other tidings. When the lord of Roye knew that theEnglishmen were so near coming to the city, he caused every man to bearmed and every man to go to his defence to the walls, towers andgates; and the Englishmen passed by without any approaching, for theywere so laded with gold, silver and prisoners, that in their returningthey assaulted no fortress; they thought it a great deed if they mightbring the French king, with their other prisoners and riches that theyhad won, in safeguard to Bordeaux. They rode but small journeysbecause of their prisoners and great carriages that they had: theyrode in a day no more but four or five leagues and lodged everbetimes, and rode close together in good array saving the marshals'battles, who rode ever before with five hundred men of arms to openthe passages as the prince should pass; but they found no encounters, for all the country was so frayed that every man drew to thefortresses. 

As the prince rode, it was shewed him how the lord Audley had given tohis four squires the gift of the five hundred marks that he had givenunto him: then the prince sent for him and he was brought in hislitter to the prince, who received him courteously and said: 'SirJames, we have knowledge that the revenues that we gave you, as soonas ye came to your lodging, you gave the same to four squires: wewould know why ye did so, and whether the gift was agreeable to you ornot. ' 'Sir, ' said the knight, 'it is of truth I have given it to them, and I shall shew you why I did so. These four squires that be herepresent have a long season served me well and truly in many greatbusinesses and, sir, in this last battle they served me in such wisethat an they had never done nothing else I was bound to reward them, and before the same day they had never nothing of me in reward. Sir, Iam but a man alone: but by the aid and comfort of them I took on me toaccomplish my vow long before made. I had been dead in the battle anthey had not been: wherefore, sir, when I considered the love thatthey bare unto me, I had not been courteous if I would not a rewardedthem. I thank God I have had and shall have enough as long as I live:I will never be abashed for lack of good. Sir, if I have done thiswithout your pleasure, I require you to pardon me, for, sir, both Iand my squires shall serve you as well as ever we did. ' Then theprince said: 'Sir James, for anything that ye have done I cannot blameyou, but can you good thank therefor; and for the valiantness of thesesquires, whom ye praise so much, I accord to them your gift, and Iwill render again to you six hundred marks in like manner as ye hadthe other. '

Thus the prince and his company did so much that they passed throughPoitou and Saintonge without damage and came to Blaye, and therepassed the river of Gironde and arrived in the good city of Bordeaux. It cannot be recorded the great feast and cheer that they of the citywith the clergy made to the prince, and how honourably they were therereceived. The prince brought the French king into the abbey of SaintAndrew's, and there they lodged both, the king in one part and theprince in the other. The prince bought of the lords, knights andsquires of Gascoyne the most part of the earls of the realm of France, such as were prisoners, and paid ready money for them. There wasdivers questions and challenges made between the knights and squiresof Gascoyne for taking of the French king; howbeit Denis Morbeke byright of arms and by true tokens that he shewed challenged him for hisprisoner. Another squire of Gascoyne called Bernard of Truttes saidhow he had right to him: there was much ado and many words before theprince and other lords that were there, and because these twochallenged each other to fight in that quarrel, the prince caused thematter to rest till they came in England and that no declarationshould be made but afore the king of England his father; but becausethe French king himself aided to sustain the challenge of DenisMorbeke, for he inclined more to him than to any other, the princetherefore privily caused to be delivered to the said sir Denis twothousand nobles to maintain withal his estate. 

Anon after the prince came to Bordeaux, the cardinal of Perigord camethither, who was sent from the pope in legation, as it was said. Hewas there more than fifteen days or the prince would speak with himbecause of the chatelain of Amposte and his men, who were against himin the battle of Poitiers. The prince believed that the cardinal sentthem thither, but the cardinal did so much by the means of the lord ofCaumont, the lord of Montferrand and the captal of Buch, who were hiscousins, they shewed so good reasons to the prince, that he wascontent to hear him speak. And when he was before the prince, heexcused himself so sagely that the prince and his council held himexcused, and so he fell again into the prince's love and redeemed outhis men by reasonable ransoms; and the chatelain was set to his ransomof ten thousand franks, the which he paid after. Then the cardinalbegan to treat on the deliverance of the French king, but I pass itbriefly because nothing was done. Thus the prince, the Gascons andEnglishmen tarried still at Bordeaux till it was Lent in great mirthand revel, and spent foolishly the gold and silver that they had won. In England also there was great joy when they heard tidings of thebattle of Poitiers, of the discomfiting of the Frenchmen and taking ofthe king: great solemnities were made in all churches and great firesand wakes throughout all England. The knights and squires, such aswere come home from that journey, were much made of and praised morethan other. 

WAT TYLER'S REBELLION

HOW THE COMMONS OF ENGLAND REBELLED AGAINST THE NOBLEMEN

In the mean season while this treaty was, there fell in England greatmischief and rebellion of moving of the common people, by which deedEngland was at a point to have been lost without recovery. There wasnever realm nor country in so great adventure as it was in that time, and all because of the ease and riches that the common people were of, which moved them to this rebellion, as sometime they did in France, the which did much hurt, for by such incidents the realm of Francehath been greatly grieved. 

It was a marvellous thing and of poor foundation that this mischiefbegan in England, and to give ensample to all manner of people I willspeak hereof as it was done, as I was informed, and of the incidentsthereof. There was an usage in England, and yet is in diverscountries, that the noblemen hath great franchise over the commons andkeepeth them in servage, that is to say, their tenants ought by customto labour the lords' lands, to gather and bring home their corns, andsome to thresh and to fan, and by servage to make their hay and to hewtheir wood and bring it home. All these things they ought to do byservage, and there be more of these people in England than in anyother realm. Thus the noblemen and prelates are served by them, andespecially in the county of Kent, Essex, Sussex and Bedford. Theseunhappy people of these said countries began to stir, because theysaid they were kept in great servage, and in the beginning of theworld, they said, there were no bondmen, wherefore they maintainedthat none ought to be bond, without he did treason to his lord, asLucifer did to God; but they said they could have no such battle, [1]for they were neither angels nor spirits, but men formed to thesimilitude of their lords, saying why should they then be kept sounder like beasts; the which they said they would no longer suffer, for they would be all one, and if they laboured or did anything fortheir lords, they would have wages therefor as well as other. And ofthis imagination was a foolish priest in the country of Kent calledJohn Ball, for the which foolish words he had been three times in thebishop of Canterbury's prison: for this priest used oftentimes on theSundays after mass, when the people were going out of the minster, togo into the cloister and preach, and made the people to assemble abouthim, and would say thus: 'Ah, ye good people, the matters goeth notwell to pass in England, nor shall not do till everything be common, and that there be no villains nor gentlemen, but that we may be allunited together, and that the lords be no greater masters than we be. What have we deserved, or why should we be kept thus in servage? We beall come from one father and one mother, Adam and Eve: whereby canthey say or shew that they be greater lords than we be, saving by thatthey cause us to win and labour for that they dispend? They areclothed in velvet and camlet furred with grise, and we be vesturedwith poor cloth: they have their wines, spices and good bread, and wehave the drawing out of the chaff[2] and drink water; they dwell infair houses, and we have the pain and travail, rain and wind in thefields; and by that that cometh of our labours they keep and maintaintheir estates: we be called their bondmen, and without we do readilythem service, we be beaten; and we have no sovereign to whom we maycomplain, nor that will hear us nor do us right. Let us go to theking, he is young, and shew him what servage we be in, and shew himhow we will have it otherwise, or else we will provide us of someremedy; and if we go together, all manner of people that be now in anybondage will follow us to the intent to be made free; and when theking seeth us, we shall have some remedy, either by fairness orotherwise. ' Thus John Ball said on Sundays, when the people issued outof the churches in the villages; wherefore many of the mean peopleloved him, and such as intended to no goodness said how he said truth;and so they would murmur one with another in the fields and in theways as they went together, affirming how John Ball said truth. 

 [1] The true text is, 'Mais ils n'avoient pas cette taille, ' 'but they were not of that nature. ' The translator found the corruption 'bataille' for 'taille. '

 [2] Froissart says 'le seigle, le retrait et la paille, ' 'the rye, the bran and the straw. ' The translator's French text had 'le seigle, le retraict de la paille. '

The archbishop of Canterbury, who was informed of the saying of thisJohn Ball, caused him to be taken and put in prison a two or threemonths to chastise him: howbeit, it had been much better at thebeginning that he had been condemned to perpetual prison or else tohave died, rather than to have suffered him to have been againdelivered out of prison; but the bishop had conscience to let him die. And when this John Ball was out of prison, he returned again to hiserror, as he did before. 

Of his words and deeds there were much people in London informed, suchas had great envy at them that were rich and such as were noble; andthen they began to speak among them and said how the realm of Englandwas right evil governed, and how that gold and silver was taken fromthem by them that were named noblemen: so thus these unhappy men ofLondon began to rebel and assembled them together, and sent word tothe foresaid countries that they should come to London and bring theirpeople with them, promising them how they should find London open toreceive them and the commons of the city to be of the same accord, saying how they would do so much to the king that there should not beone bondman in all England. 

This promise moved so them of Kent, of Essex, of Sussex, of Bedfordand of the countries about, that they rose and came towards London tothe number of sixty thousand. And they had a captain called WaterTyler, and with him in company was Jack Straw and John Ball: thesethree were chief sovereign captains, but the head of all was WaterTyler, and he was indeed a tiler of houses, an ungracious patron. Whenthese unhappy men began thus to stir, they of London, except such aswere of their band, were greatly affrayed. Then the mayor of Londonand the rich men of the city took counsel together, and when they sawthe people thus coming on every side, they caused the gates of thecity to be closed and would suffer no man to enter into the city. Butwhen they had well imagined, they advised not so to do, for theythought they should thereby put their suburbs in great peril to bebrent; and so they opened again the city, and there entered in at thegates in some place a hundred, two hundred, by twenty and by thirty, and so when they came to London, they entered and lodged: and yet oftruth the third part[3] of these people could not tell what to ask ordemand, but followed each other like beasts, as the shepherds[4] didof old time, saying how they would go conquer the Holy Land, and atlast all came to nothing. In like wise these villains and poor peoplecame to London, a hundred mile off, sixty mile, fifty mile, fortymile, and twenty mile off, and from all countries about London, butthe most part came from the countries before named, and as they camethey demanded ever for the king. The gentlemen of the countries, knights and squires, began to doubt, when they saw the people began torebel; and though they were in doubt, it was good reason; for a lessoccasion they might have been affrayed. So the gentlemen drew togetheras well as they might. 

 [3] 'Bien les trois pars. ' i. E. 'three-fourths. '

 [4] 'Les pastoureaulx. ' The reference no doubt is to the Pastoureaux of 1320, who were destroyed at Aigues-Mortes when attempting to obtain a passage to the Holy Land. 

The same day that these unhappy people of Kent were coming to London, there returned from Canterbury the king's mother, princess of Wales, coming from her pilgrimage. She was in great jeopardy to have beenlost, for these people came to her chare and dealt rudely with her, whereof the good lady was in great doubt lest they would have donesome villany to her or to her damosels. Howbeit, God kept her, and shecame in one day from Canterbury to London, for she never durst tarryby the way. The same time king Richard her son was at the Tower ofLondon: there his mother found him, and with him there was the earl ofSalisbury, the archbishop of Canterbury, sir Robert of Namur, the lordof Gommegnies and divers other, who were in doubt of these people thatthus gathered together, and wist not what they demanded. Thisrebellion was well known in the king's court, or any of these peoplebegan to stir out of their houses; but the king nor his council didprovide no remedy therefor, which was great marvel. And to the intentthat all lords and good people and such as would nothing but goodshould take ensample to correct them that be evil and rebellious, Ishall shew you plainly all the matter, as it was. 

THE EVIL DEEDS THAT THESE COMMONS OF ENGLAND DID TO THE KING'SOFFICERS, AND HOW THEY SENT A KNIGHT TO SPEAK WITH THE KING

The Monday before the feast of Corpus Christi the year of our Lord Goda thousand three hundred and eighty-one these people issued out oftheir houses to come to London to speak with the king to be made free, for they would have had no bondman in England. And so first they cameto Saint Thomas of Canterbury, and there John Ball had thought to havefound the bishop of Canterbury, but he was at London with the king. When Wat Tyler and Jack Straw entered into Canterbury, all the commonpeople made great feast, for all the town was of their assent; andthere they took counsel to go to London to the king, and to send someof their company over the river of Thames into Essex, into Sussex andinto the counties of Stafford and Bedford, to speak to the people thatthey should all come to the farther side of London and thereby toclose London round about, so that the king should not stop theirpassages, and that they should all meet together on Corpus Christiday. They that were at Canterbury entered into Saint Thomas' churchand did there much hurt, and robbed and brake up the bishop's chamber, and in robbing and bearing out their pillage they said: 'Ah, thischancellor of England hath had a good market to get together all thisriches: he shall give us now account of the revenues of England and ofthe great profits that he hath gathered sith the king's coronation. 'When they had this Monday thus broken the abbey of Saint Vincent, theydeparted in the morning and all the people of Canterbury with them, and so took the way to Rochester and sent their people to the villagesabout. And in their going they beat down and robbed houses ofadvocates and procurers of the king's court and of the archbishop, andhad mercy of none. And when they were come to Rochester, they hadthere good cheer; for the people of that town tarried for them, forthey were of the same sect, and then they went to the castle there andtook the knight that had the rule thereof, he was called sir JohnNewton, and they said to him: 'Sir, it behoveth you to go with us andyou shall be our sovereign captain and to do that we will have you, 'The knight excused himself honestly and shewed them diversconsiderations and excuses, but all availed him nothing, for they saidunto him: 'Sir John, if ye do not as we will have you, ye are butdead, ' The knight, seeing these people in that fury and ready to slayhim, he then doubted death and agreed to them, and so they took himwith them against his inward will; and in like wise did they of othercounties in England, as Essex, Sussex, Stafford, Bedford and Warwick, even to Lincoln; for they brought the knights and gentlemen into suchobeisance, that they caused them to go with them, whether they wouldor not, as the lord Moylays, a great baron, sir Stephen of Hales andsir Thomas of Cosington and other. 

Now behold the great fortune. If they might have come to theirintents, they would have destroyed all the noblemen of England, andthereafter all other nations would have followed the same and havetaken foot and ensample by them and by them of Gaunt and Flanders, whorebelled against their lord. The same year the Parisians rebelled inlike wise and found out the mallets of iron, of whom there were morethan twenty thousand, as ye shall hear after in this history; butfirst we will speak of them of England. 

When these people thus lodged at Rochester departed, and passed theriver and came to Brentford, alway keeping still their opinions, beating down before them and all about the places and houses ofadvocates and procurers, and striking off the heads of divers persons. And so long they went forward till they came within a four mile ofLondon, and there lodged on a hill called Blackheath; and as theywent, they said ever they were the king's men and the noble commons ofEngland:[1] and when they of London knew that they were come so nearto them, the mayor, as ye have heard before, closed the gates and keptstraitly all the passages. This order caused the mayor, who was calledNicholas Walworth, [2] and divers other rich burgesses of the city, whowere not of their sect; but there were in London of their unhappyopinions more than thirty thousand. 

 [1] 'That they were for the king and the noble commons (or commonwealth) of England. '

 [2] Froissart calls him John: his name was really William. 

Then these people thus being lodged on Blackheath determined to sendtheir knight to speak with the king and to shew him how all that theyhave done or will do is for him and his honour, and how the realm ofEngland hath not been well governed a great space for the honour ofthe realm nor for the common profit by his uncles and by the clergy, and specially by the archbishop of Canterbury his chancellor; whereofthey would have account. This knight durst do none otherwise, but socame by the river of Thames to the Tower. The king and they that werewith him in the Tower, desiring to hear tidings, seeing this knightcoming made him way, and was brought before the king into a chamber;and with the king was the princess his mother and his two brethren, the earl of Kent and the lord John Holland, the earl of Salisbury, theearl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford, the archbishop of Canterbury, thelord of Saint John's, [3] sir Robert of Namur, the lord of Vertaing, the lord of Gommegnies, sir Henry of Senzeille, the mayor of Londonand divers other notable burgesses. This knight sir John Newton, whowas well known among them, for he was one of the king's officers, hekneeled down before the king and said: 'My right redoubted lord, letit not displease your grace the message that I must needs shew you, for, dear sir, it is by force and against my will. ' 'Sir John, ' saidthe king, 'say what ye will: I hold you excused. ' 'Sir, the commons ofthis your realm hath sent me to you to desire you to come and speakwith them on Blackheath; for they desire to have none but you: and, sir, ye need not to have any doubt of your person, for they will doyou no hurt; for they hold and will hold you for their king. But, sir, they say they will shew you divers things, the which shall be rightnecessary for you to take heed of, when they speak with you; of thewhich things, sir, I have no charge to shew you: but, sir, it mayplease you to give me an answer such as may appease them and that theymay know for truth that I have spoken with you; for they have mychildren in hostage till I return again to them, and without I returnagain, they will slay my children incontinent. '

 [3] That is, the grand prior of the Hospital. 

Then the king made him an answer and said: 'Sir, ye shall have ananswer shortly. ' Then the king took counsel what was best for him todo, and it was anon determined that the next morning the king shouldgo down the river by water and without fail to speak with them. Andwhen sir John Newton heard that answer, he desired nothing else and sotook his leave of the king and of the lords and returned again intohis vessel, and passed the Thames and went to Blackheath, where he hadleft more than threescore thousand men. And there he answered themthat the next morning they should send some of their council to theThames, and there the king would come and speak with them. [4] Thisanswer greatly pleased them, and so passed that night as well as theymight, and the fourth part of them fasted for lack of victual for theyhad none, wherewith they were sore displeased, which was good reason. 

 [4] 'Les quatre pars d'eux, ' 'four-fifths of them. '

All this season the earl of Buckingham was in Wales, for there he hadfair heritages by reason of his wife, who was daughter to the earl ofNorthumberland and Hereford; but the voice was all through London howhe was among these people. And some said certainly how they had seenhim there among them; and all was because there was one Thomas intheir company, a man of the county of Cambridge, that was very likethe earl. Also the lords that lay at Plymouth to go into Portugal werewell informed of this rebellion and of the people that thus began torise; wherefore they doubted lest their viage should have been broken, or else they feared lest the commons about Hampton, Winchester andArundel would have come on them: wherefore they weighed up theiranchors and issued out of the haven with great pain, for the wind wassore against them, and so took the sea and there cast anchor abidingfor the wind. And the duke of Lancaster, who was in the marches ofScotland between Moorlane and Roxburgh entreating with the Scots, where it was shewed him of the rebellion, whereof he was in doubt, forhe knew well he was but little beloved with the commons of England;howbeit, for all those tidings, yet he did sagely demean himself astouching the treaty with the Scots. The earl Douglas, the earl ofMoray, the earl of Sutherland and the earl Thomas Versy, and the Scotsthat were there for the treaty knew right well the rebellion inEngland, how the common people in every part began to rebel againstthe noblemen; wherefore the Scots thought that England was in greatdanger to be lost, and therefore in their treaties they were the morestiffer against the duke of Lancaster and his council. 

Now let us speak of the commons of England and how they persevered. 

HOW THE COMMONS OF ENGLAND ENTERED INTO LONDON, AND OF THE GREAT EVILTHAT THEY DID, AND OF THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF CANTERBURY AND DIVERSOTHER

In the morning on Corpus Christi day king Richard heard mass in theTower of London, and all his lords, and then he took his barge withthe earl of Salisbury, the earl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford andcertain knights, and so rowed down along the Thames to Rotherhithe, whereas was descended down the hill a ten thousand men to see the kingand to speak with him. And when they saw the king's barge coming, theybegan to shout, and made such a cry, as though all the devils of hellhad been among them. And they had brought with them sir John Newton tothe intent that, if the king had not come, they would have strickenhim all to pieces, and so they had promised him. And when the king andhis lords saw the demeanour of the people, the best assured of themwere in dread; and so the king was counselled by his barons not totake any landing there, but so rowed up and down the river. And theking demanded of them what they would, and said how he was comethither to speak with them, and they said all with one voice: 'Wewould that ye should come aland, and then we shall shew you what welack. ' Then the earl of Salisbury answered for the king and said:'Sirs, ye be not in such order nor array that the king ought to speakwith you. ' And so with those words no more said: and then the king wascounselled to return again to the Tower of London, and so he did. 

And when these people saw that, they were inflamed with ire andreturned to the hill where the great band was, and there shewed themwhat answer they had and how the king was returned to the Tower ofLondon. Then they cried all with one voice, 'Let us go to London, ' andso they took their way thither; and in their going they beat downabbeys and houses of advocates and of men of the court, and so cameinto the suburbs of London, which were great and fair, and there beatdown divers fair houses, and specially they brake up the king'sprisons, as the Marshalsea and other, and delivered out all theprisoners that were within: and there they did much hurt, and at thebridge foot they threat them of London because the gates of the bridgewere closed, saying how they would bren all the suburbs and so conquerLondon by force, and to slay and bren all the commons of the city. There were many within the city of their accord, and so they drewtogether and said: 'Why do we not let these good people enter into thecity? they are your fellows, and that that they do is for us, ' Sotherewith the gates were opened, and then these people entered intothe city and went into houses and sat down to eat and drink. Theydesired nothing but it was incontinent brought to them, for every manwas ready to make them good cheer and to give them meat and drink toappease them. 

Then the captains, as John Ball, Jack Straw and Wat Tyler, wentthroughout London and a twenty thousand with them, and so came to theSavoy in the way to Westminster, which was a goodly house and itpertained to the duke of Lancaster. And when they entered, they slewthe keepers thereof and robbed and pilled the house, and when they hadso done, then they set fire on it and clean destroyed and brent it. And when they had done that outrage, they left not therewith, but wentstraight to the fair hospital of the Rhodes called Saint John's, [1]and there they brent house, hospital, minster and all. Then they wentfrom street to street and slew all the Flemings that they could findin church or in any other place, there was none respited from death. And they brake up divers houses of the Lombards and robbed them andtook their goods at their pleasure, for there was none that durst saythem nay. And they slew in the city a rich merchant called RichardLyon, to whom before that time Wat Tyler had done service in France;and on a time this Richard Lyon had beaten him, while he was hisvarlet, the which Wat Tyler then remembered and so came to his houseand strake off his head and caused it to be borne on a spear-pointbefore him all about the city. Thus these ungracious people demeanedthemselves like people enraged and wood, and so that day they did muchsorrow in London. 

 [1] This is called afterwards 'l'Ospital de Saint Jehan du Temple, ' and therefore would probably be the Temple, to which the Hospitallers had suceeded. They had, however, another house at Clerkenwell, which also had been once the property of the Templars. 

And so against night they went to lodge at Saint Katherine's beforethe Tower of London, saying how they would never depart thence tillthey had the king at their pleasure and till he had accorded to themall (they would ask, and) that they would ask accounts of thechancellor of England, to know where all the good was become that hehad levied through the realm, and without he made a good account tothem thereof, it should not be for his profit. And so when they haddone all these evils to the strangers all the day, at night theylodged before the Tower. 

Ye may well know and believe that it was great pity for the dangerthat the king and such as were with him were in. For some time theseunhappy people shouted and cried so loud, as though all the devils ofhell had been among them. In this evening the king was counselled byhis brethren and lords and by sir Nicholas Walworth, mayor of London, and divers other notable and rich burgesses, that in the night timethey should issue out of the Tower and enter into the city, and so toslay all these unhappy people, while they were at their rest andasleep; for it was thought that many of them were drunken, wherebythey should be slain like flies; also of twenty of them there wasscant one in harness. And surely the good men of London might wellhave done this at their ease, for they had in their houses secretlytheir friends and servants ready in harness, and also sir RobertKnolles was in his lodging keeping his treasure with a sixscore readyat his commandment; in like wise was sir Perducas d'Albret, who was asthen in London, insomuch that there might well (have) assembledtogether an eight thousand men ready in harness. Howbeit, there wasnothing done, for the residue of the commons of the city were soredoubted, lest they should rise also, and the commons before were athreescore thousand or more. Then the earl of Salisbury and the wisemen about the king said: 'Sir, if ye can appease them with fairness, it were best and most profitable, and to grant them everything thatthey desire, for if we should begin a thing the which we could notachieve, we should never recover it again, but we and our heirs everto be disinherited, ' So this counsel was taken and the mayorcountermanded, and so commanded that he should not stir; and he did ashe was commanded, as reason was. And in the city with the mayor therewere twelve aldermen, whereof nine of them held with the king and theother three took part with these ungracious people, as it was afterwell known, the which they full dearly bought. 

And on the Friday in the morning the people, being at SaintKatharine's near to the Tower, began to apparel themselves and to cryand shout, and said, without the king would come out and speak withthem, they would assail the Tower and take it by force, and slay allthem that were within. Then the king doubted these words and so wascounselled that he should issue out to speak with them: and then theking sent to them that they should all draw to a fair plain placecalled Mile-end, whereas the people of the city did sport them in thesummer season, and there the king to grant them that they desired; andthere it was cried in the king's name, that whosoever would speak withthe king let him go to the said place, and there he should not fail tofind the king. Then the people began to depart, specially the commonsof the villages, and went to the same place: but all went not thither, for they were not all of one condition; for there were some thatdesired nothing but riches and the utter destruction of the noblemenand to have London robbed and pilled; that was the principal matter oftheir beginning, the which they well shewed, for as soon as the Towergate opened and that the king was issued out with his two brethren andthe earl of Salisbury, the earl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford, sirRobert of Namur, the lord of Vertaing, the lord Gommegnies and diversother, then Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and John Ball and more than fourhundred entered into the Tower and brake up chamber after chamber, andat last found the archbishop of Canterbury, called Simon, a valiantman and a wise, and chief chancellor of England, and a little beforehe had said mass before the king. These gluttons took him and strakeoff his head, and also they beheaded the lord of Saint John's and afriar minor, master in medicine, pertaining to the duke of Lancaster, they slew him in despite of his master, and a sergeant at arms calledJohn Leg; and these four heads were set on four long spears and theymade them to be borne before them through the streets of London and atlast set them a-high on London bridge, as though they had beentraitors to the king and to the realm. Also these gluttons enteredinto the princess' chamber and brake her bed, whereby she was so soreaffrayed that she swooned; and there she was taken up and borne to thewater side and put into a barge and covered, and so conveyed to aplace called the Queen's Wardrobe;[2] and there she was all that dayand night like a woman half dead, till she was comforted with the kingher son, as ye shall hear after. 

 [2] The Queen's Wardrobe was in the 'Royal' (called by Froissart or his copyist 'la Réole'), a palace near Blackfriars. 

HOW THE NOBLES OF ENGLAND WERE IN GREAT PERIL TO HAVE BEEN DESTROYED, AND HOW THESE REBELS WERE PUNISHED AND SENT HOME TO THEIR OWN HOUSES

When the king came to the said place of Mile-end without London, heput out of his company his two brethren, the earl of Kent and sir JohnHolland, and the lord of Gommegnies, for they durst not appear beforethe people: and when the king and his other lords were there, he foundthere a threescore thousand men of divers villages and of sundrycountries in England; so the king entered in among them and said tothem sweetly: 'Ah, ye good people, I am your king: what lack ye? whatwill ye say?' Then such as understood him said: 'We will that ye makeus free for ever, ourselves, our heirs and our lands, and that we becalled no more bond nor so reputed. ' 'Sirs, ' said the king, 'I am wellagreed thereto. Withdraw you home into your own houses and into suchvillages as ye came from, and leave behind you of every village two orthree, and I shall cause writings to be made and seal them with myseal, the which they shall have with them, containing everything thatye demand; and to the intent that ye shall be the better assured, Ishall cause my banners to be delivered into every bailiwick, shire andcountries. '

These words appeased well the common people, such as were simple andgood plain men, that were come thither and wist not why. They said, 'It was well said, we desire no better. ' Thus these people began to beappeased and began to withdraw them into the city of London. And theking also said a word, the which greatly contented them. He said:'Sirs, among you good men of Kent ye shall have one of my banners withyou, and ye of Essex another, and ye of Sussex, of Bedford, ofCambridge, of Yarmouth, of Stafford and of Lynn, each of you one; andalso I pardon everything that ye have done hitherto, so that ye followmy banners and return home to your houses. ' They all answered how theywould so do: thus these people departed and went into London. Then theking ordained more than thirty clerks the same Friday, to write withall diligence letter patents and sealed with the king's seal, anddelivered them to these people; and when they had received thewriting, they departed and returned into their own countries: but thegreat venom remained still behind, for Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and JohnBall said, for all that these people were thus appeased, yet theywould not depart so, and they had of their accord more than thirtythousand. So they abode still and made no press to have the king'swriting nor seal, for all their intents was to put the city to troublein such wise as to slay all the rich and honest persons and to rob andpill their houses. They of London were in great fear of this, wherefore they kept their houses privily with their friends and suchservants as they had, every man according to his puissance. And whenthese said people were this Friday thus somewhat appeased, and thatthey should depart as soon as they had their writings, every man homeinto his own country, then king Richard came into the Royal, where thequeen his mother was, right sore affrayed: so he comforted her as wellas he could and tarried there with her all that night. 

Yet I shall shew you of an adventure that fell by these ungraciouspeople before the city of Norwich, by a captain among them calledGuilliam Lister of Stafford. The same day of Corpus Christi that thesepeople entered into London and brent the duke of Lancaster's house, called the Savoy; and the hospital of Saint John's and brake up theking's prisons and did all this hurt, as ye have heard before, thesame time there assembled together they of Stafford, of Lynn, ofCambridge, of Bedford and of Yarmouth; and as they were coming towardsLondon, they had a captain among them called Lister. And as they came, they rested them before Norwich, and in their coming they caused everyman to rise with them, so that they left no villains behind them. Thecause why they rested before Norwich I shall shew you. There was aknight, captain of the town, called sir Robert Sale. He was nogentleman born, but he had the grace to be reputed sage and valiant inarms, and for his valiantness king Edward made him knight. He was ofhis body one of the biggest knights in all England. Lister and hiscompany thought to have had this knight with them and to make himtheir chief captain, to the intent to be the more feared and beloved:so they sent to him that he should come and speak with them in thefield, or else they would bren the town. The knight considered that itwas better for him to go and speak with them rather than they shoulddo that outrage to the town: then he mounted on his horse and issuedout of the town all alone, and so came to speak with them. And whenthey saw him, they made him great cheer and honoured him much, desiring him to alight off his horse and to speak with them, and so hedid: wherein he did great folly; for when he was alighted, they cameround about him and began to speak fair to him and said: 'Sir Robert, ye are a knight and a man greatly beloved in this country and renowneda valiant man; and though ye be thus, yet we know you well, ye be nogentleman born, but son to a villain such as we be. Therefore come youwith us and be our master, and we shall make you so great a lord, thatone quarter of England shall be under your obeisance, ' When the knightheard them speak thus, it was greatly contrarious to his mind, for hethought never to make any such bargain, and answered them with afelonous regard: 'Fly away, ye ungracious people, false and eviltraitors that ye be: would you that I should forsake my natural lordfor such a company of knaves as ye be, to my dishonour for ever? I hadrather ye were all hanged, as ye shall be; for that shall be yourend. ' And with those words he had thought to have leapt again upon hishorse, but he failed of the stirrup and the horse started away. Thenthey cried all at him and said: 'Slay him without mercy. ' When heheard those words, he let his horse go and drew out a good sword andbegan to scrimmish with them, and made a great place about him, thatit was pleasure to behold him. There was none that durst approach nearhim: there were some that approached near him, but at every strokethat he gave he cut off other leg, head or arm: there was none sohardy but that they feared him: he did there such deeds of arms thatit was marvel to regard. But there were more than forty thousand ofthese unhappy people: they shot and cast at him, and he was unarmed:to say truth, if he had been of iron or steel, yet he must needs havebeen slain; but yet, or he died, he slew twelve out of hand, besidethem that he hurt. Finally he was stricken to the earth, and they cutoff his arms and legs and then strake his body all to pieces. This wasthe end of sir Robert Sale, which was great damage; for which deedafterward all the knights and squires of England were angry and soredispleased when they heard thereof. 

Now let us return to the king. The Saturday the king departed from theWardrobe in the Royal and went to Westminster and heard mass in thechurch there, and all his lords with him. And beside the church therewas a little chapel with an image of our Lady, which did greatmiracles and in whom the kings of England had ever great trust andconfidence. The king made his orisons before this image and did therehis offering; and then he leapt on his horse, and all his lords, andso the king rode toward London; and when he had ridden a little way, on the left hand there was a way to pass without London. [1]

 [1] Or rather, 'he found a place on the left hand to pass without London. '

The same proper morning Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and John Ball hadassembled their company to common together in a place calledSmithfield, whereas every Friday there is a market of horses; andthere were together all of affinity more than twenty thousand, and yetthere were many still in the town, drinking and making merry in thetaverns and paid nothing, for they were happy that made them bestcheer. And these people in Smithfield had with them the king'sbanners, the which were delivered them the day before, and all thesegluttons were in mind to overrun and to rob London the same day; fortheir captains said how they had done nothing as yet. 'These libertiesthat the king hath given us is to us but a small profit: therefore letus be all of one accord and let us overrun this rich and puissantcity, or they of Essex, of Sussex, of Cambridge, of Bedford, ofArundel, of Warwick, of Reading, of Oxford, of Guildford, of Lynn, ofStafford, of Yarmouth, of Lincoln, of York and of Durham do comehither. For all these will come hither; Baker and Lister will bringthem hither; and if we be first lords of London and have thepossession of the riches that is therein, we shall not repent us; forif we leave it, they that come after will have it from us. '

To this counsel they all agreed; and therewith the king came the sameway unware of them, for he had thought to have passed that way withoutLondon, and with him a forty horse. And when he came before the abbeyof Saint Bartholomew and beheld all these people, then the king restedand said how he would go no farther till he knew what these peopleailed, saying, if they were in any trouble, how he would rappease themagain. The lords that were with him tarried also, as reason was whenthey saw the king tarry. And when Wat Tyler saw the king tarry, hesaid to his people: 'Sirs, yonder is the king: I will go and speakwith him. Stir not from hence, without I make you a sign; and when Imake you that sign, come on and slay all them except the king; but dothe king no hurt, he is young, we shall do with him as we list andshall lead him with us all about England, and so shall we be lords ofall the realm without doubt. ' And there was a doublet-maker of Londoncalled John Tycle, and he had brought to these gluttons a sixtydoublets, the which they ware: then he demanded of these captains whoshould pay him for his doublets; he demanded thirty mark. Wat Tyleranswered him and said: 'Friend, appease yourself, thou shalt be wellpaid or this day be ended. Keep thee near me; I shall be thycreditor. ' And therewith he spurred his horse and departed from hiscompany and came to the king, so near him that his horse head touchedthe croup of the king's horse, and the first word that he said wasthis: 'Sir king, seest thou all yonder people?' 'Yea truly, ' said theking, 'wherefore sayest thou?' 'Because, ' said he, 'they be all at mycommandment and have sworn to me faith and truth, to do all that Iwill have them' 'In a good time, ' said the king, 'I will well it beso. ' Then Wat Tyler said, as he that nothing demanded but riot: 'Whatbelievest thou, king, that these people and as many more as be inLondon at my commandment, that they will depart from thee thus withouthaving thy letters?' 'No, ' said the king, 'ye shall have them: theybe ordained for you and shall be delivered every one each after other. Wherefore, good fellows, withdraw fair and easily to your people andcause them to depart out of London; for it is our intent that each ofyou by villages and townships shall have letters patents, as I havepromised you. '

With those words Wat Tyler cast his eyen on a squire that was therewith the king bearing the king's sword, and Wat Tyler hated greatlythe same squire, for the same squire had displeased him before forwords between them. 'What, ' said Tyler, 'art thou there? Give me thydagger. ' 'Nay, ' said the squire, 'that will I not do: wherefore shouldI give it thee?' The king beheld the squire and said: 'Give it him;let him have it. ' And so the squire took it him sore against his will. And when this Wat Tyler had it, he began to play therewith and turnedit in his hand, and said again to the squire: 'Give me also thatsword. ' 'Nay, ' said the squire, 'it is the king's sword: thou art notworthy to have it, for thou art but a knave; and if there were no morehere but thou and I, thou durst not speak those words for as much goldin quantity as all yonder abbey. '[2] 'By my faith, ' said Wat Tyler, 'Ishall never eat meat till I have thy head': and with those words themayor of London came to the king with a twelve horses well armed undertheir coats, and so he brake the press and saw and heard how Wat Tylerdemeaned himself, and said to him: 'Ha, thou knave, how art thou sohardy in the king's presence to speak such words? It is too much forthee so to do. ' Then the king began to chafe and said to the mayor:'Set hands on him. ' And while the king said so, Tyler said to themayor: 'A God's name what have I said to displease thee?' 'Yes truly, 'quoth the mayor, 'thou false stinking knave, shalt thou speak thus inthe presence of the king my natural lord? I commit never to live, without thou shalt dearly abye it. '[3] And with those words the mayordrew out his sword and strake Tyler so great a stroke on the head, that he fell down at the feet of his horse, and as soon as he wasfallen, they environed him all about, whereby he was not seen of hiscompany. Then a squire of the king's alighted, called John Standish, and he drew out his sword and put it into Wat Tyler's belly, and so hedied. 

 [2] The full text has, 'for as much gold as that minster of Saint Paul is great. '

 [3] 'Jamais je veux vivre, si tu ne le compares. '

Then the ungracious people there assembled, perceiving their captainslain, began to murmur among themselves and said: 'Ah, our captain isslain, let us go and slay them all': and therewith they arrangedthemselves on the place in manner of battle, and their bows beforethem. Thus the king began a great outrage;[4] howbeit, all turned tothe best: for as soon as Tyler was on the earth, the king departedfrom all his company and all alone he rode to these people, and saidto his own men: 'Sirs, none of you follow me; let me alone. ' And sowhen he came before these ungracious people, who put themselves inordinance to revenge their captain, then the king said to them: 'Sirs, what aileth you? Ye shall have no captain but me: I am your king: beall in rest and peace. ' And so the most part of the people that heardthe king speak and saw him among them, were shamefast and began to waxpeaceable and to depart; but some, such as were malicious and evil, would not depart, but made semblant as though they would do somewhat. 

 [4] 'Outrage' here means 'act of boldness, ' as elsewhere, e. G. 'si fist une grant apertise d'armes et un grant outrage. '

Then the king returned to his own company and demanded of them whatwas best to be done. Then he was counselled to draw into the field, for to fly away was no boot. Then said the mayor: 'It is good that wedo so, for I think surely we shall have shortly some comfort of themof London and of such good men as be of our part, who are purveyed andhave their friends and men ready armed in their houses. ' And in themean time voice and bruit ran through London how these unhappy peoplewere likely to slay the king and the mayor in Smithfield; through thewhich noise all manner of good men of the king's party issued out oftheir houses and lodgings well armed, and so came all to Smithfieldand to the field where the king was, and they were anon to the numberof seven or eight thousand men well armed. And first thither came sirRobert Knolles and sir Perducas d'Albret, well accompanied, and diversof the aldermen of London, and with them a six hundred men in harness, and a puissant man of the city, who was the king's draper, [5] calledNicholas Bramber, and he brought with him a great company; and ever asthey came, they ranged them afoot in order of battle: and on the otherpart these unhappy people were ready ranged, making semblance to givebattle, and they had with them divers of the king's banners. There theking made three knights, the one the mayor of London sir NicholasWalworth, sir John Standish and sir Nicholas Bramber. Then the lordssaid among themselves: 'What shall we do? We see here our enemies, whowould gladly slay us, if they might have the better hand of us. ' SirRobert Knolles counselled to go and fight with them and slay them all;yet the king would not consent thereto, but said: 'Nay, I will not so:I will send to them commanding them to send me again my banners andthereby we shall see what they will do. Howbeit, other by fairness orotherwise, I will have them. ' 'That is well said, sir, ' quoth the earlof Salisbury. Then these new knights were sent to them, and theseknights made token to them not to shoot at them, and when they came sonear them that their speech might be heard, they said: 'Sirs, the kingcommandeth you to send to him again his banners, and we think he willhave mercy of you. ' And incontinent they delivered again the bannersand sent them to the king. Also they were commanded on pain of theirheads, that all such as had letters of the king to bring them forthand to send them again to the king; and so many of them deliveredtheir letters, but not all. Then the king made them to be all to tornin their presence; and as soon as the king's banners were deliveredagain, these unhappy people kept none array, but the most part of themdid cast down their bows, and so brake their array and returned intoLondon. Sir Robert Knolles was sore displeased in that he might not goto slay them all: but the king would not consent thereto, but said hewould be revenged of them well enough; and so he was after. 

 [5] 'Qui estoit des draps du roy. ' He owned large estates in Essex and also shops in London. He became one of the councillors of Richard II. 

Thus these foolish people departed, some one way and some another; andthe king and his lords and all his company right ordinately enteredinto London with great joy. And the first journey that the king madehe went to the lady princess his mother, who was in a castle in theRoyal called the Queen's Wardrobe, and there she had tarried two daysand two nights right sore abashed, as she had good reason; and whenshe saw the king her son, she was greatly rejoiced and said: 'Ah, fairson, what pain and great sorrow that I have suffered for you thisday!' Then the king answered and said: 'Certainly, madam, I know itwell; but now rejoice yourself and thank God, for now it is time. Ihave this day recovered mine heritage and the realm of England, thewhich I had near lost. ' Thus the king tarried that day with hismother, and every lord went peaceably to their own lodgings. Thenthere was a cry made in every street in the king's name, that allmanner of men, not being of the city of London and have not dweltthere the space of one year, to depart; and if any such be found therethe Sunday by the sun-rising, that they should be taken as traitors tothe king and to lose their heads. This cry thus made, there was nonethat durst brake it, and so all manner of people departed and sparkledabroad every man to their own places. John Ball and Jack Straw werefound in an old house hidden, thinking to have stolen away, but theycould not, for they were accused by their own men. Of the taking ofthem the king and his lords were glad, and then strake off their headsand Wat Tyler's also, and they were set on London bridge, and thevaliant men's heads taken down that they had set on the Thursdaybefore. These tidings anon spread abroad, so that the people of thestrange countries, which were coming towards London, returned backagain to their own houses and durst come no farther. 

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN

HOW THE EARL DOUGLAS WON THE PENNON OF SIR HENRY PERCY AT THE BARRIERSBEFORE NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, AND HOW THE SCOTS BRENT THE CASTLE OFPONTLAND, AND HOW SIR HENRY PERCY AND SIR RALPH HIS BROTHER TOOKADVICE TO FOLLOW THE SCOTS TO CONQUER AGAIN THE PENNON THAT WAS LOSTAT THE SCRIMMISH

When the English lords saw that their squire returned not again at thetime appointed, and could know nothing what the Scots did, nor whatthey were purposed to do, then they thought well that their squire wastaken. The lords sent each to other, to be ready whensoever theyshould hear that the Scots were abroad: as for their messenger, theythought him but lost. 

Now let us speak of the earl Douglas and other, for they had more todo than they that went by Carlisle. When the earls of Douglas, ofMoray, of March, and Dunbar[1] departed from the great host, they tooktheir way thinking to pass the water and to enter into the bishopricof Durham, and to ride to the town and then to return, brenning andexiling the country and so to come to Newcastle and to lodge there inthe town in the despite of all the Englishmen. And as they determined, so they did assay to put it in use, for they rode a great pace undercovert without doing of any pillage by the way or assaulting of anycastle, tower or house, but so came into the lord Percy's land andpassed the river of Tyne without any let a three leagues aboveNewcastle not far from Brancepeth, and at last entered into thebishopric of Durham, where they found a good country. Then they beganto make war, to slay people and to bren villages and to do many soredispleasures. 

 [1] George, earl of March and Dunbar: the text gives Mare, but there was at this time no earl of Mar. 

As at that time the earl of Northumberland and the other lords andknights of that country knew nothing of their coming. When tidingscame to Newcastle and to Durham that the Scots were abroad, and thatthey might well see by the fires and smoke abroad in the country, theearl sent to Newcastle his two sons and sent commandment to every manto draw to Newcastle, saying to his sons: 'Ye shall go to Newcastleand all the country shall assemble there, and I shall tarry atAlnwick, which is a passage that they must pass by. If we may enclosethem, we shall speed well. ' Sir Henry Percy and sir Ralph his brotherobeyed their father's commandment and came thither with them of thecountry. The Scots rode burning and exiling the country, that thesmoke thereof came to Newcastle. The Scots came to the gates of Durhamand scrimmished there; but they tarried not long but returned, as theyhad ordained before to do, and that they found by the way took anddestroyed it. Between Durham and Newcastle is but twelve leaguesEnglish and a good country: there was no town, without it were closed, but it was brent, and they repassed the river of Tyne where they hadpassed before, and then came before Newcastle and there rested. Allthe English knights and squires of the country of York and bishopricof Durham were assembled at Newcastle, and thither came the seneschalof York, sir Ralph Lumley, sir Matthew Redman, captain of Berwick, sirRobert Ogle, sir Thomas Grey, sir Thomas Holton, sir John Felton, sirJohn Lilleburn, sir Thomas Abingdon, the baron of Hilton, sir JohnCoppledike and divers other, so that the town was so full of peoplethat they wist not where to lodge. 

When these three Scottish earls who were chief captains had made theirenterprise in the bishopric of Durham and had sore overrun thecountry, then they returned to Newcastle and there rested and tarriedtwo days, and every day they scrimmished. The earl of Northumberland'stwo sons were two young lusty knights and were ever foremost at thebarriers to scrimmish. There were many proper feats of arms done andachieved: there was fighting hand to hand: among other there foughthand to hand the earl Douglas and sir Henry Percy, and by force ofarms the earl Douglas won the pennon of sir Henry Percy's, wherewithhe was sore displeased and so were all the Englishmen. And the earlDouglas said to sir Henry Percy: 'Sir, I shall bear this token of yourprowess into Scotland and shall set it on high on my castle ofDalkeith, that it may be seen far off, ' 'Sir, ' quoth sir Henry, 'yemay be sure ye shall not pass the bounds of this country till ye bemet withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunt thereof, ''Well, sir, ' quoth the earl Douglas, 'come this night to my lodgingand seek for your pennon: I shall set it before my lodging and see ifye will come to take it away. ' So then it was late, and the Scotswithdrew to their lodgings and refreshed them with such as they had. They had flesh enough: they made that night good watch, for theythought surely to be awaked for the words they had spoken, but theywere not, for sir Henry Percy was counselled not so to do. 

The next day the Scots dislodged and returned towards their owncountry, and so came to a castle and a town called Pontland, whereofsir Edmund of Alphel was lord, who was a right good knight. There theScots rested, for they came thither betimes, and understood that theknight was in his castle. Then they ordained to assail the castle, andgave a great assault, so that by force of arms they won it and theknight within it. Then the town and castle was brent; and from thencethe Scots went to the town and castle of Otterburn, an eight Englishmile from Newcastle[2] and there lodged. That day they made noneassault, but the next morning they blew their horns and made ready toassail the castle, which was strong, for it stood in the marish. Thatday they assaulted till they were weary, and did nothing. Then theysowned the retreat and returned to their lodgings. Then the lords drewto council to determine what they should do. The most part were of theaccord that the next day they should dislodge without giving of anyassault and to draw fair and easily towards Carlisle. But the earlDouglas brake that counsel and said: 'In despite of sir Henry Percy, who said he would come and win again his pennon, let us not departhence for two or three days. Let us assail this castle: it ispregnable: we shall have double honour. And then let us see if he willcome and fetch his pennon: he shall be well defended. '[3] Every manaccorded to his saying, what for their honour and for the love of him. Also they lodged there at their ease, for there was none that troubledthem: they made many lodgings of boughs and great herbs and fortifiedtheir camp sagely with the marish that was thereby, and theircarriages were set at the entry into the marishes and had all theirbeasts within the marish. Then they apparelled for to assault the nextday: this was their intention. 

 [2] Froissart says 'eight English leagues. ' In the next chapter the distance becomes 'seven little leagues, ' and later on, 'a six English miles, ' where the original is 'lieues. ' The actual distance is about thirty miles. The translator gives the form 'Combur' here, but 'Ottenburge' in the next chapter, as the name of the place. It is remarkable indeed how little trouble he seems to have taken generally to give English names correctly. In this chapter we have 'Nymyche' for 'Alnwick' and 'Pouclan' for 'Pontland, ' forms rather less like the real names than those which he found in the French text, viz. Nynich and Ponclau. 

 [3] Froissart says, 'if he comes, it shall be defended. ' The translator perhaps means 'he shall be prevented. '

Now let us speak of sir Henry Percy and of sir Ralph his brother andshew somewhat what they did. They were sore displeased that the earlDouglas had won the pennon of their arms: also it touched greatlytheir honours, if they did not as sir Henry Percy said he would; forhe had said to the earl Douglas that he should not carry his pennonout of England, and also he had openly spoken it before all theknights and squires that were at Newcastle. The Englishmen therethought surely that the earl Douglas' band was but the Scots' vanguardand that their host was left behind. The knights of the country, suchas were well expert in arms, spake against sir Henry Percy's opinionand said to him: 'Sir, there fortuneth in war oftentimes many losses. If the earl Douglas have won your pennon, he bought it dear, for hecame to the gate to seek it and was well beaten:[4] another day yeshall win as much of him or more. Sir, we say this because we knowwell all the power of Scotland is abroad in the fields, and if weissue out and be not men enow to fight with them, and peradventurethey have made this scrimmish with us to the intent to draw us out ofthe town, and the number that they be of, as it is said, above fortythousand men, they may soon enclose us and do with us what they will. Yet it were better to lose a pennon than two or three hundred knightsand squires and put all our country in adventure, ' These wordsrefrained sir Henry and his brother, for they would do nothing againstcounsel. Then tidings came to them by such as had seen the Scots andseen all their demeanour and what way they took and where they rested. 

 [4] i. E. 'well fought with. '

HOW SIR HENRY PERCY AND HIS BROTHER WITH A GOOD NUMBER OF MEN OF ARMSAND ARCHERS WENT AFTER THE SCOTS, TO WIN AGAIN HIS PENNON THAT THEEARL DOUGLAS HAD WON BEFORE NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, AND HOW THEY ASSAILEDTHE SCOTS BEFORE OTTERBURN IN THEIR LODGINGS

It was shewed to sir Henry Percy and to his brother and to the otherknights and squires that were there, by such as had followed the Scotsfrom Newcastle and had well advised their doing, who said to sir Henryand to sir Ralph: 'Sirs, we have followed the Scots privily and havediscovered all the country. The Scots be at Pontland and have takensir Edmund Alphel in his own castle, and from thence they be gone toOtterburn and there they lay this night. What they will do to-morrowwe know not: they are ordained to abide there: and, sirs, surely theirgreat host is not with them, for in all they pass not there a threethousand men, ' When sir Henry heard that, he was joyful and said:'Sirs, let us leap on our horses, for by the faith I owe to God and tomy lord my father I will go seek for my pennon and dislodge them thissame night. ' Knights and squires that heard him agreed thereto andwere joyous, and every man made him ready. 

The same evening the bishop of Durham came thither with a goodcompany, for he heard at Durham how the Scots were before Newcastleand how that the lord Percy's sons with other lords and knights shouldfight with the Scots: therefore the bishop of Durham to come to therescue had assembled up all the country and so was coming toNewcastle. But sir Henry Percy would not abide his coming, for he hadwith him six hundred spears, knights and squires, and an eightthousand footmen. They thought that sufficient number to fight withthe Scots, if they were not but three hundred spears and threethousand of other. Thus they departed from Newcastle after dinner andset forth in good order, and took the same way as the Scots had goneand rode to Otterburn, a seven little leagues from thence and fairway, but they could not ride fast because of their foot-men. And whenthe Scots had supped and some laid down to their rest, and were wearyof travailing and assaulting of the castle all that day, and thoughtto rise early in the morning in cool of the day to give a new assault, therewith suddenly the Englishmen came on them and entered into thelodgings, weening it had been the masters' lodgings, and therein werebut varlets and servants. Then the Englishmen cried, 'Percy, Percy!'and entered into the lodgings, and ye know well where such affray isnoise is soon raised: and it fortuned well for the Scots, for whenthey saw the Englishmen came to wake them, then the lord sent acertain of their servants of foot-men to scrimmish with the Englishmenat the entry of the lodgings, and in the mean time they armed andapparelled them, every man under his banner and under his captain'spennon. The night was far on, but the moon shone so bright as an ithad been in a manner day. It was in the month of August and theweather fair and temperate. 

Thus the Scots were drawn together and without any noise departed fromtheir lodgings and went about a little mountain, which was greatly fortheir advantage. For all the day before they had well advised theplace and said among themselves: 'If the Englishmen come on ussuddenly, then we will do thus and thus, for it is a jeopardous thingin the night if men of war enter into our lodgings. If they do, thenwe will draw to such a place, and thereby other we shall win or lose. 'When the Englishmen entered into the field, at the first they soonovercame the varlets, and as they entered further in, always theyfound new men to busy them and to scrimmish with them. Then suddenlycame the Scots from about the mountain and set on the Englishmen orthey were ware, and cried their cries; whereof the Englishmen weresore astonied. Then they cried 'Percy!' and the other party cried'Douglas!'

There began a cruel battle and at the first encounter many wereoverthrown of both parties; and because the Englishmen were a greatnumber and greatly desired to vanquish their enemies, and rested attheir pace[1] and greatly did put aback the Scots, so that the Scotswere near discomfited. Then the earl James Douglas, who was young andstrong and of great desire to get praise and grace, and was willing todeserve to have it, and cared for no pain nor travail, came forth withhis banner and cried, 'Douglas, Douglas!' and sir Henry Percy and sirRalph his brother, who had great indignation against the earl Douglasbecause he had won the pennon of their arms at the barriers beforeNewcastle, came to that part and cried, 'Percy!' Their two banners metand their men: there was a sore fight: the Englishmen were so strongand fought so valiantly that they reculed the Scots back. There weretwo valiant knights of Scots under the banner of the earl Douglas, called sir Patrick of Hepbourn and sir Patrick his son. They acquittedthemselves that day valiantly: the earl's banner had been won, an theyhad not been: they defended it so valiantly and in the rescuingthereof did such feats of arms, that it was greatly to theirrecommendation and to their heirs' for ever after. 

 [1] In French, 'ilz se arresterent, ' without 'and. '

It was shewed me by such as had been at the same battle, as well byknights and squires of England as of Scotland, at the house of theearl of Foix, --for anon after this battle was done I met at Orthez twosquires of England called John of Chateauneuf and John of Cantiron;also when I returned to Avignon I found also there a knight and asquire of Scotland; I knew them and they knew me by such tokens as Ishewed them of their country, for I, author of this book, in my youthhad ridden nigh over all the realm of Scotland, and I was as then afifteen days in the house of earl William Douglas, father to the sameearl James, of whom I spake of now, in a castle of five leagues fromEdinburgh in the country of Dalkeith;[2] the same time I saw therethis earl James, a fair young child, and a sister of his called thelady Blanche, --and I was informed by both these parties[3] how thisbattle was as sore a battle fought as lightly hath been heard ofbefore of such a number; and I believe it well, for Englishmen on theone party and Scots on the other party are good men of war, for whenthey meet there is a hard fight without sparing, there is no hobetween them as long as spears, swords, axes or daggers will endure, but lay on each upon other, and when they be well beaten[4] and thatthe one party hath obtained the victory, they then glorify so in theirdeeds of arms and are so joyful, that such as be taken they shall beransomed or they go out of the field, so that shortly each of them isso content with other that at their departing-courteously they willsay, 'God thank you'; but in fighting one with another there is noplay nor sparing, and this is true, and that shall well appear by thissaid rencounter, for it was as valiantly foughten as could be devised, as ye shall hear. 

 [2] 'Which is called in the country Dalkeith. ' The French has 'que on nomme au pays Dacquest, ' of which the translator makes 'in the countrey of Alquest. '

 [3] 'By both sides, ' i. E. Scotch and English. 

 [4] 'When they have well fought. '

HOW THE EARL JAMES DOUGLAS BY HIS VALIANTNESS ENCOURAGED HIS MEN, WHOWERE RECULED AND IN A MANNER DISCOMFITED, AND IN HIS SO DOING HE WASWOUNDED TO DEATH

Knights and squires were of good courage on both parties to fightvaliantly: cowards there had no place, but hardiness reigned withgoodly feats of arms, for knights and squires were so joined togetherat hand strokes, that archers had no place of nother party. There theScots shewed great hardiness and fought merrily with great desire ofhonour: the Englishmen were three to one: howbeit, I say not butEnglishmen did nobly acquit themselves, for ever the Englishmen hadrather been slain or taken in the place than to fly. Thus, as I havesaid, the banners of Douglas and Percy and their men were met eachagainst other, envious who should win the honour of that journey. Atthe beginning the Englishmen were so strong that they reculed backtheir enemies: then the earl Douglas, who was of great heart and highof enterprise, seeing his men recule back, then to recover the placeand to shew knightly valour he took his axe in both his hands, andentered so into the press that he made himself way in such wise, thatnone durst approach near him, and he was so well armed that he barewell off such strokes as he received. [1] Thus he went ever forwardlike a hardy Hector, willing alone to conquer the field and todiscomfit his enemies: but at last he was encountered with threespears all at once, the one strake him on the shoulder, the other onthe breast and the stroke glinted down to his belly, and the thirdstrake him in the thigh, and sore hurt with all three strokes, so thathe was borne perforce to the earth and after that he could not beagain relieved. Some of his knights and squires followed him, but notall, for it was night, and no light but by the shining of the moon. The Englishmen knew well they had borne one down to the earth, butthey wist not who it was; for if they had known that it had been theearl Douglas, they had been thereof so joyful and so proud that thevictory had been theirs. Nor also the Scots knew not of that adventuretill the end of the battle; for if they had known it, they should havebeen so sore despaired and discouraged that they would have fled away. Thus as the earl Douglas was felled to the earth, he was stricken intothe head with an axe, and another stroke through the thigh: theEnglishmen passed forth and took no heed of him: they thought noneotherwise but that they had slain a man of arms. On the other part theearl George de la March and of Dunbar fought right valiantly and gavethe Englishmen much ado, and cried, 'Follow Douglas, ' and set on thesons of Percy: also earl John of Moray with his banner and men foughtvaliantly and set fiercely on the Englishmen, and gave them so much todo that they wist not to whom to attend. 

 [1] 'No man was so well armed that he did not fear the great strokes which he gave. '

HOW IN THIS BATTLE SIR RALPH PERCY WAS SORE HURT AND TAKEN PRISONER BYA SCOTTISH KNIGHT

Of all the battles and encounterings that I have made mention ofherebefore in all this history, great or small, this battle that Itreat of now was one of the sorest and best foughten without cowardiceor faint hearts. For there was nother knight nor squire but that didhis devoir and fought hand to hand: this battle was like the battle ofBecherel, [1] the which was valiantly fought and endured. The earl ofNorthumberland's sons, sir Henry and sir Ralph Percy, who were chiefsovereign captains, acquitted themselves nobly, and sir Ralph Percyentered in so far among his enemies that he was closed in and hurt, and so sore handled that his breath was so short, that he was takenprisoner by a knight of the earl of Moray's called sir John Maxwell. In the taking the Scottish knight demanded what he was, for it was inthe night, so that he knew him not, and sir Ralph was so sore overcomeand bled fast, that at last he said: 'I am Ralph Percy. ' Then the Scotsaid: 'Sir Ralph, rescue or no rescue I take you for my prisoner: I amMaxwell. ' 'Well, ' quoth sir Ralph, 'I am content: but then take heedto me, for I am sore hurt, my hosen and my greaves are full of blood, 'Then the knight saw by him the earl Moray and said: 'Sir, here Ideliver to you sir Ralph Percy as prisoner; but, sir, let good heed betaken to him, for he is sore hurt. ' The earl was joyful of these wordsand said: 'Maxwell, thou hast well won thy spurs. ' Then he deliveredsir Ralph Percy to certain of his men, and they stopped and wrappedhis wounds: and still the battle endured, not knowing who had as thenthe better, for there were many taken and rescued again that came tono knowledge. 

 [1] Or, according to another reading, 'Cocherel. '

Now let us speak of the young James earl of Douglas, who did marvelsin arms or he was beaten down. When he was overthrown, the press wasgreat about him, so that he could not relieve, for with an axe he hadhis death's wound. His men followed him as near as they could, andthere came to him sir James Lindsay his cousin and sir John and sirWalter Sinclair and other knights and squires. And by him was a gentleknight of his, who followed him all the day, and a chaplain of his, not like a priest but like a valiant man of arms, for all that nighthe followed the earl with a good axe in his hands and stillscrimmished about the earl thereas he lay, and reculed back some ofthe Englishmen with great strokes that he gave. Thus he was foundfighting near to his master, whereby he had great praise, and therebythe same year he was made archdeacon of Aberdeen. This priest wascalled sir William of North Berwick: he was a tall man and a hardy andwas sore hurt. When these knights came to the earl, they found him inan evil case and a knight of his lying by him called sir Robert Hart:he had a fifteen wounds in one place and other. Then sir John Sinclairdemanded of the earl how he did. 'Right evil, cousin, ' quoth the earl, 'but thanked be God there hath been but a few of mine ancestors thathath died in their beds: but, cousin, I require you think to revengeme, for I reckon myself but dead, for my heart fainteth oftentimes. Mycousin Walter and you, I pray you raise up again my banner which liethon the ground, and my squire Davie Collemine slain: but, sirs, shewnother to friend nor foe in what case ye see me in; for if mineenemies knew it, they would rejoice, and our friends discomforted. 'The two brethren of Sinclair and sir James Lindsay did as the earl haddesired them and raised up again his banner and cried 'Douglas!' Suchas were behind and heard that cry drew together and set on theirenemies valiantly and reculed back the Englishmen and many overthrown, and so drave the Englishmen back beyond the place whereas the earllay, who was by that time dead, and so came to the earl's banner, thewhich sir John Sinclair held in his hands, and many good knights andsquires of Scotland about him, and still company drew to the cry of'Douglas. ' Thither came the earl Moray with his banner wellaccompanied, and also the earl de la March and of Dunbar, and whenthey saw the Englishmen recule and their company assembled together, they renewed again the battle and gave many hard and sad strokes. 

HOW THE SCOTS WON THE BATTLE AGAINST THE ENGLISHMEN BESIDE OTTERBURN, AND THERE WAS TAKEN PRISONERS SIR HENRY AND SIR RALPH PERCY, AND HOWAN ENGLISH SQUIRE WOULD NOT YIELD HIM, NO MORE WOULD A SCOTTISHSQUIRE, AND SO DIED BOTH; AND HOW THE BISHOP OF DURHAM AND HIS COMPANYWERE DISCOMFITED AMONG THEMSELVES

To say truth, the Englishmen were sorer travailed than the Scots, forthey came the same day from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a six English miles, and went a great pace to the intent to find the Scots, which they did;so that by their fast going they were near out of breath, and theScots were fresh and well rested, which greatly availed them when timewas of their business: for in the last scrimmish they reculed back theEnglishmen in such wise, that after that they could no more assembletogether, for the Scots passed through their battles. And it fortunedthat sir Henry Percy and the lord of Montgomery, a valiant knight ofScotland, fought together hand to hand right valiantly without lettingof any other, for every man had enough to do. So long they two foughtthat per force of arms sir Henry Percy was taken prisoner by the saidlord of Montgomery. 

The knights and squires of Scotland, as sir Marc Adreman, [1] sirThomas Erskine, sir William, sir James and sir Alexander Lindsay, thelord of Fenton, sir John of Saint-Moreaulx, [2] sir Patrick of Dunbar, sir John and sir Walter Sinclair, sir John Maxwell, sir Guy Stuart, sir John Haliburton, sir Alexander Ramsay, Robert Collemine[3] and histwo sons John and Robert; who were there made knights, and a hundredknights and squires that I cannot name, all these right valiantly didacquit themselves. And on the English party, before that the lordPercy was taken and after, there fought valiantly sir Ralph Lumley, sir Matthew Redman, sir Thomas Ogle, sir Thomas Gray, sir ThomasHelton, sir Thomas Abingdon, sir John Lilleburn, sir WilliamWalsingham, the baron of Helton, sir John of Colpedich, [4] theseneschal of York and divers other footmen. Whereto should I writelong process? This was a sore battle and well foughten; and as fortuneis always changeable, though the Englishmen were more in number thanthe Scots and were right valiant men of war and well expert, and thatat the first front they reculed back the Scots, yet finally the Scotsobtained the place and victory, and all the foresaid Englishmen taken, and a hundred more, saving sir Matthew Redman, captain of Berwick, whowhen he knew no remedy nor recoverance, and saw his company fly fromthe Scots and yielded them on every side, then he took his horse anddeparted to save himself. 

 [1] Perhaps 'Malcolm Drummond. '

 [2] The true reading seems to be 'Sandilands. '

 [3] Perhaps 'Coningham. '

 [4] Either 'Copeland' or 'Copeldike. '

The same season about the end of this discomfiture there was anEnglish squire called Thomas Waltham, a goodly and a valiant man, andthat was well seen, for of all that night he would nother fly nor yetyield him. It was said he had made a vow at a feast in England, thatthe first time that ever he saw Englishmen and Scots in battle, hewould so do his devoir to his power, in such wise that either he wouldbe reputed for the best doer on both sides or else to die in the pain. He was called a valiant and a hardy man and did so much by hisprowess, that under the banner of the earl of Moray he did suchvaliantness in arms, that the Scots had marvel thereof, and so wasslain in fighting: the Scots would gladly have taken him alive, but hewould never yield, he hoped ever to have been rescued. And with himthere was a Scottish squire slain, cousin to the king of Scots, calledSimon Glendowyn; his death was greatly complained of the Scots. 

This battle was fierce and cruel till it came to the end of thediscomfiture; but when the Scots saw the Englishmen recule and yieldthemselves, then the Scots were courteous and set them to theirransom, and every man said to his prisoner: 'Sirs, go and unarm youand take your ease; I am your master:' and so made their prisoners asgood cheer as though they had been brethren, without doing to them anydamage. The chase endured a five English miles, and if the Scots hadbeen men enow, there had none scaped, but other they had been taken orslain. And if Archambault Douglas and the earl of Fife, the earlSutherland and other of the great company who were gone towardsCarlisle had been there, by all likelihood they had taken the bishopof Durham and the town of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. I shall shew you how. The same evening that the Percies departed from Newcastle, as ye haveheard before, the bishop of Durham with the rearband came to Newcastleand supped: and as he sat at the table, he had imagination in himselfhow he did not acquit himself well to see the Englishmen in the fieldand he to be within the town. Incontinent he caused the table to betaken away and commanded to saddle his horses and to sown thetrumpets, and called up men in the town to arm themselves and to mounton their horses, and foot-men to order themselves to depart. And thusevery man departed out of the town to the number of seven thousand, two thousand on horseback and five thousand afoot; they took their waytoward Otterburn, whereas the battle had been. And by that time theyhad gone two mile[5] from Newcastle tidings came to them how their menwere fighting with the Scots. Therewith the bishop rested there, andincontinent came more flying fast, that they were out of breath. Thenthey were demanded how the matter went. They answered and said: 'Rightevil; we be all discomfited: here cometh the Scots chasing of us. 'These tidings troubled the Englishmen, and began to doubt. And againthe third time men came flying as fast as they might. When the men ofthe bishopric of Durham heard of these evil tidings, they were abashedin such wise that they brake their array, so that the bishop could nothold together the number of five hundred. It was thought that if theScots had followed them in any number, seeing that it was night, thatin the entering into the town, and the Englishmen so abashed, the townhad been won. 

 [5] The word 'lieue' is translated 'mile' throughout. 

The bishop of Durham, being in the field, had good will to havesuccoured the Englishmen and recomforted his men as much as he could;but he saw his own men fly as well as other. Then he demanded counselof sir William Lucy and of sir Thomas Clifford and of other knights, what was best to do. These knights for their honour would give him nocounsel; for they thought to return again and do nothing should sowngreatly to their blame, and to go forth might be to their greatdamage; and so stood still and would give none answer, and the longerthey stood, the fewer they were, for some still stale away. Then thebishop said: 'Sirs, all things considered, it is none honour to putall in peril, nor to make of one evil damage twain. We hear how ourcompany be discomfited, and we cannot remedy it: for to go to recoverthem, we know not with whom nor with what number we shall meet. Let usreturn fair and easily for this night to Newcastle, and to-morrow letus draw together and go look on our enemies. ' Every man answered: 'AsGod will, so be it. ' Therewith they returned to Newcastle. Thus a manmay consider the great default that is in men that be abashed anddiscomfited: for if they had kept them together and have turned againsuch as fled, they had discomfited the Scots. This was the opinion ofdivers; and because they did not thus, the Scots had the victory. 

HOW SIR MATTHEW REDMEN DEPARTED FROM THE BATTLE TO SAVE HIMSELF; ANDHOW SIR JAMES LINDSAY WAS TAKEN PRISONER BY THE BISHOP OF DURHAM; ANDHOW AFTER THE BATTLE SCURRERS WERE SENT FORTH TO DISCOVER THE COUNTRY

I shall shew you of sir Matthew Redman, who was on horseback to savehimself, for he alone could not remedy the matter. At his departingsir James Lindsay was near to him and saw how sir Matthew departed, and this sir James, to win honour, followed in chase sir MatthewRedman, and came so near him that he might have striken him with hisspear, if he had list. Then he said: 'Ah, sir knight, turn; it is ashame thus to fly: I am James of Lindsay: if ye will not turn, I shallstrike you on the back with my spear. ' Sir Matthew spake no word, butstrake his horse with the spurs sorer than he did before. In thismanner he chased him more than three miles, and at last sir MatthewRedman's horse foundered and fell under him. Then he stept forth onthe earth and drew out his sword, and took courage to defend himself;and the Scot thought to have stricken him on the breast, but sirMatthew Redman swerved from the stroke, and the spear-point enteredinto the earth. Then sir Matthew strake asunder the spear with hissword; and when sir James Lindsay saw how he had lost his spear, hecast away the truncheon and lighted afoot, and took a littlebattle-axe that he carried at his back and handled it with his onehand quickly and deliverly, in the which feat Scots be well expert, and then he set at sir Matthew and he defended himself properly. Thusthey tourneyed together, one with an axe and the other with a sword, along season, and no man to let them. Finally sir James Lindsay gavethe knight such strokes and held him so short, that he was put out ofbreath in such wise that he yielded himself, and said: 'Sir JamesLindsay, I yield me to you. ' 'Well, ' quoth he, 'and I receive you, rescue or no rescue, ' 'I am content, ' quoth Redman, 'so ye deal withme like a good companion. ' 'I shall not fail that, ' quoth Lindsay, andso put up his sword. 'Well, sir, ' quoth Redman, 'what will you nowthat I shall do? I am your prisoner, ye have conquered me. I wouldgladly go again to Newcastle, and within fifteen days I shall come toyou into Scotland, whereas ye shall assign me. ' 'I am content, ' quothLindsay: 'ye shall promise by your faith to present yourself withinthis three weeks at Edinboro, and wheresoever ye go, to reputeyourself my prisoner, ' All this sir Matthew sware and promised tofulfil. Then each of them took their horses and took leave each ofother. Sir James returned, and his intent was to go to his own companythe same way that he came, and sir Matthew Redman to Newcastle. 

Sir James Lindsay could not keep the right way as he came: it was darkand a mist, and he had not ridden half a mile, but he met face to facewith the bishop of Durham and more than five hundred Englishmen withhim. He might well escaped if he had would, but he supposed it hadbeen his own company, that had pursued the Englishmen. When he wasamong them, one demanded of him what he was. 'I am, ' quoth he, 'sirJames Lindsay, ' The bishop heard those words and stept to him andsaid: 'Lindsay, ye are taken: yield ye to me. ' 'Who be you?' quothLindsay. 'l am, ' quoth he, 'the bishop of Durham. ' 'And from whencecome you, sir?' quoth Lindsay. 'I come from the battle, ' quoth thebishop, 'but I struck never a stroke there. I go back to Newcastle forthis night, and ye shall go with me, ' 'I may not choose, ' quothLindsay, 'sith ye will have it so. I have taken and I am taken; suchis the adventures of arms. ' 'Whom have ye taken?' quoth the bishop. 'Sir, ' quoth he, 'I took in the chase sir Matthew Redman. ' 'And whereis he?' quoth the bishop. 'By my faith, sir, he is returned toNewcastle: he desired me to trust him on his faith for three weeks, and so have I done, ' 'Well, ' quoth the bishop, 'let us go toNewcastle, and there ye shall speak with him. ' Thus they rode toNewcastle together, and sir James Lindsay was prisoner to the bishopof Durham. 

Under the banner of the earl de la March and of Dunbar was taken asquire of Gascoyne, called John of Chateauneuf, and under the bannerof the earl of Moray was taken his companion John de Camiron. Thus thefield was clean avoided, or the day appeared. The Scots drew togetherand took guides and sent out scurrers to see if any men were in theway from Newcastle, to the intent that they would not be troubled intheir lodgings; wherein they did wisely, for when the bishop of Durhamwas come again to Newcastle and in his lodging, he was sore pensiveand wist not what to say nor do; for he heard say how his cousins thePercies were slain or taken, and all the knights that were with them. Then he sent for all the knights and squires that were in the town;and when they were come, he demanded of them if they should leave thematter in that case, and said: 'Sirs, we shall bear great blame if wethus return without looking on our enemies, ' Then they concluded bythe sun-rising every man to be armed, and on horseback and afoot todepart out of the town and to go to Otterburn to fight with the Scots. This was warned through the town by a trumpet, and every man armedthem and assembled before the bridge, and by the sun-rising theydeparted by the gate towards Berwick and took the way towardsOtterburn to the number of ten thousand, what afoot and a-horseback. They were not gone past two mile from Newcastle, when the Scots weresignified that the bishop of Durham was coming to themward to fight:this they knew by their spies, such as they had set in the fields. 

After that sir Matthew Redman was returned to Newcastle and had shewedto divers how he had been taken prisoner by sir James Lindsay, then itwas shewed him how the bishop of Durham had taken the said sir JamesLindsay and how that he was there in the town as his prisoner. As soonas the bishop was departed, sir Matthew Redman went to the bishop'slodging to see his master, and there he found him in a study, lying ina window, [1] and said: 'What, sir James Lindsay, what make you here?'Then sir James came forth of the study to him and gave him goodmorrow, and said: 'By my faith, sir Matthew, fortune hath brought mehither; for as soon as I was departed from you, I met by chance thebishop of Durham, to whom I am prisoner, as ye be to me. I believe yeshall not need to come to Edinboro to me to make your finance: I thinkrather we shall make an exchange one for another, if the bishop be socontent. ' 'Well, sir, ' quoth Redman, 'we shall accord right welltogether, ye shall dine this day with me: the bishop and our men begone forth to fight with your men, I cannot tell what shall fall, weshall know at their return. ' 'I am content to dine with you, ' quothLindsay. Thus these two knights dined together in Newcastle. 

 [1] Or rather, 'very pensive leaning against a window, ' and afterwards the expression 'came forth of the study to him' should be 'broke off his thought and came towards him. '

When the knights of Scotland were informed how the bishop of Durhamcame on them with ten thousand men, they drew to council to see whatwas best for them to do, other to depart or else to abide theadventure. All things considered, they concluded to abide, for theysaid they could not be in a better nor a stronger place than they werein already; they had many prisoners and they could not carry themaway, if they should have departed; and also they had many of theirmen hurt and also some of their prisoners, whom they thought theywould not leave behind them. Thus they drew together and ordered sotheir field, that there was no entry but one way, and they set alltheir prisoners together and made them to promise how that, rescue orno rescue, they should be their prisoners. After that they made alltheir minstrels to blow up all at once and made the greatest revel ofthe world. Lightly it is the usage of Scots, that when they be thusassembled together in arms, the footmen beareth about their neckshorns in manner like hunters, some great, some small, and of allsorts, so that when they blow all at once, they make such a noise, that it may be heard nigh four miles off: thus they do to abash theirenemies and to rejoice themselves. When the bishop of Durham with hisbanner and ten thousand men with him were approached, within a league, then the Scots blew their horns in such wise, that it seemed that allthe devils in hell had been among them, so that such as heard them andknew not of their usage were sore abashed. This blowing and noiseendured a long space and then ceased: and by that time the Englishmenwere within less than a mile. Then the Scots began to blow again andmade a great noise, and as long endured as it did before. Then thebishop approached with his battle well ranged in good order and camewithin the sight of the Scots, as within two bow-shot or less: thenthe Scots blew again their horns a long space. The bishop stood stillto see what the Scots would do and aviewed them well and saw how theywere in a strong ground greatly to their advantage. Then the bishoptook counsel what was best for him to do; but all things well advised, they were not in purpose to enter in among the Scots to assail them, but returned without doing of anything, for they saw well they mightrather lose than win. 

When the Scots saw the Englishmen recule and that they should have nobattle, they went to their lodgings and made merry, and then ordainedto depart from thence. And because that sir Ralph Percy was sore hurt, he desired of his master that he might return to Newcastle or intosome place, whereas it pleased him unto such time as he were whole ofhis hurts, promising, as soon as he were able to ride, to return intoScotland, other to Edinboro or into any other place appointed. Theearl of March, under whom he was taken, agreed thereto and deliveredhim a horse litter and sent him away; and by like covenant diversother knights and squires were suffered to return and took term otherto return or else to pay their finance, such as they were appointedunto. It was shewed me by the information of the Scots, such as hadbeen at this said battle that was between Newcastle and Otterburn inthe year of our Lord God a thousand three hundred fourscore and eight, the nineteenth day of August, how that there were taken prisoners ofthe English party a thousand and forty men, one and other, and slainin the field and in the chase eighteen hundred and forty, and sorehurt more than a thousand: and of the Scots there were a hundredslain, and taken in the chase more than two hundred; for as theEnglishmen fled, when they saw any advantage they returned again andfought: by that means the Scots were taken and none otherwise. Everyman may well consider that it was a well fought field, when there wereso many slain and taken on both parties. 

HOW THE SCOTS DEPARTED AND CARRIED WITH THEM THE EARL DOUGLAS DEAD, AND BURIED HIM IN THE ABBEY OF MELROSE; AND HOW SIR ARCHAMBAULTDOUGLAS AND HIS COMPANY DEPARTED FROM BEFORE CARLISLE AND RETURNEDINTO SCOTLAND

After this battle thus finished, every man returned, [1] and the earlDouglas' dead body chested and laid in a chare, and with him sirRobert Hart and Simon Glendowyn, then they prepared to depart: so theydeparted and led with them sir Henry Percy and more than forty knightsof England, and took the way to the abbey of Melrose. At theirdeparting they set fire in their lodgings, and rode all the day, andyet lay that night in the English ground: none denied them. The nextday they dislodged early in the morning and so came that day toMelrose. It is an abbey of black monks on the border between bothrealms. There they rested and buried the earl James Douglas. Thesecond day after his obsequy was done reverently, and on his body laida tomb of stone and his banner hanging over him. Whether there were asthen any more earls of Douglas, to whom the land returned, or not, Icannot tell; for I, sir John Froissart, author of the book, was inScotland in the earl's castle of Dalkeith, living earl William, atwhich time he had two children, a son and a daughter; but after therewere many of the Douglases, for I have seen a five brethren, allsquires, bearing the name of Douglas, in the king of Scotland's house, David; they were sons to a knight in Scotland called sir JamesDouglas, and they bare in their arms gold, three oreilles gules, butas for the heritage, I know not who had it: as for sir ArchambaultDouglas, of whom I have spoken before in this history in diversplaces, who was a valiant knight, and greatly redoubted of theEnglishmen, he was but a bastard. 

 [1] That is, 'After the battle was over and every man had returned, ' but it should be, 'After all this was done and everything was gathered together. '

When these Scots had been at Melrose abbey and done there all thatthey came thither for, then they departed each from other and wentinto their own countries, and such as had prisoners, some led themaway with them and some were ransomed and suffered to return. Thusthe Englishmen found the Scots right courteous and gentle in theirdeliverance and ransom, so that they were well content. This wasshewed me in the country of Bearn in the earl of Foix's house by aknight named John of Chateauneuf, who was taken prisoner at the samejourney under the banner of the earl of March and Dunbar: and hegreatly praised the said earl, for he suffered him to pass in manneras he desired himself. 

Thus these men of war of Scotland departed, and ransomed theirprisoners as soon as they might right courteously, and so returnedlittle and little into their own countries. And it was shewed me and Ibelieve it well, that the Scots had by reason of that journey twohundred thousand franks for ransoming of prisoners: for sith thebattle that was before Stirling in Scotland, whereas sir Robert ofBruce, sir William Douglas, sir Robert Versy, sir Simon Fraser andother Scots chased the Englishmen three days, they never had journeyso profitable nor so honourable for them, as this was. When tidingscame to the other company of the Scots that were beside Carlisle, howtheir company had distressed the Englishmen beside Otterburn, theywere greatly rejoiced, and displeased in their minds that they had notbeen there. Then they determined to dislodge and to draw into theirown countries, seeing their other company were withdrawn. Thus theydislodged and entered into Scotland. 

Now let us leave to speak of the Scots and of the Englishmen for thistime, and let us return to the young Charles of France, who with agreat people went into Almaine, to bring the duke of Gueldres toreason. 

When the French king and all his army were past the river of Meuse atthe bridge of Morsay, they took the way of Ardennes and of Luxembourg, and always the pioneers were before, beating woods and bushes andmaking the ways plain. The duke of Juliers and his country greatlydoubted the coming of the French king, for they knew well they shouldhave the first assault and bear the first burden: and the land ofJuliers is a plain country; in one day the men of war should do muchdamage there, and destroy and waste all, except the castles and goodtowns. Thus the French king entered into the country of Luxembourg andcame to an abbey, whereas Wenceslas sometime duke of Brabant wasburied. There the king tarried two days: then he departed and took theway through Bastogne, and lodged within a league whereas the duchessof Brabant lay. She sent word of her being there to the duke ofBurgoyne, and he brought her into the field to speak with the king, who received her right honourably, and there communed together. Thenthe duchess returned to Bastogne, and thither she was conveyed withsir John of Vienne and sir Guy of Tremouille; and the next day theking went forward, approaching to the land of his enemies, and came tothe entering into Almaine, on the frontiers of the duchy of Juliers. But or he came so far forward, Arnold bishop of Liege had been withthe king and had greatly entreated for the duke of Juliers, that theking should not be miscontent with him, though he were father to theduke of Gueldres; for he excused him of the defiance that his son hadmade, affirming how it was not by his knowledge nor consent, wherefore, he said, it were pity that the father should bear thedefault of the son. This excuse was not sufficient to the king nor tohis uncles: for the intent of the king and his council was, withoutthe duke of Juliers would come and make other manner of excuse, and toyield himself to the king's pleasure, his country should be the firstthat should bear the burden. Then the bishop of Liege and the lords ofHesbaing and the councils of the good towns offered to the king andhis council wholly the bishopric of Liege for his army to pass andrepass paying for their expenses, and to rest and refresh them thereas long as it pleased them. The king thanked them, and so did hisuncles, and would not refuse their offer, for he knew not what need heshould have after. 

THE HOLY GRAIL FROM THE BOOK OF KING ARTHUR

BY

SIR THOMAS MALORY

_INTRODUCTORY NOTE

The earliest extant form of the story of the Holy Grail is the Frenchmetrical romance of "Perceval" or "Le Conte du Graal" of Chrétien deTroies, written about 1175. Chrétien died leaving the poem unfinished, and it was continued by three other authors till it reached the vastsize of 63, 000 lines. The religious signification of the Grail issupposed to have been attached to it early in the thirteenth centuryby Robert de Boron; and, perhaps a little later, in the French prose"Quest of the Holy Grail, " Galahad takes the place of Perceval as thehero of the story. The later history of the various versions of thelegend is highly intricate, and in many points uncertain. It was froma form of it embodied in the French prose "Lancelot" that Sir ThomasMalory drew the chapters of his "Morte d'Arthur" which are herereprinted, and which, more than the earlier versions, are the sourcefrom which the legend has passed into modern English poetry. 

Until a few years ago Malory himself was little more than a name, ourinformation about him being limited to the statement in Caxton'sedition of the "Morte d'Arthur" that he was the author. It now appearsprobable, however, that Sir Thomas Malory was an English knight bornabout 1400, of an old Warwickshire family. He served in the Frenchwars under Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, "whom all Europerecognized as embodying the knightly ideal of the age" and may wellhave owed his enthusiasm for chivalry to his association with thisdistinguished nobleman. He died in 1471. 

Malory's book is a compilation from French and English sources. Theseare chosen without much discrimination, and put together without greatskill in arrangement. But the author's whole-hearted enthusiasm forchivalrous ideals and the noble simplicity and fine rhythm of hisprose have combined to give his work a unique place in Englishliterature. In it the age of chivalry is summed up and closed. It isnot without reason that the date of its publication by Caxton, 1485, should be conventionally accepted as the end of the Middle Ages inEngland. Romance had passed under the printing press, and a new agehad begun. _

THE HOLY GRAIL

BEING BOOKS XIII, XIV, XV, XVI and XVII OF THE BOOK OF KING ARTHUR ANDOF HIS NOBLE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE

THE THIRTEENTH BOOK. 

CHAPTER I

HOW AT THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST OF PENTECOST ENTERED INTO THE HALLBEFORE KING ARTHUR A DAMOSEL, AND DESIRED SIR LAUNCELOT FOR TO COMEAND DUB A KNIGHT, AND HOW HE WENT WITH HER

At the vigil of Pentecost, when all the fellowship of the Round Tablewere come unto Camelot and there heard their service, and the tableswere set ready to the meat, right so entered into the hall a full fairgentlewoman on horseback, that had ridden full fast, for her horse wasall besweated. Then she there alit, and came before the king andsaluted him; and he said: Damosel, God thee bless. Sir, said she, forGod's sake say me where Sir Launcelot is. Yonder ye may see him, saidthe king. Then she went unto Launcelot and said: Sir Launcelot, Isalute you on King Pelles' behalf, and I require you come on with mehereby into a forest. Then Sir Launcelot asked her with whom shedwelled. I dwell, said she, with King Pelles. What will ye with me?said Launcelot. Ye shall know, said she, when ye come thither. Well, said he, I will gladly go with you. So Sir Launcelot bad his squiresaddle his horse and bring his arms; and in all haste he did hiscommandment. Then came the queen unto Launcelot, and said: Will yeleave us at this high feast? Madam, said the gentlewoman, wit ye wellhe shall be with you tomorn by dinner time. If I wist, said the queen, that he should not be with us here tomorn he should not go with you bymy good will. Right so departed Sir Launcelot with the gentlewoman, and rode until that he came into a forest and into a great valley, where they saw an abbey of nuns; and there was a squire ready andopened the gates, and so they entered and descended off their horses;and there came a fair fellowship about Sir Launcelot, and welcomedhim, and were passing glad of his coming. And then they led him untothe Abbess's chamber and unarmed him; and right so he was ware upon abed lying two of his cousins, Sir Bors and Sir Lionel, and then hewaked them; and when they saw him they made great joy. Sir, said SirBors unto Sir Launcelot, what adventure hath brought you hither, forwe weened tomorn to have found you at Camelot? As God me help, saidSir Launcelot, a gentlewoman brought me hither, but I know not thecause. In the meanwhile that they thus stood talking together, thereincame twelve nuns that brought with them Galahad, the which was passingfair and well made, that unnethe in the world men might not find hismatch: and all those ladies wept. Sir, said they all, we bring youhere this child the which we have nourished, and we pray you to makehim a knight, for of a more worthier man's hand may he not receive theorder of knighthood. Sir Launcelot beheld the young squire and saw himseemly and demure as a dove, with all manner of good features, that heweened of his age never to have seen so fair a man of form. Then saidSir Launcelot: Cometh this desire of himself? He and all they saidyea. Then shall he, said Sir Launcelot, receive the high order ofknighthood as tomorn at the reverence of the high feast. That nightSir Launcelot had passing good cheer; and on the morn at the hour ofprime, at Galahad's desire, he made him knight and said: God make hima good man, for of beauty faileth you not as any that liveth. 

CHAPTER II

HOW THE LETTERS WERE FOUND WRITTEN IN THE SIEGE PERILOUS, AND OF THEMARVELLOUS ADVENTURE OF THE SWORD IN A STONE

Now fair sir, said Sir Launcelot, will ye come with me unto the courtof King Arthur? Nay, said he, I will not go with you as at this time. Then he departed from them and took his two cousins with him, and sothey came unto Camelot by the hour of underne on Whitsunday. By thattime the king and the queen were gone to the minster to hear theirservice. Then the king and the queen were passing glad of Sir Bors andSir Lionel, and so was all the fellowship. So when the king and allthe knights were come from service, the barons espied in the sieges ofthe Round Table all about, written with golden letters: Here ought tosit he, and he ought to sit here. And thus they went so long till thatthey came to the Siege Perilous, where they found letters newlywritten of gold which said: Four hundred winters and four and fiftyaccomplished after the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ ought thissiege to be fulfilled. Then all they said: This is a marvellous thingand an adventurous. In the name of God, said Sir Launcelot; and thenaccounted the term of the writing from the birth of our Lord unto thatday. It seemeth me, said Sir Launcelot, this siege ought to befulfilled this same day, for this is the feast of Pentecost after thefour hundred and four and fifty year; and if it would please allparties, I would none of these letters were seen this day, till he become that ought to achieve this adventure. Then made they to ordain acloth of silk, for to cover these letters in the Siege Perilous. Thenthe king bad haste unto dinner. Sir, said Sir Kay the Steward, if yego now to your meat ye shall break your old custom of your court, forye have not used on this day to sit at your meat or that ye have seensome adventure. Ye say sooth, said the king, but I had so great joy ofSir Launcelot and of his cousins, which he come to the court whole andsound, so that I bethought me not of mine old custom. So, as theystood speaking, in came a squire and said unto the king: Sir, I bringunto you marvellous tidings. What be they? said the king. Sir, thereis here beneath at the river a great stone which I saw fleet above thewater, and therein I saw sticking a sword. The king said: I will seethat marvel. So all the knights went with him, and when they came tothe river they found there a stone fleeting, as it were of red marble, and therein stuck a fair rich sword, and in the pommel thereof wereprecious stones wrought with subtil letters of gold. Then the baronsread the letters which said in this wise: Never shall man take mehence, but only he by whose side I ought to hang, and he shall be thebest knight of the world. When the king had seen the letters, he saidunto Sir Launcelot: Fair sir, this sword ought to be yours, for I amsure ye be the best knight of the world. Then Sir Launcelot answeredfull soberly: Certes, sir, it is not my sword; also, Sir, wit ye wellI have no hardiness to set my hand to it, for it longed not to hang bymy side. Also, who that assayeth to take the sword and faileth of it, he shall receive a wound by that sword that he shall not be whole longafter. And I will that ye wit that this same day shall the adventuresof the Sangreal, that is called the Holy Vessel, begin. 

CHAPTER III

HOW SIR GAWAINE ESSAYED TO DRAW OUT THE SWORD, AND HOW AN OLD MANBROUGHT IN GALAHAD

Now, fair nephew, said the king unto Sir Gawaine, essay ye, for mylove Sir, he said, save your good grace I shall not do that. Sir, saidthe king, essay to take the sword and at my commandment. Sir, saidGawaine, your commandment I will obey. And therewith he took up thesword by the handles, but he might not stir it. I thank you, said theking to Sir Gawaine. My lord Sir Gawaine, said Sir Launcelot, now witye well this sword shall touch you so sore that ye shall will ye hadnever set your hand thereto for the best castle of this realm. Sir, hesaid, I might not withsay mine uncle's will and commandment. But whenthe king heard this he repented it much, and said unto Sir Percivalethat he should essay, for his love. And he said: Gladly, for to bearSir Gawaine fellowship. And therewith he set his hand on the sword anddrew it strongly, but he might not move it. Then were there more thatdurst be so hardy, to set their hands thereto. Now may ye go to yourdinner, said Sir Kay unto the King, for a marvellous adventure have yeseen. So the king and all went unto the court, and every knight knewhis own place, and set him therein, and young men that were knightsserved them. So when they were served, and all sieges fulfilled saveonly the Siege Perilous, anon there befell a marvellous adventure, that all the doors and windows of the palace shut by themself. Not forthen the hall was not greatly darked; and therewith they abashed bothone and other. Then King Arthur spake first and said: By God, fairfellows and lords, we have seen this day marvels, but or night Isuppose we shall see greater marvels. In the meanwhile came in a goodold man, and an ancient, clothed all in white, and there was no knightknew from whence he came. And with him he brought a young knight, bothon foot, in red arms, without sword or shield, save a scabbard hangingby his side. And these words he said: Peace be with you, fair lords. Then the old man said unto Arthur: Sir, I bring here a young knight, the which is of king's lineage, and of the kindred of Joseph ofAramathie, whereby the marvels of this court, and of strange realms, shall be fully accomplished. 

CHAPTER IV

HOW THE OLD MAN BROUGHT GALAHAD TO THE SIEGE PERILOUS AND SET HIMTHEREIN, AND HOW ALL THE KNIGHTS MARVELLED

The king was right glad of his words, and said unto the good man: Sir, ye be right welcome, and the young knight with you. Then the old manmade the young man to unarm him, and he was in a coat of red sendel, and bare a mantle upon his shoulder that was furred with ermine, andput that upon him. And the old knight said unto the young knight: Sir, follow me. And anon he led him unto the Siege Perilous, where besidesat Sir Launcelot; and the good man lift up the cloth, and found thereletters that said thus: This is the siege of Galahad, the haut prince. Sir, said the old knight, wit ye well that place is yours. And then heset him down surely in that siege. And then he said to the old man:Sir, ye may now go your way, for well have ye done that ye werecommanded to do; and recommend me unto my grandsire, King Pelles, andunto my lord Petchere, and say them on my behalf, I shall come and seethem as soon as ever I may. So the good man departed; and there methim twenty noble squires, and so took their horses and went their way. Then all the knights of the Table Round marvelled greatly of SirGalahad, that he durst sit there in that Siege Perilous, and was sotender of age; and wist not from whence he came but all only by God;and said: This is he by whom the Sangreal shall be achieved, for theresat never none but he, but he were mischieved. Then Sir Launcelotbeheld his son and had great joy of him. Then Bors told his fellows:Upon pain of my life this young knight shall come unto great worship. This noise was great in all the court, so that it came to the queen. Then she had marvel what knight it might be that durst adventure himto sit in the Siege Perilous. Many said unto the queen he resembledmuch unto Sir Launcelot. I may well suppose, said the queen, that SirLauncelot begat him on King Pelles' daughter, by the which he was madeto lie by, by enchantment, and his name is Galahad. I would fain seehim, said the queen, for he must needs be a noble man, for so is hisfather that him begat, I report me unto all the Table Round. So whenthe meat was done that the king and all were risen, the king yede untothe Siege Perilous and lift up the cloth, and found there the name ofGalahad; and then he shewed it unto Sir Gawaine, and said: Fairnephew, now have we among us Sir Galahad, the good knight that shallworship us all; and upon pain of my life he shall achieve theSangreal, right as Sir Launcelot had done us to understand. Then cameKing Arthur unto Galahad and said: Sir, ye be welcome, for ye shallmove many good knights to the quest of the Sangreal, and ye shallachieve that never knights might bring to an end. Then the king tookhim by the hand, and went down from the palace to shew Galahad theadventures of the stone. 

CHAPTER V

HOW KING ARTHUR SHEWED THE STONE HOVING ON THE WATER TO GALAHAD, ANDHOW HE DREW OUT THE SWORD

The queen heard thereof, and came after with many ladies, and shewedthem the stone where it hoved on the water. Sir, said the king untoSir Galahad, here is a great marvel as ever I saw, and right goodknights have essayed and failed. Sir, said Galahad, that is no marvel, for this adventure is not theirs but mine; and for the surety of thissword I brought none with me, for here by my side hangeth thescabbard. And anon he laid his hand on the sword, and lightly drew itout of the stone, and put it in the sheath, and said unto, the king:Now it goeth better than it did aforehand. Sir, said the King, ashield God shall send you. Now have I that sword that sometime was thegood knight's, Balin le Savage, and he was a passing good man of hishands; and with this sword he slew his brother Balan, and that wasgreat pity, for he was a good knight, and either slew other through adolorous strode that Balin gave unto my grandfather King Pelles, thewhich is not yet whole, nor not shall be till I heal him. Therewiththe king and all espied where came riding down the river a lady on awhite palfrey toward them. Then she saluted the king and the queen, and asked if that Sir Launcelot was there. And then he answeredhimself: I am here, fair lady. Then she said all with weeping: Howyour great doing is changed sith this day in the morn. Damosel, whysay you so? said Launcelot. I say you sooth, said the damosel, for yewere this day the best knight of the world, but who should say so now, he should be a liar, for there is now one better than ye, and well itis proved by the adventures of the sword whereto ye durst not set toyour hand; and that is the change and leaving of your name. WhereforeI make unto you a remembrance, that ye shall not ween from henceforththat ye be the best knight of the world. As touching unto that, saidLauncelot, I know well I was never the best. Yes, said the damosel, that were ye, and are yet, of any sinful man of the world. And, Sirking, Nacien, the hermit, sendeth thee word, that thee shall befallthe greatest worship that ever befell king in Britain; and I say youwherefore, for this day the Sangreal appeared in thy house and fedthee and all thy fellowship of the Round Table. So she departed andwent that same way that she came. 

CHAPTER VI

HOW KING ARTHUR HAD ALL THE KNIGHTS TOGETHER FOR TO JOUST IN THEMEADOW BESIDE CAMELOT OR THEY DEPARTED

Now, said the king, I am sure at this quest of the Sangreal shall allye of the Table Round depart, and never shall I see you again wholetogether; therefore I will see you all whole together in the meadow ofCamelot to joust and to tourney, that after your death men may speakof it that such good knights were wholly together such a day. As untothat counsel and at the king's request they accorded all, and took ontheir harness that longed unto jousting. But all this moving of theking was for this intent, for to see Galahad proved; for the kingdeemed he should not lightly come again unto the court after hisdeparting. So were they assembled in the meadow both more and less. Then Sir Galahad, by the prayer of the king and the queen, did uponhim a noble jesseraunce, and also he did on his helm, but shield wouldhe take none for no prayer of the king. And then Sir Gawaine and otherknights prayed him to take a spear. Right so he did; and the queen wasin a tower with all her ladies, for to behold that tournament. ThenSir Galahad dressed him in middes of the meadow, and began to breakspears marvellously, that all men had wonder of him; for he theresurmounted all other knights, for within a while he had defouled manygood knights of the Table Round save twain, that was Sir Launcelot andSir Percivale. 

CHAPTER VII

HOW THE QUEEN DESIRED TO SEE GALAHAD; AND HOW AFTER, ALL THE KNIGHTSWERE REPLENISHED WITH THE HOLY SANGREAL, AND HOW THEY AVOWED THEENQUEST OF THE SAME

The the king, at the queen's request, made him to alight and to unlacehis helm, that the queen might see him in the visage. When she beheldhim she said: Soothly I dare well say that Sir Launcelot begat him, for never two men resembled more in likeness, therefore it is nomarvel though he be of great prowess. So a lady that stood by thequeen said: Madam, for God's sake ought he of right to be so good aknight? Yea, forsooth, said the queen, for he is of all parties comeof the best knights of the world and of the highest lineage; for SirLauncelot is come but of the eighth degree from our Lord Jesu Christ, and Sir Galahad is of the ninth degree from our Lord Jesu Christ, therefore I dare say they be the greatest gentlemen of the world. Andthen the king and all estates went home unto Camelot, and so went toevensong to the great minster, and so after upon that to supper, andevery knight sat in his own place as they were toforehand. Then anonthey heard cracking and crying of thunder, that them thought the placeshould all to drive. In the midst of this blast entered a sunbeam moreclearer by seven times than ever they saw day, and all they werealighted of the grace of the Holy Ghost. Then began every knight tobehold other, and either saw other, by their seeming, fairer than everthey saw afore. Not for then there was no knight might speak one worda great while, and so they looked every man on other as they had beendumb. Then there entered into the hall the Holy Greal covered withwhite samite, but there was none might see it, nor who bare it. Andthere was all the hall fulfilled with good odours, and every knighthad such meats and drinks as he best loved in this world. And when theHoly Greal had been borne through the hall, then the Holy Vesseldeparted suddenly, that they wist not where it became: then had theyall breath to speak. And then the king yielded thankings to God, ofHis good grace that he had sent them. Certes, said the king, we oughtto thank our Lord Jesu greatly for that he hath shewed us this day, atthe reverence of this high feast of Pentecost. Now, said Sir Gawaine, we have been served this day of what meats and drinks we thought on;but one thing beguiled us, we might not see the holy Grail, it was sopreciously covered. Wherefore I will make here avow, that tomorn, without longer abiding, I shall labour in the quest of the Sangreal, that I shall hold me out a twelvemonth and a day, or more if need be, and never shall I return again unto the court till I have seen it moreopenly than it hath been seen here; and if I may not speed I shallreturn again as he that may not be against the will of our Lord JesuChrist. When they of the Table Round heard Sir Gawaine say so, theyarose up the most part and made such avows as Sir Gawaine had made. Anon as King Arthur heard this he was greatly displeased, for he wistwell they might not again say their avows. Alas, said King Arthur untoSir Gawaine, ye have nigh slain me with the avow and promise that yehave made; for through you ye have bereft me the fairest fellowshipand the truest of knighthood that ever were seen together in any realmof the world; for when they depart from hence I am sure they all shallnever meet more in this world, for they shall die many in the quest. And so it forthinketh me a little, for I have loved them as well as mylife, wherefore it shall grieve me right sore, the departition of thisfellowship: for I have had an old custom to have them in myfellowship. 

CHAPTER VIII

HOW GREAT SORROW WAS MADE OF THE KING AND THE QUEEN AND LADIES FOR THEDEPARTING OF THE KNIGHTS, AND HOW THEY DEPARTED

And therewith the tears filled in his eyes. And then he said: Gawaine, Gawaine, ye have set me in great sorrow, for I have great doubt thatmy true fellowship shall never meet here more again. Ah, said SirLauncelot, comfort yourself; for it shall be unto us a great honourand much more than if we died in any other places, for of death we besiccar. Ah, Launcelot, said the king, the great love that I have hadunto you all the days of my life maketh me to say such doleful words;for never Christian king had never so many worthy men at his table asI have had this day at the Round Table, and that is my great sorrow. When the queen, ladies, and gentlewomen, wist these tidings, they hadsuch sorrow and heaviness that there might no tongue tell it, forthose knights had held them in honour and charity. But among all otherQueen Guenever made great sorrow. I marvel, said she, my lord wouldsuffer them to depart from him. Thus was all the court troubled forthe love of the departition of those knights. And many of those ladiesthat loved knights would have gone with their lovers; and so had theydone, had not an old knight come among them in religious clothing; andthen he spake all on high and said: Fair lords, which have sworn inthe quest of the Sangreal, thus sendeth you Nacien, the hermit, word, that none in this quest lead lady nor gentlewoman with him, for it isnot to do in so high a service as they labour in; for I warn youplain, he that is not clean of his sins he shall not see the mysteriesof our Lord Jesu Christ. And for this cause they left these ladies andgentlewomen. After this the queen came unto Galahad and asked him ofwhence he was, and of what country. He told her of whence he was. Andson unto Launcelot, she said he was. As to that, he said neither yeaor nay. So God me help, said the queen, of your father ye need not toshame you, for he is the goodliest knight, and of the best men of theworld come, and of the strain of all parties, of kings. Wherefore yeought of right to be, of your deeds, a passing good man; andcertainly, she said, ye resemble him much. Then Sir Galahad was alittle ashamed and said: Madam, sith ye know in certain, wherefore doye ask it me? for he that is my father shall be known openly and allbetimes. And then they went to rest them. And in the honour of thehighness of Galahad he was led into King Arthur's chamber, and thererested in his own bed. And as soon as it was day the king arose, forhe had no rest of all that night for sorrow. Then he went unto Gawaineand to Sir Launcelot that were arisen for to hear mass. And then theking again said: Ah Gawaine, Gawaine, ye have betrayed me; for nevershall my court be amended by you, but ye will never be sorry for me asI am for you. And therewith the tears began to run down by his visage. And therewith the king said: Ah, knight Sir Launcelot, I require theethou counsel me, for I would that this quest were undone an it mightbe. Sir, said Sir Launcelot, ye saw yesterday so many worthy knightsthat then were sworn that they may not leave it in no manner of wise. That wot I well, said the king, but it shall so heavy me at theirdeparting that I wot well there shall no manner of joy remedy me. Andthen the king and the queen went unto the minster. So anon Launcelotand Gawaine commanded their men to bring their arms. And when they allwere armed save their shields and their helms, then they came to theirfellowship, which were all ready in the same wise, for to go to theminster to hear their service. Then after the service was done theking would wit how many had undertaken the quest of the Holy Grail;and to account them he prayed them all. Then found they by tale anhundred and fifty, and all were knights of the Round Table. And thenthey put on their helms and departed, and recommended them all whollyunto the queen: and there was weeping and great sorrow. Then the queendeparted into her chamber so that no man should apperceive her greatsorrows. When Sir Launcelot missed the queen he went into her chamber, and when she saw him she cried aloud: O Sir Launcelot, ye havebetrayed me and put me to death, for to leave thus my lord. Ah, madam, said Sir Launcelot, I pray you be not displeased, for I shall come assoon as I may with my worship. Alas, said she, that ever I saw you;but he that suffered death upon the cross for all mankind be to yougood conduct and safety, and all the whole fellowship. Right sodeparted Sir Launcelot, and found his fellowship that abode hiscoming. And so they mounted upon their horses and rode through thestreets of Camelot; and there was weeping of the rich and poor, andthe king turned away and might not speak for weeping. So within awhile they came to a city, and a castle that hight Vagon. There theyentered into the castle, and the lord of that castle was an old manthat hight Vagon, and he was a good man of his living, and set openthe gates, and made them all the good cheer that he might. And so onthe morrow they were all accorded that they should depart every eachfrom other; and then they departed on the morrow with weeping andmourning cheer, and every knight took the way that him best liked. 

CHAPTER IX

HOW GALAHAD GAT HIM A SHIELD, AND HOW THEY SPED THAT PRESUMED TO TAKEDOWN THE SAID SHIELD

Now rideth Sir Galahad yet without shield, and so he rode four dayswithout any adventure. And at the fourth day after evensong he came toa White Abbey, and there he was received with great reverence, and ledto a chamber, and there he was unarmed; and then was he ware of twoknights of the Round Table, one was King Bagdemagus, and that otherwas Sir Uwaine. And when they saw him they went unto him and made ofhim great solace, and so they went to supper. Sirs, said Sir Galahad, what adventure brought you hither? Sir, said they, it is told us thatwithin this place is a shield that no man may bear about his neck butif that he be mischieved or dead within three days, or else maimed forever. Ah sir, said King Bagdemagus, I shall it bear to-morrow for toessay this strange adventure. In the name of God, said Sir Galahad. Sir, said Bagdemagus, an I may not achieve the adventure of thisshield ye shall take it upon you, for I am sure ye shall not fail. Sir, said Galahad, I agree right well thereto, for I have no shield. So on the morn they arose and heard mass. Then King Bagdemagus askedwhere the adventurous shield was. Anon a monk led him behind an altarwhere the shield hung as white as any snow, but in the middes was ared cross. Sir, said the monk, this shield ought not to be hangedabout no knight's neck but he be the worthiest knight of the world, and therefore I counsel you knights to be well advised. Well, saidKing Bagdemagus, I wot well that I am not the best knight of theworld, but yet shall I essay to bear it. And so he bare it out of themonastery; and then he said unto Sir Galahad: If it will please you Ipray you abide here still, till ye know how I shall speed. I shallabide you here, said Galahad. Then King Bagdemagus took with him asquire, the which should bring tidings unto Sir Galahad how he sped. Then when they had ridden a two mile and came in a fair valley aforean hermitage, then they saw a goodly knight come from that part inwhite armour, horse and all; and he came as fast as his horse mightrun, with his spear in the rest, and King Bagdemagus dressed his spearagainst him and brake it upon the white knight. But the other struckhim so hard that he brake the mails, and thrust him through the rightshoulder, for the shield covered him not as at that time; and so hebare him from his horse. And therewith he alighted and took the whiteshield from him, saying: Knight, thou hast done thyself great folly, for this shield ought not to be borne but by him that shall have nopeer that liveth. And then he came to King Bagdemagus' squire andsaid: Bear this shield unto the good knight Sir Galahad, that thouleft in the abbey, and greet him well from me. Sir, said the squire, what is your name? Take thou no heed of my name, said the knight, forit is not for thee to know nor for none earthly man. Now, fair sir, said the squire, at the reverence of Jesu Christ, tell me for whatcause this shield may not be borne but if the bearer thereof bemischieved. Now sith thou hast conjured me so, said the knight, thisshield behoveth unto no man but unto Galahad. And the squire went untoBagdemagus and asked whether he were sore wounded or not. Yea, forsooth, said he, I shall escape hard from the death. Then he fetchedhis horse, and brought him with great pain unto an abbey. Then was hetaken down softly and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and there was lookedto his wounds. And as the book telleth, he lay there long, and escapedhard with the life. 

CHAPTER X

HOW GALAHAD DEPARTED WITH THE SHIELD, AND HOW KING EVELAKE HADRECEIVED THE SHIELD OF JOSEPH OF ARAMATHIE

Sir Galahad, said the squire, that knight that wounded Bagdemagussendeth you greeting, and bad that ye should bear this shield, wherethrough great adventures should befall. Now blessed be God andfortune, said Galahad. And then he asked his arms, and mounted uponhis horse, and hung the white shield about his neck, and commendedthem unto God. And Sir Uwaine said he would bear him fellowship if itpleased him. Sir, said Galahad, that may ye not, for I must go alone, save this squire shall bear me fellowship: and so departed Uwaine. Then within a while came Galahad there as the white knight abode himby the hermitage, and every each saluted other courteously. Sir, saidGalahad, by this shield be many marvels fallen? Sir, said the knight, it befell after the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ thirty-two year, that Joseph of Aramathie, the gentle knight, the which took down ourLord off the holy Cross, at that time he departed from Jerusalem witha great party of his kindred with him. And so he laboured till thatthey came to a city that hight Sarras. And at that same hour thatJoseph came to Sarras there was a king that hight Evelake, that hadgreat war against the Saracens, and in especial against one Saracen, the which was King Evelake's cousin, a rich king and a mighty, whichmarched nigh this land, and his name was called Tolleme la Feintes. Soon a day these two met to do battle. Then Joseph, the son of Joseph ofAramathie, went to King Evelake and told him he should be discomfitand slain, but if he left his belief of the old law and believed uponthe new law. And then there he shewed him the right belief of the HolyTrinity, to the which he agreed unto with all his heart; and therethis shield was made for King Evelake, in the name of Him that diedupon the Cross. And then through his good belief he had the better ofKing Tolleme. For when Evelake was in the battle there was a cloth setafore the shield, and when he was in the greatest peril he let putaway the cloth, and then his enemies saw a figure of a man on theCross, wherethrough they all were discomfit. And so it befell that aman of King Evelake's was smitten his hand off, and bare that hand inhis other hand; and Joseph called that man unto him and bade him gowith good devotion touch the Cross. And as soon as that man hadtouched the Cross with his hand it was as whole as ever it was tofore. Then soon after there fell a great marvel, that the cross of theshield at one time vanished away that no man wist where it became. Andthen King Evelake was baptised, and for the most part all the peopleof that city. So, soon after Joseph would depart, and King Evelakewould go with him whether he would or nold. And so by fortune theycame into this land, that at that time was called Great Britain; andthere they found a great felon paynim, that put Joseph into prison. And so by fortune tidings came unto a worthy man that hight Mondrames, and he assembled all his people for the great renown he had heard ofJoseph; and so he came into the land of Great Britain and disinheritedthis felon paynim and consumed him; and therewith delivered Joseph outof prison. And after that all the people were turned to the Christianfaith. 

CHAPTER XI

HOW JOSEPH MADE A CROSS ON THE WHITE SHIELD WITH HIS BLOOD, AND HOWGALAHAD WAS BY A MONK BROUGHT TO A TOMB

Not long after that Joseph was laid in his deadly bed. And when KingEvelake saw that he made much sorrow, and said: For thy love I haveleft my country, and sith ye shall depart out of this world, leave mesome token of yours that I may think on you. Joseph said: That will Ido full gladly; now bring me your shield that I took you when ye wentinto battle against King Tolleme. Then Joseph bled sore at the nose, so that he might not by no mean be staunched. And there upon thatshield he made a cross of his own blood. Now may ye see a remembrancethat I love you, for ye shall never see this shield but ye shall thinkon me, and it shall be always as fresh as it is now. And never shallman bear this shield about his neck but he shall repent it, unto thetime that Galahad, the good knight, bare it; and the last of mylineage shall have it about his neck, that shall do many marvellousdeeds. Now, said King Evelake, where shall I put this shield, thatthis worthy knight may have it? Ye shall leave it there as Nacien, thehermit, shall be put after his death; for thither shall that goodknight come the fifteenth day after that he shall receive the order ofknighthood: and so that day that they set is this time that he havehis shield, and in the same abbey lieth Nacien, the hermit. And thenthe white knight vanished away. Anon as the squire had heard thesewords, he alit off his hackney and kneeled down at Galahad's feet, andprayed him that he might go with him till he had made him knight. If Iwould not refuse you? Then will ye make me a knight? said the squire, and that order, by the grace of God, shall be well set in me. So SirGalahad granted him, and turned again unto the abbey where they camefrom; and there men made great joy of Sir Galahad. And anon as he wasalit there was a monk brought him unto a tomb in a churchyard, wherethere was such a noise that who that heard it should verily nigh bemad or lose his strength: and Sir, they said, we deem it is a fiend. 

CHAPTER XII

OF THE MARVEL THAT SIR GALAHAD SAW AND HEARD IN THE TOMB; AND HOW HEMADE MELIAS KNIGHT

Now lead me thither, said Galahad. And so they did, all armed save hishelm. Now, said the good man, go to the tomb and lift it up. So hedid, and heard a great noise; and piteously it said, that all menmight hear it: Sir Galahad, the servant of Jesu Christ, come thou notnigh me, for thou shalt make me go again there where I have been solong. But Galahad was nothing afraid, but lifted up the stone; andthere came out so foul a smoke, and after he saw the foulest figureleap thereout that ever he saw in the likeness of a man; and then heblessed him and wist well it was a fiend. Then heard he a voice say:Galahad, I see there environ about thee so many angels that my powermay not dare thee. Right so Sir Galahad saw a body all armed lie inthat tomb, and beside him a sword. Now, fair brother, said Galahad, let us remove this body, for it is not worthy to lie in thischurchyard, for he was a false Christian man. And therewith they alldeparted and went to the abbey. And anon as he was unarmed a good mancame and set him down by him and said: Sir, I shall tell you whatbetokeneth all that ye saw in the tomb; for that covered bodybetokeneth the duresse of the world, and the great sin that our Lordfound in the world. For there was such wretchedness that the fatherloved not the son, nor the son loved not the father; and that was oneof the causes that our Lord took flesh and blood of a clene maiden, for our sins were so great at that time that wellnigh all waswickedness. Truly, said Galahad, I believe you right well. So SirGalahad rested him there that night; and upon the morn he made thesquire knight, and asked him his name, and of what kindred he wascome. Sir, said he, men calleth me Melias de Lile, and I am the son ofthe king of Denmark. Now, fair sir, said Galahad, sith that ye be comeof kings and queens, now look that knighthood be well set in you, forye ought to be a mirror unto all chivalry. Sir, said Sir Melias, yesay sooth. But, sir, sithen ye have made me a knight ye must of rightgrant me my first desire that is reasonable. Ye say sooth, saidGalahad. Melias said: Then that ye will suffer me to ride with you inthis quest of the Sangreal, till that some adventure depart us. Igrant you, sir. Then men brought Sir Melias his armour and his spearand his horse, and so Sir Galahad and he rode forth all that week orthey found any adventure. And then upon a Monday in the morning, asthey were departed from an abbey, they came to a cross which departedtwo ways, and in that cross were letters written that said thus: Now, ye knights errant, the which goeth to seek knights adventurous, seehere two ways; that one way defendeth thee that thou ne go that way, for he shall not go out of the way again but if he be a good man and aworthy knight; and if thou go on the left hand, thou shalt not lightlythere win prowess, for thou shalt in this way be soon essayed. Sir, said Melias to Galahad, if it like you to suffer me to take the way onthe left hand, tell me, for there I shall well prove my strength. Itwere better, said Galahad, ye rode not that way, for I deem I shouldbetter escape in that way than ye. Nay, my lord, I pray you let mehave that adventure. Take it in God's name, said Galahad. 

CHAPTER XIII

OF THE ADVENTURE THAT MELIAS HAD, AND HOW GALAHAD REVENGED HIM, ANDHOW MELIAS WAS CARRIED INTO AN ABBEY

And then rode Melias into an old forest, and therein he rode two daysand more. And then he came into a fair meadow, and there was a fairlodge of boughs. And then he espied in that lodge a chair, wherein wasa crown of gold, subtily wrought. Also there were cloths covered uponthe earth, and many delicious meats set thereon. Sir Melias beheldthis adventure, and thought it marvellous, but he had no hunger, butof the crown of gold he took much keep; and therewith he stooped downand took it up, and rode his way with it. And anon he saw a knightcame riding after him that said: Knight, set down that crown which isnot yours, and therefore defend you. Then Sir Melias blessed him andsaid: Fair lord of heaven, help and save thy new-made knight. And thenthey let their horses run as fast as they might, so that the otherknight smote Sir Melias through hauberk and through the left side, that he fell to the earth nigh dead. And then he took the crown andwent his way; and Sir Melias lay still and had no power to stir. Inthe meanwhile by fortune there came Sir Galahad and found him there inperil of death. And then he said: Ah, Melias, who hath wounded you?therefore it had been better to have ridden the other way. And whenSir Melias heard him speak: Sir, he said, for God's love let me notdie in this forest, but bear me unto the abbey here beside, that I maybe confessed and have my rights. It shall be done, said Galahad, butwhere is he that hath wounded you? With that Sir Galahad heard in theleaves cry on high: Knight, keep thee from me. Ah sir, said Melias, beware, for that is he that hath slain me. Sir Galahad answered: Sirknight, come on your peril. Then either dressed to other, and cametogether as fast as their horses might run, and Galahad smote him sothat his spear went through his shoulder, and smote him down off hishorse, and in the falling Galahad's spear brake. With that came outanother knight out of the leaves, and brake a spear upon Galahad orever he might turn him. Then Galahad drew out his sword and smote offthe left arm of him, so that it fell to the earth. And then he fled, and Sir Galahad pursued fast after him. And then he turned again untoSir Melias, and there he alit and dressed him softly on his horsetofore him, for the truncheon of his spear was in his body; and SirGalahad start up behind him, and held him in his arms, and so broughthim to the abbey, and there unarmed him and brought him to hischamber. And then he asked his Saviour. And when he had received Himhe said unto Sir Galahad: Sir, let death come when it pleaseth him. And therewith he drew out the truncheon of the spear out of his body:and then he swooned. Then came there an old monk which sometime hadbeen a knight, and beheld Sir Melias. And anon he ransacked him; andthen he said unto Sir Galahad: I shall heal him of his wound, by thegrace of God, within the term of seven weeks. Then was Sir Galahadglad, and unarmed him, and said he would abide there three days. Andthen he asked Sir Melias how it stood with him. Then he said he wasturned unto helping, God be thanked. 

CHAPTER XIV

HOW SIR GALAHAD DEPARTED, AND HOW HE WAS COMMANDED TO GO TO THE CASTLEOF MAIDENS TO DESTROY THE WICKED CUSTOM

Now will I depart, said Galahad, for I have much on hand, for manygood knights be full busy about it, and this knight and I were in thesame quest of the Sangreal. Sir, said the good man, for his sin he wasthus wounded; and I marvel, said the good man, how ye durst take uponyou so rich a thing as the high order of knighthood without cleneconfession, and that was the cause ye were bitterly wounded. For theway on the right hand betokeneth the highway of our Lord Jesu Christ, and the way of a good true good liver. And the other way betokeneththe way of sinners and of misbelievers. And when the devil saw yourpride and presumption, for to take you in the quest of the Sangreal, that made you to be overthrown, for it may not be achieved but byvirtuous living. Also, the writing on the cross was a signification ofheavenly deeds, and of knightly deeds in God's works, and no knightlydeeds in worldly works. And pride is head of all deadly sins, thatcaused this knight to depart from Galahad. And where thou tookest thecrown of gold thou sinnest in covetise and in theft: all this were noknightly deeds. And this Galahad, the holy knight, the which foughtwith the two knights, the two knights signify the two deadly sinswhich were wholly in this knight Melias; and they might not withstandyou, for ye are without deadly sin. Now departed Galahad from thence, and betaught them all unto God. Sir Melias said: My lord Galahad, assoon as I may ride I shall seek you. God send you health, saidGalahad, and so took his horse and departed, and rode many journeysforward and backward, as adventure would lead him. And at the last ithappened him to depart from a place or a castle the which was namedAbblasoure; and he had heard no mass, the which he was wont ever tohear or ever he departed out of any castle or place, and kept that fora custom. Then Sir Galahad came unto a mountain where he found an oldchapel, and found there nobody, for all, all was desolate; and therehe kneeled tofore the altar, and besought God of wholesome counsel. Soas he prayed he heard a voice that said: Go thou now, thou adventurousknight, to the Castle of Maidens, and there do thou away the wickedcustoms. 

CHAPTER XV

HOW SIR GALAHAD FOUGHT WITH THE KNIGHTS OF THE CASTLE, AND DESTROYEDTHE WICKED CUSTOM

When Sir Galahad heard this he thanked God, and took his horse; and hehad not ridden but half a mile, he saw in a valley afore him a strongcastle with deep ditches, and there ran beside it a fair river thathight Severn; and there he met with a man of great age, and eithersaluted other, and Galahad asked him the castle's name. Fair sir, saidhe, it is the Castle of Maidens. That is a cursed castle, saidGalahad, and all they that be conversant therein, for all pity is outthereof, and all hardiness and mischief is therein. Therefore, Icounsel you, sir knight, to turn again. Sir, said Galahad, wit youwell I shall not turn again. Then looked Sir Galahad on his arms thatnothing failed him, and then he put his shield afore him; and anonthere met him seven fair maidens, the which said unto him: Sir knight, ye ride here in a great folly, for ye have the water to pass over. Whyshould I not pass the water? said Galahad. So rode he away from themand met with a squire that said: Knight, those knights in the castledefy you, and defenden you ye go no further till that they wit what yewould. Fair sir, said Galahad, I come for to destroy the wicked customof this castle. Sir, an ye will abide by that ye shall have enough todo. Go you now, said Galahad, and haste my needs. Then the squireentered into the castle. And anon after there came out of the castleseven knights, and all were brethren. And when they saw Galahad theycried: Knight, keep thee, for we assure thee nothing but death. Why, said Galahad; will ye all have ado with me at once? Yea, said they, thereto mayest thou trust. Then Galahad put forth his spear and smotethe foremost to the earth, that near he brake his neck. Andtherewithal the other smote him on his shield great strokes, so thattheir spears brake. Then Sir Galahad drew out his sword, and set uponthem so hard that it was marvel to see it, and so through great forcehe made them to forsake the field; and Galahad chased them till theyentered into the castle, and so passed through the castle at anothergate. And there met Sir Galahad an old man clothed in religiousclothing, and said; Sir, have here the keys of this castle. Then SirGalahad opened the gates, and saw so much people in the streets thathe might not number them, and all said: Sir, ye be welcome, for longhave we abiden here our deliverance. Then came to him a gentlewomanand said: These knights be fled, but they will come again this night, and here to begin again their evil custom. What will ye that I shalldo? said Galahad. Sir, said the gentlewoman, that ye send after allthe knights hither that hold their lands of this castle, and make themto swear for to use the customs that were used heretofore of old time. I will well, said Galahad. And there she brought him an horn of ivory, bounden with gold richly, and said: Sir, blow this horn which will beheard two mile about this castle. When Sir Galahad had blown the hornhe set him down upon a bed. Then came a priest to Galahad, and said:Sir, it is past a seven year agone that these seven brethren came intothis castle, and harboured with the lord of this castle, that hightthe Duke Lianour, and he was lord of all this country. And when theyespied the duke's daughter, that was a full fair woman, then by theirfalse covin they made debate betwixt themself, and the duke of hisgoodness would have departed them, and there they slew him and hiseldest son. And then they took the maiden and the treasure of thecastle. And then by great force they held all the knights of thiscastle against their will under their obeisance, and in great serviceand truage, robbing and pillaging the poor common people of all thatthey had. So it happened on a day the duke's daughter said: Ye havedone unto me great wrong to slay mine own father, and my brother, andthus to hold our lands: not for then, she said, ye shall not hold thiscastle for many years, for by one knight ye shall be overcome. Thusshe prophesied seven years agone. Well, said the seven knights, sithenye say so, there shall never lady nor knight pass this castle but theyshall abide maugre their heads, or die therefor, till that knight become by whom we shall lose this castle. And therefore is it called theMaidens' Castle, for they have devoured many maidens. Now, saidGalahad, is she here for whom this castle was lost? Nay sir, said thepriest, she was dead within these three nights after that she was thusenforced; and sithen have they kept her younger sister, which endurethgreat pains with more other ladies. By this were the knights of thecountry come, and then he made them do homage and fealty to the king'sdaughter, and set them in great ease of heart. And in the morn therecame one to Galahad and told him how that Gawaine, Gareth, and Uwaine, had slain the seven brethren. I suppose well, said Sir Galahad, andtook his armour and his horse, and commended them unto God. 

CHAPTER XVI

HOW SIR GAWAINE CAME TO THE ABBEY FOR TO FOLLOW GALAHAD, AND HOW HEWAS SHRIVEN TO A HERMIT

Now, saith the tale, after Sir Gawaine departed, he rode manyjourneys, both toward and froward. And at the last he came to theabbey where Sir Galahad had the white shield, and there Sir Gawainelearned the way to sewe after Sir Galahad; and so he rode to the abbeywhere Melias lay sick, and there Sir Melias told Sir Gawaine of themarvellous adventures that Sir Galahad did. Certes, said Sir Gawaine, I am not happy that I took not the way that he went, for an I may meetwith him I will not depart from him lightly, for all marvellousadventures that Sir Galahad achieveth. Sir, said one of the monks, hewill not of your fellowship. Why? said Sir Gawaine. Sir, said he, forye be wicked and sinful, and he is full blessed. Right as they thusstood talking there came in riding Sir Gareth. And then they made joyeither of other. And on the morn they heard mass, and so departed. Andby the way they met with Sir Uwaine les Avoutres, and there Sir Uwainetold Sir Gawaine how he had met with none adventure sith he departedfrom the court. Nor we, said Sir Gawaine. And either promised other ofthe three knights not to depart while they were in that quest, but iffortune caused it. So they departed and rode by fortune till that theycame by the Castle of Maidens; and there the seven brethren espied thethree knights, and said: Sithen, we be flemyd by one knight from thiscastle, we shall destroy all the knights of King Arthur's that we mayovercome, for the love of Sir Galahad. And therewith the seven knightsset upon the three knights, and by fortune Sir Gawaine slew one of thebrethren, and each one of his fellows slew another, and so slew theremnant. And then they took the way under the castle, and there theylost the way that Sir Galahad rode, and there every each of themdeparted from other; and Sir Gawaine rode till he came to anhermitage, and there he found the good man saying his evensong of OurLady; and there Sir Gawaine asked harbour for charity, and the goodman granted it him gladly. Then the good man asked him what he was. Sir, he said, I am a knight of King Arthur's that am in the quest ofthe Sangreal, and my name is Sir Gawaine. Sir, said the good man, Iwould wit how it standeth betwixt God and you. Sir, said Sir Gawaine, I will with a good will shew you my life if it please you; and therehe told the hermit How a monk of an abbey called me wicked knight. Hemight well say it, said the hermit, for when ye were first made knightyou should have taken you to knightly deeds and virtuous living, andye have done the contrary, for ye have lived mischievously manywinters; and Sir Galahad is a maid and sinner never, and that is thecause he shall achieve where he goeth that ye nor none such shall notattain, nor none in your fellowship, for ye have used the mostuntruest life that ever I heard knight live. For certes had ye notbeen so wicked as ye are, never had the seven brethren been slain byyou and your two fellows. For Sir Galahad himself alone beat them allseven the day tofore, but his living is such he shall slay no manlightly. Also I may say you the Castle of Maidens betokeneth the goodsouls that were in prison afore the Incarnation of Jesu Christ. Andthe seven knights betoken the seven deadly sins that reigned that timein the world; and I may liken the good Galahad unto the son of theHigh Father, that light within a maid, and bought all the souls out ofthrall: so did Sir Galahad deliver all the maidens out of the wofulcastle. Now, Sir Gawaine, said the good man, thou must do penance forthy sin. Sir, what penance shall I do? Such as I will give, said thegood man. Nay, said Sir Gawaine, I may do no penance; for we knightsadventurous oft suffer great woe and pain. Well, said the good man, and then he held his peace. And on the morn Sir Gawaine departed fromthe hermit, and betaught him unto God. And by adventure he met withSir Aglovale and Sir Griflet, two knights of the Table Round. And theytwo rode four days without finding of any adventure, and at the fifthday they departed. And every each held as befel them by adventure. Here leaveth the tale o£ Sir Gawaine and his fellows, and speak we ofSir Galahad. 

CHAPTER XVII

HOW SIR GALAHAD MET WITH SIR LAUNCELOT AND SIR PERCIVALE, AND SMOTETHEM DOWN, AND DEPARTED FROM THEM

So when Sir Galahad was departed from the Castle o£ Maidens he rodetill he came to a waste forest, and there he met with Sir Launcelotand Sir Percivale, but they knew him not, for he was new disguised. Right so Sir Launcelot, his father, dressed his spear and brake itupon Sir Galahad, and Galahad smote him so again that he smote downhorse and man. And then he drew his sword, and dressed him unto SirPercivale, and smote him so on the helm, that it rove to the coif ofsteel; and had not the sword swerved Sir Percivale had been slain, andwith the stroke he fell out of his saddle. This jousts was done toforethe hermitage where a recluse dwelled. And when she saw Sir Galahadride, she said: God be with thee, best knight of the world. Ah certes, said she, all aloud that Launcelot and Percivale might hear it: Anyonder two knights had known thee as well as I do they would not haveencountered with thee. When Sir Galahad heard her say so he was adreadto be known: therewith he smote his horse with his spurs and rode agreat pace froward them. Then perceived they both that he was Galahad;and up they gat on their horses, and rode fast after him, but in awhile he was out of their sight. And then they turned again with heavycheer. Let us spere some tidings, said Percivale, at yonder recluse. Do as ye list, said Sir Launcelot. When Sir Percivale came to therecluse she knew him well enough, and Sir Launcelot both. But SirLauncelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held nopath but as wild adventure led him. And at the last he came to a stonycross which departed two ways in waste land; and by the cross was astone that was of marble, but it was so dark that Sir Launcelot mightnot wit what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him, and saw an oldchapel, and there he weened to have found people; and Sir Launcelottied his horse till a tree, and there he did off his shield and hungit upon a tree. And then he went to the chapel door, and found itwaste and broken. And within he found a fair altar, full richlyarrayed with cloth of clene silk, and there stood a fair cleancandlestick, which bare six great candles, and the candlestick was ofsilver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this light he had great will for toenter into the chapel, but he could find no place where he mightenter; then was he passing heavy and dismayed. Then he returned andcame to his horse and did off his saddle and bridle, and let himpasture, and unlaced his helm, and ungirt his sword, and laid him downto sleep upon his shield tofore the cross. 

CHAPTER XVIII

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT, HALF SLEEPING AND HALF WAKING, SAW A SICK MAN BORNEIN A LITTER, AND HOW HE WAS HEALED WITH THE SANGREAL

And so he fell on sleep; and half waking and sleeping he saw come byhim two palfreys all fair and white, the which bare a litter, thereinlying a sick knight. And when he was nigh the cross he there abodestill. All this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for he slept not verily;and he heard him say: O sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me?and when shall the holy vessel come by me, wherethrough I shall beblessed? For I have endured thus long, for little trespass. A fullgreat while complained the knight thus, and always Sir Launcelot heardit. With that Sir Launcelot saw the candlestick with the six taperscome before the cross, and he saw nobody that brought it. Also therecame a table of silver, and the holy vessel of the Sangreal, whichLauncelot had seen aforetime in King Pescheour's house. And therewiththe sick knight set him up, and held up both his hands, and said: Fairsweet Lord, which is here within this holy vessel; take heed unto methat I may be whole of this malady. And therewith on his hands and onhis knees he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissedit, and anon he was whole; and then he said: Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed of this sickness. So when the holy vessel had beenthere a great while it went unto the chapel with the chandelier andthe light, so that Launcelot wist not where it was become; for he wasovertaken with sin that he had no power to rise ageyne the holyvessel; wherefore after that many men said of him shame, but he tookrepentance after that. Then the sick knight dressed him up and kissedthe cross; anon his squire brought him his arms, and asked his lordhow he did. Certes, said he, I thank God right well, through the holyvessel I am healed. But I have marvel of this sleeping knight that hadno power to awake when this holy vessel was brought hither. I dareright well say, said the squire, that he dwelleth in some deadly sinwhereof he was never confessed. By my faith, said the knight, whatsomever he be he is unhappy, for as I deem he is of the fellowshipof the Round Table, the which is entered into the quest of theSangreal. Sir, said the squire, here I have brought you all your armssave your helm and your sword, and therefore by mine assent now may yetake this knight's helm and his sword: and so he did. And when he wasclene armed he took Sir Launcelot's horse, for he was better than his;and so departed they from the Cross. 

CHAPTER XIX

HOW A VOICE SPAKE TO SIR LAUNCELOT, AND HOW HE FOUND HIS HORSE AND HISHELM BORNE AWAY, AND AFTER WENT AFOOT

Then anon Sir Launcelot waked, and set him up, and bethought him whathe had seen there, and whether it were dreams or not. Right so heardhe a voice that said: Sir Launcelot, more harder than is the stone, and more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and barer than is theleaf of the fig tree; therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw theefrom this holy place. And when Sir Launcelot heard this he was passingheavy and wist not what to do, and so departed sore weeping, andcursed the time that he was born. For then he deemed never to have hadworship more. For those words went to his heart, till that he knewwherefore he was called so. Then Sir Launcelot went to the cross andfound his helm, his sword, and his horse taken away. And then hecalled himself a very wretch, and most unhappy of all knights; andthere he said: My sin and my wickedness have brought me unto greatdishonour. For when I sought worldly adventures for worldly desires, Iever achieved them and had the better in every place, and never was Idiscomfit in no quarrel, were it right or wrong. And now I take uponme the adventures of holy things, and now I see and understand thatmine old sin hindereth me and shameth me, so that I had no power tostir nor speak when the holy blood appeared afore me. So thus liesorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls sing: then somewhat hewas comforted. But when Sir Launcelot missed his horse and his harnessthen he wist well God was displeased with him. Then he departed fromthe cross on foot into a forest; and so by prime he came to an highhill, and found an hermitage and a hermit therein which was going untomass. And then Launcelot kneeled down and cried on Our Lord mercy forhis wicked works. So when mass was done Launcelot called him, andprayed him for charity for to hear his life. With a good will, saidthe good man. Sir, said he, be ye of King Arthur's court and of thefellowship of the Round Table? Yea forsooth, and my name is SirLauncelot du Lake that hath been right well said of, and now my goodfortune is changed, for I am the most wretch of the world. The hermitbeheld him and had marvel how he was so abashed. Sir, said the hermit, ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath causedyou to have more worldly worship than any knight that now liveth. Andfor your presumption to take upon you in deadly sin for to be in Hispresence, where His flesh and His blood was, that caused you ye mightnot see it with worldly eyes; for He will not appear where suchsinners be, but if it be unto their great hurt and unto their greatshame; and there is no knight living now that ought to give God sogreat thank as ye, for He hath given you beauty, seemliness, and greatstrength above all other knights; and therefore ye are the morebeholding unto God than any other man, to love Him and dread Him, foryour strength and manhood will little avail you an God be against you. 

CHAPTER XX

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT WAS SHRIVEN, AND WHAT SORROW HE MADE, AND OF THEGOOD ENSAMPLES WHICH WERE SHEWED HIM

Then Sir Launcelot wept with heavy cheer, and said: Now I know well yesay me sooth. Sir, said the good man, hide none old sin from me. Truly, said Sir Launcelot, that were me full loth to discover. Forthis fourteen year I never discovered one thing that I have used, andthat may I now wyte my shame and my misadventure. And then he toldthere that good man all his life. And how he had loved a queenimmeasurably and out of measure long. And all my great deeds of armsthat I have done, I did for the most part for the queen's sake, andfor her sake would I do battle were it right or wrong; and never did Ibattle all only for God's sake, but for to win worship and to cause meto be the better beloved, and little or nought I thanked God of it. Then Sir Launcelot said: I pray you counsel me. I will counsel you, said the hermit, if ye will ensure me that ye will never come in thatqueen's fellowship as much as ye may forbear. And then Sir Launcelotpromised him he nold, by the faith of his body. Look that your heartand your mouth accord, said the good man, and I shall ensure you yeshall have more worship than ever ye had. Holy father, said SirLauncelot, I marvel of the voice that said to me marvellous words, asye have heard toforehand. Have ye no marvel, said the good man, thereof, for it seemeth well God loveth you; for men may understand astone is hard of kind, and namely one more than another; and that isto understand by thee, Sir Launcelot, for thou wilt not leave thy sinfor no goodness that God hath sent thee; therefore thou art more thanany stone, and never wouldst thou be made neysshe nor by water nor byfire, and that is the hete of the Holy Ghost may not enter in thee, Now take heed, in all the world men shall not find one knight to whomOur Lord hath given so much of grace as He hath given you, for He hathgiven you fairness with seemliness, He hath given thee wit, discretionto know good from evil. He hath given thee prowess and hardiness, andgiven thee to work so largely that thou hast had at all days thebetter wheresomever thou came; and now Our Lord will suffer thee nolonger, but that thou shalt know Him whether thou wilt or nylt. Andwhy the voice called thee bitterer than wood, for where overmuch sindwelleth, there may be but little sweetness, wherefore thou artlikened to an old rotten tree. Now have I shewed thee why thou artharder than the stone and bitterer than the tree. Now shall I shewthee why thou art more naked and barer than the fig tree. It befelthat Our Lord on Palm Sunday preached in Jerusalem, and there He foundin the people that all hardness was harboured in them, and there Hefound in all the town not one that would harbour him. And then He wentwithout the town, and found in the middes of the way a fig tree, thewhich was right fair and well garnished of leaves, but fruit had itnone. Then Our Lord cursed the tree that bare no fruit; thatbetokeneth the fig tree unto Jerusalem, that had leaves and no fruit. So thou, Sir Launcelot, when the Holy Grail was brought afore thee, Hefound in thee no fruit, nor good thought nor good will, and defouledwith lechery. Certes, said Sir Launcelot, all that you have said istrue, and from henceforward I cast me, by the grace of God, never tobe so wicked as I have been, but as to follow knighthood and to dofeats of arms. Then the good man enjoined Sir Launcelot such penanceas he might do and to pursue knighthood, and so assoiled him, andprayed Sir Launcelot to abide with him all that day. I will well, saidSir Launcelot, for I have neither helm, nor horse, nor sword. As forthat, said the good man, I shall help you or tomorn at even of anhorse, and all that longed unto you. And then Sir Launcelot repentedhim greatly. 

_Here leaveth of the history of syr launcelot. And here followeth ofsir Percyvale de galys which is the xiiii book_. 

THE FOURTEENTH BOOK

CHAPTER I

HOW SIR PERCIVALE CAME TO A RECLUSE AND ASKED COUNSEL, AND HOW SHETOLD HIM THAT SHE WAS HIS AUNT

Now saith the tale, that when Sir Launcelot was ridden after SirGalahad, the which had all these adventures above said, Sir Percivaleturned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of thatknight that Launcelot followed. And so he kneeled at her window, andthe recluse opened it and asked Sir Percivale what he would. Madam, hesaid, I am a knight of King Arthur's court, and my name is SirPercivale de Galis. When the recluse heard his name she had great joyof him, for mickle she had loved him tofore any other knight, for sheought to do so, for she was his aunt. And then she commanded the gatesto be opened, and there he had all the cheer that she might make him, and all that was in her power was at his commandment. So on the mornSir Percivale went to the recluse and asked her if she knew thatknight with the white shield. Sir, said she, why would ye wit? Truly, madam, said Sir Percivale, I shall never be well at ease till that Iknow of that knight's fellowship, and that I may fight with him, for Imay not leave him so lightly, for I have the shame yet. Ah, Percivale, said she, would ye fight with him? I see well ye have great will to beslain as your father was through outrageousness. Madam, said SirPercivale, it seemeth by your words that ye know me. Yea, said she, Iwell ought to know you, for I am your aunt, although I be in a prioryplace. For some called me sometime the queen of the Waste Lands, and Iwas called the queen of most riches in the world; and it pleased menever my riches so much as doth my poverty. Then Sir Percivale weptfor very pity when that he knew it was his aunt. Ah, fair nephew, saidshe, when heard ye tidings of your mother? Truly, said he, I heardnone of her, but I dream of her much in my sleep; and therefore I wotnot whether she be dead or on live. Certes, fair nephew, said she, your mother is dead, for after your departing from her she took such asorrow that anon, after she was confessed, she died. Now, God havemercy on her soul, said Sir Percivale, it sore forthinketh me; but allwe must change the life. Now, fair aunt, tell me what is the knight? Ideem it be he that bare the red arms on Whitsunday. Wit you well, saidshe, that this is he, for otherwise ought he not to do, but to go inred arms; and that same knight hath no peer, for he worketh all bymiracle, and he shall never be overcome of none earthly man's hand. 

CHAPTER II

HOW MERLIN LIKENED THE ROUND TABLE TO THE WORLD, AND HOW THE KNIGHTSTHAT SHOULD ACHIEVE THE SANGREAL SHOULD BE KNOWN

Also Merlin made the Round Table in tokening of roundness of theworld, for by the Round Table is the world signified by right, for allthe world, Christian and heathen, repair unto the Round Table; andwhen they are chosen to be of the fellowship of the Round Table theythink them more blessed and more in worship than if they had gottenhalf the world; and ye have seen that they have lost their fathers andtheir mothers, and all their kin, and their wives and their children, for to be of your fellowship. It is well seen by you; for since yehave departed from your mother ye would never see her, ye found suchfellowship at the Round Table. When Merlin had ordained the RoundTable he said, by them which should be fellows of the Round Table thetruth of the Sangreal should be well known. And men asked him how menmight know them that should best do and to achieve the Sangreal? Thenhe said there should be three white bulls that should achieve it, andthe two should be maidens, and the third should be chaste. And thatone of the three should pass his father as much as the lion passeththe leopard, both of strength and hardiness. They that heard Merlinsay so said thus unto Merlin: Sithen there shall be such a knight, thou shouldest ordain by thy crafts a siege, that no man should sit init but he all only that shall pass all other knights. Then Merlinanswered that he would do so. And then he made the Siege Perilous, inthe which Galahad sat in at his meat on Whitsunday last past. Now, madam, said Sir Percivale, so much have I heard of you that by my goodwill I will never have ado with Sir Galahad but by way of kindness;and for God's love, fair aunt, can ye teach me some way where I mayfind him? for much would I love the fellowship of him. Fair nephew, said she, ye must ride unto a castle the which is called Goothe, wherehe hath a cousin-germain, and there may ye be lodged this night. Andas he teacheth you, pursue after as fast as ye can; and if he can tellyou no tidings of him, ride straight unto the Castle of Carbonek, where the maimed king is there lying, for there shall ye hear truetidings of him. 

CHAPTER III

HOW SIR PERCIVALE CAME INTO A MONASTERY, WHERE HE FOUND KING EVELAKE, WHICH WAS AN OLD MAN

Then departed Sir Percivale from his aunt, either making great sorrow. And so he rode till evensong time. And then he heard a clock smite;and then he was ware of an house closed well with walls and deepditches, and there he knocked at the gate and was let in, and he alitand was led unto a chamber, and soon he was unarmed. And there he hadright good cheer all that night; and on the morn he heard his mass, and in the monastery he found a priest ready at the altar. And on theright side he saw a pew closed with iron, and behind the altar he sawa rich bed and a fair, as of cloth of silk and gold. Then SirPercivale espied that therein was a man or a woman, for the visage wascovered; then he left off his looking and heard his service. And whenit came to the sacring, he that lay within that percloos dressed himup, and uncovered his head; and then him beseemed a passing old man, and he had a crown of gold upon his head, and his shoulders were nakedand unhilled unto his navel. And then Sir Percivale espied his bodywas full of great wounds, both on the shoulders, arms, and visage. Andever he held up his hands against our Lord's body, and cried: Fair, sweet Father, Jesu Christ, forget not me. And so he lay down, butalways he was in his prayers and orisons; and him seemed to be of theage of three hundred winter. And when the mass was done the priesttook Our Lord's body and bare it to the sick king. And when he hadused it he did off his crown, and commanded the crown to be set on thealtar. Then Sir Percivale asked one of the brethren what he was. Sir, said the good man, ye have heard much of Joseph of Aramathie, how hewas sent by Jesu Christ into this land for to teach and preach theholy Christian faith; and therefore he suffered many persecutions thewhich the enemies of Christ did unto him, and in the city of Sarras heconverted a king whose name was Evelake. And so this king came withJoseph into this land, and ever he was busy to be thereas the Sangrealwas; and on a time be nighed it so nigh that Our Lord was displeasedwith him, but ever he followed it more and more, till God struck himalmost blind. Then this king cried mercy, and said: Fair Lord, let menever die till the good knight of my blood of the ninth degree become, that I may see him openly that he shall achieve the Sangreal, that I may kiss him. 

CHAPTER IV

HOW SIR PERCIVALE SAW MANY MEN OF ARMS BEARING A DEAD KNIGHT, AND HOWHE FOUGHT AGAINST THEM

When the king thus had made his prayers he heard a voice that said:Heard be thy prayers, for thou shalt not die till he have kissed thee. And when that knight shall come the clearness of your eyes shall comeagain, and thou shalt see openly, and thy wounds shall be healed, anderst shall they never close. And this befel of King Evelake, and thissame king hath lived this three hundred winter this holy life, and mensay the knight is in the court that shall heal him. Sir, said the goodman, I pray you tell me what knight that ye be, and if ye be of KingArthur's court and of the Table Round. Yea, forsooth, said he, and myname is Sir Percivale de Galis. And when the good man understood hisname he made great joy of him. And then Sir Percivale departed androde till the hour of noon. And he met in a valley about a twenty menof arms, which bare in a bier a knight deadly slain. And when they sawSir Percivale they asked him of whence he was. And he answered: Of thecourt of King Arthur. Then they cried all at once: Slay him. Then SirPercivale smote the first to the earth and his horse upon him. Andthen seven of the knights smote upon his shield all at once, and theremnant slew his horse so that he fell to the earth. So had they slainhim or taken him had not the good knight, Sir Galahad, with the redarms come there by adventure into those parts. And when he saw allthose knights upon one knight he cried: Save me that knight's life. And then he dressed him toward the twenty men of arms as fast as hishorse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and smote the foremosthorse and man to the earth. And when his spear was broken he set hishand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on the left handthat it was marvel to see, and at every stroke he smote one down orput him to a rebuke, so that they would fight no more but fled to athick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them. And when Sir Percivalesaw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his horse was away. And then he wist well it was Sir Galahad. And then he cried aloud: Ah, fair knight, abide and suffer me to do thankings unto thee, for muchhave ye done for me. But ever Sir Galahad rode so fast that at thelast he passed out of his sight. And as fast as Sir Percivale might hewent after him on foot, crying. And then he met with a yeoman ridingupon an hackney, the which led in his hand a great steed blacker thanany bear. Ah, fair friend, said Sir Percivale, as ever I may do foryou, and to be your true knight in the first place ye will require me, that ye will lend me that black steed, that I might overtake a knightthe which rideth afore me. Sir knight, said the yeoman, I pray youhold me excused of that, for that I may not do. For wit ye well, thehorse is such a man's horse, that an I lent it you or any man, that hewould slay me. Alas, said Sir Percivale, I had never so great sorrowas I have had for losing of yonder knight. Sir, said the yeoman, I amright heavy for you, for a good horse would beseem you well; but Idare not deliver you this horse but if ye would take him from me. Thatwill I not do, said Sir Percivale. And so they departed; and SirPercivale set him down under a tree, and made sorrow out of measure. And as he was there, there came a knight riding on the horse that theyeoman led, and he was clene armed. 

CHAPTER V

HOW A YEOMAN DESIRED HIM TO GET AGAIN AN HORSE AND HOW SIR PERCIVALE'SHACKNEY WAS SLAIN, AND HOW HE GAT AN HORSE

And anon the yeoman came pricking after as fast as ever he might, andasked Sir Percivale if he saw any knight riding on his black steed. Yea, sir forsooth, said he; why, sir, ask ye me that? Ah, sir, thatsteed he hath benome me with strength; wherefor my lord will slay mein what place he findeth me. Well, said Sir Percivale, what wouldstthou that I did? Thou seest well that I am on foot, but an I had agood horse I should bring him soon again. Sir, said the yeoman, takemine hackney and do the best ye can, and I shall serve you on foot towit how that ye shall speed. Then Sir Percivale alit upon thathackney, and rode as fast as he might, and at the last he saw thatknight And then he cried: Knight, turn again; and he turned and sethis spear again Sir Percivale, and he smote the hackney in the middesof the breast that he fell down dead to the earth, and there he had agreat fall, and the other rode his way. And then Sir Percivale waswood worth, and cried: Abide, wicked knight; coward and false-heartedknight, turn again and fight with me on foot. But he answered not, butpassed on his way. When Sir Percivale saw he would not turn he castaway his helm and sword, and said: Now am I a very wretch, cursed andmost unhappy above all other knights. So in this sorrow he abode allthat day till it was night; and then he was faint, and laid him downand slept till it was midnight; and then he awakened and saw afore hima woman which said unto him right fiercely: Sir Percivale, what dostthou here? He answered, I do neither good nor great ill. If thou wiltensure me, said she, that thou wilt fulfil my will when I summon thee, I shall lend thee mine own horse which shall bear thee whither thouwilt. Sir Percivale was glad of her proffer, and ensured her to fulfilall her desire. Then abide me here, and I shall go and fetch you anhorse. And so she came soon again and brought an horse with her thatwas inly black. When Percivale beheld that horse he marvelled that itwas so great and so well apparelled; and not for then he was so hardy, and he leapt upon him, and took none heed of himself. And so anon ashe was upon him he thrust to him with his spurs, and so he rode by aforest, and the moon shone clear. And within an hour and less he barehim four days' journey thence, until he came to a rough water thewhich roared, and his horse would have borne him into it. 

CHAPTER VI

OF THE GREAT DANGER THAT SIR PERCIVALE WAS IN BY HIS HORSE, AND HOW HESAW A SERPENT AND A LION FIGHT

And when Sir Percivale came nigh the brim, and saw the water soboistous, he doubted to overpass it. And then he made a sign of thecross on his forehead. When the fiend felt him so charged he shook offSir Percivale, and he went into the water crying and roaring, makinggreat sorrow, and it seemed unto him that the water brent. Then SirPercivale perceived it was a fiend, the which would have brought himunto his perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed OurLord to keep him from all such temptations; and so he prayed all thatnight till on the morn that it was day; then he saw that he was in awild mountain the which was closed with the sea nigh all about, thathe might see no land about him which might relieve him, but wildbeasts. And then he went into a valley, and there he saw a youngserpent bring a young lion by the neck, and so he came by SirPercivale. With that came a great lion crying and roaring after theserpent. And as fast as Sir Percivale saw this he marvelled, and hiedhim thither, but anon the lion had overtaken the serpent and beganbattle with him. And then Sir Percivale thought to help the lion forhe was the more natural beast of the two; and therewith he drew hissword, and set his shield afore him, and there he gave the serpentsuch a buffet that he had a deadly wound. When the lion saw that, hemade no resemblant to fight with him, but made him all the cheer thata beast might make a man. Then Percivale perceived that, and cast downhis shield which was broken; and then he did off his helm for togather wind, for he was greatly enchafed with the serpent: and thelion went alway about him fawning as a spaniel. And then he strokedhim on the neck and on the shoulders. And then he thanked God of thefellowship of that beast. And about noon the lion took his littlewhelp and trussed him and bare him there he came from. Then was SirPercivale alone. And as the tale telleth, he was one of the men of theworld at that time which most believed in our Lord Jesu Christ, for inthose days there were but few folks that believed in God perfectly. For in those days the son spared not the father no more than astranger. And so Sir Percivale comforted himself in our Lord Jesu, andbesought God no temptation should bring him out of God's service, butto endure as his true champion. Thus when Sir Percivale had prayed hesaw the lion come toward him, and then he couched down at his feet. And so all that night the lion and he slept together; and when SirPercivale slept he dreamed a marvellous dream, that there two ladiesmet with him, and that one sat upon a lion, and that other sat upon aserpent, and that one of them was young, and the other was old; andthe youngest him thought said: Sir Percivale, my lord saluteth thee, and sendeth thee word that thou array thee and make thee ready, fortomorn thou must fight with the strongest champion of the world. Andif thou be overcome thou shalt not be quit for losing of any of thymembers, but thou shalt be shamed for ever to the world's end. Andthen he asked her what was her lord. And she said the greatest lord ofall the world: and so she departed suddenly that he wist not where. 

CHAPTER VII

OF THE VISION THAT SIR PERCIVALE SAW, AND HOW HIS VISION WASEXPOUNDED, AND OF HIS LION

Then came forth the other lady that rode upon the serpent, and shesaid: Sir Percivale, I complain me of you that ye have done unto me, and have not offended unto you. Certes, madam, he said, unto you norno lady I never offended. Yes, said she, I shall tell you why. I havenourished in this place a great while a serpent, which served me agreat while, and yesterday ye slew him as he gat his prey. Say me forwhat cause ye slew him, for the lion was not yours. Madam, said SirPercivale, I know well the lion was not mine, but I did it for thelion is of more gentler nature than the serpent, and therefore I slewhim; meseemeth I did not amiss against you. Madam, said he, what wouldye that I did? I would, said she, for the amends of my beast that yebecome my man. And then he answered: That will I not grant you. No, said she, truly ye were never but my servant syn ye received thehomage of Our Lord Jesu Christ. Therefore, I ensure you in what placeI may find you without keeping I shall take you as he that sometimewas my man. And so she departed from Sir Percivale and left himsleeping, the which was sore travailed of his advision. And on themorn he arose and blessed him, and he was passing feeble. Then was SirPercivale ware in the sea, and saw a ship come sailing toward him; andSir Percivale went unto the ship and found it covered within andwithout with white samite. And at the board stood an old man clothedin a surplice, in likeness of a priest. Sir, said Sir Percivale, ye bewelcome. God keep you, said the good man. Sir, said the old man, ofwhence be ye? Sir, said Sir Percivale, I am of King Arthur's court, and a knight of the Table Round, the which am in the quest of theSangreal; and here am I in great duresse, and never like to escape outof this wilderness. Doubt not, said the good man, an ye be so true aknight as the order of chivalry requireth, and of heart as ye ought tobe, ye should not doubt that none enemy should slay you. What are ye?said Sir Percivale. Sir, said the old man, I am of a strange country, and hither I come to comfort you. Sir, said Sir Percivale, whatsignifieth my dream that I dreamed this night? And there he told himaltogether: She which rode upon the lion betokeneth the new law ofholy church, that is to understand, faith, good hope, belief, andbaptism. For she seemed younger than the other it is great reason, forshe was born in the resurrection and the passion of our Lord JesuChrist. And for great love she came to thee to warn thee of thy greatbattle that shall befall thee. With whom, said Sir Percivale, shall Ifight? With the most champion of the world, said the old man; for asthe lady said, but if thou quit thee well thou shalt not be quit bylosing of one member, but thou shalt be shamed to the world's end. Andshe that rode on the serpent signifieth the old law, and that serpentbetokeneth a fiend. And why she blamed thee that thou slewest herservant, it betokeneth nothing; the serpent that thou slewestbetokeneth the devil that thou rodest upon to the rock. And when thoumadest a sign of the cross, there thou slewest him, and put away hispower. And when she asked thee amends and to become her man, and thousaidst thou wouldst not, that was to make thee to believe on her andleave thy baptism. So he commanded Sir Percivale to depart, and so heleapt over the board and the ship, and all went away he wist notwhither. Then he went up unto the rock and found the lion which alwayskept him fellowship, and he stroked him upon the back and had greatjoy of him. 

CHAPTER VIII

HOW SIR PERCIVALE SAW A SHIP COMING TO HIM-WARD, AND HOW THE LADY OFTHE SHIP TOLD HIM OF HER DISHERITANCE

By that Sir Percivale had abiden there till mid-day he saw a ship camerowing in the sea as all the wind of the world had driven it. And soit drove under that rock. And when Sir Percivale saw this he hied himthither, and found the ship covered with silk more blacker than anybear, and therein was a gentlewoman of great beauty, and she wasclothed richly that none might be better. And when she saw SirPercivale she said: Who brought you in this wilderness where ye benever like to pass hence, for ye shall die here for hunger andmischief? Damosel, said Sir Percivale, I serve the best man of theworld, and in his service he will not suffer me to die, for who thatknocketh shall enter, and who that asketh shall have, and who thatseeketh him he hideth him not. But then she said: Sir Percivale, wotye what I am? Yea, said he. Now who taught you my name? said she. Now, said Sir Percivale, I know you better than ye ween. And I came out ofthe waste forest where I found the red knight with the white shield, said the damosel. Ah, damosel, said he, with that knight would I meetpassing fain. Sir knight, said she, an ye will ensure me by the faiththat ye owe unto knighthood that ye shall do my will what time Isummon you, and I shall bring you unto that knight. Yea, said he, Ishall promise you to fulfil your desire. Well, said she, now shall Itell you. I saw him in the forest chasing two knights unto a water, the which is called Mortaise; and they drove him into that water fordread of death, and the two knights passed over, and the red knightpassed after, and there his horse was drenched, and he, through greatstrength, escaped unto the land: thus she told him, and Sir Percivalewas passing glad thereof. Then she asked him if he had ate any meatlate. Nay, madam, truly I ate no meat nigh this three days, but latehere I spake with a good man that fed me with his good words and holy, and refreshed me greatly. Ah, sir knight, said she, that same man isan enchanter and a multiplier of words. For an ye believe him ye shallplainly be shamed, and die in this rock for pure hunger, and be eatenwith wild beasts; and ye be a young man and a goodly knight, and Ishall help you an ye will. What are ye, said Sir Percivale, thatproffered me thus great kindness? I am, said she, a gentlewoman thatam disherited, which was sometime the richest woman of the world. Damosel, said Sir Percivale, who hath disherited you? for I have greatpity of you. Sir, said she, I dwelled with the greatest man of theworld, and he made me so fair and clear that there was none like me;and of that great beauty I had a little pride more than I ought tohave had. Also I said a word that pleased him not. And then he wouldnot suffer me to be any longer in his company, and so drove me frommine heritage, and so disherited me, and he had never pity of me norof none of my council, nor of my court. And sithen, sir knight, ithath befallen me so, and through me and mine I have benome him many ofhis men, and made them to become my men. For they ask never nothing ofme but I give it them, that and much more. Thus I and all my servantswere against him night and day. Therefore I know now no good knight, nor no good man, but I get them on my side an I may. And for that Iknow that thou art a good knight, I beseech you to help me; and for yebe a fellow of the Round Table, wherefore ye ought not to fail nogentlewoman which is disherited, an she besought you of help. 

CHAPTER IX

HOW SIR PERCIVALE PROMISED HER HELP, AND HOW HE REQUIRED HER OF LOVE, AND HOW HE WAS SAVED FROM THE FIEND

Then Sir Percivale promised her all the help that he might; and thenshe thanked him. And at that time the weather was hot. Then she calledunto her a gentlewoman and bad her bring forth a pavilion; and so shedid, and pyght it upon the gravel. Sir, said she, now may ye rest youin this heat of the day. Then he thanked her, and she put off his helmand his shield, and there he slept a great while. And then he awokeand asked her if she had any meat, and she said: Yea, also ye shallhave enough. And so there was set enough upon the table, and thereonso much that he had marvel, for there was all manner of meats that hecould think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever hedrank, him thought, and therewith he was a little chafed more than heought to be; with that he beheld the gentlewoman, and him thought shewas the fairest creature that ever he saw. And then Sir Percivaleproffered her love, and prayed her that she would be his. Then sherefused him, in a manner, when he required her, for the cause heshould be the more ardent on her, and ever he ceased not to pray herof love. And when she saw him well enchafed, then she said: SirPercivale, wit you well I shall not fulfil your will but if ye swearfrom henceforth ye shall be my true servant, and to do nothing butthat I shall command you. Will ye ensure me this as ye be a trueknight? Yea, said he, fair lady, by the faith of my body. Well, saidshe, now shall ye do with me what so it please you; and now wit yewell ye are the knight in the world that I have most desire for. Andthen two squires were commanded to make a bed in middes of thepavilion. And anon she was unclothed and laid therein. And then SirPercivale laid him down by her naked; and by adventure and grace hesaw his sword lie on the ground naked, in whose pommel was a red crossand the sign of the crucifix therein, and bethought him on hisknighthood and his promise made toforehand unto the good man; then hemade a sign of the cross in his forehead, and therewith the pavilionturned up so down, and then it changed unto a smoke, and a blackcloud, and then he was adread and cried aloud:

CHAPTER X

HOW SIR PERCIVALE FOR PENANCE ROVE HIMSELF THROUGH THE THIGH; AND HOWSHE WAS KNOWN FOR THE DEVIL

Fair sweet father, Jesu Christ, ne let me not be shamed, the which wasnigh lost had not thy good grace been. And then he looked into a ship, and saw her enter therein, which said: Sir Percivale, ye have betrayedme. And so she went with the wind roaring and yelling, that it seemedall the water brent after her. Then Sir Percivale made great sorrow, and drew his sword unto him, saying: Sithen my flesh will be my masterI shall punish it; and therewith he rove himself through the thighthat the blood start about him, and said: O good Lord, take this inrecompensation of that I have done against thee, my Lord. So then heclothed him and armed him, and called himself a wretch, saying: Hownigh was I lost, and to have lost that I should never have gottenagain, that was my virginity, for that may never be recovered after itis once lost. And then he stopped his bleeding wound with a piece ofhis shirt. Thus as he made his moan he saw the same ship come fromOrient that the good man was in the day afore, and the noble knightwas ashamed with himself, and therewith he fell in a swoon. And whenhe awoke he went unto him weakly, and there he saluted this good man. And then he asked Sir Percivale: How hast thou done sith I departed?Sir, said he, here was a gentlewoman and led me into deadly sin. Andthere he told him altogether. Knew ye not the maid? said the good man. Sir, said he, nay, but well I wot the fiend sent her hither to shameme. O good knight, said he, thou art a fool, for that gentlewoman wasthe master fiend of hell, the which hath power above all devils, andthat was the old lady that thou sawest in thine advision riding on theserpent. Then he told Sir Percivale how our Lord Jesu Christ beat himout of heaven for his sin, the which was the most brightest angel ofheaven, and therefore he lost his heritage: And that was the championthat thou foughtest withal, the which had overcome thee had not thegrace of God been. Now beware Sir Percivale, and taken this for anensample. And then the good man vanished away. Then Sir Percivale tookhis arms, and entered into the ship, and so departed from thence. 

_Here endeth the fourtenthe booke, whiche is of syr Percyval. And herefolloweth of syre Launcelot, whiche is the fyftenth book_. 

THE FIFTEENTH BOOK

CHAPTER I

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT CAME TO A CHAPEL, WHERE HE FOUND DEAD, IN A WHITESHIRT, A MAN OF RELIGION, OF AN HUNDRED WINTER OLD

When the hermit had kept Sir Launcelot three days, the hermit gat hima horse, an helm, and a sword. And then he departed about the hour ofnoon. And then he saw a little house. And when he came near he saw achapel, and there beside he saw an old man that was clothed all inwhite full richly; and then Sir Launcelot said: God save you. God keepyou, said the good man, and make you a good knight. Then Sir Launcelotalit and entered into the chapel and there he saw an old man dead, ina white shirt of passing fine cloth. Sir, said the good man, this manthat is dead ought not to be in such clothing as ye see him in, for inthat he brake the oath of his order, for he hath been more than anhundred winter a man of a religion. And then the good man and SirLauncelot went into the chapel; and the good man took a stole abouthis neck, and a book, and then he conjured on that book; and with thatthey saw in an hideous figure and horrible, that there was no man sohard-hearted nor so hard but he should have been afeard. Then said thefiend: Thou hast travailed me greatly; now tell me what thou wilt withme. I will, said the good man, that thou tell me how my fellow becamedead, and whether he be saved or damned. Then he said with an horriblevoice: He is not lost but saved. How may that be? said the good man;it seemed to me that he lived not well, for he brake his order for towear a shirt where he ought to wear none, and who that trespassethagainst our order doth not well. Not so, said the fiend, this man thatlieth here dead was come of a great lineage. And there was a lord thathight the Earl de Vale, that held great war against this man's nephew, the which hight Aguarus. And so this Aguarus saw the earl was biggerthan he. Then he went for to take counsel of his uncle, the whichlieth here dead as ye may see. And then he asked leave, and went outof his hermitage for to maintain his nephew against the mighty earl;and so it happed that this man that lieth here dead did so much by hiswisdom and hardiness that the earl was taken, and three of his lords, by force of this dead man. 

CHAPTER II

OF A DEAD MAN, HOW MEN WOULD HAVE HEWN HIM, AND IT WOULD NOT BE, ANDHOW SIR LAUNCELOT TOOK THE HAIR OF THE DEAD MAN

Then was there peace betwixt the earl and this Aguarus, and greatsurety that the earl should never war against him. Then this dead manthat here lieth came to this hermitage again; and then the earl madetwo of his nephews for to be avenged upon this man. So they came on aday, and found this dead man at the sacring of his mass, and theyabode him till he had said mass. And then they set upon him and drewout swords to have slain him; but there would no sword bite on himmore than upon a gad of steel, for the high Lord which he served hehim preserved. Then made they a great fire, and did off all hisclothes, and the hair off his back. And then this dead man hermit saidunto them: Ween you to burn me? It shall not lie in your power nor toperish me as much as a thread an there were any on my body. No, saidone of them, it shall be essayed. And then they despoiled him, and putupon him this shirt, and cast him in a fire, and there he lay all thatnight till it was day in that fire, and was not dead, and so in themorn I came and found him dead; but I found neither thread nor skintamyd, and so took him out of the fire with great fear, and led himhere as ye may see. And now may ye suffer me to go my way, for I havesaid you the sooth. And then he departed with a great tempest. Thenwas the good man and Sir Launcelot more gladder than they were tofore. And then Sir Launcelot dwelled with that good man that night. Sir, said the good man, be ye not Sir Launcelot du Lake? Yea, sir, said he. What seek ye in this country? Sir, said Sir Launcelot, I go to seekthe adventures of the Sangreal. Well, said he, seek it ye may well, but though it were here ye shall have no power to see it no more thana blind man should see a bright sword, and that is long on your sin, and else ye were more abler than any man living. And then SirLauncelot began to weep. Then said the good man: Were ye confessedsith ye entered into the quest of the Sangreal? Yea, sir, said SirLauncelot. Then upon the morn when the good man had sung his mass, then they buried the dead man. Then Sir Launcelot said: Father, whatshall I do? Now, said the good man, I require you take this hair thatwas this holy man's and put it next thy skin, and it shall prevailthee greatly. Sir, and I will do it, said Sir Launcelot. Also I chargeyou that ye eat no flesh as long as ye be in the quest of theSangreal, nor ye shall drink no wine, and that ye hear mass daily anye may do it. So he took the hair and put it upon him, and so departedat evensong-time. And so rode he into a forest, and there he met witha gentlewoman riding upon a white palfrey, and then she asked him: Sirknight, whither ride ye? Certes, damosel, said Launcelot, I wot notwhither I ride but as fortune leadeth me. Ah, Sir Launcelot, said she, I wot what adventure ye seek, for ye were afore time nearer than ye benow, and yet shall ye see it more openly than ever ye did, and thatshall ye understand in short time. Then Sir Launcelot asked her wherehe might be harboured that night. Ye shall not find this day nornight, but tomorn ye shall find harbour good, and ease of that ye bein doubt of. And then he commended her unto God. Then he rode tillthat he came to a Cross, and took that for his host as for that night. 

CHAPTER III

OF A VISION THAT SIR LAUNCELOT HAD, AND HOW HE TOLD IT TO AN HERMIT, AND DESIRED COUNSEL OF HIM

And so he put his horse to pasture, and did off his helm and hisshield, and made his prayers unto the Cross that he never fall indeadly sin again. And so he laid him down to sleep. And anon as he wason sleep it befell him there an advision, that there came a man aforehim all by compass of stars, and that man had a crown of gold on hishead, and that man led in his fellowship seven kings and two knights. And all these worshipped the Cross, kneeling upon their knees, holdingup their hands toward the heaven. And all they said: Fair sweet Fatherof heaven, come and visit us, and yield unto us every each as we havedeserved. Then looked Launcelot up to the heaven, and him seemed theclouds did open, and an old man came down, with a company of angels, and alit among them, and gave unto every each his blessing, and calledthem his servants, and good and true knights. And when this old manhad said thus he came to one of those knights, and said: I have lostall that I have set in thee, for thou hast ruled thee against me as awarrior, and used wrong wars with vain glory, more for the pleasure ofthe world than to please me, therefore thou shalt be confoundedwithout thou yield me my treasure. All this advision saw Sir Launcelotat the Cross. And on the morn he took his horse and rode till midday;and there by adventure he met with the same knight that took hishorse, helm, and his sword, when he slept when the Sangreal appearedafore the Cross. When Sir Launcelot saw him he saluted him not fair, but cried on high: Knight, keep thee, for thou hast done to me greatunkindness. And then they put afore them their spears, and SirLauncelot came so fiercely upon him that he smote him and his horsedown to the earth, that he had nigh broken his neck. Then SirLauncelot took the knight's horse that was his own aforehand, anddescended from the horse he sat upon, and mounted upon his own horse, and tied the knight's own horse to a tree that he might find thathorse when that he was arisen. Then Sir Launcelot rode till night andby adventure he met an hermit, and each of them saluted other; andthere he rested with that good man all night, and gave his horse suchas he might get. Then said the good man unto Launcelot: Of whence beye? Sir, said he, I am of Arthur's court, and my name is Sir Launcelotdu Lake that am in the quest of the Sangreal, and therefore I pray youto counsel me of a vision the which I had at the Cross. And so he toldhim all. 

CHAPTER IV

HOW THE HERMIT EXPOUNDED TO SIR LAUNCELOT HIS VISION, AND TOLD HIMTHAT SIR GALAHAD WAS HIS SON

Lo, Sir Launcelot, said the good man, there thou mightest understandthe high lineage that thou art come of, and thine advision betokeneth. After the passion of Jesu Christ forty year, Joseph of Aramathiepreached the victory of King Evelake, that he had in the battles thebetter of his enemies. And of the seven kings and the two knights: thefirst of them is called Nappus, an holy man; and the second hightNacien, in remembrance of his grandsire, and in him dwelled our lordJesu Christ; and the third was called Helias le Grose; and the fourthhight Lisais; and the fifth hight Jonas, he departed out of hiscountry and went into Wales, and took there the daughter of Manuel, whereby he had the land of Gaul, and he came to dwell in this country. And of him came King Launcelot thy grandsire, the which there weddedthe king's daughter of Ireland, and he was as worthy a man as thouart, and of him came King Ban, thy father, the which was the last ofthe seven kings. And by thee, Sir Launcelot, it signifieth that theangels said thou were none of the seven fellowships. And the last wasthe ninth knight, he was signified to a lion, for he should pass allmanner of earthly knights that is Sir Galahad, the which thou gat onKing Pelles' daughter; and thou ought to thank God more than any otherman living, for of a sinner earthly thou hast no peer as inknighthood, nor never shall be. But little thank hast thou given toGod for all the great virtues that God hath lent thee. Sir, saidLauncelot, ye say that that good knight is my son. That oughtest thouto know and no man better, said the good man, for thou knewest thedaughter of King Pelles fleshly, and on her thou begattest Galahad, and that was he that at the feast of Pentecost sat in the SiegePerilous; and therefore make thou it known openly that he is one ofthy begetting on King Pelles' daughter, for that will be your worshipand honour, and to all thy kindred. And I counsel you in no placepress not upon him to have ado with him. Well, said Launcelot, meseemeth that good knight should pray for me unto the High Father, that I fall not to sin again. Trust thou well, said the good man, thoufarest mickle the better for his prayer; but the son shall not bearthe wickedness of the father, nor the father shall not bear thewickedness of the son, but every each shall bear his own burden. Andtherefore beseek thou only God, and he will help thee in all thyneeds. And then Sir Launcelot and he went to supper, and so laid himto rest, and the hair pricked so Sir Launcelot's skin which grievedhim full sore, but he took it meekly, and suffered the pain. And so onthe morn he heard his mass and took his arms, and so took his leave. 

CHAPTER V

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT JOUSTED WITH MANY KNIGHTS, AND HOW HE WAS TAKEN

And then mounted upon his horse, and rode into a forest, and held nohighway. And as he looked afore him he saw a fair plain, and besidethat a fair castle, and afore the castle were many pavilions of silkand of diverse hue. And him seemed that he saw there five hundredknights riding on horseback; and there were two parties: they thatwere of the castle were all on black horses and their trappours black, and they that were without were all on white horses and trappours, andevery each hurtled to other that it marvelled Sir Launcelot. And atthe last him thought they of the castle were put to the worse. Thenthought Sir Launcelot for to help there the weaker party in increasingof his chivalry. And so Sir Launcelot thrust in among the party of thecastle, and smote down a knight, horse and man, to the earth. And thenhe rushed here and there, and did marvellous deeds of arms. And thenhe drew out his sword, and struck many knights to the earth, so thatall those that saw him marvelled that ever one knight might do sogreat deeds of arms. But always the white knights held them nigh aboutSir Launcelot, for to tire him and wind him. But at the last, as a manmay not ever endure, Sir Launcelot waxed so faint of fighting andtravailing, and was so weary of his great deeds, but he might not liftup his arms for to give one stroke, so that he weened never to haveborne arms; and then they all took and led him away into a forest, andthere made him to alight and to rest him. And then all the fellowshipof the castle were overcome for the default of him. Then they said allunto Sir Launcelot: Blessed be God that ye be now of our fellowship, for we shall hold you in our prison; and so they left him with fewwords. And then Sir Launcelot made great sorrow, For never or now wasI never at tournament nor jousts but I had the best, and now I amshamed; and then he said: Now I am sure that I am more sinfuller thanever I was. Thus he rode sorrowing, and half a day he was out ofdespair, till that he came into a deep valley. And when Sir Launcelotsaw he might not ride up into the mountain, he there alit under anapple tree, and there he left his helm and his shield, and put hishorse unto pasture. And then he laid him down to sleep. And then himthought there came an old man afore him, the which said: Ah, Launcelotof evil faith and poor belief, wherefore is thy will turned so lightlytoward thy deadly sin? And when he had said thus he vanished away, andLauncelot wist not where he was become. Then he took his horse, andarmed him; and as he rode by the way he saw a chapel where was arecluse, which had a window that she might see up to the altar. Andall aloud she called Launcelot, for that he seemed a knight errant. And then he came, and she asked him what he was, and of what place, and where about he went to seek. 

CHAPTER VI

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT TOLD HIS VISION UNTO A WOMAN, AND HOW SHE EXPOUNDEDIT UNTO HIM

And then he told her all together word by word, and the truth how itbefell him at the tournament. And after told her his advision that hehad had that night in his sleep, and prayed her to tell him what itmight mean, for he was not well content with it. Ah, Launcelot, saidshe, as long as ye were knight of earthly knighthood ye were the mostmarvellous man of the world, and most adventurous. Now, said the lady, sithen ye be set among the knights of heavenly adventures, ifadventure fell thee contrary at that tournament have thou no marvel, for that tournament yesterday was but a tokening of Our Lord. And notfor then there was none enchantment, for they at the tournament wereearthly knights. The tournament was a token to see who should havemost knights, either Eliazar, the son of King Pelles, or Argustus, theson of King Harlon. But Eliazar was all clothed in white, and Argustuswas covered in black, the which were come. All what this betokeneth Ishall tell you. The day of Pentecost, when King Arthur held his court, it befell that earthly kings and knights took a tournament together, that is to say the quest of the Sangreal. The earthly knights werethey the which were clothed all in black, and the covering betokeneththe sins whereof they be not confessed. And they with the covering ofwhite betokeneth virginity, and they that chose chastity. And thus wasthe quest begun in them. Then thou beheld the sinners and the goodmen, and when thou sawest the sinners overcome, thou inclinest to thatparty for bobaunce and pride of the world, and all that must be leftin that quest, for in this quest thou shalt have many fellows and thybetters. For thou art so feeble of evil trust and good belief, thismade it when thou were there where they took thee and led thee intothe forest. And anon there appeared the Sangreal unto the whiteknights, but thou was so feeble of good belief and faith that thoumightest not abide it for all the teaching of the good man, but anonthou turnest to the sinners, and that caused thy misadventure thatthou should'st know good from evil and vain glory of the world, thewhich is not worth a pear. And for great pride thou madest greatsorrow that thou haddest not overcome all the white knights with thecovering of white by whom was betokened virginity and chastity; andtherefore God was wroth with you, for God loveth no such deeds in thisquest. And this advision signifieth that thou were of evil faith andof poor belief, the which will make thee to fall into the deep pit ofhell if thou keep thee not. Now have I warned thee of thy vain gloryand of thy pride, that thou hast many times erred against thy Maker. Beware of everlasting pain, for of all earthly knights I have mostpity of thee, for I know well thou hast not thy peer of any earthlysinful man. And so she commended Sir Launcelot to dinner. And afterdinner he took his horse and commended her to God, and so rode into adeep valley, and there he saw a river and an high mountain. Andthrough the water he must needs pass, the which was hideous; and thenin the name of God he took it with good heart. And when he came overhe saw an armed knight, horse and man black as any bear; without anyword he smote Sir Launcelot's horse to the earth; and so he passed on, he wist not where he was become. And then he took his helm and hisshield, and thanked God of his adventure. 

_Here leveth of the story of syr launcelot. And speke we of sirgawayne, the whiche is the xvi. Book_. 

THE SIXTEENTH BOOK

CHAPTER I

HOW SIR GAWAINE WAS NIGH WEARY OF THE QUEST OF THE SANGREAL, AND OFHIS MARVELLOUS DREAM

When Sir Gawaine was departed from his fellowship he rode long withoutany adventure. For he found not the tenth part of adventure as he waswont to do. For Sir Gawaine rode from Whitsuntide until Michaelmas andfound none adventure that pleased him. So on a day it befell Gawainemet with Sir Ector de Maris, and either made great joy of other thatit were marvel to tell. And so they told every each other, andcomplained them greatly that they could find none adventure. Truly, said Sir Gawaine unto Sir Ector, I am nigh weary of this quest, andloth I am to follow further in strange countries. One thing marvelledme, said Sir Ector, I have met with twenty knights, fellows of mine, and all they complain as I do. I have marvel, said Sir Gawaine, wherethat Sir Launcelot, your brother, is. Truly, said Sir Ector, I cannothear of him, nor of Sir Galahad, Percivale, nor Sir Bors. Let them be, said Sir Gawaine, for they four have no peers. And if one thing werenot in Sir Launcelot he had no fellow of none earthly man; but he isas we be, but if he took more pain upon him. But an these four be mettogether they will be loth that any man meet with them; for an theyfail of the Sangreal it is in waste of all the remnant to recover it. Thus as Ector and Gawaine rode more than eight days. And on a Saturdaythey found an old chapel, the which was wasted that there seemed noman thither repaired; and there they alit, and set their spears at thedoor, and in they entered into the chapel, and there made theirorisons a great while, and set them down in the sieges of the chapel. And as they spake of one thing and other, for heaviness they fell onsleep, and there befel them both marvellous adventures. Sir Gawainehim seemed he came into a meadow full of herbs and flowers, and therehe saw a rack of bulls, an hundred and fifty, that were proud andblack, save three of them were all white, and one had a black spot, and the other two were so fair and so white that they might be nowhiter. And these three bulls which were so fair were tied with twostrong cords. And the remnant of the bulls said among them: Go wehence to seek better pasture. And so some went, and some came again, but they were so lean that they might not stand upright; and of thebulls that were so white, that one came again and no more. But whenthis white bull was come again among these other there rose up a greatcry for lack of wind that failed them; and so they departed one hereand another there; this advision befell Gawaine that night. 

CHAPTER II

OF THE VISION OF SIR ECTOR, AND HOW HE JOUSTED WITH SIR UWAINE LESAVOUTRES, HIS SWORN BROTHER

But to Ector de Maris befell another vision the contrary. For itseemed him that his brother, Sir Launcelot, and he alit out of a chairand leapt upon two horses, and the one said to the other: Go we seekthat we shall not find. And him thought that a man beat Sir Launcelot, and despoiled him, and clothed him in another array, the which was allfull of knots, and set him upon an ass, and so he rode till he came tothe fairest well that ever he saw; and Sir Launcelot alit and wouldhave drunk of that well. And when he stooped to drink of the water thewater sank from him. And when Sir Launcelot saw that, he turned andwent thither as the head came from. And in the meanwhile he trowedthat himself and Sir Ector rode till that they came to a rich man'shouse where there was a wedding. And there he saw a king the whichsaid: Sir knight, here is no place for you. And then he turned againunto the chair that he came from. Thus within a while both Gawaine andEctor awaked, and either told other of their advision, the whichmarvelled them greatly. Truly, said Ector, I shall never be merry tillI hear tidings of my brother Launcelot. Now as they sat thus talkingthey saw an hand showing unto the elbow, and was covered with redsamite, and upon that hung a bridle not right rich, and held withinthe fist a great candle which burned right clear, and so passed aforethem, and entered into the chapel, and then vanished away and theywist not where. And anon came down a voice which said: Knights of fullevil faith and of poor belief, these two things have failed you, andtherefore ye may not come to the adventures of the Sangreal. Thenfirst spake Gawaine and said: Ector, have ye heard these words? Yeatruly, said Sir Ector, I heard all. Now go we, said Sir Ector, untosome hermit that will tell us of our advision, for it seemeth me welabour all in vain. And so they departed and rode into a valley, andthere met with a squire which rode on an hackney, and they saluted himfair. Sir, said Gawaine, can thou teach us to any hermit? Here is onein a little mountain, but it is so rough there may no horse gothither, and therefore ye must go upon foot; there shall ye find apoor house, and there is Nacien the hermit, which is the holiest manin this country. And so they departed either from other. And then in avalley they met with a knight all armed, which proffered them to joustas far as he saw them. In the name of God, said Sir Gawaine, sith Ideparted from Camelot there was none proffered me to joust but once. And now, sir, said Ector, let me joust with him. Nay, said Gawaine, yeshall not but if I be beat; it shall not forethink me then if ye goafter me. And then either embraced other to joust and came together asfast as their horses might run, and brast their shields and the mails, and the one more than the other; and Gawaine was wounded in the leftside, but the other knight was smitten through the breast, and thespear came out on the other side, and so they fell both out of theirsaddles, and in the falling they brake both their spears. Anon Gawainearose and set his hand to his sword, and cast his shield afore him. But all for naught was it, for the knight had no power to rise againsthim. Then said Gawaine: Ye must yield you as an overcome man, or elseI may slay you. Ah, sir knight, said he, I am but dead, for God's sakeand of your gentleness lead me here unto an abbey that I may receivemy Creator. Sir, said Gawaine, I know no house of religion hereby. Sir, said the knight, set me on an horse tofore you, and I shall teachyou. Gawaine set him up in the saddle, and he leapt up behind him forto sustain him, and so came to an abbey where they were well received;and anon he was unarmed, and received his Creator. Then he prayedGawaine to draw out the truncheon of the spear out of his body. ThenGawaine asked him what he was that knew him not. I am, said he, ofKing Arthur's court, and was a fellow of the Round Table, and we werebrethren sworn together; and now Sir Gawaine, thou hast slain me, andmy name is Uwaine les Avoutres, that sometime was son unto KingUriens, and was in the quest of the Sangreal; and now forgive it theeGod, for it shall ever be said that the one sworn brother hath slainthe other. 

CHAPTER III

HOW SIR GAWAINE AND SIR ECTOR CAME TO AN HERMITAGE TO BE CONFESSED, AND HOW THEY TOLD TO THE HERMIT THEIR VISIONS

Alas, said Gawaine, that ever this misadventure is befallen me. Noforce, said Uwaine, sith I shall die this death, of a much moreworshipfuller man's hand might I not die; but when ye come to thecourt recommend me unto my lord, King Arthur, and all those that beleft on live, and for old brotherhood think on me. Then began Gawaineto weep, and Ector also. And then Uwaine himself and Sir Gawaine drewout the truncheon of the spear, and anon departed the soul from thebody. Then Sir Gawaine and Sir Ector buried him as men ought to bury aking's son, and made write upon his name, and by whom he was slain. Then departed Gawaine and Ector as heavy as they might for theirmisadventure, and so rode till that they came to the rough mountain, and there they tied their horses and went on foot to the hermitage. And when they were come up they saw a poor house, and beside thechapel a little courtelage, where Nacien the hermit gathered worts, ashe which had tasted none other meat of a great while. And when he sawthe errant knights he came toward them and saluted them, and they himagain. Fair lords, said he, what adventure brought you hither? Sir, said Gawaine, to speak with you for to be confessed. Sir, said thehermit, I am ready. Then they told him so much that he wist well whatthey were. And then he thought to counsel them if he might. Then beganGawaine first and told him of his advision that he had had in thechapel, and Ector told him all as it is afore rehearsed. Sir, said thehermit unto Sir Gawaine, the fair meadow and the rack therein ought tobe understood the Round Table, and by the meadow ought to beunderstood humility and patience, those be the things which be alwaysgreen and quick; for men may no time overcome humility and patience, therefore was the Round Table founded; and the chivalry hath been atall times so by the fraternity which was there that she might not beovercome; for men said she was founded in patience and in humility. Atthe rack ate an hundred and fifty bulls; but they ate not in themeadow, for their hearts should be set in humility and patience, andthe bulls were proud and black save only three. By the bulls is tounderstand the fellowship of the Round Table, which for their sin andtheir wickedness be black. Blackness is to say without good orvirtuous works. And the three bulls which were white save only onethat was spotted: the two white betoken Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale, for they be maidens clene and without spot; and the third that had aspot signifieth Sir Bors de Ganis, which trespassed but once in hisvirginity, but sithen he kept himself so well in chastity that all isforgiven him and his misdeeds. And why those three were tied by thenecks, they be three knights in virginity and chastity, and there isno pride smitten in them. And the black bulls which said: Go we hence, they were those which at Pentecost at the high feast took upon them togo in the quest of the Sangreal without confession: they might notenter in the meadow of humility and patience. And therefore theyreturned into waste countries, that signifieth death, for there shalldie many of them: every each of them shall slay other for sin, andthey that shall escape shall be so lean that it shall be marvel to seethem. And of the three bulls without spot, the one shall come again, and the other two never. 

CHAPTER IV

HOW THE HERMIT EXPOUNDED THEIR VISION

Then spake Nacien unto Ector: Sooth it is that Launcelot and ye comedown off one chair: the chair betokeneth mastership and lordship whichye came down from. But ye two knights, said the hermit, ye go to seekthat ye shall never find, that is the Sangreal; for it is the secretthing of our Lord Jesu Christ. What is to mean that Sir Launcelot felldown off his horse: he hath left pride and taken him to humility, forhe had cried mercy loud for his sin, and sore repented him, and ourLord hath clothed him in his clothing which is full of knots, that isthe hair that he weareth daily. And the ass that he rode upon is abeast of humility, for God would not ride upon no steed, nor upon nopalfrey; so in ensample that an ass betokeneth meekness, that thousawest Sir Launcelot ride on in thy sleep. And the well whereas thewater sank from him when he should have taken thereof, and when he sawhe might not have it, he returned thither from whence he came, for thewell betokeneth the high grace of God, the more men desire it to takeit, the more shall be their desire. So when he came nigh the Sangreal, he meeked him that he held him not a man worthy to be so nigh the holyvessel, for he had been so befouled in deadly sin by the space of manyyears; yet when he kneeled to drink of the well, there he saw greatprovidence o£ the Sangreal. And for he had served so long the devil, he shall have vengeance four and twenty days long, for that he hathbeen the devil's servant four and twenty years. And then soon after heshall return unto Camelot out of this country, and he shall say a partof such things as he hath found. Now will I tell you what betokeneththe hand with the candle and the bridle: that is to understand theholy ghost where charity is ever, and the bridle signifiethabstinence. For when she is bridled in Christian man's heart sheholdeth him so short that he falleth not in deadly sin. And the candlewhich sheweth clearness and sight signifieth the right way of JesuChrist. And when he went and said: Knights of poor faith and of wickedbelief, these three things failed, charity, abstinence, and truth;therefore ye may not attain that high adventure of the Sangreal. 

CHAPTER V

OF THE GOOD COUNSEL THAT THE HERMIT GAVE TO HIM

Certes, said Gawaine, soothly have ye said, that I see it openly. Now, I pray you, good man and holy father, tell me why we met not with somany adventures as we were wont to do, and commonly have the better. Ishall tell you gladly, said the good man; the adventure of theSangreal which ye and many other have undertaken the quest of it andfind it not, the cause is for it appeareth not to sinners. Whereforemarvel not though ye fail thereof, and many other. For ye be an untrueknight, and a great murderer, and to good men signifieth other thingsthan murder. For I dare say as sinful as Sir Launcelot hath been, siththat he went into the quest of the Sangreal he slew never man, nornought shall, till that he come unto Camelot again, for he hath takenupon him for to forsake sin. And nere that he nys not stable, but byhis thought he is likely to turn again, he should be next to achieveit save Galahad, his son. But God knoweth his thought and hisunstableness, and yet shall he die right an holy man, and no doubt hehath no fellow of no earthly sinful man. Sir, said Gawaine, it seemethme by your words that for our sins it will not avail us to travel inthis quest. Truly, said the good man, there be an hundred such as yebe that never shall prevail, but to have shame. And when they hadheard these voices they commended him unto God. Then the good mancalled Gawaine, and said: It is long time passed sith that ye weremade knight, and never sithen thou servedst thy Maker, and now thouart so old a tree that in thee is neither life nor fruit; whereforebethink thee that thou yield to Our Lord the bare rind, sith the fiendhath the leaves and the fruit. Sir, said Gawaine, an I had leisure Iwould speak with you, but my fellow here, Sir Ector, is gone, andabideth me yonder beneath the hill. Well, said the good man, thou werebetter to be counselled. Then departed Gawaine and came to Ector, andso took their horses and rode till they came to a forester's house, which harboured them right well. And on the morn they departed fromtheir host, and rode long or they could find any adventure. 

CHAPTER VI

HOW SIR BORS MET WITH AN HERMIT, AND HOW HE WAS CONFESSED TO HIM, ANDOF HIS PENANCE ENJOINED TO HIM

When Bors was departed from Camelot he met with a religious man ridingon an ass, and Sir Bors saluted him. Anon the good man knew him thathe was one of the knights errant that was in the quest of theSangreal. What are ye? said the good man. Sir, said he, I am a knightthat fain would be counselled in the quest of the Sangreal, for heshall have much earthly worship that may bring it to an end. Certes, said the good man, that is sooth, for he shall be the best knight ofthe world, and the fairest of all the fellowship. But wit you wellthere shall none attain it but by cleanness, that is pure confession. So rode they together till that they came to an hermitage. And therehe prayed Bors to dwell all that night with him. And so he alit andput away his armour, and prayed him that he might be confessed; and sothey went into the chapel, and there he was clean confessed, and theyate bread and drank water together. Now, said the good man, I praythee that thou eat none other till that thou sit at the table wherethe Sangreal shall be. Sir, said he, I agree me thereto, but how witye that I shall sit there. Yes, said the good man, that know I, butthere shall be but few of your fellows with you. All is welcome, saidSir Bors, that God sendeth me. Also, said the good man, instead of ashirt, and in sign of chastisement, ye shall wear a garment; thereforeI pray you do off all your clothes and your shirt: and so he did. Andthen he took him a scarlet coat, so that should be instead of hisshirt till he had fulfilled the quest of the Sangreal; and the goodman found in him so marvellous a life and so stable, that he marvelledand felt that he was never corrupt in fleshly lusts, but in one timethat he begat Elian le Blank. Then he armed him, and took his leave, and so departed. And so a little from thence he looked up into a tree, and there he saw a passing great bird upon an old tree, and it waspassing dry, without leaves; and the bird sat above, and had birds, the which were dead for hunger. So smote he himself with his beak, thewhich was great and sharp. And so the great bird bled till that hedied among his birds. And the young birds took the life by the bloodof the great bird. When Bors saw this he wist well it was a greattokening; for when he saw the great bird arose not, then he took hishorse and yede his way. So by evensong, by adventure he came to astrong tower and an high, and there was he lodged gladly. 

CHAPTER VII

HOW SIR BORS WAS LODGED WITH A LADY, AND HOW HE TOOK UPON HIM FOR TOFIGHT AGAINST A CHAMPION FOR HER LAND

And when he was unarmed they led him into an high tower where was alady, young, lusty, and fair. And she received him with great joy, andmade him to sit down by her, and so was he set to sup with flesh andmany dainties. And when Sir Bors saw that, he bethought him on hispenance, and bad a squire to bring him water. And so he brought him, and he made sops therein and ate them. Ah, said the lady, I trow yelike not my meat. Yes, truly, said Sir Bors, God thank you, madam, butI may eat none other meat this day. Then she spake no more as at thattime, for she was loth to displease him. Then after supper they spakeof one thing and other. With that came a squire and said: Madam, yemust purvey you tomorn for a champion, for else your sister will havethis castle and also your lands, except ye can find a knight that willfight tomorn in your quarrel against Pridam le Noire. Then she madesorrow and said: Ah, Lord God, wherefore granted ye to hold my land, whereof I should now be disherited without reason and right? And whenSir Bors had heard her say thus, he said, I shall comfort you. Sir, said she, I shall tell you there was here a king that hight Aniause, which held all this land in his keeping. So it mishapped he loved agentlewoman a great deal elder than I. So took he her all this land toher keeping, and all his men to govern; and she brought up many evilcustoms whereby she put to death a great part of his kinsmen. And whenhe saw that, he let chase her out of this land, and betook it me, andall this land in my demesnes. But anon as that worthy king was dead, this other lady began to war upon me, and hath destroyed many of mymen, and turned them against me, that I have wellnigh no man left me;and I have nought else but this high tower that she left me. And yetshe hath promised me to have this tower, without I can find a knightto fight with her champion. Now tell me, said Sir Bors, what is thatPridam le Noire? Sir, said she, he is the most doubted man of thisland. Now may ye send her word that ye have found a knight that shallfight with that Pridam le Noire in God's quarrel and yours. Then thatlady was not a little glad, and sent word that she was purveyed, andthat night Bors had good cheer; but in no bed he would come, but laidhim on the floor, nor never would do otherwise till that he had metwith the quest of the Sangreal. 

CHAPTER VIII

OF A VISION WHICH SIR BORS HAD THAT NIGHT, AND HOW HE FOUGHT ANDOVERCAME HIS ADVERSARY

And anon as he was asleep him befel a vision, that there came to himtwo birds, the one as white as a swan, and the other was marvellousblack; but it was not so great as the other, but in the likeness of aRaven. Then the white bird came to him, and said: An thou wouldst giveme meat and serve me I should give thee all the riches of the world, and I shall make thee as fair and as white as I am. So the white birddeparted, and there came the black bird to him, and said: An thouwolt, serve me to-morrow and have me in no despite though I be black, for wit thou well that more availeth my blackness than the other'swhiteness. And then he departed. And he had another vision: himthought that he came to a great place which seemed a chapel, and therehe found a chair set on the left side, which was wormeaten and feeble. And on the right hand were two flowers like a lily, and the one wouldhave benome the other's whiteness but a good man departed them thatthe one touched not the other; and then out of every flower came outmany flowers, and fruit great plenty. Then him thought the good mansaid: Should not he do great folly that would let these two flowersperish for to succour the rotten tree, that it fell not to the earth?Sir, said he, it seemeth me that this wood might not avail. Now keepthee, said the good man, that thou never see such adventure befallthee. Then he awaked and made a sign of the cross in middes of theforehead, and so rose and clothed him. And there came the lady of theplace, and she saluted him, and he her again, and so went to a chapeland heard their service. And there came a company of knights, that thelady had sent for, to lead Sir Bors unto battle. Then asked he hisarms. And when he was armed she prayed him to take a little morsel todine. Nay, madam, said he, that shall I not do till I have done mybattle, by the grace of God. And so he lept upon his horse, anddeparted all the knights and men with him. And as soon as these twoladies met together, she which Bors should fight for complained her, and said: Madam, ye have done me wrong to bereave me of my lands thatKing Aniause gave me, and full loth I am there should be any battle. Ye shall not choose, said the other lady, or else your knight withdrawhim. Then there was the cry made, which party had the better of thetwo knights, that his lady should rejoice all the land. Now departedthe one knight here, and the other there. Then they came together withsuch a raundon that they pierced their shields and their hauberks, andthe spears flew in pieces, and they wounded either other sore. Thenhurtled they together, so that they fell both to the earth, and theirhorses betwixt their legs; and anon they arose, and set hands to theirswords, and smote each one other upon the heads, that they made greatwounds and deep, that the blood went out of their bodies. For therefound Sir Bors greater defence in that knight more than he weened. Forthat Pridam was a passing good knight, and he wounded Sir Bors fullevil, and he him again; but ever this Pridam held the stour in likehard. That perceived Sir Bors, and suffered him till he was nighattaint. And then he ran upon him more and more, and the other wentback for dread of death. So in his withdrawing he fell upright, andSir Bors drew his helm so strongly that he rent it from his head, andgave him great strokes with the flat of his sword upon the visage, andbad him yield him or he should slay him. Then he cried him mercy andsaid: Fair knight, for God's love slay me not, and I shall ensure theenever to war against thy lady, but be alway toward her. Then Bors lethim be; then the old lady fled with all her knights. 

CHAPTER IX

HOW THE LADY WAS RETURNED TO HER LANDS BY THE BATTLE OF SIR BORS, ANDOF HIS DEPARTING, AND HOW HE MET SIR LIONEL TAKEN AND BEATEN WITHTHORNS, AND ALSO OF A MAID WHICH SHOULD HAVE BEEN DISHONOURED

So then came Bors to all those that held lands of his lady, and saidhe should destroy them but if they did such service unto her as longedto their lands. So they did their homage, and they that would not werechased out of their lands. Then befel that young lady to come to herestate again, by the mighty prowess of Sir Bors de Ganis. So when allthe country was well set in peace, then Sir Bors took his leave anddeparted; and she thanked him greatly, and would have given him greatriches, but he refused it. Then he rode all that day till night, andcame to an harbour to a lady which knew him well enough, and made ofhim great joy. Upon the morn, as soon as the day appeared, Borsdeparted from thence, and so rode into a forest unto the hour ofmidday, and there befel him a marvellous adventure. So he met at thedeparting of the two ways two knights that led Lionel, his brother, all naked, bounden upon a strong hackney, and his hands bounden toforehis breast. And every each of them held in his hands thorns wherewiththey went beating him so sore that the blood trailed down more than inan hundred places of his body, so that he was all blood tofore andbehind, but he said never a word; as he which was great of heart hesuffered all that ever they did to him as though he had felt noneanguish. Anon Sir Bors dressed him to rescue him that was his brother;and so he looked upon the other side of him, and saw a knight whichbrought a fair gentlewoman, and would have set her in the thickestplace of the forest for to have been the more surer out of the wayfrom them that sought him. And she which was nothing assured criedwith an high voice: Saint Mary succour your maid. And anon she espiedwhere Sir Bors came riding. And when she came nigh him she deemed hima knight of the Round Table, whereof she hoped to have some comfort;and then she conjured him: By the faith that he ought unto him inwhose service thou art entered in, and for the faith ye owe unto thehigh order of knighthood, and for the noble King Arthur's sake, that Isuppose that made thee knight, that thou help me, and suffer me not tobe shamed of this knight. When Bors heard her say thus he had so muchsorrow there he nyst not what to do. For if I let my brother be inadventure he must be slain, and that would I not for all the earth. And if I help not the maid she is shamed for ever, and also she shalllose her virginity the which she shall never get again. Then lift heup his eyes and said weeping: Fair sweet Lord Jesu Christ, whose liegeman I am, keep Lionel, my brother, that these knights slay him not, and for pity of you, and for Mary's sake, I shall succour this maid. 

CHAPTER X

HOW SIR BORS LEFT TO RESCUE HIS BROTHER, AND RESCUED THE DAMOSEL; ANDHOW IT WAS TOLD HIM THAT LIONEL WAS DEAD

Then dressed he him unto the knight the which had the gentlewoman, andthen he cried: Sir knight, let your hand off that maiden, or ye be butdead. And then he set down the maiden, and was armed at all piecessave he lacked his spear. Then he dressed his shield, and drew out hissword, and Bors smote him so hard that it went through his shield andhabergeon on the left shoulder. And through great strength he beat himdown to the earth, and at the pulling out of Bors' spear there heswooned. Then came Bors to the maid and said: How seemeth it you? ofthis knight ye be delivered at this time. Now sir, said she, I prayyou lead me there as this knight had me. So shall I do gladly: andtook the horse of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman uponhim, and so brought her as she desired. Sir knight, said she, ye havebetter sped than ye weened, for an I had lost my maidenhead, fivehundred men should have died for it. What knight was he that had youin the forest? By my faith, said she, he is my cousin. So wot I neverwith what engyn the fiend enchafed him, for yesterday he took me frommy father privily; for I nor none of my father's men mistrusted himnot, and if he had had my maidenhead he should have died for the sin, and his body shamed and dishonoured for ever. Thus as she stoodtalking with him there came twelve knights seeking after her, and anonshe told them all how Bors had delivered her; then they made greatjoy, and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and heshould be right welcome. Truly, said Bors, that may not be at thistime, for I have a great adventure to do in this country. So hecommended them unto God and departed. Then Sir Bors rode after Lionel, his brother, by the trace of their horses, thus he rode seeking agreat while. Then he overtook a man clothed in a religious clothing, and rode on a strong black horse blacker than a bear, and said: Sirknight, what seek you? Sir, said he, I seek my brother that I sawwithin a while beaten with two knights. Ah, Bors, discomfort you not, nor fall into no wanhope, for I shall tell you tidings such as theybe, for truly he is dead. Then showed he him a new slain body lying ina bush, and it seemed him well that it was the body of Lionel; andthen he made such a sorrow that he fell to the earth all in a swoon, and lay a great while there. And when he came to himself he said: Fairbrother, sith the company of you and me is departed shall I never havejoy in my heart, and now he which I have taken unto my master, He bemy help. And when he had said thus he took his body lightly in hisarms, and put it upon the arson of his saddle. And then he said to theman: Canst thou tell me unto some chapel where that I may bury thisbody? Come on, said he, here is one fast by; and so long they rodetill they saw a fair tower, and afore it there seemed an old feeblechapel. And then they alit both, and put him into a tomb of marble. 

CHAPTER XI

HOW SIR BORS TOLD HIS DREAM TO A PRIEST, WHICH HE HAD DREAMED, AND OFTHE COUNSEL THAT THE PRIEST GAVE TO HIM

Now leave we him here, said the good man, and go we to our harbourtill to-morrow; we will come here again to do him service. Sir, saidBors, be ye a priest? Yea forsooth, said he. Then I pray you tell me adream that befell to me the last night. Say on, said he. Then he beganso much to tell him of the great bird in the forest, and after toldhim of his birds, one white, another black, and of the rotten tree, and of the white flowers. Sir, I shall tell you a part now, and theother dele to-morrow. The white fowl betokeneth a gentlewoman, fairand rich, which loved thee paramours, and hath loved thee long; and ifthou warne her love she shall go die anon, if thou have no pity onher. That signifieth the great bird, the which shall make thee towarne her. Now for no fear that thou hast, nor for no dread that thouhast of God, thou shalt not warne her, but thou wouldst not do it forto be holden chaste, for to conquer the loos of the vain glory of theworld; for that shall befall thee now an thou warne her, thatLauncelot, the good knight, thy cousin, shall die. And therefore menshall now say that thou art a manslayer, both of thy brother, SirLionel, and of thy cousin, Sir Launcelot du Lake, the which thoumightest have saved and rescued easily, but thou weenest to rescue amaid which pertaineth nothing to thee. Now look thou whether it hadbeen greater harm of thy brother's death, or else to have suffered herto have lost her maidenhood. Then asked he him: Hast thou heard thetokens o£ thy dream the which I have told to you? Yea forsooth, saidSir Bors, all your exposition and declaring of my dream I have wellunderstood and heard. Then said the man in this black clothing: Thenis it in thy default if Sir Launcelot, thy cousin, die. Sir, saidBors, that were me loth, for wit ye well there is nothing in the worldbut I had lever do it than to see my lord Sir Launcelot du Lake, todie in my default. Choose ye now the one or the other, said the goodman. And then he led Sir Bors into an high tower, and there he foundknights and ladies: those ladies said he was welcome, and so theyunarmed him. And when he was in his doublet men brought him a mantlefurred with ermine, and put it about him; and then they made him suchcheer that he had forgotten all his sorrow and anguish, and only sethis heart in these delights and dainties, and took no thought more forhis brother, Sir Lionel, neither of Sir Launcelot du Lake, his cousin. And anon came out of a chamber to him the fairest lady that ever hesaw, and more richer bysene than ever he saw Queen Guenever or anyother estate. Lo, said they, Sir Bors, here is the lady unto whom weowe all our service, and I trow she be the richest lady and thefairest of all the world, and the which loveth you best above allother knights, for she will have no knight but you. And when heunderstood that language he was abashed. Not for then she saluted him, and he her; and then they sat down together and spake of many things, in so much that she besought him to be her love, for she had loved himabove all earthly men, and she should make him richer than ever wasman of his age. When Bors understood her words he was right evil atease, which in no manner would not break chasity, so wist not he howto answer her. 

CHAPTER XII

HOW A DEVIL IN WOMAN'S LIKENESS WOULD HAVE TEMPTED SIR BORS, AND HOWBY GOD'S GRACE HE ESCAPED

Alas, said she, Bors, shall ye not do my will? Madam, said Bors, there is no lady in the world whose will I will fulfill as of thisthing, for my brother lieth dead which was slain right late. Ah Bors, said she, I have loved you long for the great beauty I have seen inyou, and the great hardiness that I have heard of you, that needs yemust lie by me this night, and therefore I pray you grant it me. Truly, said he, I shall not do it in no manner wise. Then she made himsuch sorrow as though she would have died. Well Bors, said she, untothis have ye brought me, nigh to mine end. And therewith she took himby the hand, and bad him behold her. And ye shall see how I shall diefor your love. Ah, said then he, that shall I never see. Then shedeparted and went up into an high battlement, and led with her twelvegentlewomen; and when they were above, one of the gentlewomen cried, and said: Ah, Sir Bors, gentle knight have mercy on us all, and suffermy lady to have her will, and if ye do not we must suffer death withour lady, for to fall down off this high tower, and if ye suffer usthus to die for so little a thing all ladies and gentlewomen will sayof you dishonour. Then looked he upward, they seemed all ladies ofgreat estate, and richly and well bisene. Then had he of them greatpity; not for that he was uncounselled in himself that lever he hadthey all had lost their souls than he his, and with that they felladown all at once unto the earth. And when he saw that, he was allabashed, and had thereof great marvel. With that he blessed his bodyand his visage. And anon he heard a great noise and a great cry, asthough all the fiends of hell had been about him; and therewith he sawneither tower nor lady, nor gentlewoman, nor no chapel where hebrought his brother to. Then held he up both his hands to the heaven, and said: Fair Father God, I am grievously escaped; and then he tookhis arms and his horse and rode on his way. Then he heard a clocksmite on his right hand; and thither he came to an Abbey on his righthand, closed with high walls, and there was let in. Then they supposedthat he was one of the quest of the Sangreal, so they led him into achamber and unarmed him. Sirs, said Sir Bors, if there be any holy manin this house I pray you let me speak with him. Then one of them ledhim unto the Abbot, which was in a Chapel. And then Sir Bors salutedhim, and he him again. Sir, said Bors, I am a knight errant; and toldhim all the adventure which he had seen. Sir Knight, said the Abbot, Iwot not what ye be, for I weened never that a knight of your age mighthave been so strong in the grace of our Lord Jesu Christ. Not for thenye shall go unto your rest, for I will not counsel you this day, it istoo late, and to-morrow I shall counsel you as I can. 

CHAPTER XIII

OF THE HOLY COMMUNICATION OF AN ABBOT TO SIR BORS, AND HOW THE ABBOTCOUNSELLED HIM

And that night was Sir Bors served richly; and on the morn early heheard mass, and the Abbot came to him, and bad him good morrow, andBors to him again. And then he told him he was a fellow of the questof the Sangreal, and how he had charge of the holy man to eat breadand water. Then said the Abbot: Our Lord Jesu Christ showed him untoyou in the likeness of a soul that suffered great anguish for us, syneHe was put upon the cross, and bled His heart blood for mankind: therewas the token and the likeness of the Sangreal that appeared aforeyou, for the blood that the great fowl bled revived the chickens fromdeath to life. And by the bare tree is betokened the world which isnaked and without fruit but if it come to Our Lord. Also the lady forwhom ye fought for, and King Aniause which was lord there tofore, betokeneth Jesu Christ which is the King of the world. And that yefought with the champion for the lady, this it betokeneth: for when yetook the battle for the lady, by her shall ye understand the new lawof Jesu Christ and Holy Church; and by the other lady ye shallunderstand the old law and the fiend, which all day warreth againstHoly Church, therefore ye did your battle with right. For ye be JesuChrist's knights, therefore ye ought to be defenders of Holy Church. And by the black bird might ye understand Holy Church, which sayeth Iam black, but he is fair. And by the white bird might men understandthe fiend, and I shall tell you how the swan is white without forth, and black within: it is hypocrisy which is without yellow or pale, andseemeth without forth the servants of Jesu Christ, but they be withinso horrible of filth and sin, and beguile the world evil. Also whenthe fiend appeared to thee in likeness of a man of religion, andblamed thee that thou left thy brother for a lady, so led thee wherethou seemed thy brother was slain, but he is yet on live; and all wasfor to put thee in error, and bring thee unto wanhope and lechery, forhe knew thou were tender hearted, and all was for thou shouldst notfind the blessed adventure of the Sangreal. And the third fowlbetokeneth the strong battle against the fair ladies which were alldevils. Also the dry tree and the white lily: the dry tree betokeneththy brother Lionel, which is dry without virtue, and therefore manymen ought to call him the rotten tree, and the wormeaten tree, for heis a murderer and doth contrary to the order of knighthood. And thetwo white flowers signify two maidens, the one is a knight which waswounded the other day, and the other is the gentlewoman which yerescued; and why the other flower drew nigh the other, that was theknight which would have befouled her and himself both. And Sir Bors, ye had been a great fool and in great peril for to have seen those twoflowers perish for to succour the rotten tree, for and they had sinnedtogether they had been damned; and for that ye rescued them both, menmight call you a very knight and servant of Jesu Christ. 

CHAPTER XIV

HOW SIR BORS MET WITH HIS BROTHER SIR LIONEL, AND HOW SIR LIONEL WOULDHAVE SLAIN SIR BORS

Then went Sir Bors from thence and commended the abbot unto God. Andthen he rode all that day, and harboured with an old lady. And on themorn he rode to a castle in a valley, and there he met with a yeomangoing a great pace toward a forest. Say me, said Sir Bors, canst thoutell me of any adventure? Sir, said he, here shall be under thiscastle a great and a marvellous tournament. Of what folks shall it be?said Sir Bors. The Earl of Plains shall be in the one party, and thelady's nephew of Hervin on the other party. Then Bors thought to bethere if he might meet with his brother Sir Lionel, or any other ofhis fellowship, which were in the quest of the Sangreal. And then heturned to an hermitage that was in the entry of the forest. And whenhe was come thither he found there Sir Lionel, his brother, which satall armed at the entry of the chapel door for to abide there harbourtill on the morn that the tournament shall be. And when Sir Bors sawhim he had great joy of him, that it were marvel to tell of his joy. And then he alit off his horse, and said: Fair sweet brother, whencame ye hither? Anon as Lionel saw him he said: Ah Bors, ye may notmake none avaunt, but as for you I might have been slain; when ye sawtwo knights leading me away beating me, ye left me for to succour agentlewoman, and suffered me in peril of death; for never erst me didno brother to another so great an untruth. And for that misdeed now Iensure you but death, for well have ye deserved it; therefore keepthee from henceforward, and that shall ye find as soon as I am armed. When Sir Bors understood his brother's wrath he kneeled down to theearth and cried him mercy, holding up both his hands, and prayed himto forgive him his evil will. Nay, said Lionel, that shall never be anI may have the higher hand, that I make mine avow to God, thou shalthave death for it, for it were pity ye lived any longer. Right so hewent in and took his harness, and mounted upon his horse, and cametofore him and said: Bors, keep thee from me, for I shall do to theeas I would to a felon or a traitor, for ye be the untruest knight thatever came out of so worthy an house as was King Bors' de Ganis whichwas our father, therefore start upon thy horse, and so shall ye bemost at your advantage. And but if ye will I will run upon you thereas ye stand upon foot, and so the shame shall be mine and the harmyours, but of that shame ne reck I nought. When Sir Bors saw that hemust fight with his brother or else to die, he nist what to do; thenhis heart counselled him not thereto, inasmuch as Lionel was born orhe, wherefore he ought to bear him reverence; yet kneeled he downafore Lionel's horse's feet, and said: Fair sweet brother, have mercyupon me and slay me not, and have in remembrance the great love whichought to be between us twain. What Sir Bors said to Lionel he reckednot, for the fiend had brought him in such a will that he should slayhim. Then when Lionel saw he would none other, and that he would nothave risen to give him battle, he rushed over him so that he smoteBors with his horse, feet upward to the earth, and hurt him so sorethat he swooned of distress, the which he felt in himself to have diedwithout confession. So when Lionel saw this, he alit off his horse tohave smitten off his head. And so he took him by the helm, and wouldhave rent it from his head. Then came the hermit running unto him, which was a good man and of great age, and well had heard all thewords that were between them, and so fell down upon Sir Bors. 

CHAPTER XV

HOW SIR COLGREVANCE FOUGHT AGAINST SIR LIONEL FOR TO SAVE SIR BORS, AND HOW THE HERMIT WAS SLAIN

Then he said to Lionel: Ah gentle knight, have mercy upon me and onthy brother, for if thou slay him thou shalt be dead of sin, and thatwere sorrowful, for he is one of the worthiest knights of the world, and of the best conditions. So God help me, said Lionel, sir priest, but if ye flee from him I shall slay you, and he shall never thesooner be quit. Certes, said the good man, I have lever ye slay methan him, for my death shall not be great harm, not half so much as ofhis. Well, said Lionel, I am agreed; and set his hand to his sword andsmote him so hard that his head yede backward. Not for that herestrained him of his evil will, but took his brother by the helm, andunlaced it to have stricken off his head, and had slain him withoutfail. But so it happed, Colgrevance, a fellow of the Round Table, cameat that time thither as Our Lord's will was. And when he saw the goodman slain he marvelled much what it might be. And then he beheldLionel would have slain his brother, and knew Sir Bors which he lovedright well. Then start he down and took Lionel by the shoulders, anddrew him strongly aback from Bors, and said: Lionel, will ye slay yourbrother, the worthiest knight of the world one? and that should nogood man suffer. Why, said Lionel, will ye let me? therefore if yeintermit you in this I shall slay you, and him after. Why, saidColgrevance, is this sooth that ye will slay him? Slay him will I, said he, whoso say the contrary, for he hath done so much against methat he hath well deserved it. And so ran upon him, and would havesmitten him through the head, and Sir Colgrevance ran betwixt them, and said: An ye be so hardy to do so more, we two shall meddletogether. When Lionel understood his words he took his shield aforehim, and asked him what that he was. And he told him, Colgrevance, oneof his fellows. Then Lionel defied him, and gave him a great strokethrough the helm. Then he drew his sword, for he was a passing goodknight, and defended him right manfully. So long dured the battle thatBors rose up all anguishly, and beheld Colgrevance, the good knight, fought with his brother for his quarrel; then was he full sorry andheavy, and thought if Colgrevance slay him that was his brother heshould never have joy; and if his brother slew Colgrevance the shameshould ever be mine. Then would he have risen to have departed them, but he had not so much might to stand on foot; so he abode him so longtill Colgrevance had the worse, for Lionel was of great chivalry andright hardy, for he had pierced the hauberk and the helm, that heabode but death, for he had lost much of his blood that it was marvelthat he might stand upright. Then beheld he Sir Bors which satdressing him upward and said: Ah, Bors, why come ye not to cast me outof peril of death, wherein I have put me to succour you which wereright now nigh the death? Certes, said Lionel, that shall not availyou, for none of you shall bear others warrant, but that ye shall dieboth of my hand. When Bors heard that, he did so much, he rose and puton his helm. Then perceived he first the hermit priest which wasslain, then made he a marvellous sorrow upon him. 

CHAPTER XVI

HOW SIR LIONEL SLEW SIR COLGREVANCE, AND HOW AFTER HE WOULD HAVE SLAINSIR BORS

Then often Colgrevance cried upon Sir Bors: Why will ye let me diehere for your sake? if it please you that I die for you the death, itwill please me the better for to save a worthy man. With that word SirLionel smote off the helm from his head. Then Colgrevance saw that hemight not escape; then he said: Fair sweet Jesu, that I have misdonehave mercy upon my soul, for such sorrow that my heart suffereth forgoodness, and for alms deed that I would have done here, be to mealygement of penance unto my soul's health. At these words Lionelsmote him so sore that he bare him to the earth. So he had slainColgrevance he ran upon his brother as a fiendly man, and gave himsuch a stroke that he made him stoop. And he that was full of humilityprayed him for God's love to leave this battle: For an it befel, fairbrother, that I slew you or ye me, we should be dead of that sin. Never God me help but if I have on you mercy, and I may have thebetter hand. Then drew Bors his sword, all weeping, and said: Fairbrother, God knoweth mine intent. Ah, fair brother, ye have done fullevil this day to slay such an holy priest the which never trespassed. Also ye have slain a gentle knight, and one of our fellows. And wellwot ye that I am not afeared of you greatly, but I dread the wrath ofGod, and this is an unkindly war, therefore God show miracle upon usboth. Now God have mercy upon me though I defend my life against mybrother; with that Bors lift up his hand and would have smitten hisbrother. 

CHAPTER XVII

HOW THERE CAME A VOICE WHICH CHARGED SIR BORS TO TOUCH HIM NOT, AND OFA CLOUD THAT CAME BETWEEN THEM

And then he heard a voice that said: Flee Bors, and touch him not, orelse thou shall slay him. Right so alit a cloud betwixt them inlikeness of a fire and a marvellous flame, that both their two shieldsburnt. Then were they sore afraid, that they fell both to the earth, and lay there a great while in a swoon. And when they came tothemself, Bors saw that his brother had no harm; then he held up bothhis hands, for he dread God had taken vengeance upon him. With that heheard a voice say: Bors, go hence, and bear thy brother no longerfellowship, but take thy way anon right to the sea, for Sir Percivaleabideth thee there. Then he said to his brother: Fair sweet brother, forgive me for God's love all that I have trespassed unto you. Then heanswered: God forgive it thee and I do gladly. So Sir Bors departedfrom him and rode the next way to the sea. And at the last by fortunehe came to an Abbey which was nigh the sea. That night Bors rested himthere; and in his sleep there came a voice to him and bad him go tothe sea. Then he start up and made a sign of the Cross in the middesof his forehead, and took his harness, and made ready his horse, andmounted upon him; and at a broken wall he rode out, and rode so longtill that he came to the sea. And on the strand he found a shipcovered all with white samite, and he alit, and betook him to JesuChrist. And as soon as he entered into the ship, the ship departedinto the sea, and went so fast that him seemed the ship went flying, but it was soon dark so that he might know no man, and so he slepttill it was day. Then he awaked, and saw in middes of the ship aknight lie all armed save his helm. Then knew he that it was SirPercivale of Wales, and then he made of him right great joy; but SirPercivale was abashed of him, and he asked him what he was. Ah, fairsir, said Bors, know ye me not? Certes, said he, I marvel how ye camehither, but if Our Lord brought ye hither Himself. Then Sir Borssmiled and did off his helm. Then Percivale knew him, and either madegreat joy of other, that it was marvel to hear. Then Bors told him howhe came into the ship, and by whose admonishment; and either toldother of their temptations, as ye have heard toforehand. So went theydownward in the sea, one while backward, another while forward, andevery each comforted other, and oft were in their prayers. Then saidSir Percivale: We lack nothing but Galahad, the good knight. 

_And thus endeth the syxteenth book, whiche is of syre Gawayne, Ectorde marys, and syre Bors de ganys, and sir Percyval. 

And here followeth the sevententh book, whiche is of the noble Knyghtesyre Galahad. _

THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK

CHAPTER I

HOW SIR GALAHAD FOUGHT AT A TOURNAMENT, AND HOW HE WAS KNOWN OF SIRGAWAINE AND SIR ECTOR DE MARIS

Now saith this story, when Galahad had rescued Percivale from thetwenty knights, he yede then into a waste forest wherein he rode manyjourneys; and he found many adventures the which he brought to an end, whereof the story maketh here no mention. Then he took his way to thesea on a day, and it befel as he passed by a castle where was a wondertournament, but they without had done so much that they within wereput to the worse, yet were they within good knights enough. WhenGalahad saw that those within were at so great a mischief that menslew them at the entry of the castle, then he thought to help them, and put a spear forth and smote the first that he fell to the earth, and the spear brake to pieces. Then he drew his sword and smote thereas they were thickest, and so he did wonderful deeds of arms that allthey marvelled. Then it happed that Gawaine and Sir Ector de Mariswere with the knights without. But when they espied the white shieldwith the red cross the one said to the other: Yonder is the goodknight, Sir Galahad, the haut prince: now he should be a great foolwhich should meet with him to fight. So by adventure he came by SirGawaine, and he smote him so hard that he clave his helm and thecoiffe of iron unto his head, so that Gawaine fell to the earth; butthe stroke was so great that it slanted down to the earth and carvedthe horse's shoulder in two. When Ector saw Gawaine down he drew himaside, and thought it no wisdom for to abide him, and also for naturallove, that he was his uncle. Thus through his great hardiness he beataback all the knights without. And then they within came out andchased them all about. But when Galahad saw there would none turnagain he stole away privily so that none wist where he was become. Nowby my head, said Gawaine to Ector, now are the wonders true that weresaid of Launcelot du Lake, that the sword which stuck in the stoneshould give me such a buffet that I would not have it for the bestcastle in this world; and soothly now it is proved true, for never erehad I such a stroke of man's hand. Sir, said Ector, meseemeth yourquest is done. And yours is not done, said Gawaine, but mine is done, I shall seek no further. Then Gawaine was borne into a castle andunarmed him, and laid him in a rich bed, and a leech found that hemight live, and to be whole within a month. Thus Gawaine and Ectorabode together, for Sir Ector would not away till Gawaine were whole. And the good knight, Galahad, rode so long till he came that night tothe Castle of Carboneck; and it befel him thus that he was benightedin an hermitage. So the good man was fain when he saw he was a knighterrant. Then when they were at rest there came a gentlewoman knockingat the door, and called Galahad, and so the good man came to the doorto wit what she would. Then she called the hermit: Sir Ulfin, I am agentlewoman that would speak with the knight which is with you. Thenthe good man awaked Galahad, and bad him: Arise, and speak with agentlewoman that seemeth hath great need of you. Then Galahad went toher and asked her what she would. Galahad, said she, I will that yearm you, and mount upon your horse and follow me, for I shall show youwithin these three days the highest adventure that ever any knightsaw. Anon Galahad armed him, and took his horse, and commended him toGod, and bad the gentlewoman go, and he would follow there as sheliked. 

CHAPTER II

HOW SIR GALAHAD RODE WITH A DAMOSEL, AND CAME TO THE SHIP WHEREAS SIRBORS AND SIR PERCIVALE WERE IN

So she rode as fast as her palfrey might bear her, till that she cameto the sea, the which was called Collibe. And at the night they cameunto a castle in a valley, closed with a running water, and withstrong walls and high; and so she entered into the castle withGalahad, and there had he great cheer, for the lady of that castle wasthe damosel's lady. So when he was unarmed, then said the damosel:Madam, shall we abide here all this day? Nay, said she, but till hehath dined and till he hath slept a little. So he ate and slept awhile till that the maid called him, and armed him by torchlight. Andwhen the maid was horsed and he both, the lady took Galahad a fairchild and rich; and so they departed from the castle till they came tothe seaside; and there they found the ship where Bors and Percivalewere in, the which cried on the ship's board: Sir Galahad, ye bewelcome, we have abiden you long. And when he heard them he asked themwhat they were. Sir, said she, leave your horse here, and I shallleave mine; and took their saddles and their bridles with them, andmade a cross on them, and so entered into the ship. And the twoknights received them both with great joy, and every each knew other;and so the wind arose, and drove them through the sea in a marvellousplace. And within a while it dawned. Then did Galahad off his helm andhis sword, and asked of his fellows from whence came that fair ship. Truly, said they, ye wot as well as we but of God's grace; and thenthey told every each to other of all their hard adventures, and oftheir great temptations. Truly, said Galahad, ye are much bounden toGod, for ye have escaped great adventures; and had not the gentlewomanbeen I had not come here, for as for you I weened never to have foundyou in these strange countries. Ah Galahad, said Bors, if Launcelot, your father, were here then were we well at ease, for then meseemed wefailed nothing. That may not be, said Galahad, but if it pleased OurLord. By then the ship went from the land of Logris, and by adventureit arrived up betwixt two rocks passing great and marvellous; butthere they might not land, for there was a swallow of the sea, savethere was another ship, and upon it they might go without danger. Gowe thither, said the gentlewoman, and there shall we see adventures, for so is Our Lord's will. And when they came thither they found theship rich enough, but they found neither man nor woman therein. Butthey found in the end of the ship two fair letters written, which saida dreadful word and a marvellous: Thou man, which shall enter intothis ship, beware thou be in steadfast belief, for I am Faith, andtherefore beware how thou enterest, for an thou fail I shall not helpthee. Then said the gentlewoman: Percivale, wot ye what I am? Certes, said he, nay, to my witing. Wit ye well, said she, that I am thysister, which am daughter of King Pellinore, and therefore wit ye wellye are the man in the world that I most love; and if ye be not inperfect belief of Jesu Christ enter not in no manner of wise, for thenshould ye perish the ship, for he is so perfect he will suffer nosinner in him. When Percivale understood that she was his very sisterhe was inwardly glad, and said: Fair sister, I shall enter therein, for if I be a miscreature or an untrue knight there shall I perish. 

CHAPTER III

HOW SIR GALAHAD ENTERED INTO THE SHIP, AND OF A FAIR BED THEREIN, WITHOTHER MARVELLOUS THINGS, AND OF A SWORD

In the meanwhile Galahad blessed him, and entered therein; and thennext the gentlewoman, and then Sir Bors and Sir Percivale. And whenthey were in, it was so marvellous fair and rich that they marvelled;and in middes of the ship was a fair bed, and Galahad went thereto, and found there a crown of silk. And at the feet was a sword, rich andfair, and it was drawn out of the sheath half a foot and more; and thesword was of divers fashions, and the pommel was of stone, and therewas in him all manner of colours that any man might find, and everyeach of the colours had divers virtues; and the scales of the haftwere of two ribs of divers beasts, the one beast was a serpent whichwas conversant in Calidone, and is called the serpent of the fiend;and the bone of him is of such a virtue that there is no hand thathandleth him shall never be weary nor hurt. And the other beast is afish which is not right great, and haunteth the flood of Euphrates;and that fish is called Ertanax, and his bones be of such a manner ofkind that who that handleth them shall have so much will that he shallnever be weary, and he shall not think on joy nor sorrow that he hathhad, but only that thing that he beholdeth before him. And as for thissword there shall never man begrip him at the handles but one, but heshall pass all other. In the name of God, said Percivale, I shallessay to handle it. So he set his hand to the sword, but he might notbegrip it. By my faith, said he, now have I failed. Bors set his handthereto and failed. Then Galahad beheld the sword and saw letters likeblood that said: Let see who shall essay to draw me out of my sheath, but if he be more hardier than any other; and who that draweth me, witye well he shall never fail of shame of his body, or to be wounded tothe death. By my faith, said Galahad, I would draw this sword out ofthe sheath, but the offending is so great that I shall not set my handthereto. Now sirs, said the gentlewoman, wit ye well that the drawingof this sword is warned to all men save all only to you. Also thisship arrived in the realm of Logris; and that time was deadly warbetween King Labor, which was father unto the maimed king, and KingHurlame, which was a Saracen. But then was he newly christened, sothat men held him afterward one of the wyttyest men of the world. Andso upon a day it befel that King Labor and King Hurlame had assembledtheir folk upon the sea where this ship was arrived; and there KingHurlame was discomfit, and his men slain; and he was afeard to bedead, and fled to his ship, and there found this sword and drew it, and came out and found King Labor, the man in the world of allChristendom in whom was then the greatest faith. And when King Hurlamesaw King Labor he dressed this sword, and smote him upon the helm sohard that he clave him and his horse to the earth with the firststroke of his sword. And it was in the realm of Logris; and so befelgreat pestilence and great harm to both realms. For sithen increasedneither corn, nor grass, nor well-nigh no fruit, nor in the water wasno fish; wherefore men call it the lands of the two marches, the wasteland, for that dolorous stroke. And when King Hurlame saw this swordso carving, he turned again to fetch the scabbard, and so came intothis ship and entered, and put up the sword in the sheath. And as soonas he had done it he fell down dead afore the bed. Thus was the swordproved, that none ne drew it but he were dead or maimed. So lay hethere till a maiden came into the ship and cast him out, for there wasno man so hardy of the world to enter into that ship for the defence. 

CHAPTER IV

OF THE MARVELS OF THE SWORD AND OF THE SCABBARD

And then beheld they the scabbard, it seemed to be of a serpent'sskin, and thereon were letters of gold and silver. And the girdle wasbut poorly to come to, and not able to sustain such a rich sword. Andthe letters said: He which shall wield me ought to be more harder thanany other, if he bear me as truly as me ought to be borne. For thebody of him which I ought to hang by, he shall not be shamed in noplace while he is girt with this girdle, nor never none be so hardy todo away this girdle; for it ought not to be done away but by the handsof a maid, and that she be a king's daughter and queen's, and she mustbe a maid all the days of her life, both in will and in deed. And ifshe break her virginity she shall die the most villainous death thatever died any woman. Sir, said Percivale, turn this sword that we maysee what is on the other side. And it was red as blood, with blackletters as any coal, which said: He that shall praise me most, mostshall he find me to blame at a great need; and to whom I should bemost debonair shall I be most felon, and that shall be at one time. Fair brother, said she to Percivale, it befell after a forty yearafter the passion of Jesu Christ that Nacien, the brother-in-law ofKing Mordrains, was borne into a town more than fourteen days' journeyfrom his country, by the commandment of Our Lord, into an isle, intothe parts of the West, that men clepyd the isle of Turnance. So befellit that he found this ship at the entry of a rock, and he found thebed and this sword as we have heard now. Not for then he had not somuch hardiness to draw it; and there he dwelled an eight days, and atthe ninth day there fell a great wind which departed him out of theisle, and brought him to another isle by a rock, and there he foundthe greatest giant that ever man might see. Therewith came thathorrible giant to slay him; and then he looked about him and might notflee, and he had nothing to defend him with. So he ran to his sword, and when he saw it naked he praised it much, and then he shook it, andtherewith he brake it in the middes. Ah, said Nacien, the thing that Imost praised ought I now most to blame, and therewith he threw thepieces of his sword over his bed. And after he leapt over the board tofight with the giant, and slew him. And anon he entered into the shipagain, and the wind arose, and drove him through the sea, that byadventure he came to another ship where King Mordrains was, which hadbeen tempted full evil with a fiend in the port of perilous rock. Andwhen that one saw the other they made great joy of other, and eithertold other of their adventure, and how the sword failed him at hismost need. When Mordrains saw the sword he praised it much: But thebreaking was not to do but by wickedness of thy self ward, for thouart in some sin. And there he took the sword, and set the piecestogether, and they soldered as fair as ever they were tofore; andthere put he the sword in the sheath, and laid it down on the bed. Then heard they a voice that said: Go out of this ship a little while, and enter into the other, for dread ye fall in deadly sin, for and yebe found in deadly sin ye may not escape but perish: and so they wentinto the other ship. And as Nacien went over the board he was smittenwith a sword on the right foot, that he fell down noseling to theship's board; and therewith he said: O God, how am I hurt. And thenthere came a voice and said: Take thou that for thy forfeit that thoudidst in drawing of this sword, therefore thou receivest a wound, forthou were never worthy to handle it, as the writing maketh mention. Inthe name of God, said Galahad, ye are right wise of these works. 

CHAPTER V

HOW KING PELLES WAS SMITTEN THROUGH BOTH THIGHS BECAUSE HE DREW THESWORD, AND OTHER MARVELLOUS HISTORIES

Sir, said she, there was a king that hight Pelles, the maimed king. And while he might ride he supported much Christendom and Holy Church. So upon a day he hunted in a wood of his which lasted unto the sea;and at the last he lost his hounds and his knights save only one: andthere he and his knight went till that they came toward Ireland, andthere he found the ship. And when he saw the letters and understoodthem, yet he entered, for he was right perfect of his life, but hisknight had none hardiness to enter; and there found he this sword, andhe drew it out as much as ye may see. So therewith entered a spearwherewith he was smitten him through both the thighs, and never sithmight he be healed, nor nought shall tofore we come to him. Thus, saidshe, was not King Pelles, your grandsire, maimed for his hardiness? Inthe name of God, damosel, said Galahad. So they went toward the bed tobehold all about it, and above the head there hung two swords. Alsothere were two spindles which were as white as any snow, and otherthat were as red as blood, and other above green as any emerald: ofthese three colours were the spindles, and of natural colour within, and without any painting. These spindles, said the damosel, were whensinful Eve came to gather fruit, for which Adam and she were put outof paradise, she took with her the bough on which the apple hung on. Then perceived she that the branch was fair and green, and sheremembered her the loss which came from the tree. Then she thought tokeep the branch as long as she might. And for she had no coffer tokeep it in, she put it in the earth. So by the will of Our Lord thebranch grew to a great tree within a little while, and was as white asany snow, branches, boughs, and leaves: that was a token a maidenplanted it. But after God came to Adam, and bad him know his wifefleshly as nature required. So lay Adam with his wife under the sametree; and anon the tree which was white was full green as any grass, and all that came out of it; and in the same time that they medledtogether there was Abel begotten: thus was the tree long of greencolour. And so it befell many days after, under the same tree Cainslew Abel, whereof befel great marvel. For anon as Abel had receivedthe death under the green tree, it lost the green colour and becamered; and that was in tokening of the blood. And anon all the plantsdied thereof, but the tree grew and waxed marvellously fair, and itwas the fairest tree and the most delectable that any man might beholdand see; and so died the plants that grew out of it tofore that Abelwas slain under it. So long dured the tree till that Solomon, KingDavid's son, reigned, and held the land after his father. This Solomonwas wise, and knew all the virtues of stones and trees, and so he knewthe course of the stars, and many other divers things. This Solomonhad an evil wife, wherethrough he weened that there had been no goodwomen, and so he despised them in his books. So answered a voice himonce: Solomon, if heaviness come to a man by a woman, ne reck thounever; for yet shall there come a woman whereof there shall comegreater joy to man an hundred times more than this heaviness givethsorrow; and that woman shall be born of thy lineage. Then when Solomonheard these words he held himself but a fool, and the truth heperceived by old books. Also the Holy Ghost showed him the coming ofthe glorious Virgin Mary. Then asked he of the voice, if it should bein the yerde of his lineage. Nay, said the voice, but there shall comea man which shall be a maid, and the last of your blood, and he shallbe as good a knight as Duke Josua, thy brother-in-law. 

CHAPTER VI

HOW SOLOMON TOOK DAVID'S SWORD BY THE COUNSEL OF HIS WIFE, AND OFOTHER MATTERS MARVELLOUS

Now have I certified thee of that thou stoodest in doubt. Then wasSolomon glad that there should come any such of his lineage; but everhe marvelled and studied who that should be, and what his name mightbe. His wife perceived that he studied, and thought she would know itat some season; and so she waited her time, and asked of him the causeof his studying, and there he told her all together how the voice toldhim. Well, said she, I shall let make a ship of the best wood and mostdurable that men may find. So Solomon sent for all the carpenters ofthe land, and the best. And when they had made the ship the lady saidto Solomon:

Sir, said she, syne it is so that this knight ought to pass allknights of chivalry which have been tofore him and shall come afterhim, moreover I shall tell you, said she, ye shall go into Our Lord'stemple, where is King David's sword, your father, the which is themarvelloust and the sharpest that ever was taken in any knight's hand. Therefore take that, and take off the pommel, and thereto make ye apommel of precious stones, that it be so subtilely made that no manperceive it but that they be all one; and after make there an hilt somarvellously and wonderly that no man may know it; and after make amarvellous sheath. And when ye have made all this I shall let make agirdle thereto such as shall please me. All this King Solomon did letmake as she devised, both the ship and all the remnant. And when theship was ready in the sea to sail, the lady let make a great bed andmarvellous rich, and set her upon the bed's head, covered with silk, and laid the sword at the feet, and the girdles were of hemp, andtherewith the king was angry. Sir, wit ye well, said she, that I havenone so high a thing which were worthy to sustain so high a sword, anda maid shall bring other knights thereto, but I wot not when it shallbe, nor what time. And there she let make a covering to the ship, ofcloth of silk that should never rot for no manner of weather. Yet wentthat lady and made a carpenter to come to the tree which Abel wasslain under. Now, said she, carve me out of this tree as much wood aswill make me a spindle. Ah madam, said he, this is the tree the whichour first mother planted. Do it, said she, or else I shall destroythee. Anon as he began to work there came out drops of blood: and thenwould he have left, but she would not suffer him, and so he took awayas much wood as might make a spindle: and so she made him to take asmuch of the green tree and of the white tree. And when these threespindles were shapen she made them to be fastened upon the selar ofthe bed. When Solomon saw this, he said to his wife: Ye have donemarvellously, for though all the world were here right now, he couldnot devise wherefore all this was made, but Our Lord Himself; and thouthat hast done it wotest not what it shall betoken. Now let it be, said she, for ye shall hear tidings sooner than ye ween. Now shall yehear a wonderful tale of King Solomon and his wife. 

CHAPTER VII

A WONDERFUL TALE OF KING SOLOMON AND HIS WIFE

That night lay Solomon before the ship with little fellowship. Andwhen he was on sleep him thought there come from heaven a greatcompany of angels, and alit into the ship, and took water which wasbrought by an angel, in a vessel of silver, and sprente all the ship. And after he came to the sword, and drew letters on the hilt. Andafter went to the ship's board, and wrote there other letters whichsaid: Thou man that wilt enter within me, beware that thou be fullwithin the faith, for I ne am but Faith and Belief. When Solomonespied these letters he was abashed, so that he durst not enter, andso drew him aback; and the ship was anon shoven in the sea, and hewent so fast that he lost sight of him within a little while. And thena little voice said: Solomon, the last knight of thy lineage shallrest in this bed. Then went Solomon and awaked his wife, and told herof the adventures of the ship. Now saith the history that a greatwhile the three fellows beheld the bed and the three spindles. Thenthey were at certain that they were of natural colours withoutpainting. Then they lift up a cloth which was above the ground, andthere found a rich purse by seeming. And Percivale took it, and foundtherein a writ and so he read it, and devised the manner of thespindles and of the ship, whence it came, and by whom it was made. Now, said Galahad, where shall we find the gentlewoman that shall makenew girdles to the sword? Fair sir, said Percivale's sister, dismayyou not, for by the leave of God I shall let make a girdle to thesword, such one as shall long thereto. And then she opened a box, andtook out girdles which were seemly wrought with golden threads, andupon that were set full precious stones, and a rich buckle of gold. Lo, lords, said she, here is a girdle that ought to be set about thesword. And wit ye well the greatest part of this girdle was made of myhair, which I loved well while that I was a woman of the world. But assoon as I wist that this adventure was ordained me I clipped off myhair, and made this girdle in the name of God. Ye be well found, saidSir Bors, for certes ye have put us out of great pain, wherein weshould have entered ne had your tidings been. Then went thegentlewoman and set it on the girdle of the sword. Now, said thefellowship, what is the name of the sword, and what shall we call it?Truly, said she, the name of the sword is the Sword with the strangegirdles; and the sheath, mover of blood; for no man that hath blood inhim ne shall never see the one part of the sheath which was made ofthe tree of life. Then they said to Galahad: In the name of JesuChrist, and pray you that ye gird you with this sword which hath beendesired so much in the realm of Logris. Now let me begin, saidGalahad, to grip this sword for to give you courage; but wit ye wellit longeth no more to me than it doth to you. And then he grippedabout it with his fingers a great deal; and then she girt him aboutthe middle with the sword. Now reck I not though I die, for now I holdme one of the blessed maidens of the world, which hath made theworthiest knight of the world. Damosel, said Galahad, ye have done somuch that I shall be your knight all the days of my life. Then theywent from that ship, and went to the other. And anon the wind drovethem into the sea a great pace, but they had no victuals: but itbefell that they came on the morn to a castle that men callCarteloise, that was in the marches of Scotland. And when they hadpassed the port, the gentlewoman said: Lords, here be men arriventhat, an they wist that ye were of King Arthur's court, ye should beassailed anon. Damosel, said Galahad, He that cast us out of the rockshall deliver us from them. 

CHAPTER VIII

HOW GALAHAD AND HIS FELLOWS CAME TO A CASTLE, AND HOW THEY WERE FOUGHTWITHAL, AND HOW THEY SLEW THEIR ADVERSARIES, AND OTHER MATTERS

So it befell as they spoke thus there came a squire by them, and askedwhat they were; and they said they were of King Arthur's house. Isthat sooth? said he. Now by my head, said he, ye be ill arrayed; andthen turned he again unto the cliff fortress. And within a while theyheard an horn blow. Then a gentlewoman came to them, and asked them ofwhence they were; and they told her. Fair lords, said she, for God'slove turn again if ye may, for ye be come unto your death. Nay, theysaid, we will not turn again, for He shall help us in whose service webe entered in. Then as they stood talking there came knights wellarmed, and bad them yield them or else die. That yielding, said they, shall be noyous to you. And therewith they let their horses run, andSir Percivale smote the foremost to the earth, and took his horse, andmounted thereupon, and the same did Galahad. Also Bors served anotherso, for they had no horses in that country, for they left their horseswhen they took their ship in other countries. And so when they werehorsed then began they to set upon them; and they of the castle fledinto the strong fortress, and the three knights after them into thecastle, and so alit on foot, and with their swords slew them down, andgat into the hall. Then when they beheld the great multitude of peoplethat they had slain, they held themself great sinners. Certes, saidBors, I ween an God had loved them that we should not have had powerto have slain them thus. But they have done so much against Our Lordthat He would not suffer them to reign no longer. Say ye not so, saidGalahad, for if they misdid against God, the vengeance is not ours, but to Him which hath power thereof. So came there out of a chamber agood man which was a priest, and bare God's body in a cup. And when hesaw them which lay dead in the hall he was all abashed; and Galahaddid off his helm and kneeled down, and so did his two fellows. Sir, said they, have ye no dread of us, for we be of King Arthur's court. Then asked the good man how they were slain so suddenly, and they toldit him. Truly, said the good man, an ye might live as long as theworld might endure, ne might ye have done so great an alms deed atthis. Sir, said Galahad, I repent me much, inasmuch as they werechristened. Nay, repent you not, said he, for they were notchristened, and I shall tell you how that I wot of this castle. Herewas Lord Earl Hernox not but one year, and he had three sons, goodknights of arms, and a daughter, the fairest gentlewoman that menknew. So those three knights loved their sister so sore that theybrent in love, and so they lay by her, maugre her head. And for shecried to her father they slew her, and took their father and put himin prison, and wounded him nigh to death, but a cousin of hers rescuedhim. And then did they great untruth: they slew clerks and priests, and made beat down chapels, that Our Lord's service might not beserved nor said. And this same day her father sent to me for to beconfessed and houseld; but such shame had never man as I had this daywith the three brethren, but the earl had me suffer, for he said theyshould not long endure, for three servants of Our Lord should destroythem, and now it is brought to an end. And by this may ye wit that OurLord is not displeased with your deeds. Certes, said Galahad, an ithad not pleased Our Lord, never should we have slain so many men in solittle a while. And then they brought the Earl Hernox out of prisoninto the middes of the hall, that knew Galahad anon, and yet he sawhim never afore but by revelation of Our Lord. 

CHAPTER IX

HOW THE THREE KNIGHTS, WITH PERCIVALE'S SISTER, CAME UNTO THE SAMEFOREST, AND OF AN HART AND FOUR LIONS, AND OTHER THINGS

Then began he to weep right tenderly, and said: Long have I abidenyour coming, but for God's love hold me in your arms, that my soul maydepart out of my body in so good a man's arms as ye be. Gladly, saidGalahad. And then one said on high, that all heard: Galahad, well hastthou avenged me on God's enemies. Now behoveth thee to go to themaimed king as soon as thou mayest, for he shall receive by theehealth which he hath abiden so long. And therewith the soul departedfrom the body, and Galahad made him to be buried as him ought to be. Right so departed the three knights, and Percivale's sister with them. And so they came into a waste forest, and there they saw afore them awhite hart which four lions led. Then they took them to assent for tofollow after for to know whither they repaired; and so they rode aftera great pace till that they came to a valley, and thereby was anhermitage where a good man dwelled, and the hart and the lions enteredalso. So when they saw all this they turned to the chapel, and saw thegood man in a religious weed and in the armour of Our Lord, for hewould sing mass of the Holy Ghost; and so they entered in and heardmass. And at the secrets of the mass they three saw the hart become aman, the which marvelled them, and set him upon the altar in a richsiege; and saw the four lions were changed, the one to the form of aman, the other to the form of a lion, and the third to an eagle, andthe fourth was changed unto an ox. Then took they their siege wherethe hart sat, and went out through a glass window, and there wasnothing perished nor broken; and they heard a voice say: In such amanner entered the Son of God in the womb of a maid Mary whosevirginity ne was perished ne hurt. And when they heard these wordsthey fell down to the earth and were astonied; and therewith was agreat clereness. And when they were come to theirself again they wentto the good man and prayed him that he would say them truth. Whatthing have ye seen? said he. And they told him all that they had seen. Ah lords, said he, ye be welcome; now wot I well ye be the goodknights the which shall bring the Sangreal to an end; for ye be theyunto whom Our Lord shall shew great secrets. And well ought Our Lordbe signified to an hart, for the hart when he is old he waxeth youngagain in his white skin. Right so cometh again Our Lord from death tolife, for He lost earthly flesh that was the deadly flesh, which Hehad taken in the womb of the blessed Virgin Mary; and for that causeappeared Our Lord as a white hart without spot. And the four that werewith Him is to understand the four evangelists which set in writing apart of Jesu Christ's deeds that He did sometime when He was among youan earthly man; for wit ye well never erst ne might no knight know thetruth, for ofttimes or this Our Lord showed Him unto good men and untogood knights, in likeness of an hart, but I suppose from henceforth yeshall see no more. And then they joyed much, and dwelled there allthat day. And upon the morrow when they had heard mass they departedand commended the good man to God: and so they came to a castle andpassed by. So there came a knight armed after them and said: Lords, hark what I shall say to you. 

CHAPTER X

HOW THEY WERE DESIRED OF A STRANGE CUSTOM, THE WHICH THEY WOULD NOTOBEY; AND HOW THEY FOUGHT AND SLEW MANY KNIGHTS

This gentlewoman that ye lead with you is a maid? Sir, said she, amaid I am. Then he took her by the bridle and said: By the Holy Cross, ye shall not escape me tofore ye have yolden the custom of thiscastle. Let her go, said Percivale, ye be not wise, for a maid in whatplace she cometh is free. So in the meanwhile there came out a ten ortwelve knights armed, out of the castle, and with them camegentlewomen which held a dish of silver. And then they said: Thisgentlewoman must yield us the custom of this castle. Sir, said aknight, what maid passeth hereby shall give this dish full of blood ofher right arm. Blame have ye, said Galahad, that brought up suchcustoms, and so God me save, I ensure you of this gentlewoman ye shallfail while that I live. So God me help, said Percivale, I had lever beslain. And I also, said Sir Bors. By my troth, said the knight, thenshall ye die, for ye may not endure against us though ye were the bestknights of the world. Then let them run each to other, and the threefellows beat the ten knights, and then set their hands to their swordsand beat them down and slew them. Then there came out of the castle athree score knights armed. Fair lords, said the three fellows, havemercy on yourself and have not ado with us. Nay, fair lords, said theknights of the castle, we counsel you to withdraw you, for ye be thebest knights of the world, and therefore do no more, for ye have doneenough. We will let you go with this harm, but we must needs have thecustom. Certes, said Galahad, for nought speak ye. Well, said they, will ye die? We be not yet come thereto, said Galahad. Then began theyto meddle together, and Galahad, with the strange girdles, drew hissword, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand, and slew whatthat ever abode him, and did such marvels that there was none that sawhim but weened he had been none earthly man, but a monster. And histwo fellows halp him passing well, and so they held the journey everyeach in like hard till it was night; then must they needs depart. Socame in a good knight, and said to the three fellows: If ye will comein to-night and take such harbour as here is ye shall be rightwelcome, and we shall ensure you by the faith of our bodies, and as webe true knights, to leave you in such estate to-morrow as we find you, without any falsehood. And as soon as ye know of the custom we daresay ye will accord. Therefore for God's love, said the gentlewoman, gothither and spare not for me. Go we, said Galahad; and so they enteredinto the chapel. And when they were alit they made great joy of them. So within a while the three knights asked the custom of the castle andwherefore it was. What it is, said they, we will say you sooth. 

CHAPTER XI

HOW SIR PERCIVALE'S SISTER BLED A DISH FULL OF BLOOD FOR TO HEAL ALADY, WHEREFORE SHE DIED; AND HOW THAT THE BODY WAS PUT IN A SHIP

There is in this castle a gentlewoman which we and this castle ishers, and many other. So it befell many years agone there fell uponher a malady; and when she had lain a great while she fell unto ameasle, and of no leech she could have no remedy. But at the last anold man said an she might have a dish full of blood of a maid and aclene virgin in will and in work, and a king's daughter, that bloodshould be her health, and for to anoint her withal; and for this thingwas this custom made. Now, said Percivale's sister, fair knights, Isee well that this gentlewoman is but dead. Certes, said Galahad, anye bleed so much ye may die. Truly, said she, an I die for to heal herI shall get me great worship and soul's health, and worship to mylineage, and better is one harm than twain. And therefore there shallbe no more battle, but tomorn I shall yield you your custom of thiscastle. And then there was great joy more than there was tofore, forelse had there been mortal war upon the morn; notwithstanding shewould none other, whether they would or nold. That night were thethree fellows eased with the best; and on the morn they heard mass, and Sir Percivale's sister bad bring forth the sick lady. So she was, the which was evil at ease. Then said she: Who shall let me blood? Soone came forth and let her blood, and she bled so much that the dishwas full. Then she lift up her hand and blessed her; and then she saidto the lady: Madam, I am come to the death for to make you whole, forGod's love pray for me. With that she fell in a swoon. Then Galahadand his two fellows start up to her, and lift her up and staunchedher, but she had bled so much that she might not live. Then she saidwhen she was awaked: Fair brother Percivale, I die for the healing ofthis lady, so I require you that ye bury me not in this country, butas soon as I am dead put me in a boat at the next haven, and let me goas adventure will lead me; and as soon as ye three come to the City ofSarras, there to achieve the Holy Grail, ye shall find me under atower arrived, and there bury me in the spiritual place; for I say youso much, there Galahad shall be buried, and ye also, in the sameplace. Then Percivale understood these words, and granted it herweeping. And then said a voice: Lords and fellows, to-morrow at thehour of prime ye three shall depart every each from other, till theadventure bring you to the maimed king. Then asked she her Saviour;and as soon as she had received it the soul departed from the body. Sothe same day was the lady healed, when she was anointed withal. ThenSir Percivale made a letter of all that she had holpen them as instrange adventures, and put it in her right hand, and so laid her in abarge, and covered it with black silk; and so the wind arose, anddrove the barge from the land, and all knights beheld it till it wasout of their sight. Then they drew all to the castle, and so forthwiththere fell a sudden tempest and a thunder, lightning, and rain, as allthe earth would have broken. So half the castle turned up so down. Soit passed evensong or the tempest was ceased. Then they saw afore thema knight armed and wounded hard in the body and in the head, thatsaid: O God, succour me for now it is need. After this knight cameanother knight and a dwarf, which cried to them afar: Stand, ye maynot escape. Then the wounded knight held up his hands to God that heshould not die in such tribulation. Truly, said Galahad, I shallsuccour him for His sake that he calleth upon. Sir, said Bors, I shalldo it, for it is not for you, for he is but one knight. Sir, said he, I grant. So Sir Bors took his horse, and commended him to God, androde after, to rescue the wounded knight. Now turn we to the twofellows. 

CHAPTER XII

HOW GALAHAD AND PERCIVALE FOUND IN A CASTLE MANY TOMBS OF MAIDENS THATHAD BLED TO DEATH

Now saith the story that all night Galahad and Percivale were in achapel in their prayers, for to save Sir Bors. So on the morrow theydressed them in their harness toward the castle, to wit what wasfallen of them therein. And when they came there they found neitherman nor woman that he ne was dead by the vengeance of Our Lord. Withthat they heard a voice that said: This vengeance is for bloodshedding of maidens. Also they found at the end of the chapel achurchyard and therein might they see a three score fair tombs, andthat place was so fair and so delectable that it seemed them there hadbeen none tempest, for there lay the bodies of all the good maidenswhich were martyred for the sick lady's sake. Also they found thenames of every each, and of what blood they were come, and all were ofkings' blood, and twelve of them were kings' daughters. Then theydeparted and went into a forest. Now, said Percivale unto Galahad, wemust depart, so pray we Our Lord that we may meet together in shorttime: then they did off their helms and kissed together, and wept attheir departing. 

CHAPTER XIII

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT ENTERED INTO THE SHIP WHERE SIR PERCIVALE'S SISTERLAY DEAD, AND HOW HE MET WITH SIR GALAHAD, HIS SON

Now saith the history, that when Launcelot was come to the water ofMortoise, as it is rehearsed before, he was in great peril, and so helaid him down and slept, and took the adventure that God would sendhim. So when he was asleep there came a vision unto him and said:Launcelot, arise up and take thine armour, and enter into the firstship that thou shalt find. And when he heard these words he start upand saw great clereness about him. And then he lift up his hand andblessed him, and so took his arms and made him ready; and so byadventure he came by a strand, and found a ship the which was withoutsail or oar. And as soon as he was within the ship there he felt themost sweetness that ever he felt, and he was fulfilled with all thingthat he thought on or desired. Then he said: Fair sweet Father, JesuChrist, I wot not in what joy I am, for this joy passeth all earthlyjoys that ever I was in. And so in this joy he laid him down to theship's board, and slept till day. And when he awoke he found there afair bed, and therein lying a gentlewoman dead, the which was SirPercivale's sister. And as Launcelot devised her, he espied in herright hand a writ, the which he read, the which told him all theadventures that ye have heard tofore, and of what lineage she wascome. So with this gentlewoman Sir Launcelot was a month and more. Ifye would ask how he lived, He that fed the people of Israel with mannain the desert, so was he fed; for every day when he had said hisprayers he was sustained with the grace of the Holy Ghost. So on anight he went to play him by the water side, for he was somewhat wearyof the ship. And then he listened and heard an horse come, and oneriding upon him. And when he came nigh he seemed a knight. And so helet him pass, and went thereas the ship was; and there he alit, andtook the saddle and the bridle and put the horse from him, and wentinto the ship. And then Launcelot dressed unto him, and said: Ye bewelcome. And he answered and saluted him again, and asked him: What isyour name? for much my heart giveth unto you. Truly, said he, my nameis Launcelot du Lake. Sir, said he, then be ye welcome, for ye werethe beginning of me in this world. Ah, said he, are ye Galahad? Yea, forsooth, said he; and so he kneeled down and asked him his blessing, and after took off his helm and kissed him. And there was great joybetween them, for there is no tongue can tell the joy that they madeeither of other, and many a friendly word spoken between, as kinwould, the which is no need here to be rehearsed. And there every eachtold other of their adventures and marvels that were befallen to themin many journeys sith that they departed from the court. Anon, asGalahad saw the gentlewoman dead in the bed, he knew her well enough, and told great worship of her, that she was the best maid living, andit was great pity of her death. But when Launcelot heard how themarvellous sword was gotten, and who made it, and all the marvelsrehearsed afore, then he prayed Galahad, his son, that he would showhim the sword, and so he did; and anon he kissed the pommel, and thehilt, and the scabbard. Truly, said Launcelot, never erst knew I of sohigh adventures done, and so marvellous and strange. So dweltLauncelot and Galahad within that ship half a year, and served Goddaily and nightly with all their power; and often they arrived inisles far from folk, where there repaired none but wild beasts, andthere they found many strange adventures and perillous, which theybrought to an end; but for those adventures were with wild beasts, andnot in the quest of the Sangreal, therefore the tale maketh here nomention thereof, for it would be too long to tell of all thoseadventures that befell them. 

CHAPTER XIV

HOW A KNIGHT BROUGHT UNTO SIR GALAHAD A HORSE, AND BAD HIM COME FROMHIS FATHER, SIR LAUNCELOT

So after, on a Monday, it befell that they arrived in the edge of aforest tofore a cross; and then saw they a knight armed all in white, and was richly horsed, and led in his right hand a white horse; and sohe came to the ship, and saluted the two knights on the High Lord'sbehalf, and said: Galahad, sir, ye have been long enough with yourfather, come out of the ship, and start upon this horse, and go wherethe adventures shall lead thee in the quest of the Sangreal. Then hewent to his father and kissed him sweetly, and said: Fair sweetfather, I wot not when I shall see you more till I see the body ofJesu Christ. I pray you, said Launcelot, pray ye to the High Fatherthat He hold me in His service. And so he took his horse, and therethey heard a voice that said: Think for to do well, for the one shallnever see the other before the dreadful day of doom. Now, son Galahad, said Launcelot, syne we shall depart, and never see other, I pray tothe High Father to conserve me and you both. Sir, said Galahad, noprayer availeth so much as yours. And therewith Galahad entered intothe forest. And the wind arose, and drove Launcelot more than a monththroughout the sea, where he slept but little, but prayed to God thathe might see some tidings of the Sangreal. So it befell on a night, atmidnight, he arrived afore a castle, on the back side, which was richand fair, and there was a postern opened toward the sea, and was openwithout any keeping, save two lions kept the entry; and the moon shoneclear. Anon Sir Launcelot heard a voice that said: Launcelot, go outof this ship and enter into the castle, where thou shalt see a greatpart of thy desire. Then he ran to his arms, and so armed him, and sowent to the gate and saw the lions. Then set he hand to his sword anddrew it. Then there came a dwarf suddenly, and smote him on the arm sosore that the sword fell out of his hand. Then heard he a voice say: Oman of evil faith and poor belief, wherefore trowest thou more on thyharness than in thy Maker, for He might more avail thee than thinearmour, in whose service that thou art set. Then said Launcelot: FairFather Jesu Christ, I thank thee of Thy great mercy that Thoureprovest me of my misdeed; now see I well that ye hold me for yourservant. Then took he again his sword and put it up in his sheath, andmade a cross in his forehead, and came to the lions, and they madesemblant to do him harm. Notwithstanding he passed by them withouthurt, and entered into the castle to the chief fortress, and therewere they all at rest. Then Launcelot entered in so armed, for hefound no gate nor door but it was open. And at the last he found achamber whereof the door was shut, and he set his hand thereto to haveopened it, but he might not. 

CHAPTER XV

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT WAS AFORE THE DOOR OF THE CHAMBER WHEREIN THE HOLYSANGREAL WAS

Then he enforced him mickle to undo the door. Then he listened andheard a voice which sang so sweetly that it seemed none earthly thing;and him thought the voice said: Joy and honour be to the Father ofHeaven. Then Launcelot kneeled down tofore the chamber, for well wisthe that there was the Sangreal within that chamber. Then said he: Fairsweet Father, Jesu Christ, if ever I did thing that pleased Thee, Lordfor Thy pity never have me not in despite for my sins done aforetime, and that Thou show me something of that I seek. And with that he sawthe chamber door open, and there came out a great clereness, that thehouse was as bright as all the torches of the world had been there. Socame he to the chamber door, and would have entered. And anon a voicesaid to him, Flee, Launcelot, and enter not, for thou oughtest not todo it; and if thou enter thou shalt forethink it. Then he withdrew himaback right heavy. Then looked he up in the middes of the chamber, andsaw a table of silver, and the holy vessel, covered with red samite, and many angels about it, whereof one held a candle of wax burning, and the other held a cross, and the ornaments of an altar. And beforethe holy vessel he saw a good man clothed as a priest. And it seemedthat he was at the sacring of the mass. And it seemed to Launcelotthat above the priest's hands were three men, whereof the two put theyoungest by likeness between the priest's hands; and so he lift it upright high, and it seemed to show so to the people. And then Launcelotmarvelled not a little, for him thought the priest was so greatlycharged of the figure that him seemed that he should fall to theearth. And when he saw none about him that would help him, then camehe to the door a great pace, and said: Fair Father Jesu Christ, netake it for no sin though I help the good man which hath great need ofhelp. Right so entered he into the chamber, and came toward the tableof silver; and when he came nigh he felt a breath, that him thought itwas intermeddled with fire, which smote him so sore in the visage thathim thought it brent his visage; and therewith he fell to the earth, and had no power to arise, as he that was so araged, that had lost thepower of his body, and his hearing, and his seeing. Then felt he manyhands about him, which took him up and bare him out of the chamberdoor, without any amending of his swoon, and left him there, seemingdead to all people. So upon the morrow when it was fair day theywithin were arisen, and found Launcelot lying afore the chamber door. All they marvelled how that he came in, and so they looked upon him, and felt his pulse to wit whether there were any life in him; and sothey found life in him, but he might not stand nor stir no member thathe had. And so they took him by every part of the body, and bare himinto a chamber, and laid him in a rich bed, far from all folk; and sohe lay four days. Then the one said he was on live, and the othersaid, Nay. In the name of God, said an old man, for I do you verily towit he is not dead, but he is so full of life as the mightiest of youall; and therefore I counsel you that he be well kept till God sendhim life again. 

CHAPTER XVI

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT HAD LAIN FOUR AND TWENTY DAYS AND AS MANY NIGHTS ASA DEAD MAN, AND OTHER DIVERS MATTERS

In such manner they kept Launcelot four and twenty days and all somany nights, that ever he lay still as a dead man; and at thetwenty-fifth day befell him after midday that he opened his eyes. Andwhen he saw folk he made great sorrow, and said: Why have ye awakedme, for I was more at ease than I am now. O Jesu Christ, who might beso blessed that might see openly thy great marvels of secretness therewhere no sinner may be! What have ye seen? said they about him. I haveseen, said he, so great marvels that no tongue may tell, and more thanany heart can think, and had not my son been here afore me I had seenmuch more. Then they told him how he had lain there four and twentydays and nights. Then him thought it was punishment for the four andtwenty years that he had been a sinner, wherefore Our Lord put him inpenance four and twenty days and nights. Then looked Sir Launcelotafore him, and saw the hair which he had borne nigh a year, for thathe forethought him right much that he had broken his promise unto thehermit, which he had avowed to do. Then they asked how it stood withhim. For sooth, said he, I am whole of body, thanked be Our Lord;therefore, sirs, for God's love tell me where I am. Then said they allthat he was in the castle of Carbonek. Therewith came a gentlewomanand brought him a shirt of small linen cloth, but he changed notthere, but took the hair to him again. Sir, said they, the quest ofthe Sangreal is achieved now right in you, that never shall ye see ofthe Sangreal no more than ye have seen. Now I thank God, saidLauncelot, of His great mercy of that I have seen, for it sufficethme; for as I suppose no man in this world hath lived better than Ihave done to achieve that I have done. And therewith he took the hairand clothed him in it, and above that he put a linen shirt, and aftera robe of scarlet, fresh and new. And when he was so arrayed theymarvelled all, for they knew him that he was Launcelot, the goodknight. And then they said all: O my lord Sir Launcelot, be that ye?And he said: Truly I am he. Then came word to King Pelles that theknight that had lain so long dead was Sir Launcelot. Then was the kingright glad, and went to see him. And when Launcelot saw him come hedressed him against him, and there made the king great joy of him. Andthere the king told him tidings that his fair daughter was dead. ThenLauncelot was right heavy of it, and said: Sir, me forthinketh thedeath of your daughter, for she was a full fair lady, fresh and young. And well I wot she bare the best knight that is now on the earth, orthat ever was sith God was born. So the king held him there four days, and on the morrow he took his leave at King Pelles and at all thefellowship, and thanked them of their great labour. Right so as theysat at their dinner in the chief hall, then was it so that theSangreal had fulfilled the table with all manner of meats that anyheart might think. So as they sat they saw all the doors and thewindows of the place were shut without man's hand, whereof they wereall abashed, and none wist what to do. And then it happened suddenlythat a knight came to the chief door and knocked, and cried: Undo thedoor. But they would not. And ever he cried: Undo; but they would not. And at last it annoyed him so much that the king himself arose andcame to a window where the knight called. Then he said: Sir knight, yeshall not enter at this time while the Sangreal is here, and thereforego into another; for certes ye be none of the knights of the quest, but one of them which hath served the fiend, and hast left the serviceof Our Lord: and he was passing wroth at the king's words. Sir knight, said the king, sith ye would so fain enter, say me of what country yebe. Sir, said he, I am of the realm of Logris, and my name is Ector deMaris, and brother unto my lord, Sir Launcelot. In the name of God, said the king, me forthinketh of what I have said, for your brother ishere within. And when Ector de Maris understood that his brother wasthere, for he was the man in the world that he most dread and loved, and then he said: Ah God, now doubleth my sorrow and shame. Full trulysaid the good man of the hill unto Gawaine and to me of our dreams. Then went he out of the court as fast as his horse might, and sothroughout the castle. 

CHAPTER XVII

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT RETURNED TOWARDS LOGRIS, AND OF OTHER ADVENTURESWHICH HE SAW IN THE WAY

Then King Pelles came to Sir Launcelot and told him tidings of hisbrother, whereof he was sorry, that he wist not what to do. So SirLauncelot departed, and took his arms, and said he would go see therealm of Logris, which I have not seen these twelve months. Andtherewith he commended the king to God, and so rode through manyrealms. And at the last he came to a white abbey, and there they madehim that night great cheer; and on the morn he rose and heard mass. And afore an altar he found a rich tomb, the which was newly made; andthen he took heed, and saw the sides written with gold which said:Here lieth King Bagdemagus of Gore, which King Arthur's nephew slew;and named him, Sir Gawaine. Then was he not a little sorry, forLauncelot loved him much more than any other, and had it been anyother than Gawaine he should not have escaped from death to life; andsaid to himself: Ah Lord God, this is a great hurt unto King Arthur'scourt, the loss of such a man. And then he departed and came to theabbey where Galahad did the adventure of the tombs, and won the whiteshield with the red cross; and there had he great cheer all thatnight. And on the morn he turned unto Camelot, where he found KingArthur and the queen. But many of the knights of the Round Table wereslain and destroyed, more than half. And so three were come homeagain, that were Sir Gawaine, Sir Ector, and Sir Lionel, and manyother that need not to be rehearsed. Then all the court was passingglad of Sir Launcelot, and the king asked him many tidings of his sonGalahad. And there Launcelot told the king of his adventures that hadbefallen him syne he departed. And also he told him of the adventuresof Galahad, Percivale, and Bors, which that he knew by the letter ofthe dead damosel, and as Galahad had told him. Now God would, said theking, that they were all three here. That shall never be, saidLauncelot, for two of them shall ye never see, but one of them shallcome again. 

CHAPTER XVIII

HOW GALAHAD CAME TO KING MORDRAINS, AND OF OTHER MATTERS ANDADVENTURES

Now saith the story that Galahad rode many journeys in vain. And atthe last he came to the Abbey where King Mordrains was, and when heheard that, he thought he would abide to see him. And upon the morn, when he had heard mass, Galahad came unto King Mordrains, and anon theking saw him, which had lain blind a long time. And then he dressedhim against him, and said: Galahad, the servant of Jesu Christ, whosecoming I have abiden so long, now embrace me and let me rest on thybreast, so that I may rest between thine arms, for thou art a clenevirgin above all knights, as the flower of the lily in whom virginityis signified, and thou art the rose the which is the flower of allgood virtues, and in colour of fire. For the fire of the Holy Ghost istaken so in thee that my flesh which was of dead oldness is becomeyoung again. When Galahad heard his words, then he embraced him andall his body. Then said he: Fair Lord Jesu Christ, now I have my will. Now I require thee, in this point that I am in, thou come and visitme. And anon Our Lord heard his prayer: therewith the soul departedfrom the body. And then Galahad put him in the earth as a king oughtto be, and so departed and came into a perilous forest where he foundthe well the which boileth with great waves, as the tale tellethtofore. And as soon as Galahad set his hand thereto it ceased, so thatit burnt no more, and the heat departed. For that it brent it was asign of lechery, the which was that time much used. But that heatmight not abide his pure virginity. And this was taken in the countryfor a miracle. And so ever after was it called Galahad's well. Then byadventure he came into the country of Gore, and into the Abbey whereLauncelot had been toforehand, and found the tomb of King Bagdemagus, but Joseph of Aramathie's son was founder thereof; and the tomb ofSimeon where Launcelot had failed. Then he looked into a croft underthe minster, and there he saw a tomb which burnt full marvellously. Then asked he the brethren what it was. Sir, said they, a marvellousadventure that may not be brought unto none end but by him thatpasseth of bounty and of knighthood all the knights of the RoundTable. I would, said Galahad, that ye would lead me thereto. Gladly, said they. And so they led him unto a cave. And he went down upongretys, and came nigh the tomb. And then the flaming failed, and thefire stanched, the which many a day had been great. Then came there avoice that said: much are ye beholden to thank Our Lord, the whichhath given you a good hour, that ye may draw out the souls of earthlypain, and to put them into the joys of paradise. I am of your kindred, the which hath dwelled in this heat this three hundred four and fiftywinter to be purged of the sin that I did against Joseph of Aramathie. Then Galahad took the body in his arms and bare it into the minster. And that night lay Galahad in the abbey; and on the morn he gave himservice, and put him in the earth afore the high altar. 

CHAPTER XIX

HOW SIR PERCIVALE AND SIR BORS MET WITH SIR GALAHAD, AND HOW THEY CAMETO THE CASTLE OF CARBONEK, AND OTHER MATTERS

So departed he from thence, and commended the brethren to God; and sohe rode five days till that he came to the maimed king. And everfollowed Percivale the five days, asking where he had been; and so onetold him how the adventures of Logris were achieved. So on a day itbefell that they came out of a great forest, and there they met attraverse with Sir Bors, the which rode alone. It is none need to tellif they were glad; and them he saluted, and they yielded him honourand good adventure, and every each told other. Then said Bors: It ismore than a year and an half that I ne lay ten times where mendwelled, but in wild forests and in mountains, but God was ever mycomfort. Then rode they a great while till that they came to thecastle of Carbonek. And when they were entered within the castle KingPelles knew them; then there was great joy, for they wist well bytheir coming that they had fulfilled the quest of the Sangreal. ThenEliazar, King Pelles' son, brought tofore them the broken swordwherewith Joseph was stricken through the thigh. Then Bors set hishand thereto, if that he might have soldered it again; but it wouldnot be. Then he took it to Percivale, but he had no more power theretothan he. Now have ye it again, said Percivale to Galahad, for an it beever achieved by any bodily man ye must do it. And then he took thepieces and set them together, and they seemed that they had never beenbroken, and as well as it had been first forged. And when they withinespied that the adventure of the sword was achieved, then they gavethe sword to Bors, for it might not be better set; for he was a goodknight and a worthy man. And a little afore even the sword arose greatand marvellous, and was full of great heat that many men fell fordread. And anon alit a voice among them, and said: They that ought notto sit at the table of Jesu Christ arise, for now shall very knightsbe fed. So they went thence, all save King Pelles and Eliazar, hisson, the which were holy men, and a maid which was his niece; and sothese three fellows and they three were there, no more. Anon they sawknights all armed come in at the hall door, and did off their helmsand their arms, and said unto Galahad: Sir, we have hied right muchfor to be with you at this table where the holy meat shall bedeparted. Then said he: Ye be welcome, but of whence be ye? So threeof them said they were of Gaul, and other three said they were ofIreland, and the other three said they were of Denmark. So as they satthus there came out a bed of tree, of a chamber, the which fourgentlewomen brought; and in the bed lay a good man sick, and a crownof gold upon his head; and there in the middes of the place they sethim down, and went again their way. Then he lift up his head, andsaid: Galahad, Knight, ye be welcome, for much have I desired yourcoming, for in such anguish I have been long. But now I trust to Godthe term is come that my pain shall be allayed, that I shall pass outof this world so as it was promised me long ago. Therewith a voicesaid: There be two among you that be not in the quest of the Sangreal, and therefore depart ye. 

CHAPTER XX

HOW GALAHAD AND HIS FELLOWS WERE FED OF THE HOLY SANGREAL, AND HOW OURLORD APPEARED TO THEM, AND OTHER THINGS

Then King Pelles and his son departed. And therewithal beseemed themthat there came a man, and four angels from heaven, clothed inlikeness of a bishop, and had a cross in his hand; and there fourangels bare him in a chair, and set him down before the table ofsilver whereupon the Sangreal was; and it seemed that he had in middesof his forehead letters the which said: See ye here Joseph, the firstbishop of Christendom, the same which Our Lord succoured in the cityof Sarras in the spiritual place. Then the knights marvelled, for thatbishop was dead more than three hundred years tofore. O knights, saidhe, marvel not, for I was sometime an earthly man. With that theyheard the chamber door open, and there they saw angels; and two barecandles of wax, and the third a towel, and the fourth a spear whichbled marvellously, that three drops fell within a box which he heldwith his other hand. And they set the candles upon the table, and thethird the towel upon the vessel, and the fourth the holy spear evenupright upon the vessel. And then the bishop made semblant as thoughhe would have gone to the sacring of the mass. And then he took anubblye which was made in likeness of bread. And at the lifting upthere came a figure in likeness of a child, and the visage was as redand as bright as any fire, and smote himself into the bread, so thatthey all saw it that the bread was formed of a fleshly man; and thenhe put it into the holy vessel again, and then he did that longed to apriest to do to a mass. And then he went to Galahad and kissed him, and bad him go and kiss his fellows: and so he did anon. Now, said he, servants of Jesu Christ, ye shall be fed afore this table withsweetmeats that never knights tasted. And when he had said, hevanished away. And they set them at the table in great dread and madetheir prayers. Then looked they and saw a man come out of the holyvessel, that had all the signs of the passion of Jesu Christ, bleedingall openly, and said: My knights, and my servants, and my truechildren, which be come out of deadly life into spiritual life, I willnow no longer hide me from you, but ye shall see now a part of mysecrets and of my hidden things: now hold and receive the high meatwhich ye have so much desired. Then took he himself the holy vesseland came to Galahad; and he kneeled down, and there he received hisSaviour, and after him so received all his fellows; and they thoughtit so sweet that it was marvellous to tell. Then said he to Galahad:Son, wotest thou what I hold betwixt my hands? Nay, said he, but if yewill tell me. This is, said he, the holy dish wherein I ate the lambon Sher-Thursday. And now hast thou seen that thou most desired tosee, but yet hast thou not seen it so openly as thou shalt see it inthe city of Sarras in the spiritual place. Therefore thou must gohence and bear with thee this holy vessel; for this night it shalldepart from the realm of Logris, that it shall never be seen morehere. And wotest thou wherefore? For he is not served nor worshippedto his right by them of this land, for they be turned to evil living;therefore I shall disherit them of the honour which I have done them. And therefore go ye three to-morrow unto the sea, where ye shall findyour ship ready and with you take the sword with the strange girdles, and no more with you but Sir Percivale and Sir Bors. Also I will thatye take with you of the blood of this spear for to anoint the maimedking, both his legs and all his body, and he shall have his health. Sir, said Galahad, why shall not these other fellows go with us? Forthis cause: for right as I departed my apostles one here and anotherthere, so I will that ye depart; and two of you shall die in myservice, but one of you shall come again and tell tidings. Then gavehe them his blessing and vanished away. 

CHAPTER XXI

HOW GALAHAD ANOINTED WITH THE BLOOD OF THE SPEAR THE MAIMED KING, ANDOTHER ADVENTURES

And Galahad went anon to the spear which lay upon the table, andtouched the blood with his fingers, and came after to the maimed kingand anointed his legs. And therewith he clothed him anon, and startupon his feet out of his bed as an whole man, and thanked Our Lordthat He had healed him. And that was not to the world ward, for anonhe yielded him to a place of religion of white monks, and was a fullholy man. That same night about midnight came a voice among them whichsaid: My sons and not my chief sons, my friends and not my warriors, go ye hence where ye hope best to do and as I bad you. Ah, thanked beThou, Lord, that Thou wilt vouchsafe to call us, Thy sinners. Now maywe well prove that we have not lost our pains. And anon in all hastethey took their harness and departed. But the three knights of Gaul, one of them hight Claudine, King Claudas' son, and the other two weregreat gentlemen. Then prayed Galahad to every each of them, that ifthey come to King Arthur's court that they should salute my lord, SirLauncelot, my father, and of them of the Round Table; and prayed themif that they came on that part that they should not forget it. Rightso departed Galahad, Percivale and Bors with him; and so they rodethree days, and then they came to a rivage, and found the ship whereofthe tale speaketh of tofore. And when they came to the board theyfound in the middes the table of silver which they had left with themaimed king, and the Sangreal which was covered with red samite. Thenwere they glad to have such things in their fellowship; and so theyentered and made great reverence thereto; and Galahad fell in hisprayer long time to Our Lord, that at what time he asked, that heshould pass out of this world. So much he prayed till a voice said tohim: Galahad, thou shalt have thy request; and when thou askest thedeath of thy body thou shalt have it, and then shalt thou find thelife of the soul. Percivale heard this, and prayed him, of fellowshipthat was between them, to tell him wherefore he asked such things. That shall I tell you, said Galahad; the other day when we saw a partof the adventures of the Sangreal I was in such a joy of heart, that Itrow never man was that was earthly. And therefore I wot well, when mybody is dead my soul shall be in great joy to see the blessed Trinityevery day, and the Majesty of Our Lord, Jesu Christ. So long were theyin the ship that they said to Galahad: Sir, in this bed ought ye tolie, for so saith the scripture. And so he laid him down and slept agreat while; and when he awaked he looked afore him and saw the cityof Sarras. And as they would have landed they saw the ship whereinPercivale had put his sister in. Truly, said Percivale, in the name ofGod, well hath my sister holden us covenant. Then took they out of theship the table of silver, and he took it to Percivale and to Bors, togo tofore, and Galahad came behind. And right so they went to thecity, and at the gate of the city they saw an old man crooked. ThenGalahad called him and bad him help to bear this heavy thing. Truly, said the old man, it is ten year ago that I might not go but withcrutches. Care thou not, said Galahad, and arise up and shew thy goodwill. And so he essayed, and found himself as whole as ever he was. Then ran he to the table, and took one part against Galahad, And anonarose there great noise in the city, that a cripple was made whole byknights marvellous that entered into the city. Then anon after, thethree knights went to the water, and brought up into the palacePercivale's sister, and buried her as richly as a king's daughterought to be. And when the king of the city, which was clepedEstorause, saw the fellowship, he asked them of whence they were, andwhat thing it was that they had brought upon the table of silver. Andthey told him the truth of the Sangreal, and the power which that Godhad set there. Then the king was a tyrant, and was come of the line ofpaynims, and took them and put them in prison in a deep hole. 

CHAPTER XXII

HOW THEY WERE FED WITH THE SANGREAL WHILE THEY WERE IN PRISON, AND HOWGALAHAD WAS MADE KING

But as soon as they were there Our Lord sent them the Sangreal, through whose grace they were alway fulfilled while that they were inprison. So at the year's end it befel that this King Estorause laysick, and felt that he should die. Then he sent for the three knights, and they came afore him; and he cried them mercy of that he had doneto them, and they forgave it him goodly; and he died anon. When theking was dead all the city was dismayed, and wist not who might betheir king. Right so as they were in counsel there came a voice amongthem, and bad them choose the youngest knight of them three to betheir king: For he shall well maintain you and all yours. So they madeGalahad king by all the assent of the holy city, and else they wouldhave slain him. And when he was come to behold the land, he let makeabove the table of silver a chest of gold and of precious stones, thathylled the holy vessel. And every day early the three fellows wouldcome afore it, and make their prayers. Now at the year's end, and theself day after Galahad had borne the crown of gold, he arose up earlyand his fellows, and came to the palace, and saw tofore them the holyvessel, and a man kneeling on his knees in likeness of a bishop, thathad about him a great fellowship of angels as it had been Jesu Christhimself; and then he arose and began a mass of Our Lady. And when hecame to the sacrament of the mass, and had done, anon he calledGalahad, and said to him: Come forth the servant of Jesu Christ, andthou shalt see that thou hast much desired to see. And then he beganto tremble right hard when the deadly flesh began to behold thespiritual things. Then he held up his hands toward heaven and said:Lord, I thank thee, for now I see that that hath been my desire many aday. Now, blessed Lord, would I not longer live, if it might pleasethee, Lord. And therewith the good man took Our Lord's body betwixthis hands, and proffered it to Galahad, and he received it rightgladly and meekly. Now wotest thou what I am? said the good man. Nay, said Galahad. I am Joseph of Aramathie, the which Our Lord hath senthere to thee to bear thee fellowship; and wotest thou wherefore thathe hath sent me more than any other? For thou hast resembled me in twothings; in that thou hast seen the marvels of the Sangreal, in thatthou hast been a clene maiden, as I have been and am. And when he hadsaid these words Galahad went to Percivale and kissed him, andcommended him to God; and so he went to Sir Bors and kissed him, andcommended him to God, and said: Fair lord, salute me to my lord, SirLauncelot, my father, and as soon as ye see him, bid him remember ofthis unstable world. And therewith he kneeled down tofore the tableand made his prayers, and then suddenly his soul departed to JesuChrist, and a great multitude of angels bare his soul up to heaven, that the two fellows might well behold it. Also the two fellows sawcome from heaven an hand, but they saw not the body. And then it cameright to the Vessel, and took it and the spear, and so bare it up toheaven. Sithen was there never man so hardy to say that he had seenthe Sangreal. 

CHAPTER XXIII

OF THE SORROW THAT PERCIVALE AND BORS MADE WHEN GALAHAD WAS DEAD: ANDOF PERCIVALE HOW HE DIED, AND OTHER MATTERS

When Percivale and Bors saw Galahad dead they made as much sorrow asever did two men. And if they had not been good men they might lightlyhave fallen in despair. And the people of the country and of the citywere right heavy. And then he was buried; and as soon as he was buriedSir Percivale yielded him to an hermitage out of the city, and took areligious clothing. And Bors was alway with him, but never changed hehis secular clothing, for that he purposed him to go again into therealm of Logris. Thus a year and two months lived Sir Percivale in thehermitage a full holy life, and then passed out of this world; andBors let bury him by his sister and by Galahad in the spiritualities. When Bors saw that he was in so far countries as in the parts ofBabylon he departed from Sarras, and armed him and came to the sea, and entered into a ship; and so it befell him in good adventure hecame into the realm of Logris; and he rode so fast till he came toCamelot where the king was. And then was there great joy made of himin the court, for they weened all he had been dead, forasmuch as hehad been so long out of the country. And when they had eaten, the kingmade great clerks to come afore him, that they should chronicle of thehigh adventures of the good knights. When Bors had told him of theadventures of the Sangreal, such as had befallen him and his threefellows, that was Launcelot, Percivale, Galahad, and himself, thereLauncelot told the adventures of the Sangreal that he had seen. Allthis was made in great books, and put up in almeryes at Salisbury. Andanon Sir Bors said to Sir Launcelot: Galahad, your own son, salutedyou by me, and after you King Arthur and all the Court, and so did SirPercivale, for I buried them with mine own hands in the city ofSarras. Also, Sir Launcelot, Galahad prayed you to remember of thisunsyker world as ye behight him when ye were together more than half ayear. This is true, said Launcelot; now I trust to God his prayershall avail me. Then Launcelot took Sir Bors in his arms, and said:Gentle cousin, ye are right welcome to me, and all that ever I may dofor you and for yours ye shall find my poor body ready at all times, while the spirit is in it, and that I promise you faithfully, andnever to fail. And wit ye well, gentle cousin, Sir Bors, that ye and Iwill never depart in sunder whilst our lives may last. Sir, said he, Iwill as ye will. 

_Thus endeth thistory of the Sancgreal, that was breuely drawen outeof Frensshe in to Englysshe, the whiche is a story cronycled for oneof the truest and the holyest that is in thys world, the which is thexvii. Book_. 

A DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND

WRITTEN BYWILLIAM HARRISON

FOR

HOLINSHED CHRONICLES

_INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Near the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, Reginald Wolfe, the Queen'sPrinter, with the splendid audacity characteristic of that age, planned to publish a "universal Cosmography of the whole world, andtherewith also certain particular histories of every known nation. "Raphael Holinshed had charge of the histories of England, Scotland, and Ireland, the only part of the work ever published; and these wereissued in 1577, and have since been known as "Holinshed's Chronicles. "From them Shakespeare drew most of the material for his historicalplays. 

Among Holinshed's collaborators was one William Harrison, chaplain toLord Cobham, and later Rector of Radwinter in Essex and Canon ofWindsor. To him was allotted the task of writing the "Descriptions ofBritain and England" from which the following chapters are drawn. Hegathered his facts from books, letters, maps, conversations, and, mostimportant of all, his own observation and experience; and he put themloosely together into what he calls "this foul frizzled treatise. "Yet, with all his modesty, he claims to "have had an especial eye tothe truth of things"; and as a result we have in his pages the mostvivid and detailed picture in existence of the England into whichShakespeare was born. 

In 1876 Dr. Furnivall condensed Harrison's chapters for the NewShakspere Society, and these have since been reprinted by Mr. LothropWithington in the modern dress in which the most interesting of themappear here. No apology is needed for thus selecting and rearranging, since in their original form they were without unity, and formed partof a vast compilation. 

Harrison's merit does not lie in the rich interest of his matteralone. He wrote a racy style with a strong individual as well asElizabethan flavor; and his personal comment upon the manners of histime serves as a piquant sauce to the solid meat of his historicalinformation. _

A DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND

CHAPTER I

OF DEGREES OF PEOPLE IN THE COMMONWEALTH OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND

[1577, Book III. , Chapter 4; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 5. ][1]

 [1] These references are to the first two editions of Holinshed's _Chronicles_. The modernization of the spelling, etc. , follows that of Mr. L. Wilkington, whose notes are signed W. 

We in England, divide our people commonly into four sorts, asgentlemen, citizens or burgesses, yeomen, and artificers or labourers. Of gentlemen the first and chief (next the king) be the prince, dukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts, and barons; and these are calledgentlemen of the greater sort, or (as our common usage of speech is)lords and noblemen: and next unto them be knights, esquires, and, lastof all, they that are simply called gentlemen. So that in effect ourgentlemen are divided into their conditions, whereof in this chapterI will make particular rehearsal. 

The title of prince doth peculiarly belong with us to the king'seldest son, who is called Prince of Wales, and is the heir-apparentto the crown; as in France the king's eldest son hath the title ofDauphin, and is named peculiarly _Monsieur_. So that the prince is sotermed of the Latin word _Princeps_, since he is (as I may call him)the chief or principal next the king. The king's younger sons be butgentlemen by birth (till they have received creation or donation fromtheir father of higher estate, as to be either viscounts, earls, ordukes) and called after their names, as Lord Henry, or Lord Edward, with the addition of the word Grace, properly assigned to the king andprince, and now also by custom conveyed to dukes, archbishops, and (assome say) to marquesses and their wives. [2]. . . 

 [2] Here follow etymologies of the terms "Duke, " "Marquess, " and "Baron. "--W. 

Unto this place I also refer our bishops, who are accountedhonourable, called lords, and hold the same room in the Parliamenthouse with the barons, albeit for honour sake the right hand of theprince is given unto them, and whose countenances in time past weremuch more glorious than at this present it is, because those lustyprelates sought after earthly estimation and authority with far morediligence than after the lost sheep of Christ, of which they had smallregard, as men being otherwise occupied and void of leisure to attendupon the same. Howbeit in these days their estate remaineth no lessreverend than before, and the more virtuous they are that be of thiscalling the better are they esteemed with high and low. They retainalso the ancient name ("lord") still, although it be not a littleimpugned by such as love either to hear of change of all things or canabide no superiors. For notwithstanding it be true that in respect offunction the office of the eldership[3] is equally distributed betweenthe bishop and the minister, yet for civil government's sake the firsthave more authority given unto them by kings and princes, to the endthat the rest may thereby be with more ease retained within a limitedcompass of uniformity than otherwise they would be if each one weresuffered to walk in his own course. This also is more to be marvelledat, that very many call for an alteration of their estate, crying tohave the word "lord" abolished, their civil authority taken from them, and the present condition of the church in other things reformed;whereas, to say truly, few of them do agree upon form of disciplineand government of the church succeedent, wherein they resemble theCapuans (of whom Livy doth speak) in the slaughter of their senate. Neither is it possible to frame a whole monarchy after the pattern ofone town or city, or to stir up such an exquisite face of the churchas we imagine or desire, sith our corruption is such that it willnever yield to so great perfection; for that which is not able to beperformed in a private house will be much less be brought to pass in acommonwealth and kingdom, before such a prince be found as Xenophondescribeth, or such an orator as Tully hath devised. [4]. . . 

 [3] 1 Sam. Ii. 15; 1 Kings i. 7. --H. 

 [4] Here follows a long paragraph on the character of the clergy which is more appropriate to the chapter on "The Church. "--W. 

Dukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts, and barons either be created ofthe prince or come to that honour by being the eldest sons or highestin succession to their parents. For the eldest son of a duke duringhis father's life is an earl, the eldest son of an earl is a baron, orsometimes a viscount, according as the creation is. The creation Icall the original donation and condition of the honour given by theprince for good service done by the first ancestor, with someadvancement, which, with the title of that honour, is always given tohim and his heirs males only. The rest of the sons of the nobility bythe rigour of the law be but esquires; yet in common speech all dukes'and marquesses' sons and earls' eldest sons be called lords, the whichname commonly doth agree to none of lower degree than barons, yet bylaw and use these be not esteemed barons. 

The barony or degree of lords doth answer to the degree of senators ofRome (as I said) and the title of nobility (as we used to call it inEngland) to the Roman _Patricii_. Also in England no man is commonlycreated baron except he may dispend of yearly revenues a thousandpounds, or so much as may fully maintain and bear out his countenanceand port. But viscounts, earls, marquesses, and dukes exceed themaccording to the proportion of their degree and honour. But though bychance he or his son have less, yet he keepeth this degree: but if thedecay be excessive, and not able to maintain the honour (as _SenatoresRomani_ were _amoti à senatu_), so sometimes they are not admitted tothe upper house in the parliament, although they keep the name of"lord" still, which cannot be taken from them upon any such occasion. 

The most of these names have descended from the French invention, inwhose histories we shall read of them eight hundred years past. [5]. . . 

 [5] Here follows a learned disquisition upon "Valvasors. "--W. 

Knights be not born, neither is any man a knight by succession, no, not the king or prince: but they are made either before the battle, toencourage them the more to adventure and try their manhood; or afterthe battle ended, as an advancement for their courage and prowessalready shewed, and then are they called _Milites_; or out of the warsfor some great service done, or for the singular virtues which doappear in them, and then are they named _Equites Aurati_, as commoncustom intendeth. They are made either by the king himself, or by hiscommission and royal authority given for the same purpose, or by hislieutenant in the wars. [6]. . . 

 [6] Here follows a discourse upon _Equites Aurati_. --W. 

Sometime diverse ancient gentlemen, burgesses, and lawyers are calledunto knighthood by the prince, and nevertheless refuse to take thatstate upon them, for which they are of custom punished by a fine, thatredoundeth unto his coffers, and (to say truth) is oftentimes moreprofitable unto him than otherwise their service should be, if theydid yield unto knighthood. And this also is a cause wherefore there bemany in England able to dispend a knight's living, which never comeunto that countenance, and by their own consents. The number of theknights in Rome was also uncertain: and so is it of knights likewise, with us, as at the pleasure of the prince. And whereas the _EquitesRomani_ had _Equum Publicum_ of custom bestowed upon them, the knightsof England have not so, but bear their own charges in that also, as inother kind of furniture, as armour meet for their defence and service. This nevertheless is certain, that whoso may dispend forty pounds bythe year of free land, either at the coronation of the king, ormarriage of his daughter, or time of his dubbing, may be informed untothe taking of that degree, or otherwise pay the revenues of his landfor one year, which is only forty pounds by an old proportion, and sofor a time be acquitted of that title. [7]. . . 

 [7] Here is a description of dubbing a knight. --W. 

At the coronation of a king or queen, there be other knights made withlonger and more curious ceremonies, called "knights of the bath. " Buthowsoever one be dubbed or made knight, his wife is by-and-by called"Madam, " or "Lady, " so well as the baron's wife: he himself havingadded to his name in common appellation this syllable "Sir, " which isthe title whereby we call our knights in England. His wife also ofcourtesy so long as she liveth is called "my lady, " although shehappen to marry with a gentleman or man of mean calling, albeit thatby the common law she hath no such prerogative. If her first husbandalso be of better birth than her second, though this latter likewisebe a knight, yet in that she pretendeth a privilege to lose no honourthrough courtesy yielded to her sex, she will be named after the mosthonourable or worshipful of both, which is not seen elsewhere. 

The other order of knighthood in England, and the most honourable, isthat of the garter, instituted by King Edward the Third, who, after hehad gained many notable victories, taken King John of France, and KingJames of Scotland (and kept them both prisoners in the Tower o£ Londonat one time), expelled King Henry of Castille, the bastard, out of hisrealm, and restored Don Pedro unto it (by the help of the Prince ofWales and Duke of Aquitaine, his eldest son, called the Black Prince), he then invented this society of honour, and made a choice out of hisown realm and dominions, and throughout all Christendom of the best, most excellent, and renowned persons in all virtues and honour, andadorned them with that title to be knights of his order, giving them agarter garnished with gold and precious stones, to wear daily on theleft leg only; also a kirtle, gown, cloak, chaperon, collar, and othersolemn and magnificent apparel, both of stuff and fashion exquisiteand heroical to wear at high feasts, and as to so high and princely anorder appertaineth. . . . 

The order of the garter therefore was devised in the time of KingEdward the Third, and (as some write) upon this occasion. The queen'smajesty then living, being departed from his presence the next waytoward her lodging, he following soon after happened to find hergarter, which slacked by chance and so fell from her leg, unespied inthe throng by such as attended upon her. His grooms and gentlemen alsopassed by it, as disdaining to stoop and take up such a trifle: buthe, knowing the owner, commanded one of them to stay and reach it upto him. "Why, and like your grace, " saith a gentleman, "it is but somewoman's garter that hath fallen from her as she followed the queen'smajesty. " "Whatsoever it be, " quoth the king, "take it up and give itme. " So when he had received the garter, he said to such as stoodabout him: "You, my masters, do make small account of this bule garterhere, " and therewith held it out, "but, if God lend me life for a fewmonths, I will make the proudest of you all to reverence the like. "And even upon this slender occasion he gave himself to the devising ofthis order. Certes, I have not read of anything that having had sosimple a beginning hath grown in the end to so great honour andestimation. [8]. . . 

 [8] Long details are given of Garter history, very inaccurate, both here and in the last omitted passage. --W. 

There is yet another order of knights In England called knightsbannerets, who are made in the field with the ceremony of cutting awaythe point of his pennant of arms, and making it as it were a banner, so that, being before but a bachelor knight, he is now of an higherdegree, and allowed to display his arms in a banner, as barons do. Howbeit these knights are never made but in the wars, the king'sstandard being unfolded. [9]. . . 

 [9] Derivations of "Esquire" and "Gentleman" are given. --W. 

Moreover, as the king doth dub knights, and createth the barons andhigher degrees, so gentlemen whose ancestors are not known to come inwith William Duke of Normandy (for of the Saxon races yet remaining wenow make none accounted, much less of the British issue) do take theirbeginning in England, after this manner in our times. 

Whosoever studieth the laws of the realm, whoso abideth in theuniversity (giving his mind to his book), or professeth physic and theliberal sciences, or beside his service in the room of a captain in thewars, or good counsel given at home, whereby his commonwealth isbenefited, can live without manual labour, and thereto is able and willbear the port, charge, and countenance of a gentleman, he shall formoney have a coat and arms bestowed upon him by heralds (who in thecharter of the same do of custom pretend antiquity and service, andmany gay things), and thereunto, being made so good cheap, be calledmaster (which is the title that men give to esquires and gentlemen), and reputed for a gentleman ever after, which is so much less to bedisallowed of for that the prince doth lose nothing by it, thegentleman being so much subject to taxes and public payments as is theyeoman or husbandman, which he likewise doth bear the gladlier for thesaving of his reputation. Being called also to the wars (for with thegovernment of the commonwealth he meddleth little), whatsoever it costhim, he will both array and arm himself accordingly, and shew the moremanly courage, and all the tokens of the person which he represented. No man hath hurt by it but himself, who peradventure will go in widerbuskins than his legs will bear, or, as our proverb saith, "now andthen bear a bigger sail than his boat is able to sustain. "

Certes the making of new gentlemen bred great strife sometimes amongstthe Romans, I mean when those which were _Novi homines_ were moreallowed of for their virtues newly seen and shewed than the old smellof ancient race, lately defaced by the cowardice and evil life of theirnephews and descendants, could make the other to be. But as envy hathno affinity with justice and equity, so it forceth not what languagethe malicious do give out, against such as are exalted for theirwisdoms. This nevertheless is generally to be reprehended in allestates of gentility, and which in short time will turn to the greatruin of our country, and that is, the usual sending of noblemen's andmean gentlemen's sons into Italy, from whence they bring home nothingbut mere atheism, infidelity, vicious conversation, and ambitious andproud behaviour, whereby it cometh to pass that they return far worsemen than they went out. A gentleman at this present is newly come outof Italy, who went thither an earnest Protestant; but coming home hecould say after this manner; "Faith and truth is to be kept where noloss or hindrance of a future purpose is sustained by holding of thesame; and forgiveness only to be shewed when full revenge is made. "Another no less forward than he, at his return from thence, could addthus much: "He is a fool that maketh account of any religion, but morefool that will lose any part of his wealth or will come in trouble forconstant leaning to any; but if he yield to lose his life for hispossession, he is stark mad, and worthy to be taken for most fool ofall the rest. " This gay booty got these gentlemen by going Into Italy;and hereby a man may see what fruit is afterward to be looked for wheresuch blossoms do appear. "I care not, " saith a third, "what you talk tome of God, so as I may have the prince and the laws of the realm on myside. " Such men as this last are easily known; for they have learned inItaly to go up and down also in England with pages at their heelsfinely apparelled, whose face and countenance shall be such as sheweththe master not to be blind in his choice. But lest I should offend toomuch, I pass over to say any more of these Italianates and theirdemeanour, which, alas! is too open and manifest to the world, and yetnot called into question. 

Citizens and burgesses have next place to gentlemen, who be those thatare free within the cities, and are of some likely substance to bearoffice in the same. But these citizens or burgesses are to serve thecommonwealth in their cities and boroughs, or in corporate towns wherethey dwell, and in the common assembly of the realm wherein our lawsare made (for in the counties they bear but little sway), whichassembly is called the High Court of Parliament: the ancient citiesappoint four and the borough two burgesses to have voices in it, andgive their consent or dissent unto such things as pass, to stay therein the name of the city or borough for which they are appointed. 

In this place also are our merchants to be installed as amongst thecitizens (although they often change estate with gentlemen, asgentlemen do with them, by a mutual conversion of the one into theother), whose number is so increased in these our days that theironly maintenance is the cause of the exceeding prices of foreignwares, which otherwise, when every nation was permitted to bring inher own commodities, were far better, cheaper, and more plentifullyto be had. Of the want of our commodities here at home, by theirgreat transportation of them into other countries, I speak not, siththe matter will easily betray itself. Certes among the Lacedæmoniansit was found out that great numbers of merchants were nothing to thefurtherance of the state of the commonwealth: wherefore it is to bewished that the huge heap of them were somewhat restrained, as alsoof our lawyers, so should the rest live more easily upon their own, and few honest chapmen be brought to decay by breaking of thebankrupt. I do not deny but that the navy of the land is in partmaintained by their traffic, and so are the high prices of wares keptup, now they have gotten the only sale of things upon pretence ofbetter furtherance of the commonwealth into their own hands: whereasin times past, when the strange bottoms were suffered to come in, wehad sugar for fourpence the pound, that now at the writing of thisTreatise is well worth half-a-crown; raisins or currants for a pennythat now are holden at sixpence, and sometimes at eightpence andtenpence the pound; nutmegs at twopence halfpenny the ounce, gingerat a penny an ounce, prunes at halfpenny farthing, great raisinsthree pounds for a penny, cinnamon at fourpence the ounce, cloves attwopence, and pepper at twelve and sixteen pence the pound. Wherebywe may see the sequel of things not always, but very seldom, to besuch as is pretended in the beginning. The wares that they carry outof the realm are for the most part broad clothes and carsies[10] ofall colours, likewise cottons, friezes, rugs, tin, wool, our bestbeer, baize, bustian, mockadoes (tufted and plain), rash, lead, fells, etc. : which, being shipped at sundry ports of our coasts, areborne from thence into all quarters of the world, and there eitherexchanged for other wares or ready money, to the great gain andcommodity of our merchants. And whereas in times past their chieftrade was into Spain, Portugal, France, Flanders, Danske (Denmark), Norway, Scotland, and Ireland only, now in these days, as men notcontented with these journeys, they have sought out the East and WestIndies, and made now and then suspicious voyages, not only unto theCanaries and New Spain, but likewise into Cathay, Muscovy, andTartaria, and the regions thereabout, from whence (as they say) theybring home great commodities. But alas! I see not by all their travelthat the prices of things are any whit abated. Certes this enormity(for so I do account of it) was sufficiently provided for (Ann. 9Edward III. ) by a noble statute made in that behalf, but upon whatoccasion the general execution thereof is stayed or not called on, ingood sooth, I cannot tell. This only I know, that every function andseveral vocation striveth with other, which of them should have allthe water of commodity run into her own cistern. 

 [10] Kerseys. 

Yeomen are those which by our law are called _Legales homines_, freemen born English, and may dispend of their own free land in yearlyrevenue to the sum of forty shillings sterling, or six pounds as moneygoeth in our times. Some are of the opinion, by Cap. 2 Rich. 2 Ann. 20, that they are the same which the Frenchmen call varlets, but, asthat phrase is used in my time, it is very unlikely to be so. Thetruth is that the word is derived from the Saxon term, _Zeoman_, or_Geoman_, which signifieth (as I have read) a settled or staid man, such I mean as, being married and of some years, betaketh himself tostay in the place of his abode for the better maintenance of himselfand his family, whereof the single sort have no regard, but are likelyto be still fleeting now hither now thither, which argueth want ofstability in determination and resolution of judgment, for theexecution of things of any importance. This sort of people have acertain pre-eminence, and more estimation than labourers and thecommon sort of artificers, and these commonly live wealthily, keepgood houses, and travel to get riches. They are also for the most partfarmers to gentlemen (in old time called _Pagani, et opponunturmilitibus_, and therefore Persius calleth himself _Semipaganus_), orat the leastwise artificers, and with grazing, frequenting of markets, and keeping of servants (not idle servants, as the gentlemen do, butsuch as get both their own and part of their masters' living), do cometo great wealth, insomuch that many of them are able and do buy thelands of unthrifty gentlemen, and often setting their sons to theschools, to the universities, and to the Inns of the Court, or, otherwise leaving them sufficient lands whereupon they may livewithout labour, do make them by those means to become gentlemen. Thesewere they that in times past made all France afraid. And albeit theybe not called "Master, " as gentlemen are, or "Sir, " as to knightsappertaineth, but only "John" and "Thomas, " etc. , yet have they beenfound to have done very good service. 

The kings of England in foughten battles were wont to remain amongthem (who were their footmen) as the French kings did amongst theirhorsemen, the prince thereby shewing where his chief strength didconsist. 

The fourth and last sort of people in England are day-labourers, poorhusbandmen, and some retailers (which have no free land) copyholders, and all artificers, as tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, brickmakers, masons, etc. [11]

 [11] Capite censi, or Proletarii--H. 

As for slaves and bondmen, we have none; nay, such is the privilegeof our country by the especial grace of God and bounty of ourprinces, that if any come hither from other realms, so soon as theyset foot on land they become so free of condition as their masters, whereby all note of servile bondage is utterly removed from them, wherein we resemble (not the Germans, who had slaves also, thoughsuch as in respect of the slaves of other countries might well bereputed free, but) the old Indians and the Taprobanes, [12] whosupposed it a great injury to Nature to make or suffer them to bebond, whom she in her wonted course doth product and bring forthfree. This fourth and last sort of people therefore have neithervoice nor authority in the commonwealth, but are to be ruled and notto rule other: yet they are not altogether neglected, for in citiesand corporate towns, for default of yeomen, they are fain to make uptheir inquests of such manner of people. And in villages they arecommonly made churchwardens, sidesmen, aleconners, now and thenconstables, and many times enjoy the name of head boroughs. Unto thissort also may our great swarms of idle serving-men be referred, ofwhom there runneth a proverb, "Young servingmen, old beggars, "because service is none heritage. These men are profitable to none;for, if their condition be well perused, they are enemies to theirmasters; to their friends, and to themselves: for by them oftentimestheir masters are encouraged unto unlawful exactions of theirtenants, their friends brought unto poverty by their rents enhanced, and they themselves brought to confusion by their own prodigality anderrors, as men that, having not wherewith of their own to maintaintheir excesses, do search in highways, budgets, coffers, mails, andstables, which way to supply their wants. How divers of them also, coveting to bear an high sail, do insinuate themselves with younggentlemen and noblemen newly come to their lands, the case is toomuch apparent, whereby the good natures of the parties are not only alittle impaired, but also their livelihoods and revenues so wastedand consumed that, if at all, yet not in many years, they shall beable to recover themselves. It were very good therefore that thesuperfluous heaps of them were in part diminished. And sincenecessity enforceth to have some, yet let wisdom moderate theirnumbers, so shall their masters be rid of unnecessary charge, and thecommonwealth of many thieves. No nation cherisheth such store of themas we do here in England, in hope of which maintenance many givethemselves to idleness that otherwise would be brought to labour, andlive in order like subjects. Of their whoredoms I will not speakanything at all, more than of their swearing; yet is it found thatsome of them do make the first a chief pillar of their building, consuming not only the goods but also the health and welfare of manyhonest gentlemen, citizens, wealthy yeomen, etc. , by such unlawfuldealings. But how far have I waded in this point, or how far may Isail in such a large sea? I will therefore now stay to speak any moreof those kind of men. In returning therefore to my matter, thisfurthermore among other things I have to say of our husbandmen andartificers, that they were never so excellent in their trades as atthis present. But as the workmanship of the latter sort was newer, more fine, and curious to the eye, so was it never less strong andsubstantial for continuance and benefit of the buyers. Neither isthere anything that hurteth the common sort of our artificers morethan haste, and a barbarous or slavish desire to turn the penny, and, by ridding their work, to make speedy utterance of their wares: whichenforceth them to bungle up and despatch many things they care nothow so they be out of their hands, whereby the buyer is often soredefrauded, and findeth to his cost that haste maketh waste, accordingto the proverb. 

 [12] The Ceylonese. The Greek name for the island of Ceylon was Taprobane, which Harrison used merely as a classical scholar. --W. 

Oh, how many trades and handicrafts are now in England whereof thecommonwealth hath no need! How many needful commodities have we whichare perfected with great cost, etc. , and yet may with far more easeand less cost be provided from other countries if we could use themeans! I will not speak of iron, glass, and such like, which spoilmuch wood, and yet are brought from other countries better cheap thanwe can make them here at home; I could exemplify also in many other. But to leave these things and proceed with our purpose, and herein (asoccasion serveth) generally, by way of conclusion, to speak of thecommonwealth of England, I find that it is governed and maintained bythree sorts of persons--

1. The prince, monarch, and head governor, which is called the king, or (if the crown fall to a woman) the queen: in whose name and bywhose authority all things are administered. 

2. The gentlemen which be divided into two sorts, as the barony orestate of lords (which containeth barons and all above that degree), and also those that be no lords, as knights, esquires, and simplegentlemen, as I have noted already. Out of these also are the greatdeputies and high presidents chosen, of which one serveth in Ireland, as another did some time in Calais, and the captain now at Berwick, asone lord president doth govern in Wales, and the other the north partsof this island, which later, with certain counsellors and judges, wereerected by King Henry the Eighth. But, for so much as I have touchedtheir conditions elsewhere, it shall be enough to have remembered themat this time. 

3. The third and last sort is named the yeomanry, of whom and theirsequel, the labourers and artificers, I have said somewhat even now. Whereto I add that they may not be called _masters_ and _gentlemen_, but _goodmen_, as Goodman Smith, Goodman Coot, Goodman Cornell, Goodman Mascall, Goodman Cockswet, etc. , and in matters of law theseand the like are called thus, _Giles Jewd, yeoman; Edward Mountford, yeoman; James Cocke, yeoman; Harry Butcher, yeoman_, etc. ; by whichaddition they are exempt from the vulgar and common sorts. Catocalleth them "_Aratores et optimos cives rei publicæ_, " of whom alsoyou may read more in the book of commonwealth which Sir Thomas Smithsome time penned of this land. 

CHAPTER II

OF CITIES AND TOWNS IN ENGLAND

[1577, Book II. , Chapter 7, 1587, Book II. , Chapter 13. ]

As in old time we read that there were eight-and-twenty flamines andarchflamines in the south part of this isle, and so many great citiesunder their jurisdiction, so in these our days there is but one ortwo fewer, and each of them also under the ecclesiastical regiment ofsome one bishop or archbishop, who in spiritual cases have the chargeand oversight of the same. So many cities therefore are there inEngland and Wales as there be bishoprics and archbishoprics. [1] For, notwithstanding that Lichfield and Coventry and Bath and Wells do seemto extend the aforesaid number unto nine-and-twenty, yet neither ofthese couples are to be accounted but as one entire city and see ofthe bishop, sith one bishopric can have relation but unto one see, andthe said see be situate but in one place, after which the bishop dothtake his name. [2]. . . 

 [1] If Harrison means to give us the impression that a city has any direct connection with episcopal affairs, he is quite in error. Cities are distinctly royal and imperial institutions. The accident of the number of cities and sees being the same comes from the natural tendency of the two institutions to drift together, though of distinct origin--W. 

 [2] Here follows a long and learned disquisition upon the Roman and other early towns, especially about St. Albans, a portion of which will be found in the Appendix. --W. 

Certes I would gladly set down, with the names and number of thecities, all the towns and villages in England and Wales with theirtrue longitudes and latitudes, but as yet I cannot come by them insuch order as I would; howbeit the tale of our cities is soon found bythe bishoprics, sith every see hath such prerogative given unto it asto bear the name of a city and to use _Regaleius_ within her ownlimits. Which privilege also is granted to sundry ancient towns inEngland, especially northward, where more plenty of them is to befound by a great deal than in the south, The names therefore of ourcities are these: London, York, Canterbury, Winchester, Carlisle, Durham, Ely, Norwich, Lincoln, Worcester, Gloucester, Hereford, Salisbury, Exeter, Bath, Lichfield, Bristol, Rochester, Chester, Chichester, Oxford, Peterborough, Llandaff, St. Davids, Bangor, St. Asaph, whose particular plots and models, with their descriptions, shall ensue, if it may be brought to pass that the cutters can makedespatch of them before this history be published. 

Of towns and villages likewise thus much will I say, that there weregreater store in old time (I mean within three or four hundred yearspassed) than at this present. And this I note out of divers records, charters, and donations (made in times past unto sundry religioushouses, as Glastonbury, Abingdon, Ramsey, Ely, and such like), andwhereof in these days I find not so much as the ruins. Leland, insundry places, complaineth likewise of the decay of parishes in greatcities and towns, missing in some six or eight or twelve churches andmore, of all which he giveth particular notice. For albeit that theSaxons builded many towns and villages, and the Normans well more attheir first coming, yet since the first two hundred years after thelatter conquest, they have gone so fast again to decay that theancient number of them is very much abated. Ranulph, the monk ofChester, telleth of general survey made in the fourth, sixteenth, andnineteenth of the reign of William Conqueror, surnamed the Bastard, wherein it was found that (notwithstanding the Danes had overthrown agreat many) there were to the number of 52, 000 towns, 45, 002 parishchurches, and 75, 000 knights' fees, whereof the clergy held 28, 015. Headdeth moreover that there were divers other builded since that time, within the space of a hundred years after the coming of the Bastard, as it were in lieu or recompense of those that William Rufus pulleddown for the erection of his New Forest. For by an old book which Ihave, and some time written as it seemeth by an under-sheriff ofNottingham, I find even in the time of Edward IV. 45, 120 parishchurches, and but 60, 216 knights' fees, whereof the clergy held asbefore 28, 015, or at the least 28, 000; for so small is the differencewhich he doth seem to use. Howbeit, if the assertions of such as writein our time concerning this matter either are or ought to be of anycredit in this behalf, you shall not find above 17, 000 towns andvillages, and 9210 in the whole, which is little more than a fourthpart of the aforesaid number, if it be thoroughly scanned. [3]. . . 

 [3] Here follows an allusion to the decay of Eastern cities. --W. 

In time past in Lincoln (as the same goeth) there have beentwo-and-fifty parish churches, and good record appeareth foreight-and-thirty, but now, if there be four-and-twenty, it is all. This inconvenience hath grown altogether to the church byappropriations made unto monasteries and religious houses--a terriblecanker and enemy to religion. 

But to leave this lamentable discourse of so notable and grievous aninconvenience, growing as I said by encroaching and joining of houseto house and laying land to land, whereby the inhabitants of manyplaces of our country are devoured and eaten up, and their houseseither altogether pulled down or suffered to decay little by little, although some time a poor man per adventure doth dwell in one of them, who, not being able to repair it, suffereth it to fall down--andthereto thinketh himself very friendly dealt withal, if he may have anacre of ground assigned unto him, wherein to keep a cow, or wherein toset cabbages, radishes, parsnips, carrots, melons, pompons, [4] or suchlike stuff, by which he and his poor household liveth as by theirprincipal food, sith they can do no better. And as for wheaten bread, they eat it when they can reach unto the price of it, contentingthemselves in the meantime with bread made of oats or barley: a poorestate, God wot! Howbeit, what care our great encroachers? But indivers places where rich men dwelled some time in good tenements, there be now no houses at all, but hop-yards, and sheds for poles, orperadventure gardens, as we may see in Castle Hedingham, and diversother places. But to proceed. 

 [4] The old and proper form of the modern pumpkin. --W. 

It is so that, our soil being divided into champaign ground andwoodland, the houses of the first lie uniformly builded in every towntogether, with streets and lanes; whereas in the woodland countries(except here and there in great market towns) they stand scatteredabroad, each one dwelling in the midst of his own occupying. And as inmany and most great market towns, there are commonly three hundred orfour hundred families or mansions, and two thousand communicants (orperadventure more), so in the other, whether they be woodland orchampaign, we find not often above forty, fifty, or three scorehouseholds, and two or three hundred communicants, whereof thegreatest part nevertheless are very poor folks, oftentimes without allmanner of occupying, sith the ground of the parish is gotten up into afew men's hands, yea sometimes into the tenure of one or two or three, whereby the rest are compelled either to be hired servants unto theother or else to beg their bread in misery from door to door. 

There are some (saith Leland) which are not so favourable, when theyhave gotten such lands, as to let the houses remain upon them to theuse of the poor; but they will compound with the lord of the soil topull them down for altogether, saying that "if they did let themstand, they should but toll beggars to the town, thereby to surchargethe rest of the parish, and lay more burden upon them. " But alas!these pitiful men see not that they themselves hereby do lay thegreatest log upon their neighbours' necks. For, sith the prince dothcommonly loose nothing of his duties accustomable to be paid, the restof the parishioners that remain must answer and bear them out: forthey plead more charge other ways, saying: "I am charged already witha light horse; I am to answer in this sort, and after that matter. "And it is not yet altogether out of knowledge that, where the king hadseven pounds thirteen shillings at a task gathered of fifty wealthyhouseholders of a parish in England, now, a gentleman having threeparts of the town in his own hands, four households do bear all theaforesaid payment, or else Leland is deceived in his _Commentaries_, lib. 13, lately come to my hands, which thing he especially noted inhis travel over this isle. A common plague and enormity, both in theheart of the land and likewise upon the coasts. Certes a great numbercomplain of the increase of poverty, laying the cause upon God, asthough he were in fault for sending such increase of people, or wantof wars that should consume them, affirming that the land was never sofull, etc. ; but few men do see the very root from whence it dothproceed. Yet the Romans found it out, when they flourished, andtherefore prescribed limits to every man's tenure and occupying. Homercommendeth Achilles for overthrowing of five-and-twenty cities: but inmine opinion Ganges is much better preferred by Suidas for building ofthree score in India, where he did plant himself. I could (if needrequired) set down in this place the number of religious houses andmonasteries, with the names of their founders, that have been in thisisland: but, sith it is a thing of small importance, I pass it over asimpertinent to my purpose. Yet herein I will commend sundry of themonastical votaries, especially monks, for that they were authors ofmany goodly borowes and endwares, [5] near unto their dwellingsalthough otherwise they pretended to be men separated from the world. But alas! their covetous minds, one way in enlarging their revenues, and carnal intent another, appeared herein too, too much. For, beingbold from time to time to visit their tenants, they wrought oft greatwickedness, and made those endwares little better than brothel-houses, especially where nunneries were far off, or else no safe access untothem. But what do I spend my time in the rehearsal of thesefilthinesses? Would to God the memory of them might perish with themalefactors! My purpose was also at the end of this chapter to haveset down a table of the parish churches and market towns throughoutall England and Wales; but, sith I cannot perform the same as I would, I am forced to give over my purpose; yet by these few that ensue youshall easily see what I would have used according to the shires, if Imight have brought it to pass. 

 [5] The first is a variant on a Keltic, the second on a Saxon word, both relating to matters sufficiently indicated in the text. --W. 

Shires. Market Towns. Parishes. 

Middlesex 3 73London within the walls and without 120Surrey 6 140Sussex 18 312Kent 17 398Cambridge 4 163Bedford 9 13Huntingdon 5 78Rutland 2 47Berkshire 11 150Northampton 10 326Buckingham 11 196Oxford 10 216Southampton 18 248Dorset 19 279Norfolk 26 625Suffolk 25 575Essex 18 415

And these I had of a friend of mine, by whose travel and his master'sexcessive charges I doubt not but my countrymen ere long shall see allEngland set forth in several shires after the same manner thatOrtelius hath dealt with other countries of the main, to the greatbenefit of our nation and everlasting fame of the aforesaid parties. 

CHAPTER III

OF GARDENS AND ORCHARDS

[1587, Book II. , Chapter 20. ]

After such time as Calais was won from the French, and that ourcountrymen had learned to trade into divers countries (whereby theygrew rich), they began to wax idle also, and thereupon not only leftoff their former painfulness and frugality, but in like sort gavethemselves to live in excess and vanity, whereby many goodlycommodities failed, and in short time were not to be had amongst us. Such strangers also as dwelled here with us, perceiving oursluggishness, and espying that this idleness of ours might redound totheir great profit, forthwith employed their endeavors to bring in thesupply of such things as we lacked continually from foreign countries, which yet more augmented our idleness. For, having all things atreasonable prices (as we supposed) by such means from them, we thoughtit mere madness to spend either time or cost about the same here athome. And thus we became enemies to our own welfare, as men that inthose days reposed our felicity in following the wars, wherewith wewere often exercised both at home and other places. Besides this, thenatural desire that mankind hath to esteem of things far sought, because they be rare and costly, and the irksome contempt of thingsnear hand, for that they are common and plentiful, hath borne no smallsway also in this behalf amongst us. For hereby we have neglected ourown good gifts of God, growing here at home, as vile and of no value, and had every trifle and toy in admiration that is brought hither fromfar countries, ascribing I wot not what great forces and solemnestimation unto them, until they also have waxen old, after which theyhave been so little regarded, if not more despised, amongst us thanour own. Examples hereof I could set down many and in many things;but, sith my purpose is to deal at this time with gardens andorchards, it shall suffice that I touch them only, and show ourinconstancy in the same, so far as shall seem and be convenient for myturn. I comprehend therefore under the word "garden" all such groundsas are wrought with the spade by man's hand, for so the caserequireth. 

Of wine I have written already elsewhere sufficiently, which commodity(as I have learned further since the penning of that book) hath beenvery plentiful in this island, not only in the time of the Romans, butalso since the Conquest, as I have seen by record; yet at this presenthave we none at all (or else very little to speak of) growing in thisisland, which I impute not unto the soil, but the negligence of mycountrymen. Such herbs, fruits, and roots also as grow yearly out ofthe ground, of seed, have been very plentiful in this land, in thetime of the first Edward, and after his days; but in process of timethey grew also to be neglected, so that from Henry the Fourth till thelatter end of Henry the Seventh and beginning of Henry the Eighth, there was little or no use of them in England, but they remainedeither unknown or supposed as food more meet for hogs and savagebeasts to feed upon than mankind. Whereas in my time their use is notonly resumed among the poor commons. I mean of melons, pompons, gourds, cucumbers, radishes, skirets, [1] parsnips, carrots, cabbages, navews, [2] turnips, and all kinds of salad herbs--but also fed upon asdainty dishes at the tables of delicate merchants, gentlemen, and thenobility, who make their provision yearly for new seeds out of strangecountries, from whence they have them abundantly. Neither do they nowstay with such of these fruits as are wholesome in their kinds, butadventure further upon such as are very dangerous and hurtful, as theverangenes, mushrooms, etc. , as if nature had ordained all for thebelly, or that all things were to be eaten for whose mischievousoperation the Lord in some measure hath given and provided a remedy. 

 [1] A vegetable something like a carrot. 

 [2] A kind of turnip. 

Hops in time past were plentiful in this land. Afterwards also theirmaintenance did cease. And now, being revived, where are any betterto be found? Where any greater commodity to be raised by them? Onlypoles are accounted to be their greatest charge. But, sith men havelearned of late to sow ashen kexes in ashyards by themselves, thatinconvenience in short time will be redressed. 

Madder hath grown abundantly in this island, but of long timeneglected, and now a little revived, and offereth itself to prove nosmall benefit unto our country, as many other things else, which arenow fetched from us: as we before time, when we gave ourselves toidleness, were glad to have them other. 

If you look into our gardens annexed to our houses, how wonderfully istheir beauty increased, not only with flowers, which Columella calleth_Terrena sydera_[3] saying, "_Pingit et in varios terrestria sydera flores_, "[4]

and variety of curious and costly workmanship, but also with rare andmedicinable herbs sought up in the land within these forty years: sothat, in comparison of this present, the ancient gardens were butdunghills and laistowes, [5] to such as did possess them. How art alsohelpeth nature in the daily colouring, doubling, and enlarging theproportion of our flowers, it is incredible to report: for so curiousand cunning are our gardeners now in these days that they presume todo in manner what they list with nature, and moderate her course inthings as if they were her superiors. It is a world also to see howmany strange herbs, plants, and annual fruits are daily brought untous from the Indies, Americans, Taprobane, Canary Isles, and all partsof the world: the which, albeit that in respect of the constitutionsof our bodies they do not grow for us (because that God hath bestowedsufficient commodities upon every country for her own necessity), yet, for delectation sake unto the eye and their odoriferous savours untothe nose, they are to be cherished, and God to be glorified also inthem, because they are his good gifts, and created to do man help andservice. There is not almost one nobleman, gentleman, or merchant thathath not great store of these flowers, which now also do begin to waxso well acquainted with our soils that we may almost account of themas parcel of our own commodities. They have no less regard in likesort to cherish medicinable herbs fetched out of other regions nearerhand, insomuch that I have seen in some one garden to the number ofthree hundred or four hundred of them, if not more, of the half ofwhose names within forty years past we had no manner of knowledge. Butherein I find some cause of just complaint, for that we extol theiruses so far that we fall into contempt of our own, which are in truthmore beneficial and apt for us than such as grow elsewhere, sith (as Isaid before) every region hath abundantly within her own limitswhatsoever is needful and most convenient for them that dwell therein. How do men extol the use of tobacco in my time, whereas in truth(whether the cause be in the repugnancy of our constitution unto theoperation thereof, or that the ground doth alter her force, I cannottell) it is not found of so great efficacy as they write. And besidethis, our common germander or thistle benet is found and known to beso wholesome and of so great power in medicine as any other herb, ifthey be used accordingly. I could exemplify after the like manner insundry other, as the _Salsa parilla, Mochoacan_, etc. , but I forbearso to do, because I covet to be brief. And truly, the estimation andcredit that we yield and give unto compound medicines made withforeign drugs is one great cause wherefore the full knowledge and useof our own simples hath been so long raked up in the embers. And asthis may be verified so to be one sound conclusion, for, the greaternumber of simples that go unto any compound medicine, the greaterconfusion is found therein, because the qualities and operations ofvery few of the particulars are thoroughly known. And even so ourcontinual desire of strange drugs, whereby the physician andapothecary only hath the benefit, is no small cause that the use ofour simples here at home doth go to loss, and that we tread thoseherbs under our feet, whose forces if we knew, and could apply them toour necessities, we would honour and have in reverence as to theircase behoveth. Alas! what have we to do with such Arabian and Grecianstuff as is daily brought from those parties which lie in anotherclime? And therefore the bodies of such as dwell there are of anotherconstitution than ours are here at home. Certes they grow not for us, but for the Arabians and Grecians. And albeit that they may by skillbe applied unto our benefit, yet to be more skilful in them than inour own is folly; and to use foreign wares, when our own may serve theturn, is more folly; but to despise our own, and magnify above measurethe use of them that are sought and brought from far, is most folly ofall: for it savoureth of ignorance, or at the leastwise of negligence, and therefore worthy of reproach. 

 [3] Earthly stars. 

 [4] "And paints terrestrial constellations with varied flowers. "

 [5] Refuse-heaps. 

Among the Indians, who have the most present cures for every diseaseof their own nation, there is small regard of compound medicines, andless of foreign drugs, because they neither know them nor can usethem, but work wonders even with their own simples. With them also thedifference of the clime doth show her full effect. For, whereas theywill heal one another in short time with application of one simple, etc. , if a Spaniard or Englishman stand in need of their help, theyare driven to have a longer space in their cures, and now and thenalso to use some addition of two or three simples at the most, whoseforces unto them are thoroughly known, because their exercise is onlyin their own, as men that never sought or heard what virtue was inthose that came from other countries. And even so did Marcus Cato, thelearned Roman, endeavour to deal in his cures of sundry diseases, wherein he not only used such simples as were to be had in his owncountry, but also examined and learned the forces of each of them, wherewith he dealt so diligently that in all his lifetime he couldattain to the exact knowledge but of a few, and thereto wrote of thosemost learnedly, as would easily be seen if those his books wereextant. For the space also of six hundred years the colewort only wasa medicine in Rome for all diseases, so that his virtues werethoroughly known in those parts. * * *

For my part, I doubt not if the use of outlandish drugs had notblinded our physicians of England in times past, but that the virtuesof our simples here at home would have been far better known, and sowell unto us as those of India are to the practitioners of thoseparts, and thereunto be found more profitable for us than the foreigneither are or may be. This also will I add, that even those which aremost common by reason of their plenty, and most vile because of theirabundance, are not without some universal and special efficacy, if itwere known, for our benefit: sith God in nature hath so disposed hiscreatures that the most needful are the most plentiful and serving forsuch general diseases as our constitution most commonly is affectedwithal. Great thanks therefore be given unto the physicians of our ageand country, who not only endeavour to search out the use of suchsimples as our soil doth yield and bring forth, but also to procuresuch as grow elsewhere, upon purpose so to acquaint them with ourclime that they in time, through some alteration received from thenature of the earth, may likewise turn to our benefit and commodityand be used as our own. 

The chief workman (or, as I may call him, the founder of this device)is Carolus Clusius, the noble herbarist whose industry hathwonderfully stirred them up into this good act. For albeit thatMatthiolus, Rembert, Lobell, and others have travelled very far inthis behalf, yet none hath come near to Clusius, much less gonefurther in the finding and true descriptions of such herbs as of lateare brought to light. I doubt not but, if this man were in England butone seven years, he would reveal a number of herbs growing with uswhereof neither our physicians nor apothecaries as yet have anyknowledge. And even like thanks be given unto our nobility, gentlemen, and others, for their continual nutriture and cherishing of suchhomeborne and foreign simples in their gardens: for hereby they shallnot only be had at hand and preserved, but also their forms made morefamiliar to be discerned and their forces better known than hithertothey have been. 

And even as it fareth with our gardens, so doth it with our orchards, which were never furnished with so good fruit nor with such variety asat this present. For, beside that we have most delicate apples, plums, pears, walnuts, filberts, etc. , and those of sundry sorts, plantedwithin forty years past, in comparison of which most of the old treesare nothing worth, so have we no less store of strange fruit, asapricots, almonds, peaches, figs, corn-trees[6] in noblemen'sorchards. I have seen capers, oranges, and lemons, and heard of wildolives growing here, beside other strange trees, brought from far, whose names I know not. So that England for these commodities wasnever better furnished, neither any nation under their clime moreplentifully endued with these and other blessings from the most highGod, who grant us grace withal to use the same to his honour andglory! And not as instruments and provocations into further excess andvanity, wherewith his displeasure may be kindled, lest these hisbenefits do turn unto thorns and briers unto us for our annoyance andpunishment, which he hath bestowed upon us for our consolation andcomfort. 

 [6] Probably _cornels_. 

We have in like sort such workmen as are not only excellent ingrafting the natural fruits, but their artificial mixtures, wherebyone tree bringeth forth sundry fruits, and one and the same fruit ofdivers colours and tastes, dallying as it were with nature and hercourse, as if her whole trade were perfectly known unto them: of hardfruits they will make tender, of sour sweet, of sweet yet moredelicate, bereaving also some of their kernels, other of their cores, and finally enduing them with the savour of musk, amber, or sweetspices, at their pleasures. Divers also have written at large of theseseveral practices, and some of them how to convert the kernels ofpeaches into almonds, of small fruit to make far greater, and toremove or add superfluous or necessary moisture to the trees, withother things belonging to their preservation, and with no lessdiligence than our physicians do commonly show upon our own diseasedbodies, which to me doth seem right strange. And even so do ourgardeners with their herbs, whereby they are strengthened againstnoisome blasts, and preserved from putrefaction and hindrance: wherebysome such as were annual are now made perpetual, being yearly takenup, and either reserved in the house, or, having the ross pulled fromtheir roots, laid again into the earth, where they remain in safety. With choice they make also in their waters, and wherewith some of themdo now and then keep them moist, it is a world to see, insomuch thatthe apothecaries' shops may seem to be needful also to our gardens andorchards, and that in sundry wise: nay, the kitchen itself is so farfrom being able to be missed among them that even the very dish-wateris not without some use amongst our finest plants. Whereby, and sundryother circumstances not here to be remembered, I am persuaded that, albeit the gardens of the Hesperides were in times past so greatlyaccounted of, because of their delicacy, yet, if it were possible tohave such an equal judge as by certain knowledge of both were able topronounce upon them, I doubt not but he would give the prize unto thegardens of our days, and generally over all Europe, in comparison ofthose times wherein the old exceeded. Pliny and others speak of a rosethat had three score leaves growing upon one button: but if I shouldtell of one which bare a triple number unto that proportion, I know Ishall not be believed, and no great matter though I were not; howbeitsuch a one was to be seen in Antwerp, 1585, as I have heard, and Iknow who might have had a slip or stallon thereof, if he would haveventured ten pounds upon the growth of the same, which should havebeen but a tickle hazard, and therefore better undone, as I did alwaysimagine. For mine own part, good reader, let me boast a little of mygarden, which is but small, and the whole area thereof little above300 foot of ground, and yet, such hath been my good luck in purchaseof the variety of simples, that, notwithstanding my small ability, there are very near three hundred of one sort and other containedtherein, no one of them being common or usually to be had. Iftherefore my little plot, void of all cost in keeping, be so wellfurnished, what shall we think of those of Hampton Court, Nonsuch, Tibaults, Cobham Garden, and sundry others appertaining to diverscitizens of London, whom I could particularly name, if I should notseem to offend them by such my demeanour and dealing. 

CHAPTER IV

OF FAIRS AND MARKETS

[1577, Book II. , Chapter 11; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 18. ]

There are (as I take it) few great towns in England that have nottheir weekly markets, one or more granted from the prince, in whichall manner of provision for household is to be bought and sold, forease and benefit of the country round about. Whereby, as it cometh topass that no buyer shall make any great journey in the purveyance ofhis necessities, so no occupier shall have occasion to travel far offwith his commodities, except it be to seek for the highest prices, which commonly are near unto great cities, where round[1] andspeediest utterance[2] is always to be had. And, as these have been intimes past erected for the benefit of the realm, so are they in manyplaces too, too much abused: for the relief and ease of the buyer isnot so much intended in them as the benefit of the seller. Neither arethe magistrates for the most part (as men loath to displease theirneighbours for their one year's dignity) so careful in their officesas of right and duty they should be. For, in most of these markets, neither assizes of bread nor orders for goodness and sweetness ofgrain and other commodities that are brought thither to be sold areany whit looked unto, but each one suffered to sell or set up what andhow himself listeth: and this is one evident cause of dearth andscarcity in time of great abundance. 

 [1] Direct. 

 [2] Market. 

I could (if I would) exemplify in many, but I will touch no oneparticularly, sith it is rare to see in any country town (as I said)the assize of bread well kept according to the statute; and yet, ifany country baker happen to come in among them on the market day withbread of better quantity, they find fault by-and-by with one thing orother in his stuff, whereby the honest poor man (whom the law ofnations do commend, for that he endeavoureth to live by any lawfulmeans) is driven away, and no more to come there, upon some roundpenalty, by virtue of their privileges. Howbeit, though they are sonice in the proportion of their bread, yet, in lieu of the same, thereis such heady ale and beer in most of them as for the mightinessthereof among such as seek it out is commonly called "huffcap, " "themad dog, " "Father Whoreson, " "angels' food, " "dragon's milk, ""go-by-the-wall, " "stride wide, " and "lift leg, " etc. And this is moreto be noted, that when one of late fell by God's providence into atroubled conscience, after he had considered well of his reachlesslife and dangerous estate, another, thinking belike to change hiscolour and not his mind, carried him straight away to the strongestale, as to the next physician. It is incredible to say how ourmalt-bugs lug at this liquor, even as pigs should lie in a row luggingat their dame's teats, till they lie still again and be not able towag. Neither did Romulus and Remus suck their she-wolf or shepherd'swife Lupa with such eager and sharp devotion as these men hale at"huffcap, " till they be red as cocks and little wiser than theircombs. But how am I fallen from the market into the ale-house? Inreturning therefore unto my purpose, I find that in corn great abuseis daily suffered, to the great prejudice of the town and country, especially the poor artificer and householder, which tilleth no land, but, labouring all the week to buy a bushel or two of grain on themarket day, can there have none for his money: because bodgers, loaders, and common carriers of corn do not only buy up all, but giveabove the price, to be served of great quantities. Shall I go anyfurther? Well, I will say yet a little more, and somewhat by mine ownexperience. 

At Michaelmas time poor men must make money of their grain, that theymay pay their rents. So long then as the poor man hath to sell, richmen bring out none, but rather buy up that which the poor bring, underpretence of seed corn or alteration of grain, although they bring noneof their own, because one wheat often sown without change of seed willsoon decay and be converted into darnel. For this cause therefore theymust needs buy in the markets, though they be twenty miles off, andwhere they be not known, promising there, if they happen to be espied(which, God wot, is very seldom), to send so much to their nextmarket, to be performed I wot not when. 

If this shift serve not (neither doth the fox use always one track forfear of a snare), they will compound with some one of the town wherethe market is holden, who for a pot of "huffcap" or "merry-go-down, "will not let to buy it for them, and that in his own name. Or elsethey wage one poor man or other to become a bodger, and thereto gethim a licence upon some forged surmise, which being done, they willfeed him with money to buy for them till he hath filled their lofts, and then, if he can do any good for himself, so it is; if not, theywill give him somewhat for his pains at this time, and reserve him foranother year. How many of the like providers stumble upon blind creeksat the sea coast, I wot not well; but that some have so done and yetdo under other men's wings, the case is too, too plain. But who darefind fault with them, when they have once a licence? yes, though it bebut to serve a mean gentleman's house with corn, who hath cast up allhis tillage, because he boasteth how he can buy his grain in themarket better cheap than he can sow his land, as the rich grazieroften doth also upon the like device, because grazing requireth asmaller household and less attendance and charge. If any man come tobuy a bushel or two for his expenses unto the market cross, answer ismade: "Forsooth, here was one even now that bade me money for it, andI hope he will have it. " And to say the truth, these bodgers are fairchapmen; for there are no more words with them, but _"Let me see it!What shall I give you? Knit it up! I will have it--go carry it to sucha chamber, and if you bring in twenty_ seme[3] _more in the weekday tosuch an inn or sollar[4] where I lay my corn, I will have it, and giveyou ( ) pence or more in every bushel for six weeks' day of paymentthan another will. "_ Thus the bodgers bear away all, so that the poorartificer and labourer cannot make his provision in the markets, siththey will hardly nowadays sell by the bushel, nor break their measure;and so much the rather for that the buyer will look (as they say) forso much over measure in the bushel as the bodger will do in a quarter. Nay, the poor man cannot oft get any of the farmer at home, because heprovideth altogether to serve the bodger, or hath an hope, groundedupon a greedy and insatiable desire of gain, that the sale will bebetter in the market, so that he must give twopence or a groat more inthe bushel at his house than the last market craved, or else gowithout it, and sleep with a hungry belly. Of the common carriage ofcorn over unto the parts beyond the seas I speak not; or at theleastwise, if I should, I could not touch it alone, but needs mustjoin other provision withal, whereby not only our friends abroad, butalso many of our adversaries and countrymen, the papists, areabundantly relieved (as the report goeth); but sith I see it not, Iwill not so trust mine ears as to write it for a truth. But to returnto our markets again. 

 [3] Horse-loads. 

 [4] Loft. 

By this time the poor occupier hath sold all his crop for need ofmoney, being ready peradventure to buy again ere long. And now is thewhole sale of corn in the great occupiers' hands, who hitherto havethreshed little or none of their own, but bought up of other men asmuch as they could come by. Henceforth also they begin to sell, not bythe quarter or load at the first (for marring the market) but by thebushel or two, or a horseload at the most, thereby to be seen to keepthe cross, either for a show, or to make men eager to buy, and so, asthey may have it for money, not to regard what they pay. And thus cornwaxeth dear; but it will be dearer the next market day. It is possiblealso that they mislike the price in the beginning for the whole yearensuing, as men supposing that corn will be little worth for this andof better price the next year. For they have certain superstitiousobservations whereby they will give a guess at the sale of corn forthe year following. And our countrymen do use commonly for barley, where I dwell, to judge after the price at Baldock upon St. Matthew'sday; and for wheat, as it is sold in seed time. They take in like sortexperiment by sight of the first flocks of cranes that flee southwardin winter, the age of the moon in the beginning of January, and suchother apish toys as by laying twelve corns upon the hot hearth for thetwelve months, etc. , whereby they shew themselves to be scant goodChristians; but what care they, so that they come by money? Hereuponalso will they thresh out three parts of the old corn, towards thelatter end of the summer, when new cometh apace to hand, and cast thesame in the fourth unthreshed, where it shall lie until the nextspring, or peradventure till it must and putrify. Certes it is notdainty to see musty corn in many of our great markets of England whichthese great occupiers bring forth when they can keep it no longer. Butas they are enforced oftentimes upon this one occasion somewhat toabate the price, so a plague is not seldom engendered thereby amongthe poorer sort that of necessity must buy the same, whereby manythousands of all degrees are consumed, of whose death (in mineopinion) these farmers are not unguilty. But to proceed. If they laynot up their grain or wheat in this manner, they have yet anotherpolicy, whereby they will seem to have but small store left in theirbarns: for else they will gird their sheaves by the band, and stack itup anew in less room, to the end it may not only seem less inquantity, but also give place to the corn that is yet to come into thebarn or growing in the field. If there happen to be such plenty in themarket on any market day that they cannot sell at their own price, then will they set it up in some friend's house, against another onthe third day, and not bring it forth till they like of the sale. Ifthey sell any at home, beside harder measure, it shall be dearer tothe poor man that buyeth it by twopence or a groat in a bushel thanthey may sell it in the market. But, as these things are worthyredress, so I wish that God would once open their eyes that deal thusto see their own errors: for as yet some of them little care how manypoor men suffer extremity, so that they fill their purses and carryaway the gain. 

It is a world also to see how most places of the realm are pesteredwith purveyors, who take up eggs, butter, cheese, pigs, capons, hens, chickens, hogs, bacon, etc. , in one market under pretence of theircommissions, and suffer their wives to sell the same in another, or topoulterers of London. If these chapmen be absent but two or threemarket days then we may perfectly see these wares to be morereasonably sold, and thereunto the crosses sufficiently furnished ofall things. In like sort, since the number of buttermen have so muchincreased, and since they travel in such wise that they come to men'shouses for their butter faster than they can make it, it is almostincredible to see how the price of butter is augmented: whereas whenthe owners were enforced to bring it to the market towns, and fewer ofthese butter buyers were stirring, our butter was scarcely wortheighteen pence the gallon that now is worth three shillings fourpenceand perhaps five shillings. Whereby also I gather that the maintenanceof a superfluous number of dealers in most trades, tillage alwaysexcepted, is one of the greatest causes why the prices of thingsbecame excessive: for one of them do commonly use to outbid another. And whilst our country commodities are commonly bought and sold at ourprivate houses, I never look to see this enormity redressed or themarkets well furnished. 

I could say more, but this is even enough, and more peradventure thanI shall be well thanked for: yet true it is, though some think it notrespass. This moreover is to be lamented, that one general measure isnot in use throughout all England, but every market town hath inmanner a several bushel; and the lesser it be, the more sellers itdraweth to resort unto the same. Such also is the covetousness of manyclerks of the market, that in taking a view of measures they willalways so provide that one and the same bushel shall be either too bigor too little at their next coming, and yet not depart without a feeat the first so that what by their mending at one time, and impairingthe same at another, the country is greatly charged, and few justmeasures to be had in any steed. It is oft found likewise that diversunconscionable dealers have one measure to sell by and another to buywithal; the like is also in weights, and yet all sealed and branded. Wherefore it were very good that these two were reduced unto onestandard, that is, one bushel, one pound, one quarter, one hundred, one tale, one number: so should things in time fall into better orderand fewer causes of contention be moved in this land. Of the complaintof such poor tenants as pay rent corn unto their landlords, I speaknot, who are often dealt withal very hardly. For, beside that inmeasuring of ten quarters for the most part they lose one through theiniquity of the bushel (such is the greediness of the appointedreceivers thereof), fault is found also with the goodness andcleanness of the grain. Whereby some piece of money must needs passunto their purses to stop their mouths withal, or else "My lord willnot like of the corn, " "Thou art worthy to lose thy lease, " etc. Or, if it be cheaper in the market than the rate allowed for it is intheir rents, then must they pay money and no corn, which is no smallextremity. And thereby we may see how each one of us endeavoureth tofleece and eat up another. 

Another thing there is in our markets worthy to be looked into, andthat is the recarriage of grain from the same into lofts and cellars, of which before I gave some intimation; wherefore if it were orderedthat every seller should make his market by an hour, or else thebailey or clerk of the said market to make sale thereof, according tohis discretion, without liberty to the farmers to set up their corn inhouses and chambers, I am persuaded that the prices of our grain wouldsoon be abated. Again, if it were enacted that each one should keephis next market with his grain (and not to run six, eight, ten, fourteen, or twenty miles from home to sell his corn where he dothfind the highest price, and thereby leaveth his neighboursunfurnished), I do not think but that our markets would be far betterserved than at this present they are. Finally, if men's barns might beindifferently viewed immediately after harvest, and a note gathered byan estimate, and kept by some appointed and trusty person for thatpurpose, we should have much more plenty of corn in our town crossesthan as yet is commonly seen: because each one hideth and hoardethwhat he may, upon purpose either that it will be dearer, or that heshall have some privy vein by bodgers, who do accustomably so dealthat the sea doth load away no small part thereof into other countriesand our enemies, to the great hindrance of our commonwealth at home, and more likely yet to be, except some remedy be found. But what do Italk of these things, or desire the suppression of bodgers, being aminister? Certes I may speak of them right well as feeling the harm inthat I am a buyer, nevertheless I speak generally in each of them. 

To conclude therefore, in our markets all things are to be soldnecessary for man's use; and there is our provision made commonly forall the week ensuing. Therefore, as there are no great towns withoutone weekly market at least, so there are very few of them that havenot one or two fairs or more within the compass of the year, assignedunto them by the prince And albeit that some of them are not muchbetter than Louse fair, [5] or the common kirkemesses, [6] beyond thesea, yet there are divers not inferior to the greatest marts inEurope, as Stourbridge fair near to Cambridge, Bristow fair, Bartholomew fair at London, Lynn mart, Cold fair at Newport pond forcattle, and divers other, all which, or at leastwise the greatest partof them (to the end I may with the more ease to the reader and lesstravel to myself fulfil my task in their recital), I have set downaccording to the names of the months wherein they are holden at theend of this book, where you shall find them at large as I borrowed thesame from J. Stow and the reports of others. 

 [5] The ancient London counterpart of the more modern "Rag Fair" known to literary fame. --W. 

 [6] The Kermess, or literally, "Church mass, " so famous in "Faust. "--W. 

CHAPTER V

OF THE ANCIENT AND PRESENT ESTATE OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND

[1577, Book II. , Chapter 5, 1585, Book II. , Chapter 1. ]

There are now two provinces only in England, of which the first andgreatest is subject to the see of Canterbury, comprehending a part ofLhoegres, whole Cambria, and also Ireland, which in time past wereseveral, and brought into one by the archbishop of the said see, andassistance of the pope, who, in respect of meed, did yield unto theambitious desires of sundry archbishops of Canterbury, as I haveelsewhere declared. The second province is under the see of York. And, of these, each hath her archbishop resident commonly within her ownlimits, who hath not only the chief dealing in matters appertaining tothe hierarchy and jurisdiction of the church, but also great authorityin civil affairs touching the government of the commonwealth, so farforth as their commissions and several circuits do extend. 

In old time there were three archbishops, and so many provinces inthis isle, of which one kept at London, another at York, and the thirdat Caerleon upon Usk. But as that of London was translated toCanterbury by Augustine, and that of York remaineth (notwithstandingthat the greatest part of his jurisdiction is now bereft him and givento the Scottish archbishop), so that of Caerleon is utterlyextinguished, and the government of the country united to that ofCanterbury in spiritual cases, after it was once before removed to St. David's in Wales, by David, successor to Dubritius, and uncle to KingArthur, in the 519 of Grace, to the end that he and his clerks mightbe further off from the cruelty of the Saxons, where it remained tillthe time of the Bastard, and for a season after, before it was annexedto the see of Canterbury. 

The Archbishop of Canterbury is commonly called the Primate of allEngland; and in the coronations of the kings of this land, and allother times wherein it shall please the prince to wear and put on hiscrown, his office is to set it upon their heads. They bear also thename of their high chaplains continually, although not a few of themhave presumed (in time past) to be their equals, and void ofsubjection unto them. That this is true, it may easily appear by theirown acts yet kept in record, beside their epistles and answers writtenor in print, wherein they have sought not only to match but also tomate[1] them with great rigour and more than open tyranny. Ouradversaries will peradventure deny this absolutely, as they do manyother things apparent, though not without shameless impudence, or atthe leastwise defend it as just and not swerving from common equity, because they imagine every archbishop to be the king's equal in hisown province. But how well their doing herein agreeth with the sayingof Peter and examples of the primitive church it may easily appear. Some examples also of their demeanour--I mean in the time of popery--Iwill not let to remember, lest they should say I speak of malice, andwithout all ground of likelihood. 

 [1] Overcome. 

Of their practices with mean persons I speak not, neither will I beginat Dunstan, the author of all their pride and presumption here inEngland. . . . 

Wherefore I refer you to those reports of Anselm and Becketsufficiently penned by other, the which Anselm also making a shew asif he had been very unwilling to be placed in the see of Canterbury, gave this answer to the letters of such his friends as did makerequest unto him to take the charge upon him--

 _"Secularia negotia, nescio, quia scire nolo, eorum námque occupationes horreo, liberum affectans animum. Voluntati sacrarum intendo scripturarum, vos dissonantiam facitis, verendumque est né aratrum sancta ecclesia, quod in Anglia duo boves validi et pari fortitudine, ad bonum certantes, id est, rex et archepiscopus, debeant trahere nunc ove verula cum tauro indomito jugata, distorqueatur a recto. Ego ovis verula, qui si quietus essem, verbi Dei lacte, et operinento lanæ, aliquibus possèm fortassis non ingratus esse, sed si me cum hoc tauro coniungitis, videbitis pro disparilitate trahentium, aratrum non rectè procedere, "_ etc. 

Which is in English thus--

 "Of secular affairs I have no skill, because I will not know them; for I even abhor the troubles that rise about them, as one that desireth to have his mind at liberty. I apply my whole endeavour to the rule of the Scriptures; you lead me to the contrary; and it is to be feared lest the plough of holy church, which two strong oxen of equal force, and both like earnest to contend unto that which is good (that is, the king and the archbishop), ought to draw, should thereby now swerve from the right furrow, by matching of an old sheep with a wild, untamed bull. I am that old sheep, who, if I might be quiet, could peradventure shew myself not altogether ungrateful to some, by feeding them with the milk of the Word of God, and covering them with wool: but if you match me with this bull, you shall see that, through want of equality in draught, the plough will not go to right, " etc. 

As followeth in the process of his letters. The said Thomas Becket wasso proud that he wrote to King Henry the Second, as to his lord, tohis king, and to his son, offering him his counsel, his reverence, anddue correction, etc. Others in like sort have protested that they owednothing to the kings of this land, but their council only, reservingall obedience unto the see of Rome, whereby we may easily see thepride and ambition of the clergy in the blind time of ignorance. 

And as the old cock of Canterbury did crow in this behalf, so theyoung cockerels of other sees did imitate his demeanour, as may beseen by this one example also in King Stephen's time, worthy to beremembered; unto whom the Bishop of London would not so much as swearto be true subject: wherein also he was maintained by the pope. . . . 

Thus we see that kings were to rule no further than it pleased thepope to like of; neither to challenge more obedience of their subjectsthan stood also with their good will and pleasure. He wrote in likesort unto Queen Maud about the same matter, making her "Samson'scalf"[2] (the better to bring his purpose to pass). . . . 

 [2] A fool or dupe. 

Is it not strange that a peevish order of religion (devised by man)should break the express law of God, who commandeth all men to honourand obey their kings and princes, in whom some part of the power ofGod is manifest and laid open unto us? And even unto this end thecardinal of Hostia also wrote to the canons of Paul's after thismanner, covertly encouraging them to stand to their election of thesaid Robert, who was no more willing to give over his new bishopricthan they careful to offend the king, but rather imagined which way tokeep it still, maugre his displeasure, and yet not to swear obedienceunto him for all that he should be able to do or perform unto thecontrary. . . . 

Hereby you see how King Stephen was dealt withal. And albeit theArchbishop of Canterbury is not openly to be touched herewith, yet itis not to be doubted but he was a doer in it, so far as might tend tothe maintenance of the right and prerogative of holy church. And evenno less unquietness had another of our princes with Thomas of Arundel, who fled to Rome for fear of his head, and caused the pope to write anambitious and contumelious letter unto his sovereign about hisrestitution. But when (by the king's letters yet extant, and beginningthus: _"Thomas proditionis non expers nostræ regiæ majestati insidiasfabricavit"_[3]) the pope understood the bottom of the matter, he wascontented that Thomas should be deprived, and another archbishopchosen in his stead. 

 [3] "Thomas, not innocent of treason, has intrigued against the majesty of our court. "

Neither did this pride stay at archbishops and bishops, but descendedlower, even to the rake-hells of the clergy and puddles of allungodliness. For, beside the injury received of their superiors, howwas King John dealt withal by the vile Cistertians at Lincoln in thesecond of his reign? Certes when he had (upon just occasion) conceivedsome grudge against them for their ambitious demeanour, and upondenial to pay such sums of money as were allotted unto them, he hadcaused seizure to be made of such horses, swine, neat, and otherthings of theirs as were maintained in his forests, they denounced himas fast amongst themselves with bell, book, and candle, to be accursedand excommunicated. Thereunto they so handled the matter with the popeand their friends that the king was fain to yield to their goodgraces, insomuch that a meeting for pacification was appointed betweenthem at Lincoln, by means of the present Archbishop of Canterbury, whowent off between him and the Cistertian commissioners before thematter could be finished. In the end the king himself came also untothe said commissioners as they sat in their chapterhouse, and therewith tears fell down at their feet, craving pardon for his trespassesagainst them, and heartily requiring that they would (from henceforth)commend him and his realm in their prayers unto the protection of theAlmighty, and receive him into their fraternity, promising moreoverfull satisfaction of their damages sustained, and to build an house oftheir order in whatsoever place of England it should please them toassign. And this he confirmed by charter bearing date theseven-and-twentieth of November, after the Scottish king was returnedinto Scotland, and departed from the king. Whereby (and by other thelike, as between John Stratford and Edward the Third, etc. ) a man mayeasily conceive how proud the clergymen have been in former times, aswholly presuming upon the primacy of their pope. More matter could Iallege of these and the like broils, not to be found among our commonhistoriographers. Howbeit, reserving the same unto places moreconvenient, I will cease to speak of them at this time, and go forwardwith such other things as my purpose is to speak of. At the first, therefore, there was like and equal authority in both our archbishops, but as he of Canterbury hath long since obtained the prerogative aboveYork (although I say not without great trouble, suit, some bloodshed, and contention), so the Archbishop of York is nevertheless writtenPrimate of England, as one contenting himself with a piece of a titleat the least, when all could not be gotten. And as he of Canterburycrowneth the king, so this of York doth the like to the queen, whoseperpetual chaplain he is, and hath been from time to time, since thedetermination of this controversy, as writers do report. The firstalso hath under his jurisdiction to the number of one-and-twentyinferior bishops; the other hath only four, by reason that thechurches of Scotland are now removed from his obedience unto anarchbishop of their own, whereby the greatness and circuit of thejurisdiction of York is not a little diminished. In like sort, each ofthese seven-and-twenty sees have their cathedral churches, wherein thedeans (a calling not known in England before the Conquest) do bear thechief rule, being men especially chosen to that vocation, both fortheir learning and godliness, so near as can be possible. Thesecathedral churches have in like manner other dignities and canonriesstill remaining unto them, as heretofore under the popish regiment. Howbeit those that are chosen to the same are no idle and unprofitablepersons (as in times past they have been when most of these livingswere either furnished with strangers, especially out of Italy, boys, or such idiots as had least skill of all in discharging of thosefunctions whereunto they were called by virtue of these stipends), butsuch as by preaching and teaching can and do learnedly set forth theglory of God, and further the overthrow of anti-Christ to theuttermost of their powers. 

These churches are called cathedral, because the bishops dwell or lienear unto the same, as bound to keep continual residence within theirjurisdictions for the better oversight and governance of the same, theword being derived _a cathedra_--that is to say, a chair or seat wherehe resteth, and for the most part abideth. At the first there was butone church in every jurisdiction, whereinto no man entered to pray butwith some oblation or other toward the maintenance of the pastor. Foras it was reputed an infamy to pass by any of them without visitation, so it was no less reproach to appear empty before the Lord. And forthis occasion also they were builded very huge and great; forotherwise they were not capable to such multitude as came daily untothem to hear the Word and receive the sacraments. 

But as the number of Christians increased, so first monasteries, thenfinally parish churches, were builded in every jurisdiction: fromwhence I take our deanery churches to have their original (now called"mother churches, " and their incumbents, archpriests), the rest beingadded since the Conquest, either by the lords of every town, orzealous men, loth to travel far, and willing to have some ease bybuilding them near hand. Unto these deanery churches also the clergyin old time of the same deanery were appointed to repair at sundryseasons, there to receive wholesome ordinances, and to consult uponthe necessary affairs of the whole jurisdiction if necessity sorequired; and some image hereof is yet to be seen in the north parts. But as the number of churches increased, so the repair of the faithfulunto the cathedrals did diminish; whereby they now become, especiallyin their nether parts, rather markets and shops for merchandise thansolemn places of prayer, whereunto they were first erected. Moreover, in the said cathedral churches upon Sundays and festival days thecanons do make certain ordinary sermons by course, whereunto greatnumbers of all estates do orderly resort; and upon the working days, thrice in the week, one of the said canons (or some other in hisstead) doth read and expound some piece of holy Scripture, whereuntothe people do very reverently repair. The bishops themselves in likesort are not idle in their callings; for, being now exempt from courtand council, which is one (and a no small) piece of their felicity(although Richard Archbishop of Canterbury thought otherwise, as yetappeareth by his letters to Pope Alexander, Epistola 44, PetriBlesensis, where he saith, because the clergy of his time weresomewhat narrowly looked unto, _"Supra dorsum ecclesiæ fabricantpeccatores, " etc. _), [4] they so apply their minds to the setting forthof the Word that there are very few of them which do not every Sundayor oftener resort to some place or other within their jurisdictionswhere they expound the Scriptures with much gravity and skill, and yetnot without the great misliking and contempt of such as hate the Word. Of their manifold translations from one see to another I will saynothing, which is not now done for the benefit of the flock as thepreferment of the party favoured and advantage unto the prince, amatter in time past much doubted of--to wit, whether a bishop orpastor might be translated from one see to another, and left undecidedtill prescription by royal authority made it good. For, among princes, a thing once done is well done, and to be done oftentimes, though nowarrant be to be found therefore. 

 [4] "Sinners build on the back of the church. "

They have under them also their archdeacons, some one, divers two, andmany four or more, as their circuits are in quantity, whicharchdeacons are termed in law the bishops' eyes; and these (besidetheir ordinary courts, which are holden within so many or more oftheir several deaneries by themselves or their officials once in amonth at the least) do keep yearly two visitations or synods (as thebishop doth in every third year, wherein he confirmeth some children, though most care but a little for that ceremony), in which they makediligent inquisition and search, as well for the doctrine andbehaviour of the ministers as the orderly dealing of the parishionersin resorting to their parish churches and conformity unto religion. They punish also with great severity all such trespassers, either inperson or by the purse (where permutation of penance is thought moregrievous to the offender), as are presented unto them; or, if thecause be of the more weight, as in cases of heresy, pertinacy, contempt, and such like, they refer them either to the bishop of thediocese, or his chancellor, or else to sundry grave persons set inauthority, by virtue of an high commission directed unto them from theprince to that end, who in very courteous manner do see the offendersgently reformed or else severely punished if necessity so enforce. 

Beside this, in many of our archdeaconries, we have an exercise latelybegun which for the most part is called a _prophecy_ or _conference_, and erected only for the examination or trial of the diligence of theclergy in their study of holy Scriptures. Howbeit, such is the thirstydesire of the people in these days to hear the Word of God that theyalso have as it were with zealous violence intruded themselves amongthem (but as hearers only) to come by more knowledge through theirpresence at the same. Herein also (for the most part) two of theyounger sort of ministers do expound each after other some piece ofthe Scriptures ordinarily appointed unto them in their courses(wherein they orderly go through with some one of the Evangelists, orof the Epistles, as it pleaseth the whole assembly to choose at thefirst in every of these conferences); and when they have spent an houror a little more between them, then cometh one of the better learnedsort, who, being a graduate for the most part, or known to be apreacher sufficiently authorised and of a sound judgment, supplieththe room of a moderator, making first a brief rehearsal of theirdiscourses, and then adding what him thinketh good of his ownknowledge, whereby two hours are thus commonly spent at this mostprofitable meeting. When all is done, if the first speakers haveshewed any piece of diligence, they are commended for their travel, and encouraged to go forward. If they have been found to be slack, ornot sound in delivery of their doctrine, their negligence and error isopenly reproved before all their brethren, who go aside of purposefrom the laity after the exercise ended to judge of these matters, andconsult of the next speakers and quantity of the text to be handled inthat place. The laity never speak, of course (except some vain andbusy head will now and then intrude themselves with offence), but areonly hearers; and, as it is used in some places weekly, in other oncein fourteen days, in divers monthly, and elsewhere twice in a year, sois it a notable spur unto all the ministers thereby to apply theirbooks, which otherwise (as in times past) would give themselves tohawking, hunting, tables, cards, dice, tippling at the alehouse, shooting of matches, and other like vanities, nothing commendable insuch as should be godly and zealous stewards of the good gifts of God, faithful distributors of his Word unto the people, and diligentpastors according to their calling. 

But alas! as Sathan, the author of all mischief, hath in sundrymanners heretofore hindered the erection and maintenance of many goodthings, so in this he hath stirred up adversaries of late unto thismost profitable exercise, who, not regarding the commodity that riseththereby so well to the hearers as speakers, but either stumbling (Icannot tell how) at words and terms, or at the leastwise not liking tohear of the reprehension of vice, or peradventure taking a mislikingat the slender demeanours of such negligent ministers as now and thenin their course do occupy the rooms, have either by their ownpractice, their sinister information, or suggestions made uponsurmises unto other, procured the suppression of these conferences, condemning them as hurtful, pernicious, and daily breeders of no smallhurt and inconvenience. But hereof let God be judge, unto the causebelongeth. 

Our elders or ministers and deacons (for subdeacons and the otherinferior orders sometime used in popish church we have not) are madeaccording to a certain form of consecration concluded upon in the timeof King Edward the Sixth by the clergy of England, and soon afterconfirmed by the three estates of the realm in the high court ofparliament. And out of the first sort--that is to say, of such as arecalled to the ministry (without respect whether they be married ornot)--are bishops, deans, archdeacons, and such as have the higherplaces in the hierarchy of the church elected; and these also, as allthe rest, at the first coming unto any spiritual promotion do yieldunto the prince the entire tax of that their living for one wholeyear, if it amount in value unto ten pounds and upwards, and thisunder the name and title of first fruits. 

With us also it is permitted that a sufficient man may (bydispensation from the prince) hold two livings, not distant eitherfrom other above thirty miles; whereby it cometh to pass that, as herMajesty doth reap some commodity by the faculty, so that the unitionof two in one man doth bring oftentimes more benefit to one of them ina month (I mean for doctrine) than they have had before peradventurein many years. 

Many exclaim against such faculties, as if there were more goodpreachers that want maintenance than livings to maintain them. Indeedwhen a living is void there are so many suitors for it that a manwould think the report to be true, and most certain; but when itcometh to the trial (who are sufficient and who not, who are staid menin conversation, judgment, and learning), of that great number youshall hardly find one or two such as they ought to be, and yet nonemore earnest to make suit, to promise largely, bear a better shew, orfind fault with the stage of things than they. Nevertheless I do notthink that their exclamations, if they were wisely handled, arealtogether grounded upon rumours or ambitious minds, if you respectthe state of the thing itself, and not the necessity growing throughwant of able men to furnish out all the cures in England, which bothour universities are never able to perform. For if you observe whatnumbers of preachers Cambridge and Oxford do yearly send forth, andhow many new compositions are made in the Court of First Fruits by thedeaths of the last incumbents, you shall soon see a difference. Wherefore, if in country towns and cities, yea even in London itself, four or five of the little churches were brought into one, theinconvenience would in great part be redressed and amended. 

And, to say truth, one most commonly of those small livings is of solittle value that it is not able to maintain a mean scholar, much lessa learned man, as not being above ten, twelve, sixteen, seventeen, twenty, or thirty pounds at the most, toward their charges, which now(more than before time) do go out of the same. I say more than before, because every small trifle, nobleman's request, or courtesy craved bythe bishop, doth impose and command a twentieth part, a three scorepart, or twopence in the pound, etc. , out of the livings, whichhitherto hath not been usually granted, but by the consent of a synod, wherein things were decided according to equity, and the poorer sortconsidered of, which now are equally burdened. 

We pay also the tenths of our livings to the prince yearly, accordingto such valuation of each of them as hath been lately made: whichnevertheless in time past were not annual, but voluntary, and paid atrequest of king or pope. [5]. . . 

 [5] Here follows a story about the bootless errand of a pope's legate in 1452. --W. 

But to return to our tenths, a payment first as devised by the pope, and afterward taken up as by the prescription of the king, whereuntowe may join also our first fruits, which is one whole year's commodityof our living, due at our entrance into the same, the tenths abatedunto the prince's coffers, and paid commonly in two years. For thereceipt also of these two payments an especial office or court iserected, which beareth name of First Fruits and Tenths, whereunto, ifthe party to be preferred do not make his dutiful repair by anappointed time after possession taken, there to compound for thepayment of his said fruits, he incurreth the danger of a greatpenalty, limited by a certain statute provided in that behalf againstsuch as do intrude into the ecclesiastical function and refuse to paythe accustomed duties belonging to the same. 

They pay likewise subsidies with the temporalty, but in such sort thatif these pay after four shillings for land, the clergy contributecommonly after six shillings of the pound, so that of a benefice oftwenty pounds by the year the incumbent thinketh himself wellacquitted if, all ordinary payments being discharged, he may reservethirteen pounds six shillings eightpence towards his own sustentationor maintenance of his family. Seldom also are they without the compassof a subsidy; for if they be one year clear from this payment (a thingnot often seen of late years), they are like in the next to hear ofanother grant: so that I say again they are seldom without the limitof a subsidy. Herein also they somewhat find themselves grieved thatthe laity may at every taxation help themselves, and so they do, through consideration had of their decay and hindrance, and yet theirimpoverishment cannot but touch also the parson or vicar, unto whomsuch liberty is denied, as is daily to be seen in their accounts andtithings. 

Some of them also, after the marriages of their children, will havetheir proportions qualified, or by friendship get themselves quite outof the book. But what stand I upon these things, who have rather tocomplain of the injury offered by some of our neighbours of the laity, which daily endeavour to bring us also within the compass of theirfifteens or taxes for their own ease, whereas the tax of the wholerealm, which is commonly greater in the champagne than woodland soil, amounteth only to 37, 930 pounds ninepence halfpenny, is a burden easyenough to be borne upon so many shoulders, without the help of theclergy, whose tenths and subsidies make up commonly a double, if nottreble sum unto their aforesaid payments? Sometimes also we arethreatened with a _Melius inquirendum_, as if our livings were notracked high enough already. But if a man should seek out where allthose church lands which in time past did contribute unto the old sumrequired or to be made up, no doubt no small number of the laity ofall states should be contributors also with us, the prince notdefrauded of her expectation and right. We are also charged witharmour and munitions from thirty pounds upwards, a thing more needfulthan divers other charges imposed upon us are convenient, by which andother burdens our ease groweth to be more heavy by a great deal(notwithstanding our immunity from temporal services) than that of thelaity, and, for aught that I see, not likely to be diminished, as ifthe church were now become the ass whereon every market man is to rideand cast his wallet. 

The other payments due unto the archbishop and bishop at their severalvisitations (of which the first is double to the latter), and suchalso as the archdeacon receive that his synods, etc. , remain still asthey did without any alteration. Only this I think he added withinmemory of man, that at the coming of every prince his appointedofficers do commonly visit the whole realm under the form of anecclesiastical inquisition, in which the clergy do usually pay doublefees, as unto the archbishop. 

Hereby then, and by those already remembered, it is found that theChurch of England is no less commodious to the prince's coffers thanthe state of the laity, if it do not far exceed the same, since theirpayments are certain, continual, and seldom abated, howsoever theygather up their own duties with grudging, murmuring, suit, andslanderous speeches of the payers, or have their livings otherwisehardly valued unto the uttermost farthing, or shrewdly cancelled bythe covetousness of the patrons, of whom some do bestow advowsons ofbenefices upon their bakers, butlers, cooks, good archers, falconers, and horsekeepers, instead of other recompense, for their long andfaithful service, which they employ afterward unto the most advantage. 

Certes here they resemble the pope very much; for, as he sendeth outhis idols, so do they their parasites, pages, chamberlains, stewards, grooms, and lackeys; and yet these be the men that first exclaim ofthe insufficiency of the ministers, as hoping thereby in due time toget also their glebes and grounds into their hands. In times pastbishoprics went almost after the same manner under the lay princes, and then under the pope, so that he which helped a clerk unto a seewas sure to have a present or purse fine, if not an annual pension, besides that which went to the pope's coffers, and was thought to bevery good merchandise. 

To proceed therefore with the rest, I think it good also to rememberthat the names usually given unto such as feed the flock remain inlike sort as in times past, so that these words, _parson, vicar, curate_, and such, are not yet abolished more than the canon lawitself, which is daily pleaded, as I have said elsewhere, although thestatutes of the realm have greatly infringed the large scope andbrought the exercise of the same into some narrower limits. There isnothing read in our churches but the canonical Scriptures, whereby itcometh to pass that the Psalter is said over once in thirty days, theNew Testament four times, and the Old Testament once in the year. Andhereunto, if the curate be adjudged by the bishop or his deputiessufficiently instructed in the holy Scriptures, and therewithal ableto teach, he permitteth him to make some exposition or exhortation inhis parish unto amendment of life. And for so much as our churches anduniversities have been so spoiled in time of error, as there cannotyet be had such number of able pastors as may suffice for every parishto have one, there are (beside four sermons appointed by public orderin the year) certain sermons or homilies (devised by sundry learnedmen, confirmed for sound doctrine by consent of the divines, andpublic authority of the prince), and those appointed to be read by thecurates of mean understanding (which homilies do comprehend theprincipal parts of Christian doctrine, as of original sin, ofjustification by faith, of charity, and such like) upon the Sabbathdays unto the congregation. And, after a certain number of psalmsread, which are limited according to the dates of the month, formorning and evening prayer we have two lessons, whereof the first istaken out of the Old Testament, the second out of the New; and ofthese latter, that in the morning is out of the Gospels, the other inthe afternoon out of some one of the Epistles. After morning prayeralso, we have the Litany and suffrages, an invocation in mine opinionnot devised without the great assistance of the Spirit of God, although many curious mind-sick persons utterly condemn it assuperstitious, and savouring of conjuration and sorcery. 

This being done, we proceed unto the communion, if any communicants beto receive the Eucharist; if not, we read the Decalogue, Epistle, andGospel, with the Nicene Creed (of some in derision called the "drycommunion"), and then proceed unto an homily or sermon, which hath apsalm before and after it, and finally unto the baptism of suchinfants as on every Sabbath day (if occasion so require) are broughtunto the churches; and thus is the forenoon bestowed. In the afternoonlikewise we meet again, and, after the psalms and lessons ended, wehave commonly a sermon, or at the leastwise our youth catechised bythe space of an hour. And thus do we spend the Sabbath day in good andgodly exercises, all done in our vulgar tongue, that each one presentmay hear and understand the same, which also in cathedral andcollegiate churches is so ordered that the psalms only are sung bynote, the rest being read (as in common parish churches) by theminister with a loud voice, saving that in the administration of thecommunion the choir singeth the answers, the creed, and sundry otherthings appointed, but in so plain, I say, and distinct manner thateach one present may understand what they sing, every word having butone note, though the whole Harmony consist of many parts, and thosevery cunningly set by the skilful in that science. 

Certes this translation of the service of the church into the vulgartongue hath not a little offended the pope almost in every age, as athing very often attempted by divers princes, but never generallyobtained, for fear lest the consenting thereunto might breed theoverthrow (as it would indeed) of all his religion and hierarchy;nevertheless, in some places where the kings and princes dwelled notunder his nose, it was performed maugre his resistance. Wratislaus, Duke of Bohemia, would long since have done the like also in hiskingdom; but, not daring to venture so far without the consent of thepope, he wrote unto him thereof, and received his answer inhibitoryunto all his proceeding in the same. . . . 

I would set down two or three more of the like instruments passed fromthat see unto the like end, but this shall suffice, being less commonthan the other, which are to be had more plentifully. 

As for our churches themselves, bells and times of morning and eveningprayer remain as in times past, saving that all images, shrines, tabernacles, rood-lofts, and monuments of idolatry are removed, takendown, and defaced, only the stories in glass windows excepted, which, for want of sufficient store of new stuff, and by reason of extremecharge that should grow by the alteration of the same into white panesthroughout the realm, are not altogether abolished in most places atonce, but by little and little suffered to decay, that white glass maybe provided and set up in their rooms. Finally, whereas there was wontto be a great partition between the choir and the body of the church, now it is either very small or none at all, and (to say the truth)altogether needless, sith the minister saith his service commonly inthe body of the church, with his face toward the people, in a littletabernacle of wainscot provided for the purpose, by which means theignorant do not only learn divers of the psalms and usual prayers byheart, but also such as can read do pray together with him, so thatthe whole congregation at one instant pour out their petitions untothe living God for the whole estate of His church in most earnest andfervent manner. Our holy and festival days are very well reduced alsounto a less number; for whereas (not long since) we had under the popefour score and fifteen, called festival, and thirty _profesti_, besidethe Sundays, they are all brought unto seven and twenty, and, withthem, the superfluous numbers of idle wakes, guilds, fraternities, church-ales, help-ales, and soul-ales, called also dirge-ales, withthe heathenish rioting at bride-ales, are well diminished and laidaside. And no great matter were it if the feasts of all our apostles, evangelists, and martyrs, with that of all saints, were brought to theholy days that follow upon Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide, andthose of the Virgin Mary, with the rest, utterly removed from thecalendars, as neither necessary nor commendable in a reformed church. 

The apparel in like sort of our clergymen is comely, and, in truth, more decent than ever it was in the popish church, before theuniversities bound their graduates unto a stable attire, afterwardusurped also even by the blind Sir Johns. For, if you peruse well myChronology ensuing, you shall find that they went either in diverscolours like players, or in garments of light hue, as yellow, red, green, etc. , with their shoes piked, their hair crisped, their girdlesarmed with silver, their shoes, spurs, bridles, etc. , buckled withlike metal, their apparel (for the most part) of silk, and richlyfurred, their caps laced and buttoned with gold, so that to meet apriest in those days was to behold a peacock that spreadeth his tailwhen he danceth before the hen, which now (I say) is well reformed. Touching hospitality, there was never any greater used in England, sith by reason that marriage is permitted to him that will choose thatkind of life, their meat and drink is more orderly and frugallydressed, their furniture of household more convenient and betterlooked unto, and the poor oftener fed generally than heretofore theyhave been, when only a few bishops and double or treble beneficed mendid make good cheer at Christmas only, or otherwise kept great housesfor the entertainment of the rich, which did often see and visit them. It is thought much peradventure that some bishops, etc. , in our timedo come short of the ancient gluttony and prodigality of theirpredecessors; but to such as do consider of the curtailing of theirlivings, or excessive prices whereunto things are grown, and how theircourse is limited by law, and estate looked into on every side, thecause of their so doing is well enough perceived. This also offendedmany, that they should, after their deaths, leave their substances totheir wives and children, whereas they consider not that in old timesuch as had no lemans nor bastards (very few were there, God wot, ofthis sort) did leave their goods and possessions to their brethren andkinsfolks, whereby (as I can shew by good record) many houses ofgentility have grown and been erected. If in any age some one of themdid found a college, almshouse, or school, if you look unto these ourtimes, you shall see no fewer deeds of charity done, nor bettergrounded upon the right stub of piety than before. If you say thattheir wives be fond, after the decease of their husbands, and bestowthemselves not so advisedly as their calling requireth (which, Godknoweth, these curious surveyors make small account of truth, furtherthan thereby to gather matter of reprehension), I beseech you then tolook into all states of the laity, and tell me whether some duchesses, countesses, barons' or knights' wives, do not fully so often offend inthe like as they? For Eve will be Eve, though Adam would say nay. Nota few also find fault with our threadbare gowns, as if not our patronsbut our wives were causes of our woe. But if it were known to all thatI know to have been performed of late in Essex, where a ministertaking a benefice (of less than twenty pounds in the Queen's books, sofar as I remember) was enforced to pay to his patron twenty quartersof oats, ten quarters of wheat, and sixteen yearly of barley (which hecalled _hawks' meat_), and another let the like in farm to his patronfor ten pounds by the year which is well worth forty at the least, thecause of our threadbare gowns would easily appear: for such patrons doscrape the wool from our cloaks. Wherefore I may well say that such athreadbare minister is either an ill man or hath an ill patron, orboth; and when such cooks and cobbling shifters shall be removed andweeded out of the ministry, I doubt not but our patrons will provebetter men, and be reformed whether they will or not, or else thesingle-minded bishops shall see the living bestowed upon such as dodeserve it. When the Pragmatic Sanction took place first in France, itwas supposed that these enormities should utterly have ceased; butwhen the elections of bishops came once into the hands of the canonsand spiritual men, it grew to be far worse. For they also, within awhile waxing covetous, by their own experience learned aforehand, raised the markets, and sought after new gains by the gifts of thegreatest livings in that country, wherein (as Machiavelli writeth) areeighteen archbishoprics, one hundred forty and five bishoprics, 740abbeys, eleven universities, 1, 000, 700 steeples (if his report besound). Some are of the opinion that, if sufficient men in every townmight be sent for from the universities, this mischief would soon beremedied; but I am clean of another mind. For, when I considerwhereunto the gifts of fellowships in some places are grown, theprofit that ariseth at sundry elections of scholars out of grammarschools to the posers, schoolmasters, and preferers of them to ouruniversities, the gifts of a great number of almshouses builded forthe maimed and impotent soldiers by princes and good men heretoforemoved with a pitiful consideration of the poor distressed, howrewards, pensions, and annuities also do reign in other cases wherebythe giver is brought sometimes into extreme misery, and that not somuch as the room of a common soldier is not obtained oftentimeswithout a _"What will you give me?"_ I am brought into such a mistrustof the sequel of this device that I dare pronounce (almost forcertain) that, if Homer were now alive, it should be said to him:

 "Tuque licet venias musis comitatus Homere, Si nihil attuleris, ibis Homere foras!"

More I could say, and more I would say, of these and other things, were it not that in mine own judgment I have said enough already forthe advertisement of such as be wise. Nevertheless, before I finishthis chapter, I will add a word or two (so briefly as I can) of theold estate of cathedral churches, which I have collected together hereand there among the writers, and whereby it shall easily be seen whatthey were, and how near the government of ours do in these daysapproach unto them; for that there is an irreconcilable odds betweenthem and those of the Papists. I hope there is no learned man indeedbut will acknowledge and yield unto it. 

We find therefore in the time of the primitive church that there wasin every see or jurisdiction one school at the least, whereunto suchas were catechists in Christian religion did resort. And hereof, as wemay find great testimony for Alexandria, Antioch, Rome, and Jerusalem, so no small notice is left of the like in the inferior sort, if thenames of such as taught in them be called to mind, and the historieswell read which make report of the same. These schools were under thejurisdiction of the bishops, and from thence did they and the rest ofthe elders choose out such as were the ripest scholars, and willing toserve in the ministry, whom they placed also in their cathedralchurches, there not only to be further instructed in the knowledge ofthe world, but also to inure them to the delivery of the same unto thepeople in sound manner, to minister the sacraments, to visit the sickand brethren imprisoned, and to perform such other duties as thenbelonged to their charges. The bishop himself and elders of the churchwere also hearers and examiners of their doctrine; and, being inprocess of time found meet workmen for the Lord's harvest, they wereforthwith sent abroad (after imposition of hands and prayer generallymade for their good proceeding) to some place or other then destituteof her pastor, and other taken from the school also placed in theirrooms. What number of such clerks belonged now and then to some onesee, the Chronology following shall easily declare; and, in like sort, what officers, widows, and other persons were daily maintained inthose seasons by the offerings and oblations of the faithful it isincredible to be reported, if we compare the same with the decays andoblations seen and practised at this present. But what is that in allthe world which avarice and negligence will not corrupt and impair?And, as this is a pattern of the estate of the cathedral churches inthose times, so I wish that the like order of government might onceagain be restored unto the same, which may be done with ease, sith theschools are already builded in every diocese, the universities, placesof their preferment unto further knowledge, and the cathedral churchesgreat enough to receive so many as shall come from thence to beinstructed unto doctrine. But one hindrance of this is already andmore and more to be looked for (beside the plucking and snatchingcommonly seen from such houses and the church), and that is, thegeneral contempt of the ministry, and small consideration of theirformer pains taken, whereby less and less hope of competentmaintenance by preaching the word is likely to ensue. Wherefore thegreatest part of the more excellent wits choose rather to employ theirstudies unto physic and the laws, utterly giving over the study of theScriptures, for fear lest they should in time not get their bread bythe same. By this means also the stalls in their choirs would bebetter filled, which now (for the most part) are empty, and prebendsshould be prebends indeed, there to live till they were preferred tosome ecclesiastical function, and then other men chosen to succeedthem in their rooms, whereas now prebends are but superfluousadditiments unto former excesses, and perpetual commodities unto theowners, which before time were but temporal (as I have said before). But as I have good leisure to wish for these things, so it shall be alonger time before it will be brought to pass. Nevertheless, as I willpray for a reformation in this behold, so will I here conclude mydiscourse on the estate of our churches. 

CHAPTER VI

OF THE FOOD AND DIET OF THE ENGLISH

[1577, Book III. , Chapter 1; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 6. ]

The situation of our region, lying near unto the north, doth cause theheat of our stomachs to be of somewhat greater force: therefore ourbodies do crave a little more ample nourishment than the inhabitantsof the hotter regions are accustomed withal, whose digestive force isnot altogether so vehement, because their internal heat is not sostrong as ours, which is kept in by the coldness of the air that fromtime to time (especially in winter) doth environ our bodies. 

It is no marvel therefore that our tables are oftentimes moreplentifully garnished than those of other nations, and this trade hathcontinued with us even since the very beginning. For, before theRomans found out and knew the way unto our country, our predecessorsfed largely upon flesh and milk, whereof there was great abundance inthis isle, because they applied their chief studies unto pasturage andfeeding. After this manner also did our Welsh Britons order themselvesin their diet so long as they lived of themselves, but after theybecame to be united and made equal with the English they framed theirappetites to live after our manner, so that at this day there is verylittle difference between us in our diets. 

In Scotland likewise they have given themselves (of late years tospeak of) unto very ample and large diet, wherein as for some respectnature doth make them equal with us, so otherwise they far exceed usin over much and distemperate gormandise, and so ingross their bodiesthat divers of them do oft become unapt to any other purpose than tospend their times in large tabling and belly cheer. Against thispampering of their carcasses doth Hector Boethius in his descriptionof the country very sharply inveigh in the first chapter of thattreatise. Henry Wardlaw also, bishop of St. Andrews, noting theirvehement alteration from competent frugality into excessive gluttonyto be brought out of England with James the First (who had been longtime prisoner there under the fourth and fifth Henries, and at hisreturn carried divers English gentlemen into his country with him, whom he very honourably preferred there), doth vehemently exclaimagainst the same in open Parliament holden at Perth, 1433, before thethree estates, and so bringeth his purpose to pass in the end, byforce of his learned persuasions, that a law was presently made therefor the restraint of superfluous diet; amongst other things, bakedmeats (dishes never before this man's days seen in Scotland) weregenerally so provided for by virtue of this Act that it was not lawfulfor any to eat of the same under the degree of a gentleman, and thoseonly but on high and festival days. But, alas, it was soon forgotten!

In old time these north Britons did give themselves universally togreat abstinence, and in time of wars their soldiers would often feedbut once or twice at the most in two or three days (especially if theyheld themselves in secret, or could have no issue out of their bogsand marshes, through the presence of the enemy), and in this distressthey used to eat a certain kind of confection, whereof so much as abean would qualify their hunger above common expectation. In woodsmoreover they lived with herbs and roots, or, if these shifts servednot through want of such provision at hand, then used they to creepinto the water or said moorish plots up unto the chins, and thereremain a long time, only to qualify the heats of their stomachs byviolence, which otherwise would have wrought and been ready to oppressthem for hunger and want of sustenance. In those days likewise it wastaken for a great offence over all to eat either goose, hare, or hen, because of a certain superstitious opinion which they had conceived ofthose three creatures; howbeit after that the Romans, I say, had oncefound an entrance into this island it was not long ere open shipwreckwas made of this religious observation, so that in process of time sowell the north and south Britons as the Romans gave over to make suchdifference in meats as they had done before. 

From thenceforth also unto our days, and even in this season whereinwe live, there is no restraint of any meat either for religious sakeor public order in England, but it is lawful for every man to feedupon whatsoever he is able to purchase, except it be upon those dayswhereon eating of flesh is especially forbidden by the laws of therealm, which order is taken only to the end our numbers of cattle maybe the better increased and that abundance of fish which the seayieldeth more generally received. Besides this, there is greatconsideration had in making this law for the preservation of the navyand maintenance of convenient numbers of seafaring men, both whichwould otherwise greatly decay if some means were not found wherebythey might be increased. But, howsoever this case standeth, whitemeats, milk, butter, and cheese (which were never so dear as in mytime, and wont to be accounted of as one of the chief stays throughoutthe island) are now reputed as food appertinent only to the inferiorsort, whilst such as are more wealthy do feed upon the flesh of allkinds of cattle accustomed to be eaten, all sorts of fish taken uponour coasts and in our fresh rivers, and such diversity of wild andtame fowls as are either bred in our island or brought over unto usfrom other countries of the main. 

In number of dishes and change of meat the nobility of England (whosecooks are for the most part musical-headed Frenchmen and strangers) domost exceed, sith there is no day in manner that passeth over theirheads wherein they have not only beef, mutton, veal, lamb, kid, pork, cony, capon, pig, or so many of these as the season yieldeth, but alsosome portion of the red or fallow deer, beside great variety of fishand wild fowl, and thereto sundry other delicates wherein the sweethand of the seafaring Portugal is not wanting: so that for a man todine with one of them, and to taste of every dish that standeth beforehim (which few used to do, but each one feedeth upon that meat himbest liketh for the time, the beginning of every dish notwithstandingbeing reserved unto the greatest personage that sitteth at the table, to whom it is drawn up still by the waiters as order requireth, andfrom whom it descendeth again even to the lower end, whereby each onemay taste thereof), is rather to yield unto a conspiracy with a greatdeal of meat for the speedy suppression of natural health than the useof a necessary mean to satisfy himself with a competent repast tosustain his body withal. But, as this large feeding is not seen intheir guests, no more is it in their own persons; for, sith they havedaily much resort unto their tables (and many times unlooked for), andthereto retain great numbers of servants, it is very requisite andexpedient for them to be somewhat plentiful in this behalf. 

The chief part likewise of their daily provision is brought in beforethem (commonly in silver vessels, if they be of the degree of barons, bishops, and upwards) and placed on their tables, whereof, when theyhave taken what it pleaseth them, the rest is reserved, and afterwardssent down to their serving men and waiters, who feed thereon in likesort with convenient moderation, their reversion also being bestowedupon the poor which lie ready at their gates in great numbers toreceive the same. This is spoken of the principal tables whereat thenobleman, his lady, and guests are accustomed to sit; besides whichthey have a certain ordinary allowance daily appointed for theirhalls, where the chief officers and household servants (for all arenot permitted by custom to wait upon their master), and with them suchinferior guests do feed as are not of calling to associate thenobleman himself; so that, besides those afore-mentioned, which arecalled to the principal table, there are commonly forty or three scorepersons fed in those halls, to the great relief of such poor suitorsand strangers also as oft be partakers thereof and otherwise like todine hardly. As for drink, it is usually filled in pots, goblets, jugs, bowls of silver, in noblemen's houses; also in fine Veniceglasses of all forms; and, for want of these elsewhere, in pots ofearth of sundry colours and moulds, whereof many are garnished withsilver, or at the leastwise in pewter, all which notwithstanding areseldom set on the table, but each one, as necessity urgeth, callethfor a cup of such drink as him listeth to have, so that, when he hastasted of it, he delivered the cup again to some one of the standersby, who, making it clean by pouring out the drink that remaineth, restoreth it to the cupboard from whence he fetched the same. By thisdevice (a thing brought up at the first by Mnesitheus of Athens, inconservation of the honour of Orestes, who had not yet made expiationfor the death of his adulterous parents, Aegisthus and Clytemnestra)much idle tippling is furthermore cut off; for, if the full potsshould continually stand at the elbow or near the trencher, diverswould always be dealing with them, whereas now they drink seldom, andonly when necessity urgeth, and so avoid the note of great drinking, or often troubling of the servitors with filling of their bowls. Nevertheless in the noblemen's halls this order is not used, neitheris any man's house commonly under the degree of a knight or esquire ofgreat revenues. It is a world to see in these our days, wherein goldand silver most aboundeth, how that our gentility, as loathing thosemetals (because of the plenty) do now generally choose rather theVenice glasses, both for our wine and beer, than any of those metalsor stone wherein before time we have been accustomed to drink; butsuch is the nature of man generally that it most coveteth thingsdifficult to be attained; and such is the estimation of this stuffthat many become rich only with their new trade unto Murana (a townnear to Venice, situate on the Adriatic Sea), from whence the verybest are daily to be had, and such as for beauty do well near matchthe crystal or the ancient _murrhina vasa_ whereof now no man hathknowledge. And as this is seen in the gentility, so in the wealthycommunalty the like desire of glass is not neglected, whereby the gaingotten by their purchase is yet much more increased to the benefit ofthe merchant. The poorest also will have glass if they may; but, siththe Venetian is somewhat too dear for them, they content themselveswith such as are made at home of fern and burned stone; but in fineall go one way--that is, to shards at the last, so that our greatexpenses in glasses (beside that they breed much strife toward such ashave the charge of them) are worst of all bestowed in mine opinion, because their pieces do turn unto no profit. If the philosopher'sstone were once found, and one part hereof mixed with forty of moltenglass, it would induce such a metallical toughness thereunto that afall should nothing hurt it in such manner; yet it might peradventurebunch or batter it; nevertheless that inconvenience were quickly to beredressed by the hammer. But whither am I slipped?

The gentlemen and merchants keep much about one rate, and each of themcontenteth himself with four, five, or six dishes, when they have butsmall resort, or peradventure with one, or two, or three at the most, when they have no strangers to accompany them at their tables. And yettheir servants have their ordinary diet assigned, beside such as isleft at their master's boards, and not appointed to be brought thitherthe second time, which nevertheless is often seen, generally invenison, lamb, or some especial dish, whereon the merchantman himselfliketh to feed when it is cold, or peradventure for sundry causesincident to the feeder is better so than if it were warm or hot. To beshort, at such times as the merchants do make their ordinary orvoluntary feasts, it is a world to see what great provision is made ofall manner of delicate meats, from every quarter of the country, wherein, beside that they are often comparable herein to the nobilityof the land, they will seldom regard anything that the butcher usuallykilleth, but reject the same as not worthy to come in place. In suchcases also jellies of all colours, mixed with a variety in therepresentation of sundry flowers, herbs, trees, forms of beasts, fish, fowls, and fruits, and thereunto marchpane wrought with no smallcuriosity, tarts of divers hues, and sundry denominations, conservesof old fruits, foreign and home-bred, suckets, codinacs, marmalades, marchpane, sugar-bread, gingerbread, florentines, wild fowls, venisonof all sorts, and sundry outlandish confections, altogether seasonedwith sugar (which Pliny calleth _mel ex arundinibus_, a device notcommon nor greatly used in old time at the table, but only inmedicine, although it grew in Arabia, India, and Sicilia), dogenerally bear the sway, besides infinite devices of our own notpossible for me to remember. Of the potato, and such venerous roots asare brought out of Spain, Portugal, and the Indies to furnish up ourbanquets, I speak not, wherein our mures[1] of no less force, and tobe had about Crosby-Ravenswath, do now begin to have place. 

 [1] Sweet cicely, sometimes miscalled myrrh. Mure is the Saxon word. At one time the plant was not uncommon as a salad. --W. 

But among all these, the kind of meat which is obtained with mostdifficulty and costs, is commonly taken for the most delicate, andthereupon each guest will soonest desire to feed. And as all estatesdo exceed herein, I mean for strangeness and number of costly dishes, so these forget not to use the like excess in wine, insomuch as thereis no kind to be had, neither anywhere more store of all sorts than inEngland, although we have none growing with us but yearly to theproportion of 20, 000 of 30, 000 tun and upwards, notwithstanding thedaily restraints of the same brought over unto us, whereof at greatmeetings there is not some store to be had. Neither do I mean this ofsmall wines only, as claret, white, red, French, etc. , which amount toabout fifty-six sorts, according to the number of regions from whencethey came, but also of the thirty kinds of Italian, Grecian, Spanish, Canarian, etc. , whereof vernage, catepument, raspis, muscadell, romnie, bastard lire, osy caprie, clary, and malmesey, are not leastof all accompted of, because of their strength and valour. For, as Ihave said in meat, so, the stronger the wine is, the more it isdesired, by means whereof, in old time, the best was called_theologicum_, because it was had from the clergy and religious men, unto whose houses many of the laity would often send for bottlesfilled with the same, being sure they would neither drink nor beserved of the worst, or such as was any ways mingled or brewed by thevinterer: nay, the merchant would have thought that his soul shouldhave gone straightway to the devil if he should have served them withother than the best. Furthermore, when these have had their coursewhich nature yieldeth, sundry sorts of artificial stuff as ypocras andwormwood wine must in like manner succeed in their turns, beside staleale and strong beer, which nevertheless bear the greatest brunt indrinking, and are of so many sorts and ages as it pleaseth the brewerto make them. 

The beer that is used at noblemen's tables in their fixed and standinghouses is commonly a year old, or peradventure of two years' tunningor more; but this is not general. It is also brewed in March, andtherefore called March beer; but, for the household, it is usually notunder a month's age, each one coveting to have the same stale as hemay, so that it be not sour, and his bread new as is possible, so thatit be not hot. 

The artificer and husbandman makes greatest account of such meat asthey may soonest come by, and have it quickliest ready, except it bein London when the companies of every trade do meet on their quarterdays, at which time they be nothing inferior to the nobility. Theirfood also consisteth principally in beef, and such meat as the butcherselleth--that is to say, mutton, veal, lamb, pork, etc. , whereof hefindeth great store in the markets adjoining, beside sows, brawn, bacon, fruit, pies of fruit, fowls of sundry sorts, cheese, butter, eggs, etc. , as the other wanteth it not at home, by his own provisionwhich is at the best hand, and commonly least charge. In feastingalso, this latter sort, I mean the husbandmen, do exceed after theirmanner, especially at bridals, purifications of women, and such oddmeetings, where it is incredible to tell what meat is consumed andspent, each one bringing such a dish, or so many with him, as his wifeand he do consult upon, but always with this consideration, that thelesser friend shall have the better provision. This also is commonlyseen at these banquets, that the good man of the house is not chargedwith anything saving bread, drink, sauce, house-room, and fire. Butthe artificers in cities and good towns do deal far otherwise; for, albeit that some of them do suffer their jaws to go oft before theirclaws, and divers of them, by making good cheer, do hinder themselvesand other men, yet the wiser sort can handle the matter well enough inthese junketings, and therefore their frugality deservethcommendation. To conclude, both the artificer and the husbandman aresufficiently liberal, and very friendly at their tables; and, whenthey meet, they are so merry without malice, and plain without inwardItalian or French craft and subtlety, that it would do a man good tobe in company among them. Herein only are the inferior sort somewhatto be blamed, that, being thus assembled, their talk is now and thensuch as savoureth of scurrility and ribaldry, a thing naturallyincident to carters and clowns, who think themselves not to be merryand welcome if their foolish veins in this behalf be never so littlerestrained. This is moreover to be added in these meetings, that ifthey happen to stumble upon a piece of venison and a cup of wine orvery strong beer or ale (which latter they commonly provide againsttheir appointed days), they think their cheer so great, and themselvesto have fared so well, as the Lord Mayor of London, with whom, whentheir bellies be full, they will not often stick to make comparison, because that of a subject there is no public officer of any city inEurope that may compare in port and countenance with him during thetime of his office. 

I might here talk somewhat of the great silence that is used at thetables of the honourable and wiser sort generally over all the realm(albeit that too much deserveth no commendation, for it belongeth toguests neither to be _muti_ nor _loquaces_[2]), likewise of themoderate eating and drinking that is daily seen, and finally of theregard that each one hath to keep himself from the note of surfeitingand drunkenness (for which cause salt meat, except beef, bacon, andpork, are not any whit esteemed, and yet these three may not be muchpowdered); but, as in rehearsal thereof I should commend the nobleman, merchant, and frugal artificer, so I could not clear the meaner sortof husbandmen and country inhabitants of very much babbling (except itbe here and there some odd yeoman), with whom he is thought to be themerriest that talketh of most ribaldry or the wisest man that speakethfastest among them, and now and then surfeiting and drunkenness whichthey rather fall into for want of heed taking than wilfully followingor delighting in those errors of set mind and purpose. It may be thatdivers of them living at home, with hard and pinching diet, smalldrink, and some of them having scarce enough of that, are soonestovertaken when they come into such banquets, howbeit they take itgenerally as no small disgrace if they happen to be cupshotten, sothat it is a grief unto them, though now sans remedy, sith the thingis done and past. If the friends also of the wealthier sort come totheir houses from far, they are commonly so welcome till they departas upon the first day of their coming; whereas in good towns andcities, as London, etc. , men oftentimes complain of little room, and, in reward of a fat capon or plenty of beef and mutton largely bestowedupon them in the country, a cup of wine or beer with a napkin to wipetheir lips and an "You are heartily welcome!" is thought to be a greatentertainment; and therefore the old country clerks have framed thissaying in that behalf, I mean upon the entertainment of townsmen andLondoners after the days of their abode, in this manner:

 "Primus jucundus, tollerabilis estque secundus, Tertius est vanus, sed fetet quatriduanus. "

 [2] Neither "silent" nor "garrulous. "

The bread throughout the land is made of such grain as the soilyieldeth; nevertheless the gentility commonly provide themselvessufficiently of wheat for their own tables, whilst their household andpoor neighbours in some shires are forced to content themselves withrye, or barley, yea, and in time of dearth, many with bread madeeither of beans, peas, of oats, or of altogether and some acornsamong, of which scourge the poorest do soonest taste, sith they areleast able to provide themselves of better. I will not say that thisextremity is oft so well to be seen in time of plenty as of dearth, but, if I should, I could easily bring my trial. For, albeit thatthere be much more ground eared now almost in every place than hathbeen of late years, yet such a price of corn continueth in each townand market without any just cause (except it be that landlords do getlicences to carry corn out of the land only to keep up the prices fortheir own private gains and ruin of the commonwealth), that theartificer and poor labouring man is not able to reach unto it, but isdriven to content himself with horse corn--I mean beans, peas, oats, tares, and lentils: and therefore it is a true proverb, and never sowell verified as now, that "Hunger setteth his first foot into thehorse-manger. "[3] If the world last awhile after this rate, wheat andrye will be no grain for poor men to feed on; and some caterpillarsthere are that can say so much already. 

 [3] A famine at hand is first seen in the horse-manger, when the poor do fall to horse corn. --H. 

Of bread made of wheat we have sundry sorts daily brought to thetable, whereof the first and most excellent is the manchet, which wecommonly call white bread, in Latin _primarius panis_, whereof Budeusalso speaketh, in his first book _De asse_; and our good workmendeliver commonly such proportion that of the flour of one bushel withanother they make forty cast of manchet, of which every loaf weighetheight ounces into the oven, and six ounces out, as I have beeninformed. The second is the cheat or wheaten bread, so named becausethe colour thereof resembleth the grey or yellowish wheat, being cleanand well dressed, and out of this is the coarsest of the bran (usuallycalled gurgeons or pollard) taken. The ravelled is a kind of cheatbread also, but it retaineth more of the gross, and less of the puresubstance of the wheat; and this, being more slightly wrought up, isused in the halls of the nobility and gentry only, whereas the othereither is or should be baked in cities and good towns of an appointedsize (according to such price as the corn doth bear), and by a statuteprovided by King John in that behalf. [4] The ravelled cheat thereforeis generally so made that out of one bushel of meal, after two andtwenty pounds of bran be sifted and taken from it (whereunto they addthe gurgeons that rise from the manchet), they make thirty cast, everyloaf weighing eighteen ounces into the oven, and sixteen ounces out;and, beside this, they so handle the matter that to every bushel ofmeal they add only two and twenty, or three and twenty, pound ofwater, washing also (in some houses) their corn before it go to themill, whereby their manchet bread is more excellent in colour, andpleasing to the eye, than otherwise it would be. The next sort isnamed brown bread, of the colour of which we have two sorts one bakedup as it cometh from the mill, so that neither the bran nor the flourare any whit diminished; this, Celsus called _autopirus panis_, lib. 2, and putteth it in the second place of nourishment. The other hathlittle or no flour left therein at all, howbeit he calleth it _PanemCibarium_, and it is not only the worst and weakest of all the othersorts, but also appointed in old time for servants, slaves, and theinferior kind of people to feed upon. Hereunto likewise, because it isdry and brickle in the working (for it will hardly be made uphandsomely into loaves), some add a portion of rye meal in our time, whereby the rough dryness or dry roughness thereof is somewhatqualified, and then it is named _miscelin_, that is, bread made ofmingled corn, albeit that divers do sow or mingle wheat and rye of setpurpose at the mill, or before it come there, and sell the same at themarkets under the aforesaid name. 

 [4] The size of bread is very ill kept or not at all looked unto in the country towns or markets. --H. 

In champaign countries much rye and barley bread is eaten, butespecially where wheat is scant and geson. As for the difference thatit is between the summer and winter wheat, most husbandmen know itnot, sith they are neither acquainted with summer wheat nor winterbarley; yet here and there I find of both sorts, specially in thenorth and about Kendal, where they call it March wheat, and also ofsummer rye, but in so small quantities as that I dare not pronouncethem to be greatly common among us. 

Our drink, whose force and continuance is partly touched already, ismade of barley, water, and hops, sodden and mingled together, by theindustry of our brewers in a certain exact proportion. But, before ourbarley do come into their hands, it sustaineth great alteration, andis converted into malt, the making whereof I will here set down insuch order as my skill therein may extend unto (for I am scarce a goodmaltster), chiefly for that foreign writers have attempted to describethe same, and the making of our beer, wherein they have shot so farwide, as the quantity of ground was between themselves and their mark. In the meantime bear with me, gentle reader (I beseech thee), thatlead thee from the description of the plentiful diet of our countryunto the fond report of a servile trade, or rather from a tabledelicately furnished into a musty malt-house; but such is now thy hap, wherefore I pray thee be contented. 

Our malt is made all the year long in some great towns; but ingentlemen's and yeomen's houses, who commonly make sufficient fortheir own expenses only, the winter half is thought most meet for thatcommodity: howbeit the malt that is made when the willow doth bud iscommonly worst of all. Nevertheless each one endeavoureth to make itof the best barley, which is steeped in a cistern, in greater or lessquantity, by the space of three days and three nights, until it bethoroughly soaked. This being done, the water is drained from it bylittle and little, till it be quite gone. Afterward they take it out, and, laying it upon the clean floor on a round heap, it resteth sountil it be ready to shoot at the root end, which maltsters call_combing_. When it beginneth therefore to shoot in this manner, theysay it is come, and then forthwith they spread it abroad, first thick, and afterwards thinner and thinner upon the said floor (as it_combeth_), and there it lieth (with turning every day four or fivetimes) by the space of one and twenty days at the least, the workmennot suffering it in any wise to take any heat, whereby the bud endshould spire, that bringeth forth the blade, and by which oversight orhurt of the stuff itself the malt would be spoiled and turn smallcommodity to the brewer. When it hath gone, or been turned, so longupon the floor, they carry it to a kiln covered with hair cloth, wherethey give it gentle heats (after they have spread it there very thinabroad) till it be dry, and in the meanwhile they turn it often, thatit may be uniformly dried. For the more it be dried (yet must it bedone with soft fire) the sweeter and better the malt is, and thelonger it will continue, whereas, if it be not dried down (as theycall it), but slackly handled, it will breed a kind of worm called aweevil, which groweth in the flour of the corn, and in process of timewill so eat out itself that nothing shall remain of the grain but eventhe very rind or husk. 

The best malt is tried by the hardness and colour; for, if it lookfresh with a yellow hue, and thereto will write like a piece of chalk, after you have bitten a kernel in sunder in the midst, then you mayassure yourself that it is dried down. In some places it is dried atleisure with wood alone or straw alone, in others with wood and strawtogether; but, of all, the straw dried is the most excellent. For thewood-dried malt when it is brewed, beside that the drink is higher ofcolour, it doth hurt and annoy the head of him that is not usedthereto, because of the smoke. Such also as use both indifferently dobark, cleave, and dry their wood in an oven, thereby to remove allmoisture that should procure the fume; and this malt is in the secondplace, and, with the same likewise, that which is made with driedfurze, broom, etc. : whereas, if they also be occupied green, they arein manner so prejudicial to the corn as is the moist wood. And thusmuch of our malts, in brewing whereof some grind the same somewhatgrossly, and, in seething well the liquor that shall be put into it, they add to every nine quarters of malt one of headcorn (whichconsisteth of sundry grain, as wheat and oats ground). But what have Ito do with this matter, or rather so great a quantity, wherewith I amnot acquainted? Nevertheless, sith I have taken occasion to speak ofbrewing, I will exemplify in such a proportion as I am best skilledin, because it is the usual rate for mine own family, and once in amonth practised by my wife and her maid-servants, who proceed withalafter this manner, as she hath oft informed me. 

Having therefore ground eight bushels of good malt upon our quern, where the toll is saved, she addeth unto it half a bushel of wheatmeal, and so much of oats small ground, and so tempereth or mixeththem with the malt that you cannot easily discern the one from theother; otherwise these latter would clunter, fall into lumps, andthereby become unprofitable. The first liquor (which is full eightygallons, according to the proportion of our furnace) she makethboiling hot, and then poureth it softly into the malt, where itresteth (but without stirring) until her second liquor be almost readyto boil. This done, she letteth her mash run till the malt be leftwithout liquor, or at the leastwise the greatest part of the moisture, which she perceiveth by the stay and soft issue thereof; and by thistime her second liquor in the furnace is ready to seethe, which is putalso to the malt, as the first woort also again into the furnace, whereunto she addeth two pounds of the best English hops, and soletteth them seethe together by the space of two hours in summer or anhour and a half in winter, whereby it getteth an excellent colour, andcontinuance without impeachment or any superfluous tartness. But, before she putteth her first woort into the furnace, or mingleth itwith the hops, she taketh out a vessel full, of eight or nine gallons, which she shutteth up close, and suffereth no air to come into it tillit become yellow, and this she reserveth by itself unto further use, as shall appear hereafter, calling it _brackwoort_ or _charwoort_, and, as she saith, it addeth also to the colour of the drink, wherebyit yieldeth not unto amber or fine gold in hue unto the eye. By thistime also her second woort is let run; and, the first being taken outof the furnace, and placed to cool, she returneth the middle woortunto the furnace, where it is stricken over, or from whence it istaken again, when it beginneth to boil, and mashed the second time, whilst the third liquor is heat (for there are three liquors), andthis last put into the furnace, when the second is mashed again. Whenshe hath mashed also the last liquor (and set the second to cool bythe first), she letteth it run, and then seetheth it again with apound and a half of new hops, or peradventure two pounds, as she seethcause by the goodness or baseness of the hops, and, when it hathsodden, in summer two hours, and in winter an hour and a half, shestriketh it also, and reserveth it unto mixture with the rest whentime doth serve therefore. Finally, when she setteth her drinktogether, she addeth to her brackwoort or charwoort half an ounce ofarras, and half a quarter of an ounce of bayberries, finely powdered, and then, putting the same into her woort, with a handful of wheatflour, she proceedeth in such usual order as common brewing requireth, Some, instead of arras and bays, add so much long pepper only, but, inher opinion and my liking, it is not so good as the first, and hereofwe make three hogsheads of good beer, such (I mean) as is meet forpoor men as I am to live withal, whoso small maintenance (for whatgreat thing is forty pounds a year, _computatis computandis_, able toperform?) may endure no deeper cut, the charges whereof groweth inthis manner. I value my malt at ten shillings, my wood at fourshillings (which I buy), my hops at twenty pence, the spice attwopence, servants' wages two shillings sixpence, with meat and drink, and the wearing of my vessel at twenty pence, so that for my twentyshillings I have ten score gallons of beer or more, notwithstandingthe loss in seething, which some, being loth to forego, do not observethe time, and therefore speed thereafter in their success, andworthily. The continuance of the drink is always determined after thequantity of the hops, so that being well _hopt_ it lasteth longer. Forit feedeth upon the hop, and holdeth out so long as the force of thesame continueth, which being extinguished, the drink must be spent, orelse it dieth and becometh of no value. 

In this trade also our brewers observe very diligently the nature ofthe water, which they daily occupy, and soil through which it passeth, for all waters are not of like goodness, sith the fattest standingwater is always the best; for, although the waters that run by chalkor cledgy soils be good, and next unto the Thames water, which is themost excellent, yet the water that standeth in either of these is thebest for us that dwell in the country, as whereon the sun liethlongest, and fattest fish is bred. But, of all other, the fenny andmarsh is the worst, and the clearest spring water next unto it. Inthis business therefore the skilful workman doth redeem the iniquityof that element, by changing of his proportions, which trouble in ale(sometime our only, but now taken with many for old and sick men'sdrink) is never seen nor heard of. Howbeit, as the beer well sodden inthe brewing, and stale, is clear and well coloured as muscadel ormalvesey, or rather yellow as the gold noble, as our pot-knights callit, so our ale, which is not at all or very little sodden, and withouthops, is more thick, fulsome, and of no such continuance, which arethree notable things to be considered in that liquor. But what forthat? Certes I know some ale-knights so much addicted thereunto thatthey will not cease from morrow until even to visit the same, cleansing house after house, till they defile themselves, and eitherfall quite under the board, or else, not daring to stir from theirstools, sit still pinking with their narrow eyes, as half sleeping, till the fume of their adversary be digested that he may go to itafresh. Such slights also have the ale-wives for the utterance of thisdrink that they will mix it with rosen and salt; but if you heat aknife red-hot, and quench it in the ale so near the bottom of the potas you can put it, you shall see the rosen come forth hanging on theknife. As for the force of salt, it is well known by the effect, forthe more the drinker tippleth, the more he may, and so doth he carryoff a dry drunken noll to bed with him, except his luck be the better. But to my purpose. 

In some places of England there is a kind of drink made of appleswhich they call cider or pomage, but that of pears is called perry, and both are ground and pressed in presses made for the nonce. Certesthese two are very common in Sussex, Kent, Worcester, and other steedswhere these sorts of fruit do abound, howbeit they are not their onlydrink at all times, but referred unto the delicate sorts of drink, asmetheglin is in Wales, whereof the Welshmen make no less account (andnot without cause, if it be well handled) than the Greeks did of theirambrosia or nectar, which for the pleasantness thereof was supposed tobe such as the gods themselves did delight in. There is a kind ofswish-swash made also in Essex, and divers other places, withhoneycombs and water, which the homely country wives, putting somepepper and a little other spice among, call mead, very good in mineopinion for such as love to be loose bodied at large, or a littleeased of the cough. Otherwise it differeth so much from the truemetheglin as chalk from cheese. Truly it is nothing else but thewashing of the combs, when the honey is wrung out, and one of the bestthings that I know belonging thereto is that they spend but littlelabour, and less cost, in making of the same, and therefore no greatloss if it were never occupied. Hitherto of the diet of my countrymen, and somewhat more at large peradventure than many men will like of, wherefore I think good now to finish this tractation, and so will Iwhen I have added a few other things incident unto that which goethbefore, whereby the whole process of the same shall fully bedelivered, and my promise to my friend[5] in this behalf performed. 

 [5] Holinshed. This occurs in the last of Harrison's prefatory matter. --W. 

Heretofore there hath been much more time spent in eating anddrinking than commonly is in these days; for whereas of old we hadbreakfast in the forenoon, beverages or nunchions[6] after dinner, and thereto rear suppers generally when it was time to go to rest (atoy brought into England by hardy Canutus, and a custom whereofAthenaeus also speaketh, lib. 1, albeit Hippocrates speaks but oftwice at the most, lib. 2, _De rat vict. In feb ac_). Now, these oddrepasts--thanked be God!--are very well left, and each one in manner(except here and there some young, hungry stomach that cannot fasttill dinner-time) contenteth himself with dinner and supper only. TheNormans, misliking the gormandise of Canutus, ordained after theirarrival that no table should be covered above once in the day, whichHuntingdon imputeth to their avarice; but in the end, either waxingweary of their own frugality, or suffering the cockle of old customto overgrow the good corn of their new constitution, they fell tosuch liberty that in often-feeding they surmounted Canutus surnamedthe Hardy. For, whereas he covered his table but three or four timesin the day, these spread their cloths five or six times, and in suchwise as I before rehearsed. They brought in also the custom of longand stately sitting at meat, whereby their feasts resembled thoseancient pontifical banquets whereof Macrobius speaketh (lib. 3, cap. 13), and Pliny (lib. 10, cap. 10), and which for sumptuousness offare, long sitting, and curiosity shewed in the same, exceeded allother men's feasting; which fondness is not yet left with us, notwithstanding that it proveth very beneficial for the physicians, who most abound where most excess and misgovernment of our bodies doappear, although it be a great expense of time, and worthy ofreprehension. For the nobility, gentlemen, and merchantmen, especially at great meetings, do sit commonly till two or three ofthe clock at afternoon, so that with many it is a hard matter to risefrom the table to go to evening prayer, and return from thence tocome time enough to supper. [7]. . . 

 [6] This word is not obsolete. South coast countrymen still eat _nuntions_ and not _luncheons_. --W. 

 [7] Here follows a disquisition upon the table practices of the ancients. --W. 

With us the nobility, gentry, and students do ordinarily go to dinnerat eleven before noon, and to supper at five, or between five and sixat afternoon. The merchants dine and sup seldom before twelve at noon, and six at night, especially in London. The husbandmen dine also athigh noon as they call it, and sup at seven or eight; but out of theterm in our universities the scholars dine at ten. As for the poorestsort they generally dine and sup when they may, so that to talk oftheir order of repast it were but a needless matter. I might here takeoccasion also to set down the variety used by antiquity in theirbeginnings of their diets, wherein almost every nation had a severalfashion, some beginning of custom (as we do in summer time) withsalads at supper, and some ending with lettuce, some making theirentry with eggs, and shutting up their tables with mulberries, as wedo with fruit and conceits of all sorts. Divers (as the old Romans)began with a few crops of rue, as the Venetians did with the fishcalled gobius; the Belgres with butter, or (as we do yet also) withbutter and eggs upon fish days. But whereas we commonly begin with themost gross food, and end with the most delicate, the Scot, thinkingmuch to leave the best for his menial servants, maketh his entrance atthe best, so that he is sure thereby to leave the worst. We use alsoour wines by degrees, so that the hostess cometh last to the table:but to stand upon such toys would spend much time, and turn to smallprofit. Wherefore I will deal with other things more necessary forthis turn. 

CHAPTER VII

OF OUR APPAREL AND ATTIRE

[1577, Book III. , Chapter 2; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 7. ]

An Englishman, endeavouring sometime to write of our attire, madesundry platforms for his purpose, supposing by some of them to findout one steadfast ground whereon to build the sum of his discourse. But in the end (like an orator long without exercise), when he sawwhat a difficult piece of work he had taken in hand, he gave over histravel, and only drew the picture of a naked man[1], unto whom hegave a pair of shears in the one hand and a piece of cloth in theother, to the end he should shape his apparel after such fashion ashimself liked, sith he could find no kind of garment that couldplease him any while together; and this he called an Englishman. Certes this writer (otherwise being a lewd popish hypocrite andungracious priest) shewed himself herein not to be altogether void ofjudgment, sith the phantastical folly of our nation (even from thecourtier to the carter) is such that no form of apparel liketh uslonger than the first garment is in the wearing, if it continue solong, and be not laid aside to receive some other trinket newlydevised by the fickle-headed tailors, who covet to have severaltricks in cutting, thereby to draw fond customers to more expense ofmoney. For my part, I can tell better how to inveigh against thisenormity than describe any certainty of our attire; sithence such isour mutability that to-day there is none to the Spanish guise, to-morrow the French toys are most fine and delectable, ere long nosuch apparel as that which is after the high Almaine fashion, by-and-by the Turkish manner is generally best liked of, otherwisethe Morisco gowns, the Barbarian fleeces, the mandilion worn toColley-Weston ward, and the short French breeches make such a comelyvesture that, except it were a dog in a doublet, you shall not seeany so disguised as are my countrymen of England. And as thesefashions are diverse, so likewise it is a world to see the costlinessand the curiosity, the excess and the vanity, the pomp and thebravery, the change and the variety, and finally the fickleness andthe folly, that is in all degrees, insomuch that nothing is moreconstant in England than inconstancy of attire. Oh, how much cost isbestowed nowadays upon our bodies, and how little upon our souls! Howmany suits of apparel hath the one, and how little furniture hath theother! How long time is asked in decking up of the first, and howlittle space left wherein to feed the latter! How curious, how nicealso, are a number of men and women, and how hardly can the tailorplease them in making it fit for their bodies! How many times must itbe sent back again to him that made it! What chafing, what fretting, what reproachful language, doth the poor workman bear away! And manytimes when he doth nothing to it at all, yet when it is brought homeagain it is very fit and handsome; then must we put it on, then mustthe long seams of our hose be set by a plumb-line, then we puff, thenwe blow, and finally sweat till we drop, that our clothes may standwell upon us. I will say nothing of our heads, which sometimes arepolled, sometimes curled, or suffered to grow at length like woman'slocks, many times cut off, above or under the ears, round as by awooden dish. Neither will I meddle with our variety of beards, ofwhich some are shaven from the chin like those of Turks, not a fewcut short like to the beard of Marquess Otto, some made round like arubbing brush, others with a _pique de vant_ (O! fine fashion!), ornow and then suffered to grow long, the barbers being grown to be socunning in this behalf as the tailors. And therefore if a man have alean and straight face, a Marquess Otton's cut will make it broad andlarge; if it be platter-like, a long, slender beard will make it seemthe narrower; if he be weasel-becked, then much hair left on thecheeks will make the owner look big like a bowdled hen, and as grimas a goose, if Cornells of Chelmersford say true. Many old men dowear no beards at all. Some lusty courtiers also and gentlemen ofcourage do wear either rings of gold, stones, or pearl, in their ears, whereby they imagine the workmanship of God not to be a littleamended. But herein they rather disgrace than adorn their persons, asby their niceness in apparel, for which I say most nations do notunjustly deride us, as also for that we do seem to imitate all nationsround about us, wherein we be like to the polypus or chameleon; andthereunto bestow most cost upon our arses, and much more than upon allthe rest of our bodies, as women do likewise upon their heads andshoulders. In women also, it is most to be lamented, that they do nowfar exceed the lightness of our men (who nevertheless are transformedfrom the cap even to the very shoe), and such staring attire as intime past was supposed meet for none but light housewives only is nowbecome a habit for chaste and sober matrons. What should I say oftheir doublets with pendant codpieces on the breast full of jags andcuts, and sleeves of sundry colours? Their galligascons to bear outtheir bums and make their attire to fit plum round (as they term it)about them. Their fardingals, and diversely coloured nether stocks ofsilk, jerdsey, and such like, whereby their bodies are rather deformedthan commended? I have met with some of these trulls in London sodisguised that it hath passed my skill to discern whether they weremen or women. 

 [1] (COS. )

 "I am an English man and naked I stand here, Musying in my mynde what rayment I shall were; For now I will were thys, and now I will were that; Now I will were I cannot tell what. All new fashyons be plesaunt in me; I wyl haue them, whether I thryve or thee. "

 From Andrew Boorde's _Introduction_ (1541), and _Dyetary_ (1542), edited by F. J. F. For Early English Text Society, 1870, p. 116. (A most quaint and interesting volume, though I say so. )--Furnivall. 

Thus it is now come to pass, that women are become men, and mentransformed into monsters; and those good gifts which Almighty Godhath given unto us to relieve our necessities withal (as a nationturning altogether the grace of God into wantonness, for

 "Luxuriant animi rebus plerunque fecundis, ")

not otherwise bestowed than in all excess, as if we wist nototherwise how to consume and waste them. I pray God that in thisbehalf our sin be not like unto that of Sodom and Gomorrah, whoseerrors were pride, excess of diet, and abuse of God's benefitsabundantly bestowed upon them, beside want of charity towards thepoor, and certain other points which the prophet shutteth up insilence. Certes the commonwealth cannot be said to nourish wherethese abuses reign, but is rather oppressed by unreasonable exactionsmade upon rich farmers, and of poor tenants, wherewith to maintainthe same. Neither was it ever merrier with England than when anEnglishman was known abroad by his own cloth, and contented himselfat home with his fine carsey hosen, and a mean slop; his coat, gown, and cloak of brown, blue, or puke, with some pretty furniture ofvelvet or fur, and a doublet of sad tawny, or black velvet, or othercomely silk, without such cuts and garish colours as are worn inthese days, and never brought in but by the consent of the French, who think themselves the gayest men when they have most diversitiesof jags and change of colours about them. Certes of all estates ourmerchants do least alter their attire, and therefore are most to becommended; for albeit that which they wear be very fine and costly, yet in form and colour it representeth a great piece of the ancientgravity appertaining to citizens and burgesses, albeit the youngersort of their wives, both in attire and costly housekeeping, cannottell when and how to make an end, as being women indeed in whom allkind of curiosity is to be found and seen, and in far greater measurethan in women of higher calling. I might here name a sort of huesdevised for the nonce, wherewith to please fantastical heads, asgoose-turd green, peas-porridge tawny, popingay blue, lusty gallant, the devil-in-the-head (I should say the hedge), and such like; but Ipass them over, thinking it sufficient to have said thus much ofapparel generally, when nothing can particularly be spoken of anyconstancy thereof. 

CHAPTER VIII

OF THE MANNER OF BUILDING AND FURNITURE OF OUR HOUSES

[1577, Book II. , Chapter 10; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 12. ]

The greatest part of our building in the cities and good towns ofEngland consisteth only of timber, for as yet few of the houses ofthe communalty (except here and there in the West-country towns) aremade of stone, although they may (in my opinion) in divers otherplaces be builded so good cheap of the one as of the other. In oldtime the houses of the Britons were slightly set up with a few postsand many raddles, with stable and all offices under one roof, thelike whereof almost is to be seen in the fenny countries and northernparts unto this day, where for lack of wood they are enforced tocontinue this ancient manner of building. It is not in vain, therefore, in speaking of building, to make a distinction between theplain and woody soils; for as in these, our houses are commonlystrong and well-timbered (so that in many places there are not abovefour, six, or nine inches between stud and stud), so in the openchampaign countries they are forced, for want of stuff, to use nostuds at all, but only frankposts, raisins, beams, prickposts, groundsels, summers (or dormants), transoms, and such principals, with here and there a girding, whereunto they fasten their splints orraddles, and then cast it all over with thick clay to keep out thewind, which otherwise would annoy them. Certes this rude kind ofbuilding made the Spaniards in Queen Mary's days to wonder, butchiefly when they saw what large diet was used in many of these sohomely cottages; insomuch that one of no small reputation amongstthem said after this manner--"These English (quoth he) have theirhouses made of sticks and dirt, but they fare commonly so well as theking. " Whereby it appeareth that he liked better of our good fare insuch coarse cabins than of their own thin diet in their prince-likehabitations and palaces. In like sort as every country house is thusapparelled on the outside, so is it inwardly divided into sundryrooms above and beneath; and, where plenty of wood is, they coverthem with tiles, otherwise with straw, sedge, or reed, except somequarry of slate be near hand, from whence they have for their moneymuch as may suffice them. The clay wherewith our houses areimpannelled is either white, red, or blue; and of these the firstdoth participate very much of the nature of our chalk; the second iscalled loam; but the third eftsoons changeth colour as soon as it iswrought, notwithstanding that it looks blue when it is thrown out ofthe pit. Of chalk also we have our excellent asbestos or white lime, made in most places, wherewith being quenched, we strike over ourclay works and stone walls, in cities, good towns, rich farmers' andgentlemen's houses: otherwise, instead of chalk (where it wanteth, for it is so scant that in some places it is sold by the pound), theyare compelled to burn a certain kind of red stone, as in Wales, andelsewhere other stones and shells of oysters and like fish found uponthe sea coast, which, being converted into lime, doth naturally (asthe other) abhor and eschew water, whereby it is dissolved, andnevertheless desire oil, wherewith it is easily mixed, as I have seenby experience. Within their doors also, such as are of ability do oftmake their floors and parget of fine alabaster burned, which theycall plaster of Paris, whereof in some places we have great plenty, and that very profitable against the rage of fire. In plasteringlikewise of our fairest houses over our heads, we use to lay first aline or two of white mortar, tempered with hair, upon laths, whichare nailed one by another (or sometimes upon reed of wickers moredangerous for fire, and make fast here and there saplaths for fallingdown), and finally cover all with the aforesaid plaster, which, beside the delectable whiteness of the stuff itself, is laid on soeven and smoothly as nothing in my judgment can be done with moreexactness. The walls of our houses on the inner sides in like sort beeither hanged with tapestry, arras work, or painted cloths, whereineither divers histories, or herbs, beasts, knots, and such like arestained, or else they are ceiled with oak of our own, or wainscotbrought hither out of the east countries, whereby the rooms are not alittle commended, made warm, and much more close than otherwise theywould be. As for stoves, we have not hitherto used them greatly, yetdo they now begin to be made in divers houses of the gentry andwealthy citizens, who build them not to work and feed in, as inGermany and elsewhere, but now and then to sweat in, as occasion andneed shall require it. 

This also hath been common in England, contrary to the customs of allother nations, and yet to be seen (for example, in most streets ofLondon), that many of our greatest houses have outwardly been verysimple and plain to sight, which inwardly have been able to receive aduke with his whole train, and lodge them at their ease. Hereby, moreover, it is come to pass that the fronts of our streets have notbeen so uniform and orderly builded as those of foreign cities, where(to say truth) the outer side of their mansions and dwellings haveoft more cost bestowed upon them than all the rest of the house, which are often very simple and uneasy within, as experience dothconfirm. Of old time, our country houses, instead of glass, did usemuch lattice, and that made either of wicker or fine rifts of oak incheckerwise. I read also that some of the better sort, in and beforethe times of the Saxons (who notwithstanding used some glass alsosince the time of Benedict Biscop, the monk that brought the feat ofglazing first into this land), did make panels of horn instead ofglass, and fix them in wooden calmes. But as horn in windows is nowquite laid down in every place, so our lattices are also grown intoless use, because glass is come to be so plentiful, and within a verylittle so good cheap, if not better than the other. I find obscuremention of the specular stone also to have been found and applied tothis use in England, but in such doubtful sort as I dare not affirmit for certain. Nevertheless certain it is that antiquity used itbefore glass was known, under the name of _selenites_. And how glasswas first found I care not greatly to remember, even at this present, although it be directly beside my purposed matter. In Syria Phenices, which bordereth upon Jewry, and near to the foot of Mount Carmel, there is a moor or marsh whereout riseth a brook called sometimeBelus, and falleth into the sea near to Ptolemais. This river wasfondly ascribed unto Baal, and also honoured under that name by theinfidels long time before there was any king in Israel. It came topass also, as a certain merchant sailed that way, loaden with nitrum, the passengers went to land for to repose themselves, and to take insome store of fresh water into their vessel. Being also on the shore, they kindled a fire and made provision for their dinner, but (becausethey wanted trevets or stones whereon to set their kettles on) ran bychance into the ship, and brought great pieces of nitrum with them, which served their turn for that present. To be short, the saidsubstance being hot, and beginning to melt, it mixed by chance withthe gravel that lay under it, and so brought forth that shiningsubstance which now is called glass, and about the time of Semiramis. When the company saw this, they made no small accompt of theirsuccess, and forthwith began to practise the like in other mixtures, whereby great variety of the said stuff did also ensue. Certes forthe time this history may well be true, for I read of glass in Job;but, for the rest, I refer me to the common opinion conceived bywriters. Now, to turn again to our windows. Heretofore also thehouses of our princes and noblemen were often glazed with beryl (anexample whereof is yet to be seen in Sudeley Castle) and in diversother places with fine crystal, but this especially in the time ofthe Romans, whereof also some fragments have been taken up in oldruins. But now these are not in use, so that only the clearest glassis most esteemed: for we have divers sorts, some brought out ofBurgundy, some out of Normandy, much out of Flanders, beside thatwhich is made in England, which would be so good as the best if wewere diligent and careful to bestow more cost upon it, and yet as itis each one that may will have it for his building. Moreover themansion houses of our country towns and villages (which in champaignground stand altogether by streets, and joining one to another, butin woodland soils dispersed here and there, each one upon the severalgrounds of their owners) are builded in such sort generally as thatthey have neither dairy, stable, nor brew-house annexed unto themunder the same roof (as in many places beyond the sea and some of thenorth parts of our country), but all separate from the first, and oneof them from another. And yet, for all this, they are not so fardistant in sunder but that the goodman lying in his bed may lightlyhear what is done in each of them with ease, and call quickly untohis many if any danger should attack him. 

The ancient manors and houses of our gentlemen are yet and for themost part of strong timber, in framing whereof our carpenters havebeen and are worthily preferred before those of like science amongall other nations. Howbeit such as be lately builded are commonlyeither of brick or hard stone, or both, their rooms large and comely, and houses of office further distant from their lodgings. Those ofthe nobility are likewise wrought with brick and hard stone, asprovision may best be made, but so magnificent and stately as thebasest house of a baron doth often match in our days with somehonours of a princes in old time. So that, if ever curious buildingdid flourish in England, it is in these our years wherein our workmenexcel and are in manner comparable in skill with old Vitruvius, LeoBaptista, and Serlo. Nevertheless their estimation, more than theirgreedy and servile covetousness, joined with a lingering humour, causeth them often to be rejected, and strangers preferred to greaterbargains, who are more reasonable in their takings, and less wastersof time by a great deal than our own. 

The furniture of our houses also exceedeth, and is grown in mannereven to passing delicacy: and herein I do not speak of the nobilityand gentry only, but likewise of the lowest sort in most places ofour south country that have anything at all to take to. Certes innoblemen's houses it is not rare to see abundance of arras, richhangings of tapestry, silver vessels, and so much other plate as mayfurnish sundry cupboards to the sum oftentimes of a thousand or twothousand pounds at the least, whereby the value of this and the restof their stuff doth grow to be almost inestimable. Likewise in thehouses of knights, gentlemen, merchantmen, and some other wealthycitizens, it is not geson to behold generally their great provisionof tapestry, Turkey work, pewter, brass, fine linen, and theretocostly cupboards of plate, worth five or six hundred or a thousandpounds to be deemed by estimation. But, as herein all these sorts dofar exceed their elders and predecessors, and in neatness andcuriosity the merchant all other, so in times past the costlyfurniture stayed there, whereas now it is descended yet lower evenunto the inferior artificers and many farmers, who, by virtue oftheir old and not of their new leases, have, for the most part, learned also to garnish their cupboards with plate, their joined bedswith tapestry and silk hangings, and their tables with carpets andfine napery, whereby the wealth of our country (God be praisedtherefore, and give us grace to employ it well) doth infinitelyappear. Neither do I speak this in reproach of any man, God is myjudge, but to shew that I do rejoice rather to see how God hathblessed us with his good gifts; and whilst, I behold how (in a timewherein all things are grown to most excessive prices, and whatcommodity so ever is to be had is daily plucked from the communaltyby such as look into every trade) we do yet find the means to obtainand achieve such furniture as heretofore hath been unpossible. 

There are old men yet dwelling in the village where I remain whichhave noted three things to be marvellously altered in England withintheir sound remembrance, and other three things too too muchincreased. 

One is the multitude of chimneys lately erected, whereas in theiryoung days there were not above two or three, if so many, in mostuplandish towns of the realm (the religious houses and manor placesof their lords always excepted, and peradventure some greatpersonages), but each one made his fire against a reredos in thehall, where he dined and dressed his meat. 

The second is the great (although not general) amendment of lodging;for, said they, our fathers, yea and we ourselves also, have lainfull oft upon straw pallets, on rough mats covered only with a sheet, under coverlets made of dagswain or hopharlots (I use their ownterms), and a good round log under their heads instead of a bolsteror pillow. If it were so that our fathers--or the good man of thehouse had within seven years after his marriage purchased a mattressor flock bed, and thereto a stack of chaff to rest his head upon, hethought himself to be as well lodged as the lord of the town, thatperadventure lay seldom in a bed of down or whole feathers, so wellwere they content, and with such base kind of furniture: which alsois not very much amended as yet in some parts of Bedfordshire, andelsewhere, further off from our southern parts. Pillows (said they)were thought meet only for women in childbed. As for servants, ifthey had any sheet above them, it was well, for seldom had they anyunder their bodies to keep them from the pricking straws that ran oftthrough the canvas of the pallet and rased their hardened hides. 

The third thing they tell of is the exchange of vessel, as of treenplatters into pewter, and wooden spoons into silver or tin. For socommon were all sorts of treen stuff in old time that a man shouldhardly find four pieces of pewter (of which one was peradventure asalt) in a good farmer's house, and yet for all this frugality (if itmay so be justly called) they were scarce able to live and pay theirrents at their days without selling of a cow, or a horse or more, [1]although they paid but four pounds at the uttermost by the year. Suchalso was their poverty that, if some one odd farmer or husbandman hadbeen at the ale-house, a thing greatly used in those days, amongst sixor seven of his neighbours, and there in a bravery, to shew what storehe had, did cast down his purse, and therein a noble or six shillingsin silver, unto them (for few such men then cared for gold, because itwas not so ready payment, and they were oft enforced to give a pennyfor the exchange of an angel), it was very likely that all the restcould not lay down so much against it; whereas in my time, althoughperadventure four pounds of old rent be improved to forty, fifty, or ahundred pounds, yet will the farmer, as another palm of date tree, think his gains very small toward the end of his term if he have notsix or seven years' rent lying by him, therewith to purchase a newlease, beside a fair garnish of pewter oft his cupboard, with so muchmore in odd vessel going about the house, three or four feather beds, so many coverlids and carpets of tapestry, a silver salt, a bowl forwine (if not a whole neast), and a dozen of spoons to furnish up thesuit. This also he takes to be his own clear, for what stock of moneysoever he gathereth and layeth up in all his years it is often seenthat the landlord will take such order with him for the same when hereneweth his lease, which is commonly eight or six years before theold be expired (sith it is now grown almost to a custom that if hecome not to his lord so long before another shall step in for areversion, and so defeat him outright), that it shall never troublehim more than the hair of his beard when the barber hath washed andshaved it from his chin. 

 [1] This was in the time of general idleness. --H. 

And as they commend these, so (beside the decay of housekeepingwhereby the poor have been relieved) they speak also of three thingsthat are grown to be very grevious unto them--to wit, the enhancingof rents, lately mentioned; the daily oppression of copyholders, whose lords seek to bring their poor tenants almost into plainservitude and misery, daily devising new means, and seeking up allthe old, how to cut them shorter and shorter, doubling, trebling, andnow and then seven times increasing their fines, driving them alsofor every trifle to lose and forfeit their tenures (by whom thegreatest part of the realm doth stand and is maintained), to the endthey may fleece them yet more, which is a lamentable hearing. Thethird thing they talk of is usury, a trade brought in by the Jews, now perfectly practised almost by every Christian, and so commonlythat he is accompted but for a fool that doth lend his money fornothing. In time past it was _sors pro sorte_--that is, the principalonly for the principal; but now, beside that which is above theprincipal properly called _Usura_, we challenge _Foenus_--that is, commodity of soil and fruits of the earth, If not the ground itself. In time past also one of the hundred was much; from thence it roseunto two, called in Latin _Usura, Ex sextante_; three, to wit _Exquadrante_; then to four, to wit, _Ex triente_; then to five, whichis _Ex quincunce_; then to six, called _Ex semisse_, etc. As theaccompt of the _Assis_ ariseth, and coming at the last unto _Usura exasse_, it amounteth to twelve in the hundred, and therefore theLatins call it _Centesima_, for that in the hundred month it doubleththe principal; but more of this elsewhere. See Cicero against Verres, Demosthenes against Aphobus, and Athenaeus, lib. 13, in fine; and, when thou hast read them well, help I pray thee in lawful manner tohang up such as take _Centum pro cento_, for they are no betterworthy as I do judge in conscience. Forget not also such landlords asused to value their leases at a secret estimation given of the wealthand credit of the taker, whereby they seem (as it were) to eat themup, and deal with bondmen, so that if the lessee be thought to beworth a hundred pounds he shall pay no less for his new term, or elseanother to enter with hard and doubtful covenants. I am sorry toreport it, much more grieved to understand of the practice, but mostsorrowful of all to understand that men of great port and countenanceare so far from suffering their farmers to have any gain at all thatthey themselves become graziers, butchers, tanners, sheepmasters, woodmen, and _denique quid non_, thereby to enrich themselves, andbring all the wealth of the country into their own hands, leaving thecommunalty weak, or as an idol with broken or feeble arms, which mayin a time of peace have a plausible shew, but when necessity shallenforce have a heavy and bitter sequel. 

CHAPTER IX

OF PROVISION MADE FOR THE POOR

[1577, Book III. , Chapter 5; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 10. ]

There is no commonwealth at this day in Europe wherein there is notgreat store of poor people, and those necessarily to be relieved bythe wealthier sort, which otherwise would starve and come to utterconfusion. With us the poor is commonly divided into three sorts, sothat some are poor by impotence, as the fatherless child, the aged, blind, and lame, and the diseased person that is judged to beincurable; the second are poor by casualty, as the wounded soldier, the decayed householder, and the sick person visited with grievousand painful diseases; the third consisteth of thriftless poor, as therioter that hath consumed all, the vagabond that will abide nowhere, but runneth up and down from place to place (as it were seeking workand finding none), and finally the rogue and the strumpet, which arenot possible to be divided in sunder, but run to and fro over all therealm, chiefly keeping the champaign soils in summer to avoid thescorching heat, and the woodland grounds in winter to eschew theblustering winds. 

For the first two sorts (that is to say, the poor by impotence andpoor by casualty, which are the true poor indeed, and for whom theWord doth bind us to make some daily provision), there is order takenthroughout every parish in the realm that weekly collection shall bemade for their help and sustentation--to the end they shall notscatter abroad, and, by begging here and there, annoy both town andcountry. Authority also is given unto the justices in every county(and great penalties appointed for such as make default) to see thatthe intent of the statute in this behalf be truly executed accordingto the purpose and meaning of the same, so that these two sorts aresufficiently provided for; and such as can live within the limits oftheir allowance (as each one will do that is godly and well disposed)may well forbear to roam and range about. But if they refuse to besupported by this benefit of the law, and will rather endeavour bygoing to and fro to maintain their idle trades, then are they adjudgedto be parcel of the third sort, and so, instead of courteousrefreshing at home, are often corrected with sharp execution and whipof justice abroad. Many there are which, notwithstanding the rigour ofthe laws provided in that behalf, yield rather with this liberty (asthey call it) to be daily under the fear and terror of the whip than, by abiding where they were born or bred, to be provided for by thedevotion of the parishes. I found not long since a note of theselatter sort, the effect whereof ensueth. Idle beggars are such eitherthrough other men's occasion or through their own default--by othermen's occasion (as one way for example) when some covetous man (such, I mean, as have the cast or right vein daily to make beggars enoughwhereby to pester the land, espying a further commodity in theircommons, holds, and tenures) doth find such means as thereby to wipemany out of their occupyings and turn the same unto his privategains. [1] Hereupon it followeth that, although the wise andbetter-minded do either forsake the realm for altogether, and seek tolive in other countries, as France, Germany, Barbary, India, Muscovia, and very Calcutta, complaining of no room to be left for them at home, do so behave themselves that they are worthily to be accounted amongthe second sort, yet the greater part, commonly having nothing to stayupon, are wilful, and thereupon do either prove idle beggars or elsecontinue stark thieves till the gallows do eat them up, which is alamentable case. Certes in some men's judgment these things are buttrifles, and not worthy the regarding. Some also do grudge at thegreat increase of people in these days, thinking a necessary brood ofcattle far better than a superfluous augmentation of mankind. But Ican liken such men best of all unto the pope and the devil, whopractise the hindrance of the furniture of the number of the elect totheir uttermost, to the end the authority of the one upon the earth, the deferring of the locking up of the other in everlasting chains, and the great gains of the first, may continue and endure the longer. But if it should come to pass that any foreign invasion should bemade--which the Lord God forbid for his mercies' sake!--then shouldthese men find that a wall of men is far better than stacks of cornand bags of money, and complain of the want when it is too late toseek remedy. The like occasion caused the Romans to devise their law_Agraria_: but the rich, not liking of it, and the covetous, utterlycondemning it as rigorous and unprofitable, never ceased to practisedisturbance till it was quite abolished. But to proceed with mypurpose. 

 [1] At whose hands shall the blood of these men be required?--H. 

Such as are idle beggars through their own default are of two sorts, and continue their estates either by casual or mere voluntary means:those that are such by casual means are in the beginning justly to bereferred either to the first or second sort of poor aforementioned, but, degenerating into the thriftless sort, they do what they can tocontinue their misery, and, with such impediments as they have, tostray and wander about, as creatures abhorring all labour and everyhonest exercise. Certes I call these casual means, not in the respectof the original of all poverty, but of the continuance of the same, from whence they will not be delivered, such is their own ungraciouslewdness and froward disposition. The voluntary means proceed fromoutward causes, as by making of corrosives, and applying the same tothe more fleshy parts of their bodies, and also laying of ratsbane, spearwort, crowfoot, and such like unto their whole members, therebyto raise pitiful and odious sores, and move the hearts of thegoers-by such places where they lie, to yearn at their misery, andthereupon bestow large alms upon them. How artificially they beg, what forcible speech, and how they select and choose out words ofvehemence, whereby they do in manner conjure or adjure the goer-by topity their cases, I pass over to remember, as judging the name of Godand Christ to be more conversant in the mouths of none and yet thepresence of the Heavenly Majesty further off from no men than fromthis ungracious company. Which maketh me to think that punishment isfar meeter for them than liberality or alms, and sith Christ willethus chiefly to have a regard to Himself and his poor members. 

Unto this nest is another sort to be referred, more sturdy than therest, which, having sound and perfect limbs, do yet notwithstandingsometime counterfeit the possession of all sorts of diseases. Diverstimes in their apparel also they will be like serving men orlabourers: oftentimes they can play the mariners, and seek for shipswhich they never lost. But in fine they are all thieves andcaterpillars in the commonwealth, and by the Word of God notpermitted to eat, sith they do but lick the sweat from the truelabourers' brows, and bereave the godly poor of that which is dueunto them, to maintain their excess, consuming the charity ofwell-disposed people bestowed upon them, after a most wicked anddetestable manner. 

It is not yet full threescore years since this trade began: but howit hath prospered since that time it is easy to judge, for they arenow supposed, of one sex and another, to amount unto above 10, 000persons, as I have heard reported. Moreover, in counterfeiting theEgyptian rogues, they have devised a language among themselves, whichthey name "Canting, " but others, "pedler's French, " a speech compactthirty years since, of English and a great number of odd words oftheir own devising, without all order or reason, and yet such is itas none but themselves are able to understand. The first deviserthereof was hanged by the neck--a just reward, no doubt, for hisdeserts, and a common end to all of that profession. 

A gentleman also of late hath taken great pains to search out thesecret practices of this ungracious rabble. And among other things hesetteth down and describeth three and twenty sorts of them, whosenames it shall not be amiss to remember whereby each one may takeoccasion to read and know as also by his industry what wicked peoplethey are, and what villainy remaineth in them. 

_The several disorders and degrees amongst our idle vagabonds_. 

 1. Rufflers. 2. Uprightmen. 3. Hookers or anglers. 4. Rogues. 5. Wild rogues. 6. Priggers or pransers. 7. Palliards. 8. Fraters. 9. Abrams. 10. Freshwater mariners or whipjacks. 11. Drummerers. 12. Drunken tinkers. 13. Swadders or pedlers. 14. Jarkemen or patricoes. 

_Of the women kind_. 

1. Demanders for glimmar or fire. 2. Bawdy-baskets. 3. Mortes. 4. Autem mortem. 5. Walking mortes. 6. Doxies. 7. Dells. 8. Kinching mortes. 9. Kinching cooes. 

The punishment that is ordained for this kind of people is very sharp, and yet it cannot restrain them from their gadding: wherefore the endmust needs be martial law, [2] to be exercised upon them, as uponthieves, robbers, despisers of all laws, and enemies to thecommonwealth and welfare of the land. What notable robberies, pilferies, murders, rapes, and stealings of young children, burning, breaking, and disfiguring their limbs to make them pitiful in thesight of the people, I need not to rehearse; but for their idlerogueing about the country, the law ordaineth this manner ofcorrection. The rogue being apprehended, committed to prison, andtried in the next assizes (whether they be of gaol delivery orsessions of the peace), if he happen to be convicted for a vagabond, either by inquest of office or the testimony of two honest andcredible witnesses upon their oaths, he is then immediately adjudgedto be grievously whipped and burned through the gristle of the rightear with a hot iron of the compass of an inch about, as amanifestation of his wicked life, and due punishment received for thesame. And this judgment is to be executed upon him except some honestperson worth five pounds in the queen's books in goods, or twentyshillings in land, or some rich householder to be allowed by thejustices, will be bound in recognisance to retain him in his servicefor one whole year. If he be taken the second time, and proved to haveforsaken his said service, he shall then be whipped again, boredlikewise through the other ear, and set to service: from whence if hedepart before a year be expired, and happen afterwards to be attachedagain, he is condemned to suffer pains of death as a felon (exceptbefore excepted) without benefit of clergy or sanctuary, as by thestatute doth appear. Among rogues and idle persons, finally, we findto be comprised all proctors that go up and down with counterfeitlicences, cozeners, and such as gad about the country, using unlawfulgames, practisers of physiogonomy and palmestry, tellers of fortunes, fencers, players, minstrels, jugglers, pedlers, tinkers, pretendedscholars, shipmen, prisoners gathering for fees, and others so oft asthey be taken without sufficient licence. From among which company ourbearwards are not excepted, and just cause: for I have read that theyhave, either voluntarily or for want of power to master their savagebeasts, been occasion of the death and devouration of many children insundry countries by which they have passed, whose parents never knewwhat was become of them. And for that cause there is and have beenmany sharp laws made for bearwards in Germany, whereof you may read inother. But to our rogues. Each one also that harboureth or aideth themwith meat or money is taxed and compelled to fine with the queen'smajesty for every time that he doth succour them as it shall pleasethe justices of peace to assign, so that the taxation exceed nottwenty, as I have been informed. And thus much of the poor and suchprovision as is appointed for them within the realm of England. 

 [2] Law of the Marshal. --Furnivall. 

CHAPTER X

OF THE AIR AND SOIL AND COMMODITIES OF THIS ISLAND

[1577, Book I. , Chapter 13; 1587, Book I. , Chapter 18. ]

The air (for the most part) throughout the island is such as byreason in manner of continual clouds is reputed to be gross, andnothing so pleasant as that of the main. Howbeit, as they whichaffirm these things have only respect to the impediment or hindranceof the sunbeams by the interposition of the clouds and of ingrossedair, so experience teacheth us that it is no less pure, wholesome, and commodious than is that of other countries, and (as Caesarhimself hereto addeth) much more temperate in summer than that of theGauls, from whom he adventured hither. Neither is there any thingfound in the air of our region that is not usually seen amongst othernations lying beyond the seas. Wherefore we must needs confess thatthe situation of our island (for benefit of the heavens) is nothinginferior to that of any country of the main, wheresoever it lie underthe open firmament. And this Plutarch knew full well, who affirmeth apart of the Elysian Fields to be found in Britain, and the isles thatare situated about it in the ocean. 

The soil of Britain is such as by the testimonies and reports both ofthe old and new writers, and experience also of such as now inhabitthe same, is very fruitful, and such indeed as bringeth forth manycommodities, whereof other countries have need, and yet itself (iffond niceness were abolished) needless of those that are dailybrought from other places. Nevertheless it is more inclined tofeeding and grazing than profitable for tillage and bearing of corn, by reason whereof the country is wonderfully replenished with neatand all kind of cattle; and such store is there also of the same inevery place that the fourth part of the land is scarcely manured forthe provision and maintenance of grain. Certes this fruitfulness wasnot unknown unto the Britons long before Caesar's time, which was thecause wherefore our predecessors living in those days in mannerneglected tillage and lived by feeding and grazing only. The graziersthemselves also then dwelled in movable villages by companies, whosecustom was to divide the ground amongst them, and each one not todepart from the place where his lot lay (a thing much like the IrishCriacht) till, by eating up of the country about him, he was enforcedto remove further and seek for better pasture. And this was theBritish custom, as I learn, at first. It hath been commonly reportedthat the ground of Wales is neither so fruitful as that of England, neither the soil of Scotland so bountiful as that of Wales, which istrue for corn and for the most part; otherwise there is so goodground in some parts of Wales as is in England, albeit the best ofScotland be scarcely comparable to the mean of either of both. Howbeit, as the bounty of the Scotch doth fail in some respect, sodoth it surmount in other, God and nature having not appointed allcountries to yield forth like commodities. 

But where our ground is not so good as we would wish, we have--ifneed be--sufficient help to cherish our ground withal, and to make itmore fruitful. For, beside the compest that is carried out of thehusbandmen's yards, ditches, ponds, dung-houses, or cities and greattowns, we have with us a kind of white marl which is of so greatforce that if it be cast over a piece of land but once in threescoreyears it shall not need of any further compesting. Hereof also dothPliny speak (lib. 17, cap. 6, 7, 8), where he affirmeth that our marlendureth upon the earth by the space of fourscore years: insomuchthat it is laid upon the same but once in a man's life, whereby theowner shall not need to travel twice in procuring to commend andbetter his soil. He calleth it _marga_, and, making divers kindsthereof, he finally commendeth ours, and that of France, above allother, which lieth sometime a hundred foot deep, and far better thanthe scattering of chalk upon the same, as the Hedui and Pictones didin his time, or as some of our days also do practise: albeit diversdo like better to cast on lime, but it will not so long endure, as Ihave heard reported. 

There are also in this island great plenty of fresh rivers andstreams, as you have heard already, and these thoroughly fraught withall kinds of delicate fish accustomed to be found in rivers. Thewhole isle likewise is very full of hills, of which some (though notvery many) are of exceeding height, and divers extending themselvesvery far from the beginning; as we may see by Shooter's Hill, which, rising east of London and not far from the Thames, runneth along thesouth side of the island westward until it come to Cornwall. Likeunto these also are the Crowdon Hills, which, though under diversnames (as also the other from the Peak), do run into the borders ofScotland. What should I speak of the Cheviot Hills, which reachtwenty miles in length? of the Black Mountains in Wales, which gofrom ([1]) to ([1]) miles at the least in length? of the Clee Hillsin Shropshire, which come within four miles of Ludlow, and aredivided from some part of Worcester by the Leme? of the Crames inScotland, and of our Chiltern, which are eighteen miles at the leastfrom one end of them, which reach from Henley in Oxfordshire toDunstable in Bedfordshire, and are very well replenished with woodand corn, notwithstanding that the most part yield a sweet shortgrass, profitable for sheep? Wherein albeit they of Scotland dosomewhat come behind us, yet their outward defect is inwardlyrecompensed, not only with plenty of quarries (and those of sundrykinds of marble, hard stone, and fine alabaster), but also rich minesof metal, as shall be shewed hereafter. 

 [1] Here lacks. --H. 

In this island the winds are commonly more strong and fierce than inany other places of the main (which Cardane also espied): and that isoften seen upon the naked hills not guarded with trees to bear andkeep it off. That grievous inconvenience also enforceth our nobility, gentry, and communality to build their houses in the valleys, leavingthe high grounds unto their corn and cattle, lest the cold and stormyblasts of winter should breed them greater annoyance; whereas in otherregions each one desireth to set his house aloft on the hill, not onlyto be seen afar off, and cast forth his beams of stately and curiousworkmanship into every quarter of the country, but also (in hothabitations) for coldness sake of the air, sith the heat is never sovehement on the hill-top as in the valley, because the reverberationof the sun's beams either reacheth not so far as the highest, or elsebecometh not so strong as when it is reflected upon the lower soil. 

But to leave our buildings unto the purposed place (whichnotwithstanding have very much increased, I mean for curiosity andcost, in England, Wales, and Scotland, within these few years) and toreturn to the soil again. Certainly it is even now in these our daysgrown to be much more fruitful than it hath been in times past. Thecause is for that our countrymen are grown to be more painful, skilful, and careful through recompense of gain, than heretofore theyhave been: insomuch that my _synchroni_ or time fellows can reap atthis present great commodity in a little room; whereas of late yearsa great compass hath yielded but small profit, and this only throughthe idle and negligent occupation of such as daily manured and hadthe same in occupying. I might set down examples of these things outof all the parts of this island--that is to say, many of England, more out of Scotland, but most of all out of Wales; in which two lastrehearsed, very other little food and livelihood was wont to belooked for (beside flesh) more than the soil of itself and the cowgave, the people in the meantime living idly, dissolutely, and bypicking and stealing one from another. All which vices are now (forthe most part) relinquished, so that each nation manureth her ownwith triple commodity to that it was before time. 

The pasture of this island is according to the nature and bounty ofthe soil, whereby in most places it is plentiful, very fine, batable, and such as either fatteth our cattle with speed or yieldeth greatabundance of milk and cream whereof the yellowest butter and finestcheese are made. But where the blue clay aboundeth (which hardlydrinketh up the winter's water in long season) there the grass isspeary, rough, and very apt for bushes: by which occasion it becomethnothing so profitable unto the owner as the other. The best pastureground of all England is in Wales, and of all the pasture in Walesthat of Cardigan is the chief. I speak of the same which is to befound in the mountains there, where the hundredth part of the grassgrowing is not eaten, but suffered to rot on the ground, whereby thesoil becometh matted and divers bogs and quickmoors made withal inlong continuance: because all the cattle in the country are not ableto eat it down. If it be accounted good soil on which a man may lay awand over night and on the morrow find it hidden and overgrown withgrass, it is not hard to find plenty thereof in many places of thisland. Nevertheless such is the fruitfulness of the aforesaid countythat it far surmounteth this proportion, whereby it may be comparedfor batableness with Italy, which in my time is called the paradiseof the world, although by reason of the wickedness of such as dwelltherein it may be called the sink and drain of hell; so that whereasthey were wont to say of us that our land is good but our peopleevil, they did but only speak it; whereas we know by experience thatthe soil of Italy is a noble soil, but the dwellers therein far offany virtue or goodness. 

Our meadows are either bottoms (whereof we have great store, andthose very large, because our soil is hilly) or else such as we callland meads, and borrowed from the best and fattest pasturages. Thefirst of them are yearly and often overflown by the rising of suchstreams as pass through the same, or violent falls of land-waters, that descend from the hills about them. The other are seldom or neveroverflown, and that is the cause wherefore their grass is shorterthan that of the bottoms, and yet is it far more fine, wholesome, andbatable, sith the hay of our low meadows is not only full of sandycinder, which breedeth sundry diseases in our cattle, but also morerowty, foggy, and full of flags, and therefore not so profitable forstore and forrage as the higher meads be. The difference furthermorein their commodities is great; for, whereas in our land meadows wehave not often above one good load of hay, or peradventure a littlemore in an acre of ground (I use the word _carrucata_, or _carruca_, which is a wain load, and, as I remember, used by Pliny, lib. 33, cap. 2), in low meadows we have sometimes three, but commonly two orupwards, as experience hath oft confirmed. 

Of such as are twice mowed I speak not, sith their later math is notso wholesome for cattle as the first; although in the mouth morepleasant for the time: for thereby they become oftentimes to berotten, or to increase so fast in blood, that the garget and otherdiseases do consume many of them before the owners can seek out anyremedy, by phlebotomy or otherwise. Some superstitious fools supposethat they which die of the garget are ridden with the nightmare, andtherefore they hang up stones which naturally have holes in them, andmust be found unlooked for; as if such a stone were an apt cockshotfor the devil to run through and solace himself withal, while thecattle go scot-free and are not molested by him! But if I should setdown but half the toys that superstition hath brought into ourhusbandmen's heads in this and other behalf, it would ask a greatervolume than is convenient for such a purpose, wherefore it shallsuffice to have said thus much of these things. 

The yield of our corn-ground is also much after this rate following. Throughout the land (if you please to make an estimate thereof by theacre) in mean and indifferent years, wherein each acre of rye orwheat, well tilled and dressed, will yield commonly sixteen or twentybushels, an acre of barley six-and-thirty bushels, of oats and suchlike four or five quarters, which proportion is notwithstanding oftabated toward the north, as it is oftentimes surmounted in the south. Of mixed corn, as peas and beans, sown together, tares and oats(which they call bulmong), rye and wheat (named miscelin), here is noplace to speak, yet their yield is nevertheless much after thisproportion, as I have often marked. And yet is not this our greatfoison comparable to that of hotter countries of the main. But, ofall that I ever read, the increase which Eldred Danus writeth of inhis _De imperie Judaeorum in Aethiopia_ surmounteth, where he saiththat in the field near to the Sabbatike river, called in old timeGosan, the ground is so fertile that every grain of barley growingdoth yield an hundred kernels at the least unto the owner. 

Of late years also we have found and taken up a great trade inplanting of hops, whereof our moory hitherto and unprofitable groundsdo yield such plenty and increase that there are few farmers oroccupiers in the country which have not gardens and hops growing oftheir own, and those far better than do come from Flanders unto us. Certes the corruptions used by the Flemings, and forgery dailypractised in this kind of ware, gave us occasion to plant them hereat home; so that now we may spare and send many over unto them. Andthis I know by experience, that some one man by conversion of hismoory grounds into hopyards, whereof before he had no commodity, dothraise yearly by so little as twelve acres in compass two hundredmarks--all charges borne towards the maintenance of his family. Whichindustry God continue! though some secret friends of Flemings let notto exclaim against this commodity, as a spoil of wood, by reason ofthe poles, which nevertheless after three years do also come to thefire, and spare their other fuel. 

The cattle which we breed are commonly such as for greatness of bone, sweetness of flesh, and other benefits to be reaped by the same, giveplace unto none other; as may appear first by our oxen, whoselargeness, height, weight, tallow, hides, and horns are such as noneof any other nation do commonly or may easily exceed them. Our sheeplikewise, for good taste of flesh, quantity of limbs, fineness offleece, caused by their hardness of pasturage and abundance ofincrease (for in many places they bring forth two or three at ancaning), give no place unto any, more than do our goats, who in likesort do follow the same order, and our deer come not behind. As forour conies, I have seen them so fat in some soils, especially aboutMeall and Disnege, that the grease of one being weighed hath peisedvery near six or seven ounces. All which benefits we first refer tothe grace and goodness of God, and next of all unto the bounty of oursoil, which he hath endued with so notable and commodiousfruitfulness. 

But, as I mean to intreat of these things more largely hereafter, sowill I touch in this place one benefit which our nation wanteth, andthat is wine, the fault whereof is not in our soil, but thenegligence of our countrymen (especially of the south parts), who donot inure the same to this commodity, and which by reason of longdiscontinuance is now become inapt to bear any grapes almost forpleasure and shadow, much less then the plain fields or severalvineyards for advantage and commodity. Yet of late time some haveessayed to deal for wine (as to your lordship also is right wellknown). But sith that liquor, when it cometh to the drinking, hathbeen found more hard than that which is brought from beyond the sea, and the cost of planting and keeping thereof so chargeable that theymay buy it far better cheap from other countries, they have givenover their enterprises without any consideration that, as in allother things, so neither the ground itself in the beginning, norsuccess of their travel, can answer their expectation at the first, until such time as the soil be brought as it were into acquaintancewith this commodity, and that provision may be made for the moreeasiness of charge to be employed upon the same. 

If it be true that where wine doth last and endure well there it willgrow no worse, I muse not a little wherefore the planting of vinesshould be neglected in England. That this liquor might have grown inthis island heretofore, first the charter that Probus the Emperorgave equally to us, the Gauls, and Spaniards, is one sufficienttestimony. And that it did grow here (beside the testimony of Beda, lib. 1. , cap. 1) the old notes of tithes for wine that yet remain inthe accounts of some parsons and vicars in Kent, elsewhere, besidesthe records of sundry suits, commenced in divers ecclesiasticalcourts, both in Kent, Surrey, etc. , also the enclosed parcels almostin every abbey yet called the vineyards, may be a notable witness, asalso the plot which we now call East Smithfield in London, given byCanutus, sometime king of this land, with other soil thereabout, untocertain of his knights, with the liberty of a Guild which thereof wascalled Knighton Guild. The truth is (saith John Stow, our countrymanand diligent traveller in the old estate of this my native city) thatit is now named Portsoken Ward, and given in time past to thereligious house within Aldgate. Howbeit first Otwell, the archovel, Otto, and finally Geffrey Earl of Essex, constables of the of London, withheld that portion from the said house until the reign of KingStephen, and thereof made a vineyard to their great commodity andlucre. The Isle of Ely also was in the first times of the Normanscalled Le Ile des Vignes. And good record appeareth that the bishopthere had yearly three or four tun at the least given him _nominedecimæ_, beside whatsoever over-sum of the liquor did accrue to himby leases and other excheats whereof also I have seen mention. Wherefore our soil is not to be blamed, as though our nights were soexceeding short that in August and September the moon, which is ladyof moisture and chief ripener of this liquor, cannot in any wiseshine long enough upon the same: a very mere toy and fable, rightworthy to be suppressed, because experience convinceth the upholdersthereof even in the Rhenish wines. 

The time hath been also that woad, wherewith our countrymen dyedtheir faces (as Cæsar saith), that they might seem terrible to theirenemies in the field (and also women and their daughters-in-law didstain their bodies and go naked, in that pickle, to the sacrifices oftheir gods, coveting to resemble therein the Ethiopians, as Plinysaith, [lib. 22, cap. 1]), and also madder have been (next unto ourtin and wools) the chief commodities and merchandise of this realm, Ifind also that rape oil hath been made within this land. But now oursoil either will not, or at the leastwise may not, bear either woador madder. I say not that the ground is not able so to do, but thatwe are negligent, afraid of the pilling of our grounds, and carelessof our own profits, as men rather willing to buy the same of othersthan take any pain to plant them here at home. The like I may say offlax, which by law ought to be sown in every country town in England, more or less; but I see no success of that good and wholesome law;sith it is rather contemptuously rejected than otherwise dutifullykept in any place in England. 

Some say that our great number of laws do breed a general negligenceand contempt of all good order, because we have so many that nosubject can live without the transgression of some of them, and thatthe often alteration of our ordinances doth much harm in thisrespect, which (after Aristotle) doth seem to carry some reasonwithal, for (as Cornelius Gallus hath)--

 _"Eventus varios res nova semper habet. "_[1]

 [1] "An innovation, has always mixed effects. "

But very many let not to affirm that the greedy corruption of thepromoters on the one side, facility in dispensing with good laws andfirst breach of the same in the lawmakers and superiors and privaterespects of their establishment on the other, are the greatest causeswhy the inferiors regard no good order, being always so ready tooffend without any faculty one way as they are otherwise to presumeupon the examples of their betters when any hold is to be taken. Butas in these things I have no skill, so I wish that fewer licences forthe private commodity but of a few were granted (not that thereby Ideny the maintenance of the prerogative royal, but rather would withall my heart that it might be yet more honourably increased), andthat every one which by fee'd friendship (or otherwise) doth attemptto procure ought from the prince that may profit but few and provehurtful to many might be at open assizes and sessions denounced enemyto his country and commonwealth of the land. 

Glass also hath been made here in great plenty before, and in thetime of the Romans; and the said stuff also, beside fine scissors, shears, collars of gold and silver for women's necks, cruises andcups of amber, were a parcel of the tribute which Augustus in hisdays laid upon this island. In like sort he charged the Britons withcertain implements and vessels of ivory (as Strabo saith); whereby itappeareth that in old time our countrymen were far more industriousand painful in the use and application of the benefits of theircountry than either after the coming of the Saxons or Normans, inwhich they gave themselves more to idleness and following of thewars. 

If it were requisite that I should speak of the sundry kinds of mould, as the cledgy, or clay, whereof are divers sorts (red, blue, black, and white), also the red or white sandy, the loamy, roselly, gravelly, chalky, or black, I could say that there are so many divers veins inBritain as elsewhere in any quarter of like quantity in the world. Howbeit this I must need confess, that the sand and clay do bear greatsway: but clay most of all, as hath been and yet is always seen andfelt through plenty and dearth of corn. For if this latter (I mean theclay) do yield her full increase (which it doth commonly in dry yearsfor wheat), then is there general plenty: whereas if it fail, thenhave we scarcity, according to the old rude verse set down of England, but to be understood of the whole island, as experience doth confirm--

 "_When the sand doth serve the clay, Then may we sing well-away; But when the clay doth serve the sand, Then is it merry with England_. "

I might here intreat of the famous valleys in England, of which oneis called the Vale of White Horse, another of Evesham (commonly takenfor the granary of Worcestershire), the third of Aylesbury, thatgoeth by Thame, the roots of Chiltern Hills, to Dunstable, NewportPagnel, Stony Stratford, Buckingham, Birstane Park, etc. Likewise ofthe fourth, of Whitehart or Blackmoor in Dorsetshire. The fifth, ofRingdale or Renidale, corruptly called Kingtaile, that lieth (as mineauthor saith) upon the edge of Essex and Cambridgeshire, and also theMarshwood Vale: but, forsomuch as I know not well their severallimits, I give over to go any further in their description. In likesort it should not be amiss to speak of our fens, although ourcountry be not so full of this kind of soil as the parts beyond theseas (to wit, Narbonne, etc. ), and thereto of other pleasant bottoms, the which are not only endued with excellent rivers and great storeof corn and fine fodder for neat and horses in time of the year(whereby they are exceeding beneficial unto their owners), but alsoof no small compass and quantity in ground. For some of our fens arewell known to be either of ten, twelve, sixteen, twenty, or thirtymiles in length, that of the Girwies yet passing all the rest, whichis full sixty (as I have often read). Wherein also Ely, the famousisle, standeth, which is seven miles every way, and whereunto thereis no access but by three causies, whose inhabitants in like sort byan old privilege may take wood, sedge turf, etc. , to burn, likewisehay for their cattle and thatch for their houses of custom, and eachoccupier in his appointed quantity throughout the isle; albeit thatcovetousness hath now begun somewhat to abridge this largebenevolence and commodity, as well in the said isle as most otherplaces of this land. 

Finally, I might discourse in like order of the large commons, laidout heretofore by the lords of the soil for the benefit of such pooras inhabit within the compass of their manors. But, as the trueintent of the givers is now in most places defrauded, insomuch thatnot the poor tenants inhabitating upon the same, but their landlords, have all the commodity and gain. Wherefore I mean not at this presentto deal withal, but reserve the same wholly unto the due place, whilst I go forward with the rest, setting down nevertheless by theway a general commendation of the whole island, which I find in anancient monument, much unto this effect--

 "Illa quidem longè celebris splendore, beata, Glebis, lacte, favis, supereminet insula cunctis, Quas regit ille Deus, spumanti cujus ab oro Proffuit oceanus, " etc. 

And a little after--

 "Testis Lundoniurntibus, Wintonia Baccho, Herefordia grege, Worcestria frugeredundans, Batha lacu, Salabyra feris, Cantuarin pisce, Eboraca sylvis, Excestria clara metallis, Norwicum Dacis hybernis, Cestria Gallis, Cicestrum Norwagenis, Dunelmia præpinguia, Testis Lincolnia gens infinita decore, Testis Ell formosa situ, Doncastria visu, " etc. 

CHAPTER XI

OF SUNDRY MINERALS AND METALS

[1577, Book III. , Chapters 16 and 18; 1587, Book III. , Chapters10 and 11. ]

With how great benefits this island of ours hath been endued from thebeginning I hope there is no godly man but will readily confess, andyield unto the Lord God his due honour for the same. For we areblessed every way, and there is no temporal commodity necessary to behad or craved by any nation at God's hand that he hath not in mostabundant manner bestowed upon us Englishmen, if we could see to useit, and be thankful for the same. But alas! (as said in the chapterprecedent) we love to enrich them that care not for us, but for ourgreat commodities: and one trifling toy not worth the carriage, coming (as the proverb saith) in three ships from beyond the sea, ismore worth with us than a right good jewel easy to be had at home. They have also the cast to teach us to neglect our own things; for, if they see that we begin to make any account of our commodities (ifit be so that they have also the like in their own countries) theywill suddenly abase the same to so low a price that our gain notbeing worthy our travel, and the same commodity with less cost readyto be had at home from other countries (though but for a while), itcauseth us to give over our endeavours and as it were by-and-by toforget the matter whereabout we went before, to obtain them at theirhands. And this is the only cause wherefore our commodities are oftso little esteemed of. Some of them can say, without any teacher, that they will buy the case of a fox of an Englishman for a groat, and make him afterwards give twelve pence for the tail. Would to Godwe might once wax wiser, and each one endeavour that the commonwealthof England may nourish again in her old rate, and that ourcommodities may be fully wrought at home (as cloth if you will for anexample) and not carried out to be shorn and dressed abroad, whileour clothworkers here do starve and beg their bread, and for lack ofdaily practice utterly neglect to be skilful in this science! But tomy purpose. 

We have in England great plenty of quicksilver, antimony, sulphur, black lead, and orpiment red and yellow. We have also the finest alum(wherein the diligence of one of the greatest favourers of thecommonwealth of England of a subject[1] hath been of late egregriouslyabused, and even almost with barbarous incivility) and of no lessforce against fire, if it were used in our parietings, than that ofLipari, which only was in use sometime amongst the Asians and Romansand whereof Sylla had such trial that when he meant to have burned atower of wood erected by Archelaus, the lieutenant of Mithridates, hecould by no means set it on fire in a long time, because it was washedover with alum, as were also the gates of the temple of Jerusalem withlike effect, and perceived when Titus commanded fire to be put untothe same. Besides this, we have also the natural cinnabarum orvermillion, the sulphurous glebe called bitumen in old time, formortar, and yet burned in lamps where oil is scant and geson; thechrysocolla, copperas, and mineral stone, whereof petriolum is made, and that which is most strange, the mineral pearl, which as they arefor greatness and colour most excellent of all other, so are theydigged out of the main land and in sundry places far distant from theshore. Certes the western part of the land hath in times past greatlyabounded with these and many other rare and excellent commodities, butnow they are washed away by the violence of the sea, which hathdevoured the greatest part of Cornwall and Devonshire on either side;and it doth appear yet by good record that, whereas now there is agreat distance between the Scilly Isles and the point of the Land'sEnd, there was of late years to speak of scarcely a brook or drain ofone fathom water between them, if so much, as by those evidencesappeareth, and are yet to be seen in the hands of the lord and chiefowner of those isles. But to proceed. 

 [1] The Lord Mountjoy. --H. 

Of coal-mines we have such plenty in the north and western parts ofour island as may suffice for all the realm of England; and so mustthey do hereafter indeed, if wood be not better cherished than it isat this present. And so say the truth, notwithstanding that very manyof them are carried into other countries of the main, yet theirgreatest trade beginneth now to grow from the forge into the kitchenand hall, as may appear already in most cities and towns that lieabout the coast, where they have but little other fuel except it beturf and hassock. I marvel not a little that there is no trade ofthese into Sussex and Southamptonshire, for want thereof the smithsdo work their iron with charcoal. I think that far carriage be theonly cause, which is but a slender excuse to enforce us to carry theminto the main from hence. 

Besides our coal-mines, we have pits in like sort of white plaster, and of fat and white and other coloured marble, wherewith in manyplaces the inhabitors do compest their soil, and which doth benefittheir land in ample manner for many years to come. We have saltpetrefor our ordinance and salt soda for our glass, and thereto in oneplace a kind of earth (in Southery; as I ween, hard by Codington, andsometime in the tenure of one Croxton of London) which is so fine tomake moulds for goldsmiths and casters of metal, that a load of itwas worth five shillings thirty years ago; none such again they sayin England. But whether there be or not, let us not be unthankful toGod, for these and other his benefits bestowed upon us, whereby hesheweth himself a loving and merciful father unto us, whichcontrariwise return unto him in lieu of humility and obediencenothing but wickedness, avarice, mere contempt of his will, pride, excess, atheism, and no less than Jewish ingratitude. [2]

 [2] Here ends the chapter entitled "Minerals, " and the one on "Metals" begins. --W. 

All metals receive their beginning of quicksilver and sulphur, whichare as mother and father to them. And such is the purpose of nature intheir generations that she tendeth always to the procreation of gold;nevertheless she seldom reacheth unto that her end, because of theunequal mixture and proportion of these two in the substanceengendered, whereby impediment and corruption is induced, which as itis more or less doth shew itself in the metal that is produced. . . . 

And albeit that we have no such abundance of these (as some othercountries do yield), yet have my rich countrymen store enough of bothin their purses, where in time past they were wont to have least, because the garnishing of our churches, tabernacles, images, shrines, and apparel of the priests consumed the greatest part, as experiencehath confirmed. 

Of late my countrymen have found out I wot not what voyage into theWest Indies, from whence they have brought some gold, whereby ourcountry is enriched; but of all that ever adventured into thoseparts, none have sped better than Sir Francis Drake, whose success(1582) hath far passed even his own expectation. One John Frobisherin like manner, attempting to seek out a shorter cut by the northerlyregions into the peaceable sea and kingdom of Cathay, happened (1577)upon certain islands by the way, wherein great plenty of much goldappeared, and so much that some letted not to give out for certaintythat Solomon had his gold from thence, wherewith he builded thetemple. This golden shew made him so desirous also of like successthat he left off his former voyage and returned home to bring news ofsuch things as he had seen. But, when after another voyage it wasfound to be but dross, he gave over both the enterprises, and nowkeepeth home without any desire at all to seek into far countries. Intruth, such was the plenty of ore there seen and to be had that, ifit had holden perfect, might have furnished all the world withabundance of that metal; the journey also was short and performed infour or five months, which was a notable encouragement. But toproceed. 

Tin and lead, metals which Strabo noteth in his time to be carriedunto Marsilis from hence, as Diodorus also confirmeth, are veryplentiful with us, the one in Cornwall, Devonshire, and elsewhere inthe north, the other in Derbyshire, Weredale, and sundry places ofthis island; whereby my countrymen do reap no small commodity, butespecially our pewterers, who in times past employed the use ofpewter only upon dishes, pots, and a few other trifles for servicehere at home, whereas now they are grown unto such exquisite cunningthat they can in manner imitate by infusion any form or fashion ofcup, dish, salt bowl, or goblet, which is made by goldsmiths' craft, though they be never so curious, exquisite, and artificially forged. Such furniture of household of this metal as we commonly call by thename of _vessel_ is sold usually by the garnish, which doth containtwelve platters, twelve dishes, twelve saucers, and those are eitherof silver fashion or else with broad or narrow brims, and bought bythe pound, which is now valued at six or seven pence, or peradventureat eight pence. Of porringers, pots, and other like, I speak not, albeit that in the making of all these things there is such exquisitediligence used, I mean for the mixture of the metal and true makingof this commodity (by reason of sharp laws provided in that behalf), as the like is not to be found in any other trade. I have been alsoinformed that it consisteth of a composition which hath thirty poundsof kettle brass to a thousand pounds of tin, whereunto they add threeor four pounds of tin-glass; but as too much of this doth make thestuff brickle, so the more the brass be, the better is the pewter, and more profitable unto him that doth buy and purchase the same. Butto proceed. 

In some places beyond the sea a garnish of good flat English pewterof an ordinary making (I say flat, because dishes and platters in mytime begin to be made deep like basins, and are indeed moreconvenient both for sauce, broth, and keeping the meat warm) isesteemed almost so precious as the like number of vessels that aremade of fine silver, and in manner no less desired amongst the greatestates, whose workmen are nothing so skilful in that trade as ours, neither their metal so good, nor plenty so great, as we have here inEngland. The Romans made excellent looking-glasses of our Englishtin, howbeit our workmen were not then so exquisite in that feat asthe Brundusians, wherefore the wrought metal was carried over untothem by way of merchandise, and very highly were those glassesesteemed of till silver came generally in place, which in the endbrought the tin into such contempt that in manner every dishwasherrefused to look in other than silver glasses for the attiring of herhead. Howbeit the making of silver glasses had been in use beforeBritain was known unto the Romans, for I read that one Praxitelesdevised them in the young time of Pompey, which was before the comingof Caesar into this island. 

There were mines of lead sometimes also in Wales, which endured solong till the people had consumed all their wood by melting of thesame (as they did also at Comeriswith, six miles from Stradfleur), and I suppose that in Pliny's time the abundance of lead (whereof hespeaketh) was to be found in those parts, in the seventeenth of histhirty-fourth book; also he affirmeth that it lay in the very swardof the earth, and daily gotten in such plenty that the Romans made arestraint of the carriage thereof to Rome, limiting how much shouldyearly be wrought and transported over the sea. [3]

 [3] Here follow two stories about crows and miners. --W. 

Iron is found in many places, as in Sussex, Kent, Weredale, Mendip, Walshall, as also in Shropshire, but chiefly in the woods betwixtBelvos and Willock (or Wicberry) near Manchester, and elsewhere inWales. Of which mines divers do bring forth so fine and good stuff asany that cometh from beyond the sea, beside the infinite gains to theowners, if we would so accept it, or bestow a little more cost in therefining of it. It is also of such toughness, that it yieldeth to themaking of claricord wire in some places of the realm. Nevertheless, itwas better cheap with us when strangers only brought it hither; for itis our quality when we get any commodity to use it with extremitytowards our own nation, after we have once found the means to shut outforeigners from the bringing in of the like. It breedeth in likemanner great expense and waste of wood, as doth the making of our potsand table vessels of glass, wherein is much loss, sith it is soquickly broken; and yet (as I think) easy to be made tougher, if ouralchemists could once find the true birth or production of the redman, whose mixture would induce a metallic toughness unto it, wherebyit should abide the hammer. 

Copper is lately not found, but rather restored again to light. For Ihave read of copper to have been heretofore gotten in our island;howbeit as strangers have most commonly the governance of our mines, so they hitherto make small gains of this in hand in the north parts;for (as I am informed) the profit doth very hardly countervail thecharges, whereat wise men do not a little marvel, considering theabundance which that mine doth seem to offer, and, as it were, athand. Leland, our countryman, noteth sundry great likelihoods ofnatural copper mines to be eastwards, as between Dudman and Trewardth, in the sea cliffs, beside other places, whereof divers are noted hereand there in sundry places of this book already, and therefore itshall be but in vain to repeat them here again. As for that which isgotten out of the marchasite, I speak not of it, sith it is notincident to my purpose. In Dorsetshire also a copper mine lately foundis brought to good perfection. 

As for our steel, it is not so good for edge-tools as that of Cologne, and yet the one is often sold for the other, and like talc used inboth, that is to say, thirty gads to the sheaf, and twelve sheaves tothe burden. 

Our alchemy is artificial, and thereof our spoons and some salts arecommonly made and preferred before our pewter with some, [4] albeit intruth it be much subject to corruption, putrefaction, more heavy andfoul to handle than our pewter; yet some ignorant persons affirm it tobe a metal more natural, and the very same which Encelius calleth_plumbum cincreum_, the Germans _wisemute, mithan_, and _counterfeie_, adding that where it groweth silver cannot be far off. Nevertheless itis known to be a mixture of brass, lead, and tin (of which this latteroccupieth the one-half), but after another proportion than is used inpewter. But alas, I am persuaded that neither the old Arabians nor newalchemists of our time did ever hear of it, albeit that the namethereof do seem to come out of their forge. For the common sort indeeddo call it alchemy, an unwholesome metal (God wot) and worthy to bebanished and driven out of the land. And thus I conclude with thisdiscourse, as having no more to say of the metals of my country, except I should talk of brass, bell metal, and such as are broughtover for merchandise from other countries; and yet I cannot but saythat there is some brass found also in England, but so small is thequantity that it is not greatly to be esteemed or accounted for. 

 [4] Some tell me that it is a mixture of brass, lead, and tin. --H. 

CHAPTER XII

OF CATTLE KEPT FOR PROFIT

[1577, Book III. , Chapter 8; 1587, Book III. , Chapter 1. ]

There is no kind of tame cattle usually to be seen in these parts ofthe world whereof we have not some, and that great store, in England, as horses, oxen, sheep, goats, swine, and far surmounting the like inother countries, as may be proved with ease. For where are oxencommonly made more large of bone, horses more decent and pleasant inpace, kine more commodious for the pail, sheep more profitable forwool, swine more wholesome of flesh, and goats more gainful to theirkeepers than here with us in England? But, to speak of thempeculiarly, I suppose that our kine are so abundant in yield of milk, whereof we make our butter and cheese, as the like any where else, andso apt for the plough in divers places as either our horses or oxen. And, albeit they now and then twin, yet herein they seem to come shortof that commodity which is looked for in other countries, to wit, inthat they bring forth most commonly but one calf at once. The gainsalso gotten by a cow (all charges borne) hath been valued at twentyshillings yearly; but now, as land is enhanced, this proportion ofgain is much abated, and likely to decay more and more, if groundarise to be yet dearer--which God forbid, if it be His will andpleasure. I heard of late of a cow in Warwickshire, belonging toThomas Breuer of Studley, which in six years had sixteen calves, thatis four at once in three calvings and twice twins, which unto many mayseem a thing incredible. In like manner our oxen are such as the likeare not to be found in any country of Europe, both for greatness ofbody and sweetness of flesh or else would not the Roman writers havepreferred them before those of Liguria. In most places our graziersare now grown to be so cunning that if they do but see an ox orbullock, and come to the feeling of him, they will give a guess at hisweight, and how many score or stone of flesh and tallow he beareth, how the butcher may live by the sale, and what he may have for theskin and tallow, which is a point of skill not commonly practisedheretofore. Some such graziers also are reported to ride with velvetcoats and chains of gold about them and in their absence their wiveswill not let to supply those turns with no less skill than theirhusbands: which is a hard work for the poor butcher, sith he throughthis means can seldom be rich or wealthy by his trade. In like sortthe flesh of our oxen and kine is sold both by hand and by weight asthe buyer will; but in young ware rather by weight especially for thesteer and heifer, sith the finer beef is the lightest, whereas theflesh of bulls and old kine, etc. , is of sadder substance, andtherefore much heavier as it lieth in the scale. Their horns also areknown to be more fair and large in England than in any other places, except those which are to be seen among the Paeones, which quality, albeit that it be given to our breed generally by nature, yet it isnow and then helped also by art. For, when they be very young, manygraziers will oftentimes anoint their budding horns or tender tipswith honey, which mollifieth the natural hardness of that substance, and thereby maketh them to grow unto a notable greatness. Certes it isnot strange in England to see oxen whose horns have the length of ayard or three feet between the tips, and they themselves thereto sotall as the height of a man of mean and indifferent stature is scarceequal unto them. Nevertheless it is much to be lamented that ourgeneral breed of cattle is not better looked unto; for the greatestoccupiers wean least store, because they can buy them (as they say)far better cheap than to raise and bring them up. In my time a cowhath risen from four nobles to four marks by this means, whichnotwithstanding were no great price if they did yearly bring forthmore than one calf a piece, as I hear they do in other countries. 

Our horses, moreover, are high, and, although not commonly of suchhuge greatness as in other places of the main, yet, if you respect theeasiness of their pace, it is hard to say where their like are to behad. Our land doth yield no asses, and therefore we want thegeneration also of mules and somers, and therefore the most part ofour carriages is made by these, which, remaining stoned, are eitherreserved for the cart or appointed to bear such burdens as areconvenient for them. Our cart or plough horses (for we use themindifferently) are commonly so strong that five or six of them (at themost) will draw three thousand weight of the greatest tale with easefor a long journey, although it be not a load of common usage, whichconsisteth only of two thousand, or fifty foot of timber, fortybushels of white salt, or six-and-thirty of bay, of five quarters ofwheat, experience daily teacheth, and I have elsewhere remembered. Such as are kept also for burden will carry four hundredweightcommonly without any hurt or hindrance. This furthermore is to benoted, that our princes and the nobility have their carriage commonlymade by carts, whereby it cometh to pass that when the queen's majestydoth remove from any one place to another, there are usually 400carewares, which amount to the sum of 2400 horses, appointed out ofthe countries adjoining, whereby her carriage is conveyed safely untothe appointed place. Hereby also the ancient use of somers and sumpterhorses is in manner utterly relinquished, which causeth the trains ofour princes in their progresses to shew far less than those of thekings of other nations. 

Such as serve for the saddle are commonly gelded, and now grew to bevery dear among us, especially if they be well coloured, justlylimbed, and have thereto an easy ambling pace. For our countrymen, seeking their ease in every corner where it is to be had, delight verymuch in those qualities, but chiefly in their excellent paces, which, besides that it is in manner peculiar unto horses of our soil, and nothurtful to the rider or owner sitting on their backs, it is moreoververy pleasant and delectable in his ears, in that the noise of theirwell-proportioned pace doth yield comfortable sound as he travellethby the way. Yet is there no greater deceit used anywhere than amongour horsekeepers, horsecoursers, and hostlers; for such is the subtleknavery of a great sort of them (without exception of any of them beit spoken which deal for private gain) that an honest-meaning manshall have very good luck among them if he be not deceived by somefalse trick or other. 

There are certain notable markets wherein great plenty of horses andcolts is bought and sold, and whereunto such as have need resortyearly to buy and make their necessary provision of them, as Ripon, Newport Pond, Wolfpit, Harboro', and divers others. But, as mostdrovers are very diligent to bring great store of these unto thoseplaces, so many of them are too too lewd in abusing such as buy them. For they have a custom, to make them look fair to the eye, when theycome within two days' journey of the market to drive them till theysweat, and for the space of eight or twelve hours, which, being done, they turn them all over the backs into some water, where they standfor a season, and then go forward with them to the place appointed, where they make sale of their infected ware, and such as by this meansdo fall into many diseases and maladies. Of such outlandish horses asare daily brought over unto us I speak not, as the jennet of Spain, the courser of Naples, the hobby of Ireland, the Flemish roile and theScottish nag, because that further speech of them cometh not withinthe compass of this treatise, and for whose breed and maintenance(especially of the greatest sort) King Henry the Eighth erected anoble studdery, and for a time had very good success with them, tillthe officers, waxing weary, procured a mixed brood of bastard races, whereby his good purpose came to little effect. Sir Nicholas Arnold oflate hath bred the best horses in England, and written of the mannerof their production: would to God his compass of ground were like tothat of Pella in Syria, wherein the king of that nation had usually astuddery of 30, 000 mares and 300 stallions, as Strabo doth remember, lib. 16. But to leave this, let us see what may be said of sheep. 

Our sheep are very excellent, sith for sweetness of flesh they passall other. And so much are our wools to be preferred before those ofMilesia and other places that if Jason had known the value of themthat are bred and to be had in Britain he would never have gone toColchis to look for any there. For, as Dionysius Alexandrinus saith inhis _De situ Orbis_, it may by spinning be made comparable to thespider's web. What fools then are our countrymen, in that they seek tobereave themselves of this commodity by practising daily how totransfer the same to other nations, in carrying over their rams andewes to breed and increase among them! The first example hereof wasgiven under Edward the Fourth, who, not understanding the bottom ofthe suit of sundry traítorous merchants that sought a present gainwith the perpetual hindrance of their country licensed them to carryover certain numbers of them into Spain, who, having licence but for afew, shipped very many: a thing practised in other commodities also, whereby the prince and his land are not seldom times defrauded. Butsuch is our nature, and so blind are we indeed, that we see noinconvenience before we feel it; and for a present gain we regard notwhat damage may ensue to our posterity. Hereto some other man wouldadd also the desire that we have to benefit other countries and toimpeach our own. And it is, so sure as God liveth, that every triflewhich cometh from beyond the sea, though it be not worth threepence, is more esteemed than a continual commodity at home with us, which farexceedeth that value. In time past the use of this commodityconsisteth (for the most part) in cloth and woolsteds; but now, bymeans of strangers succoured here from domestic persecution, the samehath been employed unto sundry other uses, as mockados, bays, vellures, grograines, etc. , whereby the makers have reaped no smallcommodity. It is furthermore to be noted, for the low countries ofBelgie know it, and daily experience (notwithstanding the sharpness ofour laws to the contrary) doth yet confirm it, that, although our ramsand wethers do go thither from us never so well headed according totheir kind, yet after they have remained there a while they cast theretheir heads, and from thenceforth they remain polled without any hornsat all. Certes this kind of cattle is more cherished in England thanstandeth well with the commodity of the commons or prosperity ofdivers towns, whereof some are wholly converted to their feeding; yetsuch a profitable sweetness is their fleece, such necessity in theirflesh, and so great a benefit in the manuring of barren soil withtheir dung and piss, that their superfluous members are the betterborn withal. And there is never a husbandman (for now I speak not ofour great sheepmasters, of whom some one man hath 20, 000) but hathmore or less of this cattle feeding on his fallows and short grounds, which yield the finer fleece. 

Nevertheless the sheep of our country are often troubled with the rot(as are our swine with the measles, though never so generally), andmany men are now and then great losers by the same; but, after thecalamity is over, if they can recover and keep their new stock soundfor seven years together, the former loss will easily be recompensedwith double commodity. Cardan writeth that our waters are hurtful toour sheep; howbeit this is but his conjecture, for we know that oursheep are infected by going to the water, and take the same as a sureand certain token that a rot hath gotten hold of them, their liversand lights being already distempered through excessive heat, whichenforceth them the rather to seek unto the water. Certes there is noparcel of the main wherein a man shall generally find more fine andwholesome water than in England; and therefore it is impossible thatour sheep should decay by tasting of the same. Wherefore the hindranceby rot is rather to be ascribed to the unseasonableness and moistureof the weather in summer, also their licking in of mildews, gossamire, rowtie fogs, and rank grass, full of superfluous juice, but especially(I say) to over moist weather, whereby the continual rain piercinginto their hollow fells soaketh forthwith into their flesh, whichbringeth them to their baines. Being also infected, their first shewof sickness is their desire to drink, so that our waters are not untothem _causa aegritudinis_, but _signum morbi_, whatsoever Cardan domaintain to the contrary. There are (and peradventure no small babes)which are grown to be such good husbands that they can make account ofevery ten kine to be clearly worth twenty pounds in common andindifferent years, if the milk of five sheep be daily added to thesame. But, as I wot not how true this surmise is, because it is nopart of my trade, so I am sure hereof that some housewives can and doadd daily a less portion of ewe's milk unto the cheese of so manykine, whereby their cheese doth the longer abide moist and eateth morebrickle and mellow than otherwise it would. 

Goats we have plenty, and of sundry colours, in the west parts ofEngland, especially in and towards Wales and amongst the rocky hills, by whom the owners do reap so small advantage: some also are cherishedelsewhere in divers steeds, for the benefit of such as are diseasedwith sundry maladies, unto whom (as I hear) their milk, cheese, andbodies of their young kids are judged very profitable, and thereforeinquired for of many far and near. Certes I find among the writersthat the milk of a goat is next in estimation to that of the woman, for that it helpeth the stomach, removeth oppilations and stoppings ofthe liver, and looseth the belly. Some place also next unto it themilk of the ewe, and thirdly that of the cow. But hereof I can shew noreason; only this I know, that ewe's milk is fulsome, sweet, and suchin taste as (except such as are used unto it) no man will gladly yieldto live and feed withal. 

As for swine, there is no place that hath greater store, nor morewholesome in eating, than are these here in England, whichnevertheless do never any good till they come to the table. Of thesesome we eat green for pork, and other dried up into bacon to have itin more continuance. Lard we make some, though very little, because itis chargeable: neither have we such use thereof as is to be seen inFrance and other countries, sith we do either bake our meat with sweetsuet of beef or mutton and baste all our meat with sweet or saltbutter or suffer the fattest to baste itself by leisure. In champaigncountries they are kept by herds, and a hogherd appointed to attendand wait upon them, who commonly gathereth them together by his noiseand cry, and leadeth them forth to feed abroad in the fields. In someplaces also women do scour and wet their clothes with their dung, asother do with hemlocks and nettles; but such is the savour of theclothes touched withal that I cannot abide to wear them on my body, more than such as are scoured with the refuse soap, than the which (inmine opinion) there is none more unkindly savour. 

Of our tame boars we make brawn, which is a kind of meat not usuallyknown to strangers (as I take it), otherwise would not the swartRutters and French cooks, at the loss of Calais (where they foundgreat store of this provision almost in every house), have attemptedwith ridiculous success to roast, bake, broil, and fry the same fortheir masters, till they were better informed. I have heard moreoverhow a nobleman of England not long since did send over a hogshead ofbrawn ready soused to a Catholic gentleman of France, who, supposingit to be fish, reserved it till Lent, at which time he did eat thereofwith great frugality. Thereto he so well liked the provision itselfthat he wrote over very earnestly, and with offer of great recompense, for more of the same fish against the year ensuing; whereas if he hadknown it to have been flesh he would not have touched it (I dare say)for a thousand crowns without the pope's dispensation. A friend ofmine also dwelling some time in Spain, having certain Jews at histable, did set brawn before them, whereof they did eat very earnestly, supposing it to be a kind of fish not common in those parts; but whenthe goodman of the house brought in the head in pastime among them, toshew what they had eaten, they rose from the table, hied them home inhaste, each of them procuring himself to vomit, some by oil and someby other means, till (as they supposed) they had cleansed theirstomachs of that prohibited food. With us it is accounted a greatpiece of service at the table from November until February be ended, but chiefly in the Christmas time. With the same also we begin ourdinners each day after other; and, because it is somewhat hard ofdigestion, a draught of malvesey, bastard, or muscadel, is usuallydrank after it, where either of them are conveniently to be had;otherwise the meaner sort content themselves with their own drink, which at that season is generally very strong, and stronger indeedthan it is all the year beside. It is made commonly of the fore partof a tame boar, set up for the purpose by the space of a whole year ortwo, especially in gentlemen's houses (for the husbandmen and farmersnever frank them for their own use above three or four months, or halfa year at the most), in which time he is dieted with oats and peason, and lodged on the bare planks of an uneasy coat, till his fat behardened sufficiently for their purpose: afterward he is killed, scalded, and cut out, and then of his former parts is our brawn made. The rest is nothing so fat, and therefore it beareth the name of sowseonly, and is commonly reserved for the serving-man and hind, except itplease the owner to have any part thereof baked, which are thenhandled of custom after this manner: the hinder parts being cut off, they are first drawn with lard, and then sodden; being sodden, theyare soused in claret wine and vinegar a certain space, and afterwardbaked in pasties, and eaten of many instead of the wild boar, andtruly it is very good meat: the pestles may be hanged up a while todry before they be drawn with lard, if you will, and thereby prove thebetter. But hereof enough, and therefore to come again unto our brawn. The neck pieces, being cut off round, are called collars of brawn, theshoulders are named shilds, only the ribs retain the formerdenomination, so that these aforesaid pieces deserve the name ofbrawn: the bowels of the beast are commonly cast away because of theirrankness, and so were likewise his stones, till a foolish fantasy gothold of late amongst some delicate dames, who have now found the meansto dress them also with great cost for a dainty dish, and bring themto the board as a service among other of like sort, though not withoutnote of their desire to the provocation of fleshly lust which by thistheir fond curiosity is not a little revealed. When the boar is thuscut out each piece is wrapped up, either with bulrushes, ozier, peels, tape inkle, [1] or such like, and then sodden in a lead or caldrontogether, till they be so tender that a man may thrust a bruised rushor straw clean through the fat: which being done, they take it up andlay it abroad to cool. Afterward, putting it into close vessels, theypour either good small ale or beer mingled with verjuice and saltthereto till it be covered, and so let it lie (now and then alteringand changing the sousing drink lest it should wax sour) till occasionserve to spend it out of the way. Some use to make brawn of greatbarrow hogs, and seethe them, and souse the whole as they do that ofthe boar; and in my judgment it is the better of both, and more easyof digestion. But of brawn thus much, and so much may seem sufficient. 

 [1] Tape. 

CHAPTER XIII

OF WILD AND TAME FOWLS

[1577, Book III. , Chapters 9 and 11; 1587, Book III. , Chapters2 and 5. ]

Order requireth that I speak somewhat of the fowls also of England, which I may easily divide into the wild and tame; but, alas! such ismy small skill in fowls that, to say the truth, I can neither recitetheir numbers nor well distinguish one kind of them from another. Yetthis I have by general knowledge, that there is no nation under thesun which hath already in the time of the year more plenty of wildfowl than we, for so many kinds as our island doth bring forth, andmuch more would have if those of the higher soil might be spared butone year or two from the greedy engines of covetous fowlers which setonly for the pot and purse. Certes this enormity bred great troublesin King John's days, insomuch that, going in progress about the tenthof his reign, he found little or no game wherewith to solace himselfor exercise his falcons. Wherefore, being at Bristow in the Christmasensuing, he restrained all manner of hawking or taking of wild fowlthroughout England for a season, whereby the land within few years wasthoroughly replenished again. But what stand I upon this impertinentdiscourse? Of such therefore as are bred in our land, we have thecrane, the bitter, [1] the wild and tame swan, the bustard, the heron, curlew, snite, wildgoose, wind or doterell, brant, lark, plover (ofboth sorts), lapwing, teal, widgeon, mallard, sheldrake, shoveller, peewitt, seamew, barnacle, quail (who, only with man, are subject tothe falling sickness), the knot, the oliet or olive, the dunbird, woodcock, partridge, and pheasant, besides divers others, whose namesto me are utterly unknown, and much more the taste of their flesh, wherewith I was never acquainted. But as these serve not at allseasons, so in their several turns there is no plenty of them wantingwhereby the tables of the nobility and gentry should seem at any timefurnished. But of all these the production of none is more marvellous, in my mind, than that of the barnacle, whose place of generation wehave sought ofttimes as far as the Orchades, whereas peradventure wemight have found the same nearer home, and not only upon the coasts ofIreland, but even in our own rivers. If I should say how either theseor some such other fowl not much unlike unto them have bred of latetimes (for their place of generation is not perpetual, but asopportunity serveth and the circumstances do minister occasion) in theThames mouth, I do not think that many will believe me; yet such athing hath there been seen where a kind of fowl had his beginning upona short tender shrub standing near unto the shore, from whence, whentheir time came, they fell down, either into the salt water and lived, or upon the dry land and perished, as Pena the French herbarian hathalso noted in the very end of his herbal. What I, for mine own part, have seen here by experience, I have already so touched upon in thechapter of islands, that it should be but time spent in vain to repeatit here again. Look therefore in the description of Man (or Manaw) formore of these barnacles, as also in the eleventh chapter of thedescription of Scotland, and I do not doubt but you shall in somerespect be satisfied in the generation of these fowls. As for egrets, pawpers, and such like, they are daily brought unto us from beyond thesea, as if all the fowl of our country could not suffice to satisfyour delicate appetites. 

 [1] The proper English name of the bird which vulgar acceptance forces us to now call _bittern_. --W. 

Our tame fowl are such (for the most part) as are common both to usand to other countries, as cocks, hens, geese, ducks, peacocks of Ind, pigeons, now a hurtful fowl by reason of their multitudes, and numberof houses daily erected for their increase (which the boors of thecountry call in scorn almshouses, and dens of thieves, and such like), whereof there is great plenty in every farmer's yard. They are keptthere also to be sold either for ready money in the open markets, orelse to be spent at home in good company amongst their neighbourswithout reprehension or fines. Neither are we so miserable in England(a thing only granted unto us by the especial grace of God and libertyof our princes) as to dine or sup with a quarter of a hen, or to makeas great a repast with a cock's comb as they do in some othercountries; but, if occasion serve, the whole carcases of many capons, hens, pigeons, and such like do oft go to wrack, beside beef, mutton, veal, and lamb, all of which at every feast are taken for necessarydishes amongst the communalty of England. 

The gelding of cocks, whereby capons are made, Is an ancient practicebrought in old time by the Romans when they dwelt here in this land;but the gelding of turkeys or Indian peacocks is a newer device, andcertainly not used amiss, sith the rankness of that bird is very muchabated thereby and the strong taste of the flesh is sundry wiseamended. If I should say that ganders grow also to be gelded, Isuppose that some will laugh me to scorn, neither have I tasted at anytime of such a fowl so served, yet have I heard it more than once tobe used in the country, where their geese are driven to the field likeherds of cattle by a gooseherd, a boy also no less to be marvelled atthan the other. For, as it is rare to hear of a gelded gander, so isit strange to me to see or hear of geese to be led to the field likesheep; yet so it is, and their gooseherd carrieth a rattle of paper orparchment with him when he goeth about in the morning to gather hisgoslings together, the noise whereof cometh no sooner to their earsthan they fall to gaggling, and hasten to go with him. If it happenthat the gates be not yet open, or that none of the house be stirring, it is ridiculous to see how they will peep under the doors, and neverleave creaking and gaggling till they be let out unto him to overtaketheir fellows. With us, where I dwell, they are not kept in this sort, nor in many other places, neither are they kept so much for theirbodies as their feathers. Some hold furthermore an opinion that inover rank soils their dung doth so qualify the batableness of the soilthat their cattle is thereby kept from the garget, and sundry otherdiseases, although some of them come to their ends now and then bylicking up of their feathers. I might here make mention of other fowlsproduced by the industry of man, as between the pheasant cock anddunghill hen, or between the pheasant and the ringdove, the peacockand the turkey hen, the partridge and the pigeon; but, sith I have nomore knowledge of these than what I have gotten by mine ear, I willnot meddle with them. Yet Cardan, speaking of the second sort, dothaffirm it to be a fowl of excellent beauty. I would likewise intreatof other fowls which we repute unclean, as ravens, crows, pies, choughs, rooks, kites, jays, ringtails, starlings, woodspikes, woodnaws, etc. ; but, sith they abound in all countries, thoughperadventure most of all in England (by reason of our negligence), Ishall not need to spend any time in the rehearsal of them. Neither areour crows and choughs cherished of purpose to catch up the worms thatbreed in our soils (as Polydor supposeth), sith there are no uplandishtowns but have (or should have) nets of their own in store to catchthem withal. Sundry acts of Parliament are likewise made for theirutter destruction, as also the spoil of other ravenous fowls hurtfulto poultry, conies, lambs, and kids, whose valuation of reward to himthat killeth them is after the head: a device brought from the Goths, who had the like ordinance for the destruction of their white crows, and tale made by the beck, which killed both lambs and pigs. The likeorder is taken with us for our vermin as with them also for therootage out of their wild beasts, saving that they spared theirgreatest bears, especially the white, whose skins are by custom andprivilege reserved to cover those planchers whereupon their priests dostand at mass, lest he should take some unkind cold in such a longpiece of work: and happy is the man that may provide them for him, forhe shall have pardon enough for that so religious an act, to last if hewill till doomsday do approach, and many thousands after. Nothingtherefore can be more unlikely to be true than that these noisomecreatures are nourished amongst us to devour our worms, which do notabound much more in England than elsewhere in other countries of themain. It may be that some look for a discourse also of our other fowlsin this place at my hand, as nightingales, thrushes, blackbirds, mavises, ruddocks, redstarts or dunocks, larks, tivits, kingfishers, buntings, turtles (white or grey), linnets, bullfinches, goldfinches, washtails, cherrycrackers, yellowhammers, fieldfares, etc. ; but Ishould then spend more time upon them than is convenient. Neither willI speak of our costly and curious aviaries daily made for the betterhearing of their melody, and observation of their natures; but I ceasealso to go any further in these things, having (as I think) saidenough already of these that I have named. [2]. . . 

 [2] Here ends the first chapter of "fowls, " that which follows being restricted to "hawks and ravenous fowls. "--W. 

I cannot make as yet any just report how many sorts of hawks are bredwithin this realm. Howbeit which of those that are usually had amongus are disclosed within this land, I think it more easy and lessdifficult to set down. First of all, therefore, that we have the eaglecommon experience doth evidently confirm, and divers of our rockswhereon they breed, if speech did serve, could well declare the same. But the most excellent eyrie of all is not much from Chester, at acastle called Dinas Bren, sometime builded by Brennus, as our writersdo remember. Certes this castle is no great thing, but yet a pilesometime very strong and inaccessible for enemies, though now allruinous as many others are. It standeth upon a hard rock, in the sidewhereof an eagle breedeth every year. This also is notable in theoverthrow of her nest (a thing oft attempted), that he which goeththither must be sure of two large baskets, and so provide to be letdown thereto, that he may sit in the one and be covered with theother: for otherwise the eagle would kill him and tear the flesh fromhis bones with her sharp talons, though his apparel were never sogood. The common people call this fowl an erne; but, as I am ignorantwhether the word eagle and erne do shew any difference of sex, I meanbetween the male and the female, so we have great store of them. And, near to the places where they breed, the commons complain of greatharm to be done by them in their fields; for they are able to bear ayoung lamb or kid unto their nests, therewith to feed their young andcome again for more. I was once of the opinion that there was adiversity of kind between the eagle and the erne, till I perceivedthat our nation used the word erne in most places for the eagle. Wehave also the lanner and the lanneret, the tersel and the goshawk, themusket and the sparhawk, the jack and the hobby, and finally some(though very few) marleons. And these are all the hawks that I do hearas yet to be bred within this island. Howbeit, as these are notwanting with us, so are they not very plentiful: wherefore such asdelight in hawking do make their chief purveyance and provision forthe same out of Danske, Germany, and the eastern countries, fromwhence we have them in great abundance and at excellent prices, whereas at home and where they be bred they are sold for almost rightnought, and usually brought to the markets as chickens, pullets, andpigeons are with us, and there bought up to be eaten (as we do theaforesaid fowl) almost of every man. It is said that the sparhawkpryeth not upon the fowl in the morning, that she taketh over even, but as loath to have double benefit by one seelie fowl doth let it goto make some shift for itself. But hereof as I stand in some doubt. Sothis I find among the writers worthy the noting: that the sparhawk isenemy to young children, as is also the ape, but of the peacock she ismarvellously afraid, and so appalled that all courage and stomach fora time is taken from her upon the sight thereof. But to proceed withthe rest. Of other ravenous birds we have also very great plenty, asthe buzzard, the kite, the ringtail, dunkite, and such as often annoyour country dames by spoiling of their young breeds of chickens, ducks, and goslings, whereunto our very ravens and crows have learnedalso the way: and so much are ravens given to this kind of spoil thatsome idle and curious heads of set purpose have manned, reclaimed, andused them instead of hawks, when other could not be had. Some doimagine that the raven should be the vulture, and I was almostpersuaded in times past to believe the same; but, finding of late, adescription of the vulture, which better agreeth with the form of asecond kind of eagle, I freely surcease to be longer of that opinion:for, as it hath, after a sort, the shape, colour, and quantity of aneagle, so are the legs and feet more hairy and rough, their sidesunder their wings better covered with thick down (wherewith also theirgorge or a part of their breast under their throats is armed, and notwith feathers) than are the like parts of the eagle, and unto whichportraiture there is no member of the raven (who is almost black ofcolour) that can have any resemblance: we have none of them in Englandto my knowledge; if we have, they go generally under the name of eagleor erne. Neither have we the pygargus or grip, wherefore I have nooccasion to treat further. I have seen the carrion crows so cunningalso by their own industry of late that they have used to soar overgreat rivers (as the Thames for example) and, suddenly coming down, have caught a small fish in their feet and gone away withal withoutwetting of their wings. And even at this present the aforesaid riveris not without some of them, a thing (in my opinion) not a little tobe wondered at. We have also osprays, which breed with us in parks andwoods, whereby the keepers of the same do reap in breeding time nosmall commodity; for, so soon almost as the young are hatched, theytie them to the butt ends or ground ends of sundry trees, where theold ones, finding them, do never cease to bring fish unto them, whichthe keepers take and eat from them, and commonly is such as is wellfed or not of the worst sort. It hath not been my hap hitherto to seeany of these fowl, and partly through mine own negligence; but I hearthat it hath one foot like a hawk, to catch hold withal, and anotherresembling a goose, wherewith to swim; but, whether it be so or notso, I refer the further search and trial thereof unto some other. Thisnevertheless is certain, that both alive and dead, yea even her veryoil, is a deadly terror to such fish as come within the wind of it. There is no cause whereof I should describe the cormorant amongsthawks, of which some be black and many pied, chiefly about the Isle ofEly, where they are taken for the night raven, except I should callhim a water hawk. But, sith such dealing is not convenient, let us nowsee what may be said of our venomous worms, and how many kinds we haveof them within our realm and country. [3]

 [3] This on "venomous beasts" will be found included in the "savage beasts" of the following. 

CHAPTER XIV

OF SAVAGE BEASTS AND VERMIN

[1577, Book III. , Chapters 7 and 12; 1587, Book III. , Chapters4 and 6. ]

It is none of the least blessings wherewith God hath endued thisisland that it is void of noisome beasts, as lions, bears, tigers, pardes, wolves, and such like, by means whereof our countrymen maytravel in safety, and our herds and flocks remain for the most partabroad in the field without any herdman or keeper. 

This is chiefly spoken of the south and south-west parts of theisland. For, whereas we that dwell on this side of the Tweed maysafely boast of our security in this behalf, yet cannot the Scots dothe like in every point wherein their kingdom, sith they have grievouswolves and cruel foxes, beside some others of like dispositioncontinually conversant among them, to the general hindrance of theirhusbandmen, and no small damage unto the inhabitants of thosequarters. The happy and fortunate want of these beasts in England isuniversally ascribed to the politic government of King Edgar. [1]. . . 

 [1] Here follows an account of the extermination of wolves, and a reference to lions and wild bulls rampant in Scotland of old. --W. 

Of foxes we have some, but no great store, and also badgers in oursandy and light grounds, where woods, furze, broom, and plenty ofshrubs are to shroud them in when they be from their burrows, andthereunto warrens of conies at hand to feed upon at will. Otherwise inclay, which we call the cledgy mould, we seldom hear of any, becausethe moisture and the toughness of the soil is such as will not sufferthem to draw and make their burrows deep. Certes, if I may freely saywhat I think, I suppose that these two kinds (I mean foxes andbadgers) are rather preserved by gentlemen to hunt and have pastimewithal at their own pleasures than otherwise suffered to live as notable to be destroyed because of their great numbers. For such is thescarcity of them here in England, in comparison of the plenty that isto be seen in other countries, and so earnestly are the inhabitantsbent to root them out, that, except it had been to bear thus with therecreations of their superiors in this behalf, it could not otherwisehave been chosen but that they should have been utterly destroyed bymany years agone. 

I might here intreat largely of other vermin, as the polecat, theminiver, the weasel, stote, fulmart, squirrel, fitchew, and such like, which Cardan includeth under the word _Mustela_: also of the otter, and likewise of the beaver, whose hinder feet and tail only aresupposed to be fish. Certes the tail of this beast is like unto a thinwhetstone, as the body unto a monstrous rat: as the beast also itselfis of such force in the teeth that it will gnaw a hole through a thickplank, or shere through a double billet in a night; it loveth also thestillest rivers, and it is given to them by nature to go by flocksunto the woods at hand, where they gather sticks wherewith to buildtheir nests, wherein their bodies lie dry above the water, althoughthey so provide most commonly that their tails may hang within thesame. It is also reported that their said tails are a delicate dish, and their stones of such medicinal force that (as Vertomannus saith)four men smelling unto them each after other did bleed at the nosethrough their attractive force, proceeding from a vehement savourwherewith they are endued. There is greatest plenty of them in Persia, chiefly about Balascham, from whence they and their dried cods arebrought into all quarters of the world, though not without someforgery by such as provide them. And of all these here remembered, asthe first sorts are plentiful in every wood and hedgerow, so theselatter, especially the otter (for, to say the truth, we have not manybeavers, but only in the Teisie in Wales) is not wanting or to seek inmany, but most, streams and rivers of this isle; but it shall sufficein this sort to have named them, as I do finally the martern, a beastof the chase, although for number I worthily doubt whether that of ourbeavers or marterns may be thought to be the less. 

Other pernicious beasts we have not, except you repute the greatplenty of red and fallow deer whose colours are oft garled white andblack, all white or all black, and store of conies amongst the hurtfulsort. Which although that of themselves they are not offensive at all, yet their great numbers are thought to be very prejudicial, andtherefore justly reproved of many, as are in like sort our huge flocksof sheep, whereon the greatest part of our soil is employed almost inevery place, and yet our mutton, wool, and felles never the bettercheap. The young males which our fallow deer do bring forth arecommonly named according to their several ages: for the first year itis a fawn, the second a pricket, the third a sorel, the fourth asoare, the fifth a buck of the first head, not bearing the name of abuck till he be five years old: and from henceforth his age iscommonly known by his head or horns. Howbeit this notice of his yearsis not so certain but that the best woodman may now and then bedeceived in that account: for in some grounds a buck of the first headwill be as well headed as another in a high rowtie soil will be in thefourth. It is also much to be marvelled at that, whereas they doyearly mew and cast their horns, yet in fighting they never break offwhere they do grife or mew. Furthermore, in examining the condition ofour red deer, I find that the young male is called in the first year acalf, in the second a broket, the third a spay, the fourth a staggonor stag, the fifth a great stag, the sixth a hart, and so forth untohis death. And with him in degree of venerie are accounted the hare, boar, and wolf. The fallow deer, as bucks and does, are nourished inparks, and conies in warrens and burrows. As for hares, they run attheir own adventure, except some gentleman or other (for his pleasure)do make an enclosure for them. Of these also the stag is accounted forthe most noble game, the fallow deer is the next, then the roe, whereof we have indifferent store, and last of all the hare, not theleast in estimation, because the hunting of that seely beast is motherto all the terms, blasts, and artificial devices that hunters do use. All which (notwithstanding our custom) are pastimes more meet forladies and gentlewomen to exercise (whatsoever Franciscus Patritiussaith to the contrary in his _Institution of a Prince_) than for menof courage to follow, whose hunting should practise their arms intasting of their manhood, and dealing with such beasts as eftsoonswill turn again and offer them the hardest, rather than their horses'feet which many times may carry them with dishonour from thefield. [2]. . . 

 [2] Here follows a discourse on ancient boar hunting, exalting it above the degenerate sports of the day. This ends the chapter on "savage beasts. "--W. 

If I should go about to make any long discourse of venomous beasts orworms bred in England, I should attempt more than occasion itselfwould readily offer, sith we have very few worms, but no beasts atall, that are thought by their natural qualities to be either venomousor hurtful. First of all, therefore, we have the adder (in our oldSaxon tongue called an atter), which some men do not rashly take to bethe viper. Certes, if it be so, then is not the viper author of thedeath of her[3] parents, as some histories affirm, and theretoEncelius, a late writer, in his _De re Metallica_, lib. 3, cap. 38, where he maketh mention of a she adder which he saw in Sala, whosewomb (as he saith) was eaten out after a like fashion, her young oneslying by her in the sunshine, as if they had been earthworms. Nevertheless, as he nameth them _viperas_, so he calleth the male_echis_. And the female _echidna_, concluding in the end that _echis_is the same serpent which his countrymen to this day call _ein atter_, as I have also noted before out of a Saxon dictionary. For my part Iam persuaded that the slaughter of their parents is either not true atall, or not always (although I doubt not but that nature hath rightwell provided to inhibit their superfluous increase by some means orother), and so much the rather am I led hereunto for that I gather byNicander that of all venomous worms the viper only bringeth out heryoung alive, and therefore is called in Latin _vipera quasivivipara_, but of her own death he doth not (to my remembrance) say anything. Itis testified also by other in other words, and to the like sense, that"_Echis id est vipera sola ex serpentibus non ova sed animaliaparit_. "[4] And it may well be, for I remember that I have read inPhilostratus, _De vita Appollonii_, how he saw a viper licking heryoung. I did see an adder once myself that lay (as I thought) sleepingon a molehill, out of whose mouth came eleven young adders of twelveor thirteen inches in length apiece, which played to and fro in thegrass one with another, till some of them espied me. So soon thereforeas they saw my face they ran again into the mouth of their dam, whom Ikilled, and then found each of them shrouded in a distinct cell orpannicle in her belly, much like unto a soft white jelly, which makethme to be of the opinion that our adder is the viper indeed. The colourof their skin is for the most part like rusty iron or iron grey, butsuch as be very old resemble a ruddy blue; and as once in the year (towit, in April or about the beginning of May) they cast their old skins(whereby as it is thought their age reneweth), so their stingingbringeth death without present remedy be at hand, the wounded neverceasing to swell, neither the venom to work till the skin of the onebreak, and the other ascend upward to the heart, where it finisheththe natural effect, except the juice of dragons (in Latin called_dracunculus minor_) be speedily ministered and drunk in strong ale, or else some other medicine taken of like force that may countervailand overcome the venom of the same. The length of them is mostcommonly two feet, and somewhat more, but seldom doth it extend intotwo feet six inches, except it be in some rare and monstrous one, whereas our snakes are much longer, and seen sometimes to surmount ayard, or three feet, although their poison be nothing so grievous anddeadly as the others. Our adders lie in winter under stones, asAristotle also saith of the viper (lib. 8, cap. 15), and in holes ofthe earth, rotten stubs of trees, and amongst the dead leaves; but inthe heat of the summer they come abroad, and lie either round in heapsor at length upon some hillock, or elsewhere in the grass. They arefound only in our woodland countries and highest grounds, wheresometimes (though seldom) a speckled stone called _echites_, in Dutch_ein atter stein_, is gotten out of their dried carcases, which diversreport to be good against their poison. [5] As for our snakes, which inLatin are properly named _angues_, they commonly are seen in moors, fens, loam, walls, and low bottoms. 

 [3] Galenus, _De Theriaca ad Pisonem_; Pliny, lib. 10, cap. 62. --H. 

 [4] "The adder or viper alone among serpents brings forth not eggs but living creatures. "

 [5] Sallust, cap. 40, Pliny, lib. 37, cap. 2. --H. 

As we have great store of toads where adders commonly are found, so dofrogs abound where snakes do keep their residence. We have also theslow-worm, which is black and greyish of colour, and somewhat shorterthan an adder. I was at the killing once of one of them, and therebyperceived that she was not so called of any want of nimble motion, butrather of the contrary. Nevertheless we have a blind-worm, to be foundunder logs, in woods and timber that hath lain long in a place, whichsome also do call (and upon better ground) by the name of slow-worms, and they are known easily by their more or less variety of stripedcolours, drawn long-ways from their heads, their whole bodies littleexceeding a foot in length, and yet is their venom deadly. This alsois not to be omitted; and now and then in our fenny countries otherkinds of serpents are found of greater quantity than either our adderor our snake, but, as these are not ordinary and oft to be seen, so Imean not to intreat of them among our common annoyances. Neither havewe the scorpion, a plague of God sent not long since into Italy, andwhose poison (as Apollodorus saith) is white, neither the tarantula orNeapolitan spider, whose poison bringeth death, except music be athand. Wherefore I suppose our country to be the more happy (I mean inpart) for that it is void of these two grievous annoyances wherewithother nations are plagued. 

We have also efts both of the land and water, and likewise the noisomeswifts, whereof to say any more it would be but loss of time, siththey are all well known, and no region to my knowledge found to bevoid of many of them. As for flies (sith it shall not be amiss alittle to touch them also), we have none that can do hurt or hindrancenaturally unto any: for whether they be cut-waisted or whole-bodied, they are void of poison and all venomous inclination. The cut or girtwaisted (for so I English the word _insecta_) are the hornets, wasps, bees, and such like, whereof we have great store, and of which anopinion is conceived that the first do breed of the corruption of deadhorses, the second of pears and apples corrupted, and the last of kineand oxen: which may be true, especially the first and latter in someparts of the beast, and not their whole substances, as also in thesecond, sith we have never wasps but when our fruit beginneth to waxripe. Indeed Virgil and others speak of a generation of bees bykilling or smothering a bruised bullock or calf and laying his bowelsor his flesh wrapped up in his hide in a close house for a certainseason; but how true it is, hitherto I have not tried. Yet sure I amof this, that no one living creature corrupteth without the productionof another, as we may see by ourselves, whose flesh doth alter intolice, and also in sheep for excessive numbers of flesh flies, if theybe suffered to lie unburied or uneaten by the dogs and swine, whooften and happily present such needless generations. 

As concerning bees, I think it good to remember that, whereas someancient writers affirm it to be a commodity wanting in our island, itis now found to be nothing so. In old times peradventure we had noneindeed; but in my days there is such plenty of them in mannereverywhere that in some uplandish towns there are one hundred or twohundred hives of them, although the said hives are not so huge asthose of the east country, but far less, and not able to contain aboveone bushel of corn or five pecks at the most. Pliny (a man that of setpurpose delighteth to write of wonders), speaking of honey, noteththat in the north regions the hives in his time were of such quantitythat some one comb contained eight foot in length, and yet (as itshould seem) he speaketh not of the greatest. For in Podolia, which isnow subject to the King of Poland, their hives are so great, and combsso abundant, that huge boars, overturning and falling into them, aredrowned in the honey before they can recover and find the means tocome out. 

Our honey also is taken and reputed to be the best, because it isharder, better wrought, and cleanlier vesselled up, than that whichcometh from beyond the sea, where they stamp and strain their combs, bees, and young blowings altogether into the stuff, as I have beeninformed. In use also of medicine our physicians and apothecarieseschew the foreign, especially that of Spain and Pontus, by reason ofa venomous quality naturally planted in the same, as some write, andchoose the home-made: not only by reason of our soil (which hath noless plenty of wild thyme growing therein than in Sicilia and aboutAthens, and maketh the best stuff) as also for that it breedeth (beinggotten in harvest time) less choler, and which is oftentimes (as Ihave seen by experience) so white as sugar, and corned as if it weresalt. Our hives are made commonly of rye straw and wattled about withbramble quarters; but some make the same of wicker, and cast them overwith clay. We cherish none in trees, but set our hives somewhere onthe warmest side of the house, providing that they may stand dry andwithout danger both of the mouse and the moth. This furthermore is tobe noted, that whereas in vessels of oil that which is nearest the topis counted the finest and of wine that in the middest, so of honey thebest which is heaviest and moistest is always next the bottom, andevermore casteth and driveth his dregs upward toward the very top, contrary to the nature of other liquid substances, whose grounds andleeze do generally settle downwards. And thus much as by the way ofour bees and English honey. 

As for the whole-bodied, as the _cantharides_, and such venomouscreatures of the same kind, to be abundantly found in other countries, we hear not of them: yet have we beetles, horseflies, turdbugs or dors(called in Latin _scarabei_), the locust or the grasshopper (which tome do seem to be one thing, as I will anon declare), and such like, whereof let other intreat that make an exercise in catching of flies, but a far greater sport in offering them to spiders, as did Domitiansometime, and another prince yet living who delighted so much to seethe jolly combats betwixt a stout fly and an old spider that diversmen have had great rewards given them for their painful provision offlies made only for this purpose. Some parasites also, in the time ofthe aforesaid emperor (when they were disposed to laugh at his folly, and yet would seem in appearance to gratify his fantastical head withsome shew of dutiful demeanour), could devise to set their lord onwork by letting a flesh fly privily into his chamber, which heforthwith would eagerly have hunted (all other business set apart) andnever ceased till he had caught her into his fingers, wherewith arosethe proverb, "_Ne musca quidem_" uttered first by Vibius Priscus, whobeing asked whether anybody was with Domitian, answered "_Ne muscaquidem_" whereby he noted his folly. There are some cockscombs hereand there in England, learning it abroad as men transregionate, whichmake account also of this pastime, as of a notable matter, tellingwhat a sight is seen between them, if either of them be lusty andcourageous in his kind. One also hath made a book of the spider andthe fly, wherein he dealeth so profoundly, and beyond all measure ofskill that neither he himself that made it nor any one that readeth itcan reach unto the meaning thereof. But if those jolly fellows, instead of the straw that they must thrust into the fly's tail (agreat injury no doubt to such a noble champion), would bestow the costto set a fool's cap upon their own heads, then might they with moresecurity and less reprehension behold these notable battles. 

Now, as concerning the locust, I am led by divers of my country, who(as they say) were either in Germany, Italy, or Pannonia, 1542, whenthose nations were greatly annoyed with that kind of fly, and affirmvery constantly that they saw none other creature than the grasshopperduring the time of that annoyance, which was said to come to them fromthe Meotides. In most of our translations also of the Bible the word_locusta_ is Englished a grasshopper, and thereunto (Leviticus xi. ) itis reputed among the clean food, otherwise John the Baptist wouldnever have lived with them in the wilderness. In Barbary, Numidia, andsundry other places of Africa, as they have been, [6] so are they eatento this day powdered in barrels, and therefore the people of thoseparts are called _Acedophagi_: nevertheless they shorten the life ofthe eaters, by the production at the last of an irksome and filthydisease. In India they are three foot long, in Ethiopia much shorter, but in England seldom above an inch. As for the cricket, called inLatin _cicada_, he hath some likelihood, but not very great, with thegrasshopper, and therefore he is not to be brought in as an umpire inthis case. Finally, Matthiolus and so many as describe the locust doset down none other form than that of our grasshopper, which maketh meso much the more to rest upon my former imagination, which is that thelocust and the grasshopper are one. 

 [6] See Diodorus Siculus. --H. 

CHAPTER XV

OF OUR ENGLISH DOGS AND THEIR QUALITIES

[1577, Book III. , Chapter 13; 1587, Book III. , Chapter 7. ]

There is no country that may (as I take it) compare with ours innumber, excellency, and diversity of dogs. 

The first sort therefore he divideth either into such as rouse thebeast, and continue the chase, or springeth the bird, and bewrayethher flight by pursuit. And as these are commonly called spaniels, sothe other are named hounds, whereof he maketh eight sorts, of whichthe foremost excelleth in perfect smelling, the second in quickespying, the third in swiftness and quickness, the fourth in smellingand nimbleness, etc. , and the last in subtlety and deceitfulness. These (saith Strabo) are most apt for game, and called Sagaces by ageneral name, not only because of their skill in hunting, but also forthat they know their own and the names of their fellows most exactly. For if the hunter see any one to follow skilfully, and with likelihoodof good success, he biddeth the rest to hark and follow such a dog, and they eftsoones obey so soon as they hear his name. The first kindof these are often called harriers, whose game is the fox, the hare, the wolf (if we had any), hart, buck, badger, otter, polecat, lopstart, weasel, conie, etc. : the second height a terrier and ithunteth the badger and grey only: the third a bloodhound, whose officeis to follow the fierce, and now and then to pursue a thief or beastby his dry foot: the fourth height a gazehound, who hunteth by theeye: the fifth a greyhound, cherished for his strength and swiftnessand stature, commended by Bratius in his _De Venatione_, and notunremembered by Hercules Stroza in a like treatise, and above allother those of Britain, where he saith: "Magna spectandi moleBritanni;" also by Nemesianus, libro Cynegeticón, where he saith:"Divisa Britannia mittit Veloces nostrique orbis venatibus aptos, " ofwhich sort also some be smooth, of sundry colours, and someshake-haired: the sixth a liemer, that excelleth in smelling andswift-running: the seventh a tumbler: and the eighth a thief whoseoffices (I mean of the latter two) incline only to deceit, whereinthey are oft so skilful that few men would think so mischievous a witto remain in such silly creatures. Having made this enumeration ofdogs which are apt for the chase and hunting, he cometh next to suchas serve the falcons in their time, whereof he maketh also two sorts. One that findeth his game on the land, another that putteth up suchfowl as keepeth in the water: and of these this is commonly most usualfor the net or train, the other for the hawk, as he doth shew atlarge. Of the first he saith that they have no peculiar names assignedto them severally, but each of them is called after the bird which bynatural appointment he is alloted to hunt or serve, for whichconsideration some be named dogs for the pheasant, some for thefalcon, and some for the partridge. Howbeit the common name for all isspaniel (saith he), and thereupon alluded as if these kinds of dogshad been brought hither out of Spain. In like sort we have of waterspaniels in their kind. The third sort of dogs of the gentle kind isthe spaniel gentle, or comforter, or (as the common term is) thefistinghound, and those are called Melitei, of the Island Malta, fromwhence they were brought hither. These are little and pretty, properand fine, and sought out far and near to falsify the nice delicacy ofdainty dames, and wanton women's wills, instruments of folly to playand dally withal, in trifling away the treasure of time, to withdrawtheir minds from more commendable exercises, and to content theircorrupt concupiscences with vain disport--a silly poor shift to shuntheir irksome idleness. The Sybaritical puppies the smaller they be(and thereto if they have a hole in the fore parts of their heads) thebetter they are accepted, the more pleasure also they provoke, as meetplayfellows for mincing mistresses to bear in their bosoms, to keepcompany withal in their chambers, to succour with sleep in bed, andnourish with meat at board, to lie in their laps, and lick their lipsas they lie (like young Dianas) in their waggons and coaches. And goodreason it should be so, for coarseness with fineness hath nofellowship, but featness with neatness hath neighbourhood enough. Thatplausible proverb therefore versified sometime upon a tyrant--namely, that he loved his sow better than his son--may well be applied to someof this kind of people, who delight more in their dogs, that aredeprived of all possibility of reason, than they do in children thatare capable of wisdom and judgment. Yea, they oft feed them of thebest where the poor man's child at their doors can hardly come by theworst. But the former abuse peradventure reigneth where there hathbeen long want of issue, else where barrenness is the best blossom ofbeauty: or, finally, where poor men's children for want of their ownissue are not ready to be had. It is thought of some that it is verywholesome for a weak stomach to bear such a dog in the bosom, as it isfor him that hath the palsy to feel the daily smell and savour of afox. But how truly this is affirmed let the learned judge: only itshall suffice for Doctor Caius to have said thus much of spaniels anddogs of the gentle kind. 

Dogs of the homely kind are either shepherd's curs or mastiffs. Thefirst are so common that it needeth me not to speak of them. Their usealso is so well known in keeping the herd together (either when theygrass or go before the shepherd) that it should be but in vain tospend any time about them. Wherefore I will leave this cur unto hisown kind, and go in hand with the mastiff, tie dog, or band dog, socalled because many of them are tied up in chains and strong bonds inthe daytime, for doing hurt abroad, which is a huge dog, stubborn, ugly, eager, burthenous of body (and therefore of but littleswiftness), terrible and fearful to behold, and oftentimes more fierceand fell than any Archadian or Corsican cur. Our Englishmen, to theextent that these dogs may be more cruel and fierce, assist naturewith some art, use, and custom. For although this kind of dog becapable of courage, violent, valiant, stout, and bold: yet will theyincrease these their stomachs by teaching them to bait the bear, thebull, the lion, and other such like cruel and bloody beasts (eitherbrought over or kept up at home for the same purpose), without anycollar to defend their throats, and oftentimes there too they trainthem up in fighting and wrestling with a man (having for the safeguardof his life either a pikestaff, club, sword, privy coat), whereby theybecome the more fierce and cruel unto strangers. The Caspians make somuch account sometimes of such great dogs that every able man wouldnourish sundry of them in his house of set purpose, to the end theyshould devour their carcases after their deaths thinking the dog'sbellies to be the most honourable sepulchres. The common people alsofollowed the same rate, and therefore there were tie dogs kept up bypublic ordinance, to devour them after their deaths: by means whereofthese beasts became the more eager, and with great difficulty after awhile restrained from falling upon the living. But whither am Idigressed? In returning therefore to our own, I say that of mastiffs, some bark only with fierce and open mouth but will not bite; but thecruelest do either not bark at all or bite before they bark, andtherefore are more to be feared than any of the other. They take alsotheir name of the word "mase" and "thief" (or "master-thief" if youwill), because they often stound and put such persons to their shiftsin towns and villages, and are the principal causes of theirapprehension and taking. The force which is in them surmounteth allbelief, and the fast hold which they take with their teeth exceedethall credit: for three of them against a bear, four against a lion, aresufficient to try mastries with them. King Henry the Seventh, as thereport goeth, commanded all such curs to be hanged, because they durstpresume to fight against the lion, who is their king and sovereign. The like he did with an excellent falcon, as some say, because hefeared not hand-to-hand match with an eagle, willing his falconers inhis own presence to pluck off his head after he was taken down, sayingthat it was not meet for any subject to offer such wrong unto his lordand superior, wherein he had a further meaning. But if King Henry theSeventh had lived in our time what would he have done to our Englishmastiff, which alone and without any help at all pulled down first ahuge bear, then a pard, and last of all a lion, each after otherbefore the French king in one day, when the Lord Buckhurst wasambassador unto him, and whereof if I should write the circumstances, that is, how he took his advantage being let loose unto them, andfinally drave them into such exceeding fear, that they were all gladto run away when he was taken from them, I should take much pains, andyet reap but small credit: wherefore it shall suffice to have saidthus much thereof. Some of our mastiffs will rage only in the night, some are to be tied up both day and night. Such also as are sufferedto go loose about the house and yard are so gentle in the daytime thatchildren may ride on their backs and play with them at theirpleasures. Divers of them likewise are of such jealousy over theirmaster and whosoever of his household, that if a stranger do embraceor touch any of them, they will fall fiercely upon them, unto theirextreme mischief if their fury be not prevented. Such a one was thedog of Nichomedes, king sometime of Bithynia, who seeing Consigne thequeen to embrace and kiss her husband as they walked together in agarden, did tear her all to pieces, maugre his resistance and thepresent aid of such as attended on them. Some of them moreover willsuffer a stranger to come in and walk about the house or yard where helisteth, without giving over to follow him: but if he put forth hishand to touch anything, then will they fly upon them and kill them ifthey may. I had one myself once, which would not suffer any man tobring in his weapon further than my gate: neither those that were ofmy house to be touched in his presence. Or if I had beaten any of mychildren, he would gently have essayed to catch the rod in his teethand take it out of my hand or else pluck down their clothes to savethem from the stripes: which in my opinion is not unworthy to benoted. 

The last sort of dogs consisteth of the currish kind meet for manytoys, of which the whappet or prick-eared cur is one. Some men callthem warners, because they are good for nothing else but to bark andgive warning when anybody doth stir or lie in wait about the house inthe night season. Certes it is impossible to describe these curs inany order, because they have no one kind proper unto themselves, butare a confused company mixed of all the rest. The second sort of themare called turnspits, whose office is not unknown to any. And as theseare only reserved for this purpose, so in many places our mastiffs(beside the use which tinkers have of them in carrying their heavybudgets) are made to draw water in great wheels out of deep wells, going much like unto those which are framed for our turnspits, as isto be seen at Roiston, where this feat is often practised. Besidesthese also we have sholts or curs daily brought out of Ireland, andmade much of among us, because of their sauciness and quarrelling. Moreover they bite very sore, and love candles exceedingly, as do themen and women of their country; but I may say no more of them, becausethey are not bred with us. Yet this will I make report of by the way, for pastime's sake, that when a great man of those parts came of lateinto one of our ships which went thither for fish, to see the form andfashion of the same, his wife apparelled in fine sables, abiding onthe deck whilst her husband was under the hatches with the mariners, espied a pound or two of candles hanging on the mast, and being loathto stand there idle alone, she fell to and eat them up every one, supposing herself to have been at a jolly banquet, and shewing verypleasant gesture when her husband came up again unto her. 

The last kind of toyish curs are named dancers, and those being of amongrel sort also, are taught and exercised to dance in measure at themusical sound of an instrument, as at the just stroke of a drum, sweetaccent of the citharne, and pleasant harmony of the harp, shewing manytricks by the gesture of their bodies: as to stand bolt upright, tolie flat on the ground, to turn round as a ring holding their tails intheir teeth, to saw and beg for meat, to take a man's cap from hishead, and sundry such properties, which they learn of their idleroguish masters, whose instruments they are to gather gain, as oldapes clothed in motley and coloured short-waisted jackets are for thelike vagabonds, who seek no better living than that which they may getby fond pastime and idleness. I might here intreat of other dogs, asof those which are bred between a bitch and a wolf, also between abitch and a fox, or a bear and a mastiff. But as we utterly want thefirst sort, except they be brought unto us: so it happeneth sometimesthat the other two are engendered and seen at home amongst us. But allthe rest heretofore remembered in this chapter there is none more uglyand odious in sight, cruel and fierce in deed, nor untractable inhand, than that which is begotten between the bear and the bandog. Forwhatsoever he catcheth hold of he taketh it so fast that a man maysooner tear and rend his body in sunder than get open his mouth toseparate his chaps. Certes he regardeth neither wolf, bear, nor lion, and therefore may well be compared with those two dogs which were sentto Alexander out of India (and procreated as it is thought between amastiff and a male tiger, as be those also of Hircania), or to themthat are bred in Archadia, where copulation is oft seen between lionsand bitches, as the lion is in France (as I said) between she wolvesand dogs, whereof let this suffice, sith the further tractation ofthem doth not concern my purpose, more than the confutation ofCardan's talk, _De subt. _, lib. 10, who saith that after manygenerations dogs do become wolves, and contrariwise, which if it weretrue, then could not England be without many wolves: but nature hathset a difference between them, not only in outward form, but alsoinward disposition of their bones, whereof it is impossible that hisassertion can be sound. 

CHAPTER XVI

OF THE NAVY OF ENGLAND

[1577, Book II. , Chapter 13; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 17. ]

There is nothing that hath brought me into more admiration of thepower and force of antiquity than their diligence and care had oftheir navies: wherein, whether I consider their speedy building, orgreat number of ships which some one kingdom or region possessed atone instant, it giveth me still occasion either to suspect thehistory, or to think that in our times we come very far behindthem. [1]. . . 

 [1] Here follows an account of Roman and Carthaginian galleys which "did not only match, but far exceed" in capacity our ships and galleys of 1587. --W. 

I must needs confess therefore that the ancient vessels far exceededours for capacity, nevertheless if you regard the form, and theassurance from peril of the sea, and therewithal the strength andnimbleness of such as are made in our time, you shall easily find thatours are of more value than theirs: for as the greatest vessel is notalways the fastest, so that of most huge capacity is not always theaptest to shift and brook the seas: as might be seen by the _GreatHenry_, the hugest vessel that ever England framed in our times. Neither were the ships of old like unto ours in mould and manner ofbuilding above the water (for of low galleys in our seas we make smallaccount) nor so full of ease within, since time hath engendered moreskill in the wrights, and brought all things to more perfection thanthey had in the beginning. And now to come unto our purpose at thefirst intended. 

The navy of England may be divided into three sorts, of which the oneserveth for the wars, the other for burden, and the third forfishermen which get their living by fishing on the sea. How many ofthe first order are maintained within the realm it passeth my cunningto express; yet, since it may be parted into the navy royal and commonfleet, I think good to speak of those that belong unto the prince, andso much the rather, for that their number is certain and well known tovery many. Certainly there is no prince in Europe that hath a morebeautiful or gallant sort of ships than the queen's majesty of Englandat this present, and those generally are of such exceeding force thattwo of them, being well appointed and furnished as they ought, willnot let to encounter with three or four of those of other countries, and either bowge them or put them to flight, if they may not bringthem home. 

Neither are the moulds of any foreign barks so conveniently made, tobrook so well one sea as another lying upon the shore of any part ofthe continent, as those of England. And therefore the common reportthat strangers make of our ships amongst themselves is daily confirmedto be true, which is, that for strength, assurance, nimbleness, andswiftness of sailing, there are no vessels in the world to be comparedwith ours. And all these are committed to the regiment and safecustody of the admiral, who is so called (as some imagine) of theGreek word _almiros_, a captain on the sea; for so saith Zonaras in_Basilio Macedone_ and _Basilio Porphyriogenito_, though others fetchit from _ad mare_, the Latin words, another sort from _Amyras_, theSaracen magistrate, or from some French derivation: but these thingsare not for this place, and therefore I pass them over. The queen'shighness hath at this present (which is the four-and-twentieth of herreign) already made and furnished, to the number of four orfive-and-twenty great ships, which lie for the most part in GillinghamRoad, beside three galleys, of whose particular names and furniture(so far forth as I can come by them) it shall not be amiss to makereport at this time. 

_The names of so many ships belonging to her majesty as I could comeby at this present_. 

The Bonadventure. White Bear. Elizabeth Jonas. [2] Philip and Mary. Triumph. Aid. Bull. Handmaid. Tiger. [3] Dreadnought. Antelope. Swallow. Hope. Genet. Lion. Bark of Bullen. Victory. Achates. Mary Rose. Falcon. Foresight. George. Swiftsure. Revenge. 

 [2] A name devised by her grace in remembrance of her own deliverance from the fury of her enemies, from which in one respect she was no less miraculously preserved than was the prophet Jonas from the belly of the whale. --H. 

 [3] So called of her exceeding nimbleness in sailing and swiftness of course. --H. 

It is said that as kings and princes have in the young days of theworld, and long since, framed themselves to erect every year a city insome one place or other of their kingdom (and no small wonder thatSardanapalus should begin and finish two, to wit, Anchialus andTarsus, in one day), so her grace doth yearly build one ship or otherto the better defence of her frontiers from the enemy. But, as of thisreport I have no assured certainty, so it shall suffice to have saidso much of these things; yet this I think worthy further to be added, that if they should all be driven to service at one instance (whichGod forbid) she should have a power by sea of about nine or tenthousand men, which were a notable company, beside the supply of othervessels appertaining to her subjects to furnish up her voyage. 

Beside these, her grace hath other in hand also, of whom hereafter, astheir turns do come about, I will not let to leave some furtherremembrance. She hath likewise three notable galleys: the Speedwell, the Try Right, and the Black Galley, with the sight whereof, and therest of the navy royal, it is incredible to say how greatly her graceis delighted: and not without great cause (I say) since by their meansher coasts are kept in quiet, and sundry foreign enemies put back, which otherwise would invade us. The number of those that serve forburden with the other, whereof I have made mention already and whoseuse is daily seen, as occasion serveth in time of the wars, is to meutterly unknown. Yet if the report of one record be anything at all tobe credited, there are one hundred and thirty-five ships that exceedfive hundred ton; topmen, under one hundred and above forty, sixhundred and fifty-six; hoys, one hundred; but of hulks, catches, fisherboats, and crayers, it lieth not in me to deliver the justaccount, since they are hard to come by. Of these also there are someof the queen's majesty's subjects that have two or three; some, fouror six; and (as I heard of late) one man, whose name I suppress formodesty's sake, hath been known not long since to have had sixteen orseventeen, and employed them wholly to the wafting in and out of ourmerchants, whereby he hath reaped no small commodity and gain. I mighttake occasion to tell of the notable and difficult voyages made intostrange countries by Englishmen, and of their daily success there; butas these things are nothing incident to my purpose, so I surcease tospeak of them. Only this will I add, to the end all men shallunderstand somewhat of the great masses of treasure daily employedupon our navy, how there are few of those ships, of the first andsecond sort, that, being apparelled and made ready to sail, are notworth one thousand pounds, or three thousand ducats at the least, ifthey should presently be sold. What shall we think then of thegreater, but especially of the navy royal, of which some one vessel isworth two of the other, as the shipwrights have often told me? It ispossible that some covetous person, hearing this report, will eithernot credit it at all, or suppose money so employed to be nothingprofitable to the queen's coffers: as a good husband said once when heheard there should be a provision made for armour, wishing the queen'smoney to be rather laid out to some speedier return of gain unto hergrace, "because the realm (saith he) is in case good enough, " and soperadventure he thought. But if, as by store of armour for the defenceof the country, he had likewise understanded that the good keeping ofthe sea is the safeguard of our land, he would have altered hiscensure, and soon given over his judgment. For in times past, when ournation made small account of navigation, how soon did the Romans, thenthe Saxons, and last of all the Danes, invade this island? whosecruelty in the end enforced our countrymen, as it were even againsttheir wills, to provide for ships from other places, and build at homeof their own whereby their enemies were oftentimes distressed. Butmost of all were the Normans therein to be commended. For, in a shortprocess of time after the conquest of this island, and goodconsideration had for the well-keeping of the same, they supposednothing more commodious for the defence of the country than themaintenance of a strong navy, which they speedily provided, maintained, and thereby reaped in the end their wished security, wherewith before their times this island was never acquainted. Beforethe coming of the Romans I do not read that we had any ships at all, except a few made of wicker and covered with buffalo hides, like untowhich there are some to be seen at this present in Scotland (as Ihear), although there be a little (I wot not well what) differencebetween them. Of the same also Solinus speaketh, so far as I remember:nevertheless it may be gathered from his words how the upper parts ofthem above the water only were framed of the said wickers, and thatthe Britons did use to fast all the whiles they went to the sea inthem; but whether it were done for policy or superstition, as yet I donot read. 

In the beginning of the Saxons' regiment we had some ships also; butas their number and mould was little, and nothing to the purpose, soEgbert was the first prince that ever thoroughly began to know thisnecessity of a navy and use the service thereof in the defence of hiscountry. After him also other princes, as Alfred, Edgar, Ethelred, etc. , endeavoured more and more to store themselves at the full withships of all quantities, but chiefly Edgar, for he provided a navy of1600 _aliàs_ 3600 sail, which he divided into four parts, and sentthem to abide upon four sundry coasts of the land, to keep the samefrom pirates. Next unto him (and worthy to be remembered) is Ethelred, who made a law that every man that hold 310 hidelands should find aship furnished to serve him in the wars. Howbeit, as I said before, when all their navy was at the greatest, it was not comparable forforce and sure building to that which afterward the Normans provided, neither that of the Normans anything like to the same that is to beseen now in these our days. For the journeys also of our ships, youshall understand that a well-builded vessel will run or sail commonlythree hundred leagues or nine hundred miles in a week, or peradventuresome will go 2200 leagues in six weeks and a half. And surely, iftheir lading be ready against they come thither, there be of them thatwill be here, at the West Indies, and home again in twelve or thirteenweeks from Colchester, although the said Indies be eight hundredleagues from the cape or point of Cornwall, as I have been informed. This also I understand by report of some travellers, that, if any ofour vessels happen to make a voyage to Hispaniola or New Spain (calledin time past Quinquegia and Haiti), which lieth between the northtropic and the Equator, after they have once touched at the Canaries(which are eight days' sailing or two hundred and fifty leagues fromSt. Lucas de Barameda, in Spain) they will be there in thirty or fortydays, and home again in Cornwall in other eight weeks, which is agoodly matter, beside the safety and quietness in the passage, butmore of this elsewhere. 

CHAPTER XVII

OF SUNDRY KINDS OF PUNISHMENT APPOINTED FOR OFFENDERS

[1577, Book III. , Chapter 6; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 11. ]

In cases of felony, manslaughter, robbery, murder, rape, piracy, andsuch capital crimes as are not reputed for treason or hurt of theestate, our sentence pronounced upon the offender is, to hang till hebe dead. For of other punishments used in other countries we have noknowledge or use; and yet so few grievous crimes committed with us aselsewhere in the world. To use torment also or question by pain andtorture in these common cases with us is greatly abhorred, since weare found always to be such as despise death, and yet abhor to betormented, choosing rather frankly to open our minds than to yield ourbodies unto such servile haulings and tearings as are used in othercountries. And this is one cause wherefore our condemned persons do goso cheerfully to their deaths; for our nation is free, stout, haughty, prodigal of life and blood, as Sir Thomas Smith saith, lib. 2, cap. 25, _De Republica_, and therefore cannot in any wise digest to be usedas villains and slaves, in suffering continually beating, servitude, and servile torments. No, our gaolers are guilty of felony, by an oldlaw of the land, if they torment any prisoner committed to theircustody for the revealing of his accomplices. 

The greatest and most grievous punishment used in England for such asoffend against the State is drawing from the prison to the place ofexecution upon an hurdle or sled, where they are hanged till they behalf dead, and then taken down, and quartered alive; after that, theirmembers and bowels are cut from their bodies, and thrown into a fire, provided near hand and within their own sight, even for the samepurpose. 

Sometimes, if the trespass be not the more heinous, they are sufferedto hang till they be quite dead. And whensoever any of the nobilityare convicted of high treason by their peers, that is to say, equals(for an inquest of yeomen passeth not upon them, but only of the lordsof parliament), this manner of their death is converted into the lossof their heads only, notwithstanding that the sentence do run afterthe former order. In trial of cases concerning treason, felony, or anyother grievous crime not confessed, the party accused doth yield, ifhe be a noble man, to be tried by an inquest (as I have said) and hispeers; if a gentleman, by gentlemen; and an inferior, by God and bythe country, to wit, the yeomanry (for combat or battle is not greatlyin use), and, being condemned of felony, manslaughter, etc. , he iseftsoons hanged by the neck till he be dead, and then cut down andburied. But if he be convicted of wilful murder, done either uponpretended malice or in any notable robbery, he is either hanged alivein chains near the place where the fact was committed (or else uponcompassion taken, first strangled with a rope), and so continueth tillhis bones consume to nothing. We have use neither of the wheel nor ofthe bar, as in other countries; but, when wilful manslaughter isperpetrated, beside hanging, the offender hath his right hand commonlystricken off before or near unto the place where the act was done, after which he is led forth to the place of execution, and there putto death according to the law. 

The word felon is derived of the Saxon words _fell_ and _one_, that isto say, an evil and wicked one, a one of untameable nature andlewdness not to be suffered for fear of evil example and thecorruption of others. In like sort in the word _felony_ are manygrievous crimes contained, as breach of prison (Ann. I of Edward theSecond), disfigurers of the prince's liege people (Ann. 5 of Henry theFourth), hunting by night with painted faces and visors (Ann. I ofHenry the Seventh), rape, or stealing of women and maidens (Ann. 3 ofHenry Eight), conspiracies against the person of the prince (Ann. 3 ofHenry the Seventh), embezzling of goods committed by the master to theservant above the value of forty shillings (Ann. 17 of Henry theEighth), carrying of horses or mares into Scotland (Ann. 23 of HenryEight), sodomy and buggery (Ann. 25 of Henry the Eighth), conjuring, forgery, witchcraft, and digging up of crosses (Ann. 33 of HenryEight), prophesying upon arms, cognisances, names, and badges (Ann. 33of Henry Eight), casting of slanderous bills (Ann. 37, Henry Eight), wilful killing by poison (Ann. 1 of Edward the Sixth), departure of asoldier from the field (Ann. 2 of Edward the Sixth), diminution ofcoin, all offences within case of premunire, embezzling of records, goods taken from dead men by their servants, stealing of whatsoevercattle, robbing by the high way, upon the sea, or of dwelling houses, letting out of ponds, cutting of purses, stealing of deer by night, counterfeits of coin, evidences charters, and writings, and diversother needless to be remembered. If a woman poison her husband, she isburned alive; if the servant kill his master, he is to be executed forpetty treason; he that poisoneth a man is to be boiled to death inwater or lead, although the party die not of the practice; in cases ofmurder, all the accessories are to suffer pains of death accordingly. Perjury is punished by the pillory, burning in the forehead with theletter P, the rewalting of the trees growing upon the grounds of theoffenders, and loss of all his movables. Many trespasses also arepunished by the cutting off of one or both ears from the head of theoffender, as the utterance of seditious words against the magistrates, fraymakers, petty robbers, etc. Rogues are burned through the ears;carriers of sheep out of the land, by the loss of their hands; such askill by poison are either boiled or scalded to death in lead orseething water. Heretics are burned quick; harlots and their mates, bycarting, ducking, and doing of open penance in sheets in churches andmarket steeds, are often put to rebuke. Howbeit, as this is countedwith some either as no punishment at all to speak of, or but littleregarded of the offenders, so I would with adultery and fornication tohave some sharper law. For what great smart is it to be turned out ofhot sheet into a cold, or after a little washing in the water to belet loose again unto their former trades? Howbeit the dragging of someof them over the Thames between Lambeth and Westminster at the tail ofa boat is a punishment that most terrifieth them which are condemnedthereto; but this is inflicted upon them by none other than the knightmarshall, and that within the compass of his jurisdiction and limitsonly. Canutus was the first that gave authority to the clergy topunish whoredom, who at that time found fault with the former laws asbeing too severe in this behalf. For, before the time of the saidCanutus, the adulterer forfeited all his goods to the king and hisbody to be at his pleasure; and the adulteress was to lose her eyes ornose, or both if the case were more than common: whereby it appears ofwhat estimation marriage was amongst them, since the breakers of thatholy estate were so grievously rewarded. But afterward the clergydealt more favourably with them, shooting rather at the punishments ofsuch priests and clerks as were married than the reformation ofadultery and fornication, wherein you shall find no example that anyseverity was shewed except upon such lay men as had defiled theirnuns. As in theft therefore, so in adultery and whoredom, I would wishthe parties trespassing to be made bond or slaves unto those thatreceived the injury, to sell and give where they listed, or to becondemned to the galleys: for that punishment would prove more bitterto them than half-an-hour's hanging, or than standing in a sheet, though the weather be never so cold. 

Manslaughter in time past was punished by the purse, wherein thequantity or quality of the punishment was rated after the state andcalling of the party killed: so that one was valued sometime at 1200, another at 600, or 200 shillings. And by a statute made under Henrythe First, a citizen of London at 100, whereof elsewhere I have spokenmore at large. Such as kill themselves are buried in the field with astake driven through their bodies. 

Witches are hanged, or sometimes burned; but thieves are hanged (as Isaid before) generally on the gibbet or gallows, saving in Halifax, where they are beheaded after a strange manner, and whereof I findthis report. There is and has been of ancient time a law, or rather acustom, at Halifax, that whosoever does commit any felony, and is takenwith the same, or confesses the fact upon examination, if it be valuedby four constables to amount to the sum of thirteenpence-halfpenny, heis forthwith beheaded upon one of the next market days (which fallusually upon the Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays), or else upon thesame day that he is so convicted, if market be then holden. The enginewherewith the execution is done is a square block of wood of thelength of four feet and a half, which does ride up and down in a slot, rabbet, or regall, between two pieces of timber, that are framed andset upright, of five yards in height. In the nether end of the slidingblock is an axe, keyed or fastened with an iron into the wood, whichbeing drawn up to the top of the frame is there fastened by a woodenpin (with a notch made into the same, after the manner of a Samson'spost), unto the midst of which pin also there is a long rope fastenedthat cometh down among the people, so that, when the offender hathmade his confession and hath laid his neck over the nethermost block, every man there present doth either take hold of the rope (or puttethforth his arm so near to the same as he can get, in token that he iswilling to see true justice executed), and, pulling out the pin inthis manner, the head-block wherein the axe is fastened doth fall downwith such a violence that, if the neck of the transgressor were as bigas that of a bull, it should be cut in sunder at a stroke and rollfrom the body by a huge distance. If it be so that the offender beapprehended for an ox, oxen, sheep, kine, horse, or any such cattle, the self beast or other of the same kind shall have the end of therope tied somewhere unto them, so that they, being driven, do draw outthe pin, whereby the offender is executed. Thus much of Halifax law, which I set down only to shew the custom of that country in thisbehalf. 

Rogues and vagabonds are often stocked and whipped; scolds are duckedupon cucking-stools in the water. Such felons as stand mute, and speaknot at their arraignment, are pressed to death by huge weights laidupon a board, that lieth over their breast, and a sharp stone undertheir backs; and these commonly held their peace, thereby to savetheir goods unto their wives and children, which, if they werecondemned, should be confiscated to the prince. Thieves that are savedby their books and clergy, for the first offence, if they have stolennothing else but oxen, sheep, money, or such like, which be no openrobberies, as by the highway side, or assailing of any man's house inthe night, without putting him in fear of his life, or breaking up hiswalls or doors, are burned in the left hand, upon the brawn of thethumb, with a hot iron, so that, if they be apprehended again, thatmark betrayeth them to have been arraigned of felony before, wherebythey are sure at that time to have no mercy. I do not read that thiscustom of saving by the book is used anywhere else than in England;neither do I find (after much diligent enquiry) what Saxon princeordained that law. Howbeit this I generally gather thereof, that itwas devised to train the inhabitants of this land to the love oflearning, which before contemned letters and all good knowledge, asmen only giving themselves to husbandry and the wars: the like whereofI read to have been amongst the Goths and Vandals, who for a timewould not suffer even their princes to be learned, for weakening oftheir courage, nor any learned men to remain in the council house, butby open proclamation would command them to avoid whensoever anythingtouching the state of the land was to be consulted upon. Pirates androbbers by sea are condemned in the Court of the Admiralty, and hangedon the shore at low-water mark, where they are left till three tideshave overwashed them. Finally, such as having walls and banks nearunto the sea, and do suffer the same to decay (after convenientadmonition), whereby the water entereth and drowneth up the country, are by a certain ancient custom apprehended, condemned, and staked inthe breach, where they remain for ever as parcel of the foundation ofthe new wall that is to be made upon them, as I have heard reported. 

And thus much in part of the administration of justice used in ourcountry, wherein, notwithstanding that we do not often hear ofhorrible, merciless, and wilful murders (such I mean as are not seldomseen in the countries of the main), yet now and then some manslaughterand bloody robberies are perpetrated and committed, contrary to thelaws, which be severely punished, and in such wise as I have beforereported. Certes there is no greater mischief done in England than byrobberies, the first by young shifting gentlemen, which oftentimes dobear more port than they are able to maintain. Secondly byserving-men, whose wages cannot suffice so much as to find thembreeches; wherefore they are now and then constrained either to keephighways, and break into the wealthy men's houses with the first sort, or else to walk up and down in gentlemen's and rich farmers' pastures, there to see and view which horses feed best, whereby they many timesget something, although with hard adventure: it hath been known bytheir confession at the gallows that some one such chapman hath hadforty, fifty, or sixty stolen horses at pasture here and there abroadin the country at a time, which they have sold at fairs and marketsfar off, they themselves in the mean season being taken about home forhonest yeomen, and very wealthy drovers, till their dealings have beenbetrayed. It is not long since one of this company was apprehended, who was before time reputed for a very honest and wealthy townsman; heuttered also more horses than any of his trade, because he sold areasonable pennyworth and was a fairspoken man. It was his customlikewise to say, if any man hucked hard with him about the price of agelding, "So God help me, gentlemen (or sir), either he did cost me somuch, or else, by Jesus, I stole him!" Which talk was plain enough;and yet such was his estimation that each believed the first part ofhis tale, and made no account of the latter, which was truer indeed. 

Our third annoyers of the commonwealth are rogues, which do very greatmischief in all places where they become. For, whereas the rich onlysuffer injury by the first two, these spare neither rich nor poor;but, whether it be great gain or small, all is fish that cometh to netwith them. And yet, I say, both they and the rest are trussed upapace. For there is not one year commonly wherein three hundred orfour hundred of them are not devoured and eaten up by the gallows inone place and other. It appeareth by Cardan (who writeth it upon thereport of the bishop of Lexovia), in the geniture of King Edward theSixth, how Henry the Eighth, executing his laws very severely againstsuch idle persons, I mean great thieves, petty thieves, and rogues, did hang up threescore and twelve thousand of them in his time. Heseemed for a while greatly to have terrified the rest; but since hisdeath the number of them is so increased, yea, although we have had nowars, which are a great occasion of their breed (for it is the customof the more idle sort, having once served, or but seen the other sideof the sea under colour of service, to shake hand with labour forever, thinking it a disgrace for himself to return unto his formertrade), that, except some better order be taken, or the laws alreadymade be better executed, such as dwell in uplandish towns and littlevillages shall live but in small safety and rest. For the betterapprehension also of thieves and mankillers, there is an old law inEngland very well provided whereby it is ordered that, if he that isrobbed (or any man) complain and give warning of slaughter or murdercommitted, the constable of the village whereunto he cometh and criethfor succour is to raise the parish about him, and to search woods, groves, and all suspected houses and places, where the trespasser maybe, or is supposed to lurk; and not finding him there, he is to givewarning unto the next constable, and so one constable, after searchmade, to advertise another from parish to parish, till they come tothe same where the offender is harboured and found. It is alsoprovided that, if any parish in this business do not her duty, butsuffereth the thief (for the avoiding of trouble sake) in carrying himto the gaol, if he should be apprehended, or other letting of theirwork to escape, the same parish is not only to make fine to the king, but also the same, with the whole hundred wherein it standeth, torepay the party robbed his damages, and leave his estate harmless. Certainly this is a good law; howbeit I have known by my ownexperience felons being taken to have escaped out of the stocks, beingrescued by other for want of watch and guard, that thieves have beenlet pass, because the covetous and greedy parishioners would neithertake the pains nor be at the charge, to carry them to prison, if itwere far off; that when hue and cry have been made even to the facesof some constables, they have said: "God restore your loss! I haveother business at this time. " And by such means the meaning of many agood law is left unexecuted, malefactors emboldened, and many a poorman turned out of that which he hath sweat and taken great painstoward the maintenance of himself and his poor children and family. 

CHAPTER XVIII

OF UNIVERSITIES

[1577, Book II. , Chapter 6; 1587, Book II. , Chapter 3. ]

There have been heretofore, and at sundry times, divers famousuniversities in this island, and those even in my days not altogetherforgotten, as one at Bangor, erected by Lucius, and afterwardconverted into a monastery, not by Congellus (as some write), but byPelagius the monk. The second at Caerleon-upon-Usk, near to the placewhere the river doth fall into the Severn, founded by King Arthur. Thethird at Thetford, wherein were six hundred students, in the time ofone Rond, sometime king of that region. The fourth at Stamford, suppressed by Augustine the monk. And likewise other in other places, as Salisbury, Eridon or Cricklade, Lachlade, Reading, and Northampton;albeit that the two last rehearsed were not authorised, but only aroseto that name by the departure of the students from Oxford in time ofcivil dissension unto the said towns, where also they continued butfor a little season. When that of Salisbury began I cannot tell; butthat it flourished most under Henry the Third and Edward the First Ifind good testimony by the writers, as also by the discord which fell, 1278, between the chancellor for the scholars there on the one partand William the archdeacon on the other, whereof you shall see more inthe chronology here following. In my time there are three nobleuniversities in England--to wit, one at Oxford, the second atCambridge, and the third in London; of which the first two are themost famous, I mean Cambridge and Oxford, for that in them the use ofthe tongues, philosophy, and the liberal sciences, besides theprofound studies of the civil law, physic, and theology, are dailytaught and had: whereas in the latter the laws of the realm are onlyread and learned by such as give their minds unto the knowledge of thesame. In the first there are not only divers goodly houses buildedfour square for the most part of hard freestone or brick, with greatnumbers of lodgings and chambers in the same for students, after asumptuous sort, through the exceeding liberality of kings, queens, bishops, noblemen and ladies of the land; but also large livings andgreat revenues bestowed upon them (the like whereof is not to be seenin any other region, as Peter Martyr did oft affirm) to themaintenance only of such convenient numbers of poor men's sons as theseveral stipends bestowed upon the said houses are able tosupport. [1]. . . 

 [1] Here follows a paragraph about the legendary foundation of the universities. --W. 

Of these two, that of Oxford (which lieth west and by north fromLondon) standeth most pleasantly, being environed in manner roundabout with woods on the hills aloft, and goodly rivers in the bottomsand valleys beneath, whose courses would breed no small commodity tothat city and country about if such impediments were removed asgreatly annoy the same and hinder the carriage which might be madethither also from London. That of Cambridge is distant from Londonabout forty and six miles north and by east, and standeth very well, saving that it is somewhat near unto the fens, whereby thewholesomeness of the air is not a little corrupted. It is excellentlywell served with all kinds of provisions, but especially of freshwater fish and wild fowl, by reason of the river that passeth thereby;and thereto the Isle of Ely, which is so near at hand. Only wood isthe chief want to such as study there, wherefore this kind ofprovision is brought them either from Essex and other placesthereabouts, as is also their coal, or otherwise the necessity thereofis supplied with gall (a bastard kind of mirtus as I take it) andseacoal, whereof they have great plenty led thither by the Grant. Moreover it hath not such store of meadow ground as may suffice forthe ordinary expenses of the town and university, wherefore theinhabitants are enforced in like sort to provide their hay from othervillages about, which minister the same unto them in very greatabundance. 

Oxford is supposed to contain in longitude eighteen degrees and eightand twenty minutes, and in latitude one and fifty degrees and fiftyminutes: whereas that of Cambridge standing more northerly, hathtwenty degrees and twenty minutes in longitude, and thereunto fiftyand two degrees and fifteen minutes in latitude, as by exactsupputation is easy to be found. 

The colleges of Oxford, for curious workmanship and privatecommodities, are much more stately, magnificent, and commodious thanthose of Cambridge: and thereunto the streets of the town for the mostpart are more large and comely. But for uniformity of building, orderly compaction, and politic regiment, the town of Cambridge, asthe newer workmanship, [2] exceeds that of Oxford (which otherwise is, and hath been, the greater of the two) by many a fold (as I guess), although I know divers that are of the contrary opinion. This also iscertain, that whatsoever the difference be in building of the townstreets, the townsmen of both are glad when they may match and annoythe students, by encroaching upon their liberties, and keep them bareby extreme sale of their wares, whereby many of them become rich for atime, but afterward fall again into poverty, because that goods evilgotten do seldom long endure. [3]. . . 

 [2] Cambridge burned not long since. --H. 

 [3] Here follows an account of Oxford and Cambridge castles, and the legend of the building of Osney Abbey by Robert and Edith D'Oyley. --W. 

In each of these universities also is likewise a church dedicated tothe Virgin Mary, wherein once in the year--to wit, in July--thescholars are holden, and in which such as have been called to anydegree in the year precedent do there receive the accomplishment ofthe same, in solemn and sumptuous manner. In Oxford this solemnity iscalled an Act, but in Cambridge they use the French word_Commencement_; and such resort is made yearly unto the same from allparts of the land by the friends of those who do proceed that all thetown is hardly able to receive and lodge those guests. When and bywhom the churches aforesaid were built I have elsewhere made relation. That of Oxford also was repaired in the time of Edward the Fourth andHenry the Seventh, when Doctor Fitz James, a great helper in thatwork, was warden of Merton College; but ere long, after it wasfinished, one tempest in a night so defaced the same that it left fewpinnacles standing about the church and steeple, which since that timehave never been repaired. There were sometime four and twenty parishchurches in the town and suburbs; but now there are scarcely sixteen. There have been also 1200 burgesses, of which 400 dwelt in thesuburbs; and so many students were there in the time of Henry theThird that he allowed them twenty miles compass about the town fortheir provision of victuals. 

The common schools of Cambridge also are far more beautiful than thoseof Oxford, only the Divinity School of Oxford excepted, which for fineand excellent workmanship cometh next the mould of the King's Chapelin Cambridge, than the which two, with the Chapel that King Henry theSeventh did build at Westminster, there are not (in my opinion) madeof lime and stone three more notable piles within the compass ofEurope. 

In all the other things there is so great equality between these twouniversities as no man can imagine how to set down any greater, sothat they seem to be the body of one well-ordered commonwealth, onlydivided by distance of place and not in friendly consent and orders. In speaking therefore of the one I cannot but describe the other; andin commendation of the first I cannot but extol the latter; and, somuch the rather, for that they are both so dear unto me as that Icannot readily tell unto whether of them I owe the most good-will. Would to God my knowledge were such as that neither of them might havecause to be ashamed of their pupil, or my power so great that I mightworthily requite them both for those manifold kindnesses that I havereceived of them! But to leave these things, and proceed with othermore convenient to my purpose. 

The manner to live in these universities is not as in some other offoreign countries we see daily to happen, where the students areenforced for want of such houses to dwell in common inns, and taverns, without all order or discipline. But in these our colleges we live insuch exact order, and under so precise rules of government, as thatthe famous learned man Erasmus of Rotterdam, being here among us fiftyyears passed, did not let to compare the trades in living of studentsin these two places, even with the very rules and orders of theancient monks, affirming moreover, in flat words, our orders to besuch as not only came near unto, but rather far exceeded, all themonastical institutions that ever were devised. 

In most of our colleges there are also great numbers of students, ofwhich many are found by the revenues of the houses and other by thepurveyances and help of their rich friends, whereby in some onecollege you shall have two hundred scholars, in others an hundred andfifty, in divers a hundred and forty, and in the rest less numbers, asthe capacity of the said houses is able to receive: so that at thispresent, of one sort and other, there are about three thousandstudents nourished in them both (as by a late survey it manifestlyappeared). They were erected by their founders at the first only forpoor men's sons, whose parents were not able to bring them up untolearning; but now they have the least benefit of them, by reason therich do so encroach upon them. And so far has this inconveniencespread itself that it is in my time a hard matter for a poor man'schild to come by a fellowship (though he be never so good a scholarand worthy of that room). Such packing also is used at elections thatnot he which best deserveth, but he that has most friends, though hebe the worst scholar, is always surest to speed, which will turn inthe end to the overthrow of learning. That some gentlemen also whosefriends have been in times past benefactors to certain of those housesdo intrude into the disposition of their estates without all respectof order or statutes devised by the founders, only thereby to placewhom they think good (and not without some hope of gain), the case istoo too evident: and their attempt would soon take place if theirsuperiors did not provide to bridle their endeavours. In some grammarschools likewise which send scholars to these universities, it islamentable to see what bribery is used; for, ere the scholar can bepreferred, such bribage is made that poor men's children are commonlyshut out, and the richer sort received (who in time past thought itdishonour to live as it were upon alms), and yet, being placed, mostof them study little other than histories, tables, dice, and trifles, as men that make not the living by their study the end of theirpurposes, which is a lamentable hearing. Beside this, being for themost part either gentlemen or rich men's sons, they often bring theuniversities into much slander. For, standing upon their reputationand liberty, they ruffle and roist it out, exceeding in apparel, andbanting riotous company (which draweth them from their books untoanother trade), and for excuse, when they are charged with breach ofall good order, think it sufficient to say that they be gentlemen, which grieveth many not a little. But to proceed with the rest. 

Every one of these colleges have in like manner their professors orreaders of the tongues and several sciences, as they call them, whichdaily trade up the youth there abiding privately in their halls, tothe end they may be able afterward (when their turn cometh about, which is after twelve terms) to shew themselves abroad, by going fromthence into the common schools and public disputations (as it were"_In aream_") there to try their skill, and declare how they haveprofited since their coming thither. 

Moreover, in the public schools of both the universities, there arefound at the prince's charge (and that very largely) fine professorsand readers, that is to say, of divinity, of the civil law, physic, the Hebrew and the Greek tongues. And for the other lectures, as ofphilosophy, logic, rhetoric, and the quadrivials (although the latter, I mean arithmetic, music, geometry, and astronomy, and with them allskill in the perspectives, are now smally regarded in either of them), the universities themselves do allow competent stipends to such asread the same, whereby they are sufficiently provided for, touchingthe maintenance of their estates, and no less encouraged to bediligent in their functions. 

These professors in like sort have all the rule of disputations andother school exercises which are daily used in common schoolsseverally assigned to each of them, and such of their hearers as bytheir skill shewed in the said disputations are thought to haveattained to any convenient ripeness of knowledge according to thecustom of other universities (although not in like order) arepermitted solemnly to take their deserved degrees of school in thesame science and faculty wherein they have spent their travel. Fromthat time forward also they use such difference in apparel as becomeththeir callings, tendeth unto gravity, and maketh them known to becalled to some countenance. 

The first degree is that of the general sophisters, from whence, whenthey have learned more sufficiently the rules of logic, rhetoric, andobtained thereto competent skill in philosophy, and in themathematicals, they ascend higher unto the estate of bachelors of art, after four years of their entrance into their sophistry. From thencealso, giving their minds to more perfect knowledge in some or all theother liberal sciences and the tongues, they rise at the last (to wit, after other three or four years) to be called masters of art, each ofthem being at that time reputed for a doctor in his faculty, if heprofess but one of the said sciences (besides philosophy), or for hisgeneral skill, if he be exercised in them all. After this they arepermitted to choose what other of the higher studies them liketh tofollow, whether it be divinity, law, or physic, so that, being oncemasters of art, the next degree, if they follow physic, is thedoctorship belonging to that profession; and likewise in the study ofthe law, if they bend their minds to the knowledge of the same. But, if they mean to go forward with divinity, this is the order used inthat profession. First, after they have necessarily proceeded mastersof art, they preach one sermon to the people in English, and anotherto the university in Latin. They answer all comers also in their ownpersons unto two several questions of divinity in the open schools atone time for the space of two hours, and afterward reply twice againstsome other man upon a like number and on two several dates in the sameplace, which being done with commendation, he receiveth the fourthdegree, that is, bachelor of divinity, but not before he has beenmaster of arts by the space of seven years, according to theirstatutes. 

The next, and last degree of all, is the doctorship, after other threeyears, for the which he must once again perform all such exercises andacts as are before remembered; and then is he reputed able to governand teach others, and likewise taken for a doctor. I have read thatJohn of Beverley was the first doctor that ever was in Oxford, as Bedawas in Cambridge. But I suppose herein that the word "doctor" is notso strictly to be taken in this report as it is now used, since everyteacher is in Latin called by that name, as also such in the primitivechurch as kept schools of catechists, wherein they were trained up inthe rudiments and principles of religion, either before they wereadmitted unto baptism or any office in the Church. 

Thus we see that from our entrance into the university unto the lastdegree received is commonly eighteen or twenty years, in which time, if a student has not obtained sufficient learning thereby to serve hisown turn and benefit his commonwealth, let him never look by tarryinglonger to come by any more. For after this time, and forty years ofage, the most part of students do commonly give over their wonteddiligence, and live like drone bees on the fat of colleges, withholding better wits from the possession of their places, and yetdoing little good in their own vocation and calling. I could rehearsea number (if I listed) of this sort, as well in one university as theother. But this shall suffice instead of a large report, that longcontinuance in those places is either a sign of lack of friends, or oflearning, or of good and upright life, as Bishop Fox[4] sometimenoted, who thought it sacrilege for a man to tarry any longer atOxford than he had a desire to profit. 

 [4] This Fox builded Corpus Christi College, in Oxford. --H. 

A man may (if he will) begin his study with the law, or physic (ofwhich this giveth wealth, the other honour), so soon as he cometh tothe university, if his knowledge in the tongues and ripeness ofjudgment serve therefor: which if he do, then his first degree isbachelor of law, or physic; and for the same he must perform such actsin his own science as the bachelors or doctors of divinity do fortheir parts, the only sermons except, which belong not to his calling. Finally, this will I say, that the professors of either of thosefaculties come to such perfection in both universities as the beststudents beyond the sea do in their own or elsewhere. One thing only Imislike in them, and that is their usual going into Italy, from whencevery few without special grace do return good men whatsoever theypretend of conference or practice, chiefly the physicians[5] who underpretence of seeking of foreign simples do oftentimes learn the framingof such compositions as were better unknown than practised, as I haveheard often alleged, and therefore it is most true that Doctor Turnersaid: "Italy is not to be seen without a guide, that is, withoutspecial grace given from God, because of the licentious and corruptbehaviour of the people. "

 [5] So much also may be inferred of lawyers. --H. 

There is moreover in every house a master or provost, who has underhim a president and certain censors or deans, appointed to look to thebehaviour and manners of the students there, whom they punish veryseverely if they make any default, according to the quantity andquality of their trespass. And these are the usual names of governorsin Cambridge. Howbeit in Oxford the heads of houses are now and thencalled presidents in respect of such bishops as are their visitors andfounders. In each of these also they have one or more treasurers, whomthey call _bursarios_ or bursars, beside other officers whose chargeis to see unto the welfare and maintenance of these houses. Over eachuniversity also there is a several chancellor, whose offices areperpetual, howbeit their substitutes, whom we call vice-chancellors, are changed every year, as are also the proctors, taskers, masters ofthe streets, and other officers, for the better maintenance of theirpolicy and estate. 

And thus much at this time of our two universities, in each of which Ihave received such degree as they have vouchsafed--rather of theirfavour than my desert--to yield and bestow upon me, and unto whosestudents I wish one thing, the execution whereof cannot be prejudicialto any that meaneth well, as I am resolutely persuaded, and the casenow standeth in these our days. When any benefice therefor becomethvoid it were good that the patron did signify the vacation thereof tothe bishop, and the bishop the act of the patron to one of theuniversities, with request that the vice-chancellor with hisassistants might provide some such able man to succeed in the place asshould by their judgment be meet to take the charge upon him. Certainly if this order were taken, then should the church be providedof good pastors, by whom God should be glorified, the universitiesbetter stored, the simoniacal practices of a number of patrons utterlyabolished, and the people better trained to live in obedience towardGod and their prince, which were a happier estate. 

To these two also we may in like sort add the third, which is atLondon (serving only for such as study the laws of the realm) wherethere are sundry famous houses, of which three are called by the nameof Inns of the Court, the rest of the Chancery, and all built beforetime for the furtherance and commodity of such as apply their minds toour common laws. Out of these also come many scholars of great fame, whereof the most part have heretofore been brought up in one of theaforesaid universities, and prove such commonly as in process of timerise up (only through their profound skill) to great honour in thecommonwealth of England. They have also degrees of learning amongthemselves, and rules of discipline, under which they live mostcivilly in their houses, albeit that the younger of them abroad in thestreets are scarcely able to be bridled by any good order at all. Certainly this error was wont also greatly to reign in Cambridge andOxford, between the students and the burgesses; but, as it is wellleft in these two places, so in foreign countries it cannot yet besuppressed. 

Besides these universities, also there are great number of grammarschools throughout the realm, and those very liberally endowed, forthe better relief of poor scholars, so that there are not manycorporate towns now under the Queen's dominion that have not onegrammar school at the least, with a sufficient living for a master andusher appointed to the same. 

There are in like manner divers collegiate churches, as Windsor, Winchester, Eton, Westminster (in which I was some time anunprofitable grammarian under the reverend father Master Nowell, nowdean of Paul's), and in those a great number of poor scholars, dailymaintained by the liberality of the founders, with meat, books, andapparel, from whence, after they have been well entered in theknowledge of the Latin and Greek tongues, and rules of versifying (thetrial whereof is made by certain apposers yearly appointed to examinethem), they are sent to certain special houses in each university, where they are received and trained up in the points of higherknowledge in their private halls, till they be adjudged meet to shewtheir face's in the schools as I have said already. 

And thus much have I thought good to note of our universities, andlikewise of colleges in the same, whose names I will also set downhere, with those of their founders, to the end the zeal which theybare unto learning may appear, and their remembrance never perish fromamong the wise and learned. 

OF THE COLLEGES OF CAMBRIDGE WITH THEIR FOUNDERS

Years of theFoundation Colleges Founders

1546 1 Trinity College King Henry 8. 

1441 2 The King's College King Henry 6, Edward 4, Henry 7, and Henry 8. 

1511 3 St. John's Lady Margaret, grandmother to Henry 8. 

1505 4 Christ's College King Henry 6 and the Lady Margaret aforesaid. 

1446 5 The Queen's College Lady Margaret, wife to King Henry 6. 

1496 6 Jesus College John Alcock, bishop of Ely. 

1342 7 Bennet College The brethren of a Popish guild called _Corporis Christi_. 

1343 8 Pembroke Hall Maria de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke. 

1256 9 Peter College Hugh Balsham, bishop of Ely. 

1348 10 Gundewill and Caius Edmund Gundevill, parson of1557 College Terrington, and John Caius, doctor of physic. 

1354 11 Trinity Hall William Bateman, bishop of Norwich. 

1326 12 Clare Hall Richard Badow, chancellor of Cambridge. 

1459 13 Catherine Hall Robert Woodlark, doctor of divinity. 

1519 14 Magdalen College Edward, Duke of Buckingham, and Thomas, lord Audley. 

1585 15 Emanuel College Sir Walter Mildmay, etc. 

OF THE COLLEGES AT OXFORD

Years of theFoundation Colleges Founders

1539 1 Christ's Church King Henry 8. 

1459 2 Magdalen College William Wainfleet, first fellow of Merton College, then scholar at Winchester, and afterwards bishop there. [6]

1375 3 New College William Wickham, bishop of Winchester. 

1276 4 Merton College Walter Merton, bishop of Rochester. 

1437 5 All Souls' College Henry Chicheley, archbishop of Canterbury. 

1516 6 Corpus Christi College Richard Fox, bishop of Winchester. 

1430 7 Lincoln College Richard Fleming, bishop of Lincoln. 

1323 8 Auriel College Adam Broune, almoner to Edward 2. 

1340 9 The Queen's College R. Eglesfeld, chaplain to Philip, queen of England, wife to Edward 3. 

1263 10 Balliol College John Balliol, king of Scotland. 

1557 11 St. John's Sir Thomas White, knight. 

1556 12 Trinity College Sir Thomas Pope, knight. 

1316 13 Excester College Walter Stapleten, bishop of Excester. 

1513 14 Brasen Nose William Smith, bishop of Lincoln. 

1873 15 University College William, archdeacon of Duresine. 

 16 Gloucester College John Crifford, who made it a cell for thirteen monks. 

 17 St. Mary's College

 18 Jesus College, now Hugh ap Rice, doctor of the civil in hand law. 

 [6] He founded also a good part of Eton College, and a free school at Wainfleet, where he was born. 

There are also in Oxford certain hotels or halls which may right wellbe called by the names of colleges, if it were not that there is moreliberty in them than is to be seen in the other. In my opinion thelivers in these are very like to those that are of the inns in thechancery, their names also are these so far as I now remember:

Brodegates. St. Mary Hall. Hart Hall. White Hall. Magdalen Hall. New Inn. Alburne Hall. Edmond Hall. Postminster Hall. 

The students also that remain in them are called hostlers or halliers. Hereof it came of late to pass that the right Reverend Father in God, Thomas, late archbishop of Canterbury, being brought up in such anhouse at Cambridge, was of the ignorant sort of Londoners called an"Hostler, " supposing that he had served with some inn-holder in thestable, and therefore, in despite, divers hung up bottles of hay athis gate when he began to preach the gospel, whereas indeed he was agentleman born of an ancient house, and in the end a faithful witnessof Jesus Christ, in whose quarrel he refused not to shed his blood, and yield up his life, unto the fury of his adversaries. 

Besides these there is mention and record of divers other halls orhostels that have been there in times past, as Beef Hall, Mutton Hall, etc. , whose ruins yet appear: so that if antiquity be to be judged bythe shew of ancient buildings which is very plentiful in Oxford to beseen, it should be an easy matter to conclude that Oxford is the elderuniversity. Therein are also many dwelling-houses of stone yetstanding that have been halls for students, of very antiqueworkmanship, besides the old walls of sundry others, whose plots havebeen converted into gardens since colleges were erected. 

In London also the houses of students at the Common Law are these:

Sergeant's Inn. Furnival's Inn. Gray's Inn. Clifford's Inn. The Temple. Clement's Inn. Lincoln's Inn. Lion's Inn. David's Inn. Barnard's Inn. Staple Inn. Newmann. 

And thus much in general of our noble universities, whose lands somegreedy gripers do gape wide for, and of late have (as I hear)propounded sundry reasons whereby they supposed to have prevailed intheir purposes. But who are those that have attempted this suit, otherthan such as either hate learning, piety, and wisdom, or else havespent all their own, and know not otherwise than by encroaching uponother men how to maintain themselves? When such a motion was made bysome unto King Henry the Eighth, he could answer them in this manner:"Ah, sirra! I perceive the Abbey lands have fleshed you, and set yourteeth on edge, to ask also those colleges. And, whereas we had aregard only to pull down sin by defacing the monasteries, you have adesire also to overthrow all goodness, by subversion of colleges. Itell you, sirs, that I judge no land in England better bestowed thanthat which is given to our universities; for by their maintenance ourrealm shall be well governed when we be dead and rotten. As you loveyour welfares therefore, follow no more this vein, but contentyourselves with that you have already, or else seek honest meanswhereby to increase your livelihoods; for I love not learning so illthat I will impair the revenues of any one house by a penny, wherebyit may be upholden. " In King Edward's days likewise the same suit wasonce again attempted (as I have heard), but in vain; for, saith theDuke of Somerset, among other speeches tending to that end--who alsomade answer thereunto in the king's presence by his assignation: "Iflearning decay, which of wild men maketh civil; of blockish and rashpersons, wise and goodly counsellors; of obstinate rebels, obedientsubjects; and of evil men, good and godly Christians; what shall welook for else but barbarism and tumult? For when the lands of collegesbe gone, it shall be hard to say whose staff shall stand next thedoor; for then I doubt not but the state of bishops, rich farmers, merchants, and the nobility, shall be assailed, by such as live tospend all, and think that whatsoever another man hath is more meet forthem and to be at their commandment than for the proper owner that hassweat and laboured for it. " In Queen Mary's days the weather was toowarm for any such course to be taken in hand; but in the time of ourgracious Queen Elizabeth I hear that it was after a sort in talk thethird time, but without success, as moved also out of season; and so Ihope it shall continue for ever. For what comfort should it be for anygood man to see his country brought into the estate of the old Gothsand Vandals, who made laws against learning, and would not suffer anyskilful man to come into their council-house: by means whereof thosepeople became savage tyrants and merciless hell-hounds, till theyrestored learning again and thereby fell to civility. 

_Planned and Designed at The Collier PressBy William Patten_