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Now my Queen is left forlorn,
The best ladie that e'er was born;
No more will I woman see,

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In wilderness now will I be,
And there abide in woodlands hoar
And in the wilds forevermore.
Then when ye know I have left all,
Ye straight a parliament shall call,
And ye shall chose you a new King,
And do your best in everything."
Great sorrow then was in the hall,
Weeping and crying 'mongst them all,
And there might neither old nor young
For weeping speak a word with tongue.
They kneeled all a-down i-fere, 15
And begged him if his will it were,
That he would never from them go,

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Ere of roots he gets his fare.

In summer on the haws he lives,

That midst her leaves the hawthorne gives;
In winter, by the root and rind,
For other thing he may not find.

He was all shrunken, shriveled, pale,
With beating rain, and cutting hail;
No man could tell the travail sore
He had endured ten years or more.
He that had castles, halls and towers,
Forests, rivers, fields, and flowers,
Nothing that likes him 18 now had he,
But savage beasts that from him flee.
His matted beard has shaggy grown,
Below his girdle has it gone.

He taketh harp and maketh glee,
And lies all night beneath a tree.

When bright and clear there dawns the day,
He takes his harp and makes no stay,
Amidst the wood he sits him down
And tunes his harp with a merry soun,
And harps all after his own will;
Through all the wood it ringeth shrill.
The savage beasts that there are found,

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

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

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For joy about him gather round,

And all the little birds that were,

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I care not for my life a sloe."

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For joy they come about him there

His sclavyne put he on his back

To listen to that harping fine,

And took his harp right as he spak,

So mickle joy there was therein.

And swiftly after them is gone,

His harping when he laid aside,

Over stock and over stone.

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And him he thanked many a sythe.24

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And some that had been brought thereto, 375
They seemed dead yet were not so,
And there among them lay his wife,
That he loved as his own life;

There was great joy amongst them all.

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I will well that it be so,

I will that thou of her be blithe."

He took her by the hand anon,

With right good will they out are gone,
And fast they hied from that paláce,
And went their way through Goddės grace;
Into the wilds they both are gone,
O'er holt and heath they journey on.
And so they take their way full fast,
And to Crasséns they come at last,
That sometime was her own citie,
But no man wist that it was he.
With beggar poor of humblest life
A space he tarried with his wife.
He asked tidings of the land,

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When he had looked on all this thing,

He kneeled down before the King,

And who the kingdom had in hand. The humble beggar in his cote,

And asked him if his will it were

Answering, told him every grote;

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How that the Queen was fetched away To the land of faerie on a day,

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Who come into my presence now?

And how the King did after go,

Myself nor none that is with me,

But to what place no man can know.

Have ever yet sent after thee.
Since I this kingdom first began
I have not found so brave a man
Who hither dared to come or wend,
Save that I after him should send."
"Sir," he said, "I trow full weel,
I hold it sooth, sir, every deal,

The Steward, he says, the land doth hold;

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So, many tidings he them told.

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The morrow at the noone tide

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It is the custom of us all
To come to every lordės hall,

Many a man him came to see,

Men and wives and maidens fair,

And though we may not welcome be,
Proffer we must our game or glee."
Before the King he sat him down,
And took his harp of merry soun,
And straightway as full well he can,
Many blithe notes he then began.
The King looked up and sat full still,
To hear his harping he had good will.
When he had ceased from his harping,
Then said to him that riche King:
"Minstrel, me liketh well thy glee;
Whatever thing thou ask of me,
Freely now I will thee pay,
Therefore, ask now, and assay."
"Lord," he said, "I beg of thee,
If that it shall your pleasure be,
Give me that lady bright of ble, 23
That lies beneath yon ympẻ tree."
"Nay," he said, "that may I ne'er,
For ye would be a sorry pair;
Thou art all shaggy, rough, and black,
And she is made withouten lack.

Gathered fast to see him there;

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And marvelled much as him they view, How thick the moss upon him grew;

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"His beard is grown right to his knee,
His body is withered as a tree.”
Then his own Steward did he meet,
Passing in state adown the street,
And Orpheo fell upon his knee
And said: "Lord help, for charitíe,
A minstrel I of Heathenesse,

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Lord help me now in this distress."
The Steward said: "With me come home,
And of my goods thou shalt have some,
For Orpheo's sake once Lord to me,

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All minestralles shall welcome be."

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Their mates the wild drakes find, Each creature seeks his kind.

As stream that trickles slow,
We plain when life is drear,
For cruel love the tear
Unchecked must flow.

The moon sends forth her light,
The goodly sun shines bright,
And birds sing well.

Dews drench the soft young grass,
And whispering lovers pass,

Their tale to tell;

Snakes woo beneath the clod,
Women grow wondrous proud
On field and fell.
If one shall say me no
Spring joy I will forgo
And banished dwell.

ALYSOUN

(c. 1300)

In days of March and Averil 1 When the spray begins to spring, Each little bird hath her own will

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And fey 2 I'll fall adoun.

A happy lot to me is sent, etc.

Nights I toss and watch and wake,
Until my visage waxeth wan;
Lady, all is for thy sake

Longing comes to me alone.

On earth there's none so learned grown

That he her virtues can make known.

Her neck is whiter than the swan,

Or fairest maid in town.

A happy lot to me is sent, etc.

With love I'm worn and watchings late,
Weary as water in a weir,

Lest any rob me of my mate.
I have heard it said of yore,

Better to bear awhile a sore
Than mourn forevermore.
Fairest earth e'er bore,
Hearken to my rune:

A happy lot to me is sent,

I know from heaven 'tis to me lent,
From women all my love is bent

And fixed on Alysoun.

BLOW, NORTHERN WIND
(c. 1300)

I know a maid in bower bright,
That full seemly is to sight,
Maid of majesty and might,
Of loyal heart and hand.
'Midst many a nobler one
A maid of blood and bone,

I know not ever none

So fair in all the land.

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Blow, Northern Wind, blow, blow, blow.

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With blissful brows beneath her hood, He that once hung upon the Rood Her life holds in honour.

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For one most fair of everything.

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To me she bliss may bring:

Send thou me my sweeting

To serve her is my boon.

Blow, Northern Wind, blow, blow, blow.

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