{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13674/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13674","id":"gutenberg_13674","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13674","summary":null,"tags":["Arthurian Legends","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: History - Medieval/Middle Ages","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","England -- Social life and customs -- 16th century","Great Britain -- History -- Edward III, 1327-1377","Harvard Classics"],"text":"Produced by The PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team. Produced\nfrom images provided by the Million Book Project\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: _The Battle of Poitiers\nfrom the painting by H. Dupray\n(See page 52)_]\n\n\nTHE HARVARD CLASSICS\n\nEDITED BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, LLD\n\n\n\nCHRONICLE AND ROMANCE\n\nFROISSART--MALORY--HOLINSHED\n\n\n\nWITH INTRODUCTIONS, NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\"DR ELIOT'S FIVE FOOT SHELF OF BOOKS\"\n\n\n1910\n\nBY P.F. COLLIER & SON\nNEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nTHE CHRONICLES OF FROISSART, TRANSLATED BY LORD BERNERS\n  EDITED BY G.C. MACAULAY\n\nThe Campaign of Crecy\nThe Battle of Poitiers\nWat Tyler's Rebellion\nThe Battle of Otterburn\n\n\nTHE HOLY GRAIL BY SIR THOMAS MALORY\n  FROM THE CAXTON EDITION OF THE MORTE D'ARTHUR\n\n\nA DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND\nWRITTEN BY WILLIAM HARRISON FOR HOLINSHED'S CHRONICLES\n\nCHAPTER\n\n    I. Of Degrees of People\n   II. Of Cities and Towns\n  III. Of Gardens and Orchards\n   IV. Of Fairs and Markets\n    V. Of the Church of England\n   VI. Of Food and Diet\n  VII. Of Apparel and Attire\n VIII. Of Building and Furniture\n   IX. Of Provision for the Poor\n    X. Of Air, Soil, and Commodities\n   XI. Of Minerals and Metals\n  XII. Of Cattle Kept for Profit\n XIII. Of Wild and Tame Fowls\n  XIV. Of Savage Beasts and Vermin\n   XV. Of Our English Dogs\n  XVI. Of the Navy of England\n XVII. Of Kinds of Punishment\nXVIII. Of Universities\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRONICLES OF FROISSART\n\nBY\n\nJEAN FROISSART\n\nHISTORICAL NARRATIVE OF MANY OF THE BATTLES OF THE HUNDRED YEAR'S\nWAR BETWEEN ENGLAND AND FRANCE.\n\n\n_INTRODUCTORY NOTE_\n\nJean Froissart, _the most representative of the chroniclers of the\nlater Middle Ages, was born at Valenciennes in 1337. The Chronicle\nwhich, more than his poetry, has kept his fame alive, was undertaken\nwhen he was only twenty; the first book was written in its earliest\nform by 1369; and he kept revising and enlarging the work to the end\nof his life. In 1361 he went to England, entered the Church, and\nattached himself to Queen Philippa of Hainault, the wife of Edward\nIII, who made him her secretary and clerk of her chapel. Much of his\nlife was spent in travel. He went to France with the Black Prince, and\nto Italy with the Duke of Clarence. He saw fighting on the Scottish\nborder, visited Holland, Savoy, and Provence, returning at intervals\nto Paris and London. He was Vicar of Estinnes-au-Mont, Canon of\nChimay, and chaplain to the Comte de Blois; but the Church to him was\nrather a source of revenue than a religious calling. He finally\nsettled down in his native town, where he died about 1410.\n\nFroissart's wandering life points to one of the most prominent of his\ncharacteristics as a historian. Uncritical and often inconsistent\nas he is, his mistakes are not due to partisanship, for he is\nextraordinarily cosmopolitan. The Germans he dislikes as unchivalrous;\nbut though his life lay in the period of the Hundred Years' War\nbetween England and France, and though he describes many of the events\nof that war, he is as friendly to England as to France.\n\nBy birth Froissart belonged to the bourgeoisie, but his tastes and\nassociations made him an aristocrat. Glimpses of the sufferings which\nthe lower classes underwent in the wars of his time appear in his\npages, but they are given incidentally and without sympathy. His\ninterests are all in the somewhat degenerate chivalry of his age, in\nthe splendor of courts, the pomp and circumstance of war, in tourneys,\nand in pageantry. Full of the love of adventure, he would travel\nacross half of Europe to see a gallant feat of arms, a coronation, a\nroyal marriage. Strength and courage and loyalty were the virtues he\nloved; cowardice and petty greed he hated. Cruelty and injustice could\nnot dim for him the brilliance of the careers of those brigand lords\nwho were his friends and patrons.\n\nThe material for the earlier part of his Chronicles he took largely\nfrom his predecessor and model, Jean Lebel; the later books are filled\nwith narratives of what he saw with his own eyes, or gathered from the\nlips of men who had themselves been part of what they told. This fact,\nalong with his mastery of a style which is always vivacious if\nsometimes diffuse, accounts for the vividness and picturesqueness of\nhis work. The pageant of medieval life in court and camp dazzled and\ndelighted him, and it is as a pageant that we see the Middle Ages in\nhis book.\n\nFroissart holds a distinguished place among the poets as well as the\nhistorians of his century. He wrote chiefly in the allegorical style\nthen in vogue; and his poems, though cast in a mold no longer in\nfashion, are fresh and full of color, and were found worthy of\nimitation by Geoffrey Chaucer.\n\nBut it is as the supreme chronicler of the later age of chivalry that\nhe lives. \"God has been gracious enough\" he writes, \"to permit me to\nvisit the courts and palaces of kings, ... and all the nobles, kings,\ndukes, counts, barons, and knights, belonging to all nations, have\nbeen kind to me, have listened to me, willingly received me, and\nproved very useful to me.... Wherever I went I enquired of old knights\nand squires who had shared in deeds of arms, and could speak with\nauthority concerning them, and also spoke with heralds in order to\nverify and corroborate all that was told me. In this way I gathered\nnoble facts for my history, and as long as I live, I shall, by the\ngrace of God, continue to do this, for the more I labour at this the\nmore pleasure I have, and I trust that the gentle knight who loves\narms will be nourished on such noble fare, and accomplish still more.\"_\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAMPAIGN OF CRECY\n\nHOW THE KING OF ENGLAND CAME OVER THE SEA AGAIN, TO RESCUE THEM IN\nAIGUILLON\n\n\nThe king of England, who had heard how his men were sore constrained\nin the castle of Aiguillon, then he thought to go over the sea into\nGascoyne with a great army. There he made his provision and sent for\nmen all about his realm and in other places, where he thought to speed\nfor his money. In the same season the lord Godfrey of Harcourt came\ninto England, who was banished out of France: he was well received\nwith the king and retained to be about him, and had fair lands\nassigned him in England to maintain his degree. Then the king caused a\ngreat navy of ships to be ready in the haven of Hampton, and caused\nall manner of men of war to draw thither. About the feast of Saint\nJohn Baptist the year of our Lord God MCCCXLVI., the king departed\nfrom the queen and left her in the guiding of the earl of Kent his\ncousin; and he stablished the lord Percy and the lord Nevill to be\nwardens of his realm with (the archbishop of Canterbury,) the\narchbishop of York, the bishop of Lincoln and the bishop of Durham;\nfor he never voided his realm but that he left ever enough at home to\nkeep and defend the realm, if need were. Then the king rode to Hampton\nand there tarried for wind: then he entered into his ship and the\nprince of Wales with him, and the lord Godfrey of Harcourt, and all\nother lords, earls, barons and knights, with all their companies. They\nwere in number a four thousand men of arms and ten thousand archers,\nbeside Irishmen and Welshmen that followed the host afoot.\n\nNow I shall name you certain of the lords that went over with king\nEdward in that journey. First, Edward his eldest son, prince of Wales,\nwho as then was of the age of thirteen years or thereabout,[1] the\nearls of Hereford, Northampton, Arundel, Cornwall, Warwick,\nHuntingdon, Suffolk, and Oxford; and of barons the lord Mortimer, who\nwas after earl of March, the lords John, Louis and Roger of Beauchamp,\nand the lord Raynold Cobham; of lords the lord of Mowbray, Ros, Lucy,\nFelton, Bradestan, Multon, Delaware, Manne,[2] Basset, Berkeley, and\nWilloughby, with divers other lords; and of bachelors there was John\nChandos, Fitz-Warin, Peter and James Audley, Roger of Wetenhale,\nBartholomew of Burghersh, and Richard of Pembridge, with divers other\nthat I cannot name. Few there were of strangers: there was the earl\nHainault,[3] sir Wulfart of Ghistelles, and five or six other knights\nof Almaine, and many other that I cannot name.\n\n      [1] He was in fact sixteen; born 15th June 1330.\n\n      [2] Probably 'Mohun'.\n\n      [3] The usual confusion between 'comt\u00e9' and 'comte.' It means,\n      'of the county of Hainault there was sir Wulfart of Ghistelles,'\n      etc.\n\nThus they sailed forth that day in the name of God. They were well\nonward on their way toward Gascoyne, but on the third day there rose a\ncontrary wind and drave them on the marches of Cornwall, and there\nthey lay at anchor six days. In that space the king had other counsel\nby the means of sir Godfrey Harcourt: he counselled the king not to go\ninto Gascoyne, but rather to set aland in Normandy, and said to the\nking: 'Sir, the country of Normandy is one of the plenteous countries\nof the world: sir, on jeopardy of my head, if ye will land there,\nthere is none that shall resist you; the people of Normandy have not\nbeen used to the war, and all the knights and squires of the country\nare now at the siege before Aiguillon with the duke. And, sir, there\nye shall find great towns that be not walled, whereby your men shall\nhave such winning, that they shall be the better thereby twenty year\nafter; and, sir, ye may follow with your army till ye come to Caen in\nNormandy: sir, I require you to believe me in this voyage,'\n\nThe king, who was as then but in the flower of his youth, desiring\nnothing so much as to have deeds of arms, inclined greatly to the\nsaying of the lord Harcourt, whom he called cousin. Then he commanded\nthe mariners to set their course to Normandy, and he took into his\nship the token of the admiral the earl of Warwick, and said now he\nwould be admiral for that viage, and so sailed on before as governour\nof that navy, and they had wind at will. Then the king arrived in the\nisle of Cotentin, at a port called Hogue Saint-Vaast.[4]\n\n      [4] Saint-Vaast-de la Hogue.\n\nTidings anon spread abroad how the Englishmen were aland: the towns of\nCotentin sent word thereof to Paris to king Philip. He had well heard\nbefore how the king of England was on the sea with a great army, but\nhe wist not what way he would draw, other into Normandy, Bretayne or\nGascoyne. As soon as he knew that the king of England was aland in\nNormandy, he sent his constable the earl of Guines, and the earl of\nTancarville, who were but newly come to him from his son from the\nsiege at Alguillon, to the town of Caen, commanding them to keep that\ntown against the Englishmen. They said they would do their best: they\ndeparted from Paris with a good number of men of war, and daily there\ncame more to them by the way, and so came to the town of Caen, where\nthey were received with great joy of men of the town and of the\ncountry thereabout, that were drawn thither for surety. These lords\ntook heed for the provision of the town, the which as then was not\nwalled. The king thus was arrived at the port Hogue Saint-Vaast near\nto Saint-Saviour the Viscount[5] the right heritage to the lord\nGodfrey of Harcourt, who as then was there with the king of England.\n\n      [5] Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE KING OF ENGLAND RODE IN THREE BATTLES THROUGH NORMANDY\n\n\nWhen the king of England arrived in the Hogue Saint-Vaast, the king\nissued out of his ship, and the first foot that he set on the ground,\nhe fell so rudely, that the blood brast out of his nose. The knights\nthat were about him took him up and said: 'Sir, for God's sake enter\nagain into your ship, and come not aland this day, for this is but an\nevil sign for us.' Then the king answered quickly and said:\n'Wherefore? This is a good token for me, for the land desireth to have\nme.' Of the which answer all his men were right joyful. So that day\nand night the king lodged on the sands, and in the meantime discharged\nthe ships of their horses and other baggages: there the king made two\nmarshals of his host, the one the lord Godfrey of Harcourt and the\nother the earl of Warwick, and the earl of Arundel constable. And he\nordained that the earl of Huntingdon should keep the fleet of ships\nwith a hundred men of arms and four hundred archers: and also he\nordained three battles, one to go on his right hand, closing to the\nsea-side, and the other on his left hand, and the king himself in the\nmidst, and every night to lodge all in one field.\n\nThus they set forth as they were ordained, and they that went by the\nsea took all the ships that they found in their ways: and so long they\nwent forth, what by sea and what by land, that they came to a good\nport and to a good town called Barfleur, the which incontinent was\nwon, for they within gave up for fear of death. Howbeit, for all that,\nthe town was robbed, and much gold and silver there found, and rich\njewels: there was found so much riches, that the boys and villains of\nthe host set nothing by good furred gowns: they made all the men of\nthe town to issue out and to go into the ships, because they would not\nsuffer them to be behind them for fear of rebelling again. After the\ntown of Barfleur was thus taken and robbed without brenning, then they\nspread abroad in the country and did what they list, for there was not\nto resist them. At last they came to a great and a rich town called\nCherbourg: the town they won and robbed it, and brent part thereof,\nbut into the castle they could not come, it was so strong and well\nfurnished with men of war. Then they passed forth and came to\nMontebourg, and took it and robbed and brent it clean. In this manner\nthey brent many other towns in that country and won so much riches,\nthat it was marvel to reckon it. Then they came to a great town well\nclosed called Carentan, where there was also a strong castle and many\nsoldiers within to keep it. Then the lords came out of their ships and\nfiercely made assault: the burgesses of the town were in great fear of\ntheir lives, wives and children: they suffered the Englishmen to enter\ninto the town against the will of all the soldiers that were there;\nthey put all their goods to the Englishmen's pleasures, they thought\nthat most advantage. When the soldiers within saw that, they went into\nthe castle: the Englishmen went into the town, and two days together\nthey made sore assaults, so that when they within saw no succour, they\nyielded up, their lives and goods saved, and so departed. The\nEnglishmen had their pleasure of that good town and castle, and when\nthey saw they might not maintain to keep it, they set fire therein and\nbrent it, and made the burgesses of the town to enter into their\nships, as they had done with them of Barfleur, Cherbourg and\nMontebourg, and of other towns that they had won on the sea-side. All\nthis was done by the battle that went by the sea-side, and by them on\nthe sea together.[1]\n\n      [1] Froissart is mistaken in supposing that a division of the\n      land army went to these towns. Barfleur and Cherbourg were\n      visited only by the fleet. According to Michael of Northburgh,\n      who accompanied the expedition, Edward disembarked 12th July\n      and remained at Saint Vaast till the 18th, and meanwhile the\n      fleet went to Barfleur and Cherbourg. The army arrived at Caen\n      on the 26th.\n\nNow let us speak of the king's battle. When he had sent his first\nbattle along by the sea-side, as ye have heard, whereof one of his\nmarshals, the earl of Warwick, was captain, and the lord Cobham with\nhim, then he made his other marshal to lead his host on his left hand,\nfor he knew the issues and entries of Normandy better than any other\ndid there. The lord Godfrey as marshal rode forth with five hundred\nmen of arms, and rode off from the king's battle as six or seven\nleagues, in brenning and exiling the country, the which was plentiful\nof everything--the granges full of corn, the houses full of all\nriches, rich burgesses, carts and chariots, horse, swine, muttons and\nother beasts: they took what them list and brought into the king's\nhost; but the soldiers made no count to the king nor to none of his\nofficers of the gold and silver that they did get; they kept that to\nthemselves. Thus sir Godfrey of Harcourt rode every day off from the\nking's host, and for most part every night resorted to the king's\nfield. The king took his way to Saint-Lo in Cotentin, but or he came\nthere he lodged by a river, abiding for his men that rode along by the\nsea-side; and when they were come, they set forth their carriage, and\nthe earl of Warwick, the earl of Suffolk, sir Thomas Holland and sir\nRaynold Cobham, and their company rode out on the one side and wasted\nand exiled the country, as the lord Harcourt had done; and the king\never rode between these battles, and every night they lodged together.\n\n\n\n\nOF THE GREAT ASSEMBLY THAT THE FRENCH KING MADE TO RESIST THE KING OF\nENGLAND\n\n\nThus by the Englishmen was brent, exiled, robbed, wasted and pilled\nthe good, plentiful country of Normandy. Then the French king sent for\nthe lord John of Hainault, who came to him with a great number: also\nthe king sent for other men of arms, dukes, earls, barons, knights and\nsquires, and assembled together the greatest number of people that had\nbeen seen in France a hundred year before. He sent for men into so far\ncountries, that it was long or they came together, wherefore the king\nof England did what him list in the mean season. The French king heard\nwell what he did, and sware and said how they should never return\nagain unfought withal, and that such hurts and damages as they had\ndone should be dearly revenged; wherefore he had sent letters to his\nfriends in the Empire, to such as were farthest off, and also to the\ngentle king of Bohemia and to the lord Charles his son, who from\nthenceforth was called king of Almaine; he was made king by the aid of\nhis father and the French king, and had taken on him the arms of the\nEmpire: the French king desired them to come to him with all their\npowers, to the intent to fight with the king o\u00a3 England, who brent and\nwasted his country. These princes and lords made them ready with great\nnumber of men o\u00a3 arms, of Almains, Bohemians and Luxemburgers, and so\ncame to the French king. Also king Philip sent to the duke of\nLorraine, who came to serve him with three hundred spears: also there\ncame the earl (of) Salm in Saumois, the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl\nof Flanders, the earl William of Namur, every man with a fair company.\n\nYe have heard herebefore of the order of the Englishmen, how they went\nin three battles, the marshals on the right hand and on the left, the\nking and the prince of Wales his son in the midst They rode but small\njourneys and every day took their lodgings between noon and three of\nthe clock, and found the country so fruitful, that they needed not to\nmake no provision for their host, but all only for wine; and yet they\nfound reasonably sufficient thereof.[1] It was no marvel though they\nof the country were afraid, for before that time they had never seen\nmen of war, nor they wist not what war or battle meant. They fled away\nas far as they might hear speaking of the Englishmen,[2] and left\ntheir houses well stuffed, and granges full of corn, they wist not how\nto save and keep it. The king of England and the prince had in their\nbattle a three thousand men of arms and six thousand archers and a ten\nthousand men afoot, beside them that rode with the marshals.\n\n      [1] Or rather, 'thus they found reasonably sufficient provisions.'\n\n      [2] That is, they fled as soon as they heard their coming spoken\n      of.\n\nThus as ye have heard, the king rode forth, wasting and brenning the\ncountry without breaking of his order. He left the city of\nCoutances[3] and went to a great town called Saint-Lo, a rich town of\ndrapery and many rich burgesses. In that town there were dwelling an\neight or nine score burgesses, crafty men. When the king came there,\nhe took his lodging without, for he would never lodge in the town for\nfear of fire: but he sent his men before and anon the town was taken\nand clean robbed. It was hard to think the great riches that there was\nwon, in clothes specially; cloth would there have been sold good\ncheap, if there had been any buyers.\n\n      [3] That is, he did not turn aside to go to it. Froissart\n      says, 'He did not turn aside to the city of Coutances, but went\n      on toward the great town of Saint-Lo in Cotentin, which at that\n      time was very rich and of great merchandise and three times as\n      great as the city of Coutances.' Michael of Northburgh says that\n      Barfleur was about equal in importance to Sandwich and Carentan\n      to Leicester, Saint-Lo greater than Lincoln, and Caen greater\n      than any city in England except London.\n\nThen the king went toward Caen, the which was a greater town and full\nof drapery and other merchandise, and rich burgesses, noble ladies and\ndamosels, and fair churches, and specially two great and rich abbeys,\none of the Trinity, another of Saint Stephen; and on the one side of\nthe town one of the fairest castles of all Normandy, and captain\ntherein was Robert of Wargny, with three hundred Genoways, and in the\ntown was the earl of Eu and of Guines, constable of France, and the\nearl of Tancarville, with a good number of men of war. The king of\nEngland rode that day in good order and lodged all his battles\ntogether that night, a two leagues from Caen, in a town with a little\nhaven called Austrehem, and thither came also all his navy of ships\nwith the earl of Huntingdon, who was governour of them.\n\n\nThe constable and other lords of France that night watched well the\ntown of Caen, and in the morning armed them with all them of the town:\nthen the constable ordained that none should issue out, but keep their\ndefences on the walls, gate, bridge and river, and left the suburbs\nvoid, because they were not closed; for they thought they should have\nenough to do to defend the town, because it was not closed but with\nthe river. They of the town said how they would issue out, for they\nwere strong enough to fight with the king of England. When the\nconstable saw their good wills, he said: 'In the name of God be it, ye\nshall not fight without me,' Then they issued out in good order and\nmade good face to fight and to defend them and to put their lives in\nadventure.\n\n\n\n\nOF THE BATTLE OF CAEN, AND HOW THE ENGLISHMEN TOOK THE TOWN\n\n\nThe same day the Englishmen rose early and apparelled them ready to go\nto Caen.[1] The king heard mass before the sun-rising and then took\nhis horse, and the prince his son, with sir Godfrey of Harcourt\nmarshal and leader of the host, whose counsel the king much followed.\nThen they drew toward Caen with their battles in good array, and so\napproached the good town of Caen. When they of the town, who were\nready in the field, saw these three battles coming in good order, with\ntheir banners and standards waving in the wind, and the archers, the\nwhich they had not been accustomed to see, they were sore afraid and\nfled away toward the town without any order or good array, for all\nthat the constable could do: then the Englishmen pursued them eagerly.\nWhen the constable and the earl Tancarville saw that, they took a gate\nat the entry and saved themselves[2] and certain with them, for the\nEnglishmen were entered into the town. Some of the knights and squires\nof France, such as knew the way to the castle, went thither, and the\ncaptain there received them all, for the castle was large. The\nEnglishmen in the chase slew many, for they took none to mercy.\n\n      [1] This was 26th July. Edward arrived at Poissy on 12th August.\n      Philip of Valois left Paris on the 14th, the English crossed the\n      Seine at Poissy on the 16th, and the Somme at Blanche-taque on\n      the 24th.\n\n      [2] 'Set themselves for safety in a gate at the entry of the\n      bridge.'\n\nThen the constable and the earl of Tancarville, being in the little\ntower at the bridge foot, looked along the street and saw their men\nslain without mercy: they doubted to fall in their hands. At last they\nsaw an English knight with one eye called sir Thomas Holland, and a\nfive or six other knights with him: they knew them, for they had seen\nthem before in Pruce, in Granade, and in other viages. Then they\ncalled to sir Thomas and said how they would yield themselves\nprisoners. Then sir Thomas came thither with his company and mounted\nup into the gate, and there found the said lords with twenty-five\nknights with them, who yielded them to sir Thomas, and he took them\nfor his prisoners and left company to keep them, and then mounted\nagain on his horse and rode into the streets, and saved many lives of\nladies, damosels, and cloisterers from defoiling, for the soldiers\nwere without mercy. It fell so well the same season for the\nEnglishmen, that the river, which was able to bear ships, at that time\nwas so low, that men went in and out beside the bridge. They of the\ntown were entered into their houses, and cast down into the street\nstones, timber and iron, and slew and hurt more than five hundred\nEnglishmen, wherewith the king was sore displeased. At night when he\nheard thereof, he commanded that the next day all should be put to the\nsword and the town brent; but then sir Godfrey of Harcourt said: 'Dear\nsir, for God's sake assuage somewhat your courage, and let it suffice\nyou that ye have done. Ye have yet a great voyage to do or ye come\nbefore Calais, whither ye purpose to go; and, sir, in this town there\nis much people who will defend their houses, and it will cost many of\nyour men their lives, or ye have all at your will; whereby\nperadventure ye shall not keep your purpose to Calais, the which\nshould redound to your rack. Sir, save your people, for ye shall have\nneed of them or this month pass; for I think verily your adversary\nking Philip will meet with you to fight, and ye shall find many\nstraight passages and rencounters; wherefore your men, an ye had more,\nshall stand you in good stead: and, sir, without any further slaying\nye shall be lord of this town; men and women will put all that they\nhave to your pleasure.' Then the king said: 'Sir Godfrey, you are our\nmarshal, ordain everything as ye will.' Then sir Godfrey with his\nbanner rode from street to street, and commanded in the king's name\nnone to be so hardy to put fire in any house, to slay any person, nor\nto violate any woman. When they of the town heard that cry, they\nreceived the Englishmen into their houses and made them good cheer,\nand some opened their coffers and bade them take what them list, so\nthey might be assured of their lives; howbeit there were done in the\ntown many evil deeds, murders and robberies. Thus the Englishmen were\nlords of the town three days and won great riches, the which they sent\nby barks and barges to Saint-Saviour by the river of Austrehem,[3] a\ntwo leagues thence, whereas all their navy lay. Then the king sent the\nearl of Huntingdon with two hundred men of arms and four hundred\narchers, with his navy and prisoners and riches that they had got,\nback again into England. And the king bought of sir Thomas Holland the\nconstable of France and the earl of Tancarville, and paid for them\ntwenty thousand nobles.\n\n      [3] Froissart says that they sent their booty in barges and\n      boats 'on the river as far as Austrehem, a two leagues from\n      thence, where their great navy lay.' He makes no mention of\n      Saint-Sauveur here. The river in question is the Orne, at the\n      mouth of which Austrehem is situated.\n\n\n\n\nHOW SIR GODFREY OF HARCOURT FOUGHT WITH THEM OF AMIENS BEFORE PARIS\n\n\nThus the king of England ordered his business, being in the town of\nCaen, and sent into England his navy of ships charged with clothes,\njewels, vessels of gold and silver, and of other riches, and of\nprisoners more than sixty knights and three hundred burgesses. Then he\ndeparted from the town of Caen and rode in the same order as he did\nbefore, brenning and exiling the country, and took the way to Evreux\nand so passed by it; and from thence they rode to a great town called\nLouviers: it was the chief town of all Normandy of drapery, riches,\nand full of merchandise. The Englishmen soon entered therein, for as\nthen it was not closed; it was overrun, spoiled and robbed without\nmercy: there was won great riches. Then they entered into the country\nof Evreux and brent and pilled all the country except the good towns\nclosed and castles, to the which the king made none assault, because\nof the sparing of his people and his artillery.\n\nOn the river of Seine near to Rouen there was the earl of Harcourt,\nbrother to sir Godfrey of Harcourt, but he was on the French party,\nand the earl of Dreux with him, with a good number of men of war: but\nthe Englishmen left Rouen and went to Gisors, where was a strong\ncastle: they brent the town and then they brent Vernon and all the\ncountry about Rouen and Pont-de-l'Arche and came to Mantes and to\nMeulan, and wasted all the country about, and passed by the strong\ncastle of Rolleboise; and in every place along the river of Seine they\nfound the bridges broken. At last they came to Poissy, and found the\nbridge broken, but the arches and joists lay in the river: the king\nlay there a five days: in the mean season the bridge was made, to pass\nthe host without peril. The English marshals ran abroad just to Paris,\nand brent Saint-Germain in Laye and Montjoie, and Saint-Cloud, and\npetty Boulogne by Paris, and the Queen's Bourg:[1] they of Paris were\nnot well assured of themselves, for it was not as then closed.\n\n      [1] Bourg-la-Reine.\n\nThen king Philip removed to Saint-Denis, and or he went caused all the\npentices in Paris to be pulled down; and at Saint-Denis were ready\ncome the king of Bohemia, the lord John of Hainault, the duke of\nLorraine, the earl of Flanders, the earl of Blois, and many other\ngreat lords and knights, ready to serve the French king. When the\npeople of Paris saw their king depart, they came to him and kneeled\ndown and said: 'Ah, sir and noble king, what will ye do? leave thus\nthis noble city of Paris?' The king said: 'My good people, doubt ye\nnot: the Englishmen will approach you no nearer than they be.' 'Why\nso, sir?' quoth they; 'they be within these two leagues, and as soon\nas they know of your departing, they will come and assail us; and we\nnot able to defend them: sir, tarry here still and help to defend your\ngood city of Paris.' 'Speak no more,' quoth the king, 'for I will go\nto Saint-Denis to my men of war: for I will encounter the Englishmen\nand fight against them, whatsoever fall thereof.'\n\nThe king of England was at Poissy, and lay in the nunnery there, and\nkept there the feast of our Lady in August and sat in his robes of\nscarlet furred with ermines; and after that feast he went forth in\norder as they were before. The lord Godfrey of Harcourt rode out on\nthe one side with five hundred men of arms and thirteen[2] hundred\narchers; and by adventure he encountered a great number of burgesses\nof Amiens a-horseback, who were riding by the king's commandment to\nParis. They were quickly assailed and they defended themselves\nvaliantly, for they were a great number and well armed: there were\nfour knights of Amiens their captains. This skirmish dured long: at\nthe first meeting many were overthrown on both parts; but finally the\nburgesses were taken and nigh all slain, and the Englishmen took all\ntheir carriages and harness. They were well stuffed, for they were\ngoing to the French king well appointed, because they had not seen him\na great season before. There were slain in the field a twelve hundred.\n\n      [2] A better reading is 'twelve.'\n\nThen the king of England entered into the country of Beauvoisis,\nbrenning and exiling the plain country, and lodged at a fair abbey and\na rich called Saint-Messien[3] near to Beauvais: there the king\ntarried a night and in the morning departed. And when he was on his\nway he looked behind him and saw the abbey a-fire: he caused\nincontinent twenty of them to be hanged that set the fire there, for\nhe had commanded before on pain of death none to violate any church\nnor to bren any abbey. Then the king passed by the city of Beauvais\nwithout any assault giving, for because he would not trouble his\npeople nor waste his artillery. And so that day he took his lodging\nbetime in a little town called Milly. The two marshals came so near to\nBeauvais, that they made assault and skirmish at the barriers in three\nplaces, the which assault endured a long space; but the town within\nwas so well defended by the means of the bishop, who was there within,\nthat finally the Englishmen departed, and brent clean hard to the\ngates all the suburbs, and then at night they came into the king's\nfield.\n\n      [3] Commonly called Saint-Lucien, but Saint Maximianus (Messien)\n      is also associated with the place.\n\nThe next day the king departed, brenning and wasting all before him,\nand at night lodged in a good village called Grandvilliers. The next\nday the king passed by Dargies: there was none to defend the castle,\nwherefore it was soon taken and brent. Then they went forth destroying\nthe country all about, and so came to the castle of Poix, where there\nwas a good town and two castles. There was nobody in them but two fair\ndamosels, daughters to the lord of Poix; they were soon taken, and had\nbeen violated, an two English knights had not been, sir John Chandos\nand sir Basset; they defended them and brought them to the king, who\nfor his honour made them good cheer and demanded of them whither they\nwould fainest go. They said, 'To Corbie,' and the king caused them to\nbe brought thither without peril. That night the king lodged in the\ntown of Poix. They of the town and of the castles spake that night\nwith the marshals of the host, to save them and their town from\nbrenning, and they to pay a certain sum of florins the next day as\nsoon as the host was departed. This was granted them, and in the\nmorning the king departed with all his host except a certain that were\nleft there to receive the money that they of the town had promised to\npay. When they of the town saw the host depart and but a few left\nbehind, then they said they would pay never a penny, and so ran out\nand set on the Englishmen, who defended themselves as well as they\nmight and sent after the host for succour. When sir Raynold Cobham and\nsir Thomas Holland, who had the rule of the rearguard, heard thereof,\nthey returned and cried, 'Treason, treason!' and so came again to\nPoix-ward and found their companions still fighting with them of the\ntown. Then anon they of the town were nigh all slain, and the town\nbrent, and the two castles beaten down. Then they returned to the\nking's host, who was as then at Airaines and there lodged, and had\ncommanded all manner of men on pain of death to do no hurt to no town\nof Arsyn,[4] for there the king was minded to lie a day or two to take\nadvice how he might pass the river of Somme; for it was necessary for\nhim to pass the river, as ye shall hear after.\n\n      [4] A mistranslation. The original is '(Il avoit) deffendu sus\n      le hart que nuls ne fourfesist rien \u00e0 le ville d'arsin ne d'autre\n      cose,' 'he had commanded all on pain of hanging to do no hurt to\n      the town by burning or otherwise.' The translator has taken\n      'arsin' for a proper name.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE FRENCH KING FOLLOWED THE KING OF ENGLAND IN BEAUVOISINOIS\n\n\nNow let us speak of King Philip, who was at Sant-Denis and his people\nabout him, and daily increased. Then on a day he departed and rode so\nlong that he came to Coppegueule, a three leagues from Amiens, and\nthere he tarried. The king of England being at Airaines wist not where\nfor to pass the river of Somme, the which was large and deep, and all\nbridges were broken and the passages well kept. Then at the king's\ncommandment his two marshals with a thousand men of arms and two\nthousand archers went along the river to find some passage, and passed\nby Longpr\u00e9, and came to the bridge of Remy,[1] the which was well kept\nwith a great number of knights and squires and men of the country. The\nEnglishmen alighted afoot and assailed the Frenchmen from the morning\ntill it was noon; but the bridge was so well fortified and defended,\nthat the Englishmen departed without winning of anything. Then they\nwent to a great town called Fountains on the river of Somme, the which\nwas clean robbed and brent, for it was not closed. Then they went to\nanother town called Long-en-Ponthieu; they could not win the bridge,\nit was so well kept and defended. Then they departed and went to\nPicquigny, and found the town, the bridge, and the castle so well\nfortified, that it was not likely to pass there: the French king had\nso well defended the passages, to the intent that the king of England\nshould not pass the river of Somme, to fight with him at his advantage\nor else to famish him there.\n\n      [1] Pont-\u00e0-Remy, corrupted here into 'bridge of Athyne.'\n\nWhen these two marshals had assayed in all places to find passage and\ncould find none, they returned again to the king, and shewed how they\ncould find no passage in no place. The same night the French king came\nto Amiens with more than a hundred thousand men. The king of England\nwas right pensive, and the next morning heard mass before the\nsun-rising and then dislodged; and every man followed the marshals'\nbanners and so rode in the country of Vimeu approaching to the good\ntown of Abbeville, and found a town thereby, whereunto was come much\npeople of the country in trust of a little defence that was there; but\nthe Englishmen anon won it; and all they that were within slain, and\nmany taken of the town and of the country. The king took his lodging\nin a great hospital[2] that was there. The same day the French king\ndeparted from Amiens and came to Airaines about noon; and the\nEnglishmen were departed thence in the morning. The Frenchmen found\nthere great provision that the Englishmen had left behind them,\nbecause they departed in haste. There they found flesh ready on the\nbroaches, bread and pasties in the ovens, wine in tuns and barrels,\nand the tables ready laid. There the French king lodged and tarried\nfor his lords.\n\n      [2] That is, a house of the knights of Saint John.\n\nThat night the king of England was lodged at Olsemont. At night when\nthe two marshals were returned, who had that day overrun the country\nto the gates of Abbeville and to Saint-Valery and made a great\nskirmish there, then the king assembled together his council and made\nto be brought before him certain prisoners of the country of Ponthieu\nand of Vimeu. The king right courteously demanded of them, if there\nwere any among them that knew any passage beneath Abbeville, that he\nand his host might pass over the river of Somme: if he would shew him\nthereof, he should be quit of his ransom, and twenty of his company\nfor his love. There was a varlet called Gobin Agace who stepped forth\nand said to the king: 'Sir, I promise you on the jeopardy of my head I\nshall bring you to such a place, whereas ye and all your host shall\npass the river of Somme without peril. There be certain places in the\npassage that ye shall pass twelve men afront two times between day and\nnight: ye shall not go in the water to the knees. But when the flood\ncometh, the river then waxeth so great, that no man can pass; but when\nthe flood is gone, the which is two times between day and night, then\nthe river is so low, that it may be passed without danger both\na-horseback and afoot. The passage is hard in the bottom with white\nstones, so that all your carriage may go surely; therefore the passage\nis called Blanche-taque. An ye make ready to depart betimes, ye may be\nthere by the sun-rising.' The king said: 'If this be true that ye say,\nI quit thee thy ransom and all thy company, and moreover shall give\nthee a hundred nobles.' Then the king commanded every man to be ready\nat the sound of the trumpet to depart.\n\n\n\n\nOF THE BATTLE OF BLANCHE-TAQUE BETWEEN THE KING OF ENGLAND AND SIR\nGODEMAR DU FAY\n\n\nThe king of England slept not much that night, for at midnight he\narose and sowned his trumpet: then incontinent they made ready\ncarriages and all things, and at the breaking of the day they departed\nfrom the town of Oisemont and rode after the guiding of Gobin Agace,\nso that they came by the sun-rising to Blanche-taque; but as then the\nflood was up, so that they might not pass: so the king tarried there\ntill it was prime; then the ebb came.\n\nThe French king had his currours in the country, who brought him word\nof the demeanour of the Englishmen. Then he thought to close the king\nof England between Abbeville and the river of Somme, and so to fight\nwith him at his pleasure. And when he was at Amiens he had ordained a\ngreat baron of Normandy, called sir Godemar du Fay, to go and keep the\npassage of Blanche-taque, where the Englishmen must pass or else in\nnone other place. He had with him a thousand men of arms and six\nthousand afoot, with the Genoways: so they went by Saint-Riquier in\nPonthieu and from thence to Crotoy, whereas the passage lay; and also\nhe had with him a great number of men of the country, and also a great\nnumber of them of Montreuil, so that they were a twelve thousand men\none and other.\n\nWhen the English host was come thither, sir Godemar du Fay arranged\nall his company to defend the passage. The king of England let not for\nall that; but when the flood was gone, he commanded his marshals to\nenter into the water in the name of God and Saint George. Then they\nthat were hardy and courageous entered on both parties, and many a man\nreversed. There were some of the Frenchmen of Artois and Picardy that\nwere as glad to joust in the water as on the dry land.\n\nThe Frenchmen defended so well the passage at the issuing out of the\nwater, that they had much to do. The Genoways did them great trouble\nwith their cross-bows: on the other side the archers of England shot\nso wholly together, that the Frenchmen were fain to give place to the\nEnglishmen. There was a sore battle, and many a noble feat of arms\ndone on both sides. Finally the Englishmen passed over and assembled\ntogether in the field. The king and the prince passed, and all the\nlords; then the Frenchmen kept none array, but departed, he that might\nbest. When sir Godemar saw that discomfiture, he fled and saved\nhimself: some fled to Abbeville and some to Saint-Riquiers. They that\nwere there afoot could not flee, so that there were slain a great\nnumber of them of Abbeville, Montreuil, Rue and of Saint-Riquiers: the\nchase endured more than a great league. And as yet all the Englishmen\nwere not passed the river, and certain currours of the king of Bohemia\nand of sir John of Hainault came on them that were behind and took\ncertain horses and carriages and slew divers, or they could take the\npassage.\n\nThe French king the same morning was departed from Airaines, trusting\nto have found the Englishmen between him and the river of Somme: but\nwhen he heard how that sir Godemar du Fay and his company were\ndiscomfited, he tarried in the field and demanded of his marshals what\nwas best to do. They said, 'Sir, ye cannot pass the river but at the\nbridge of Abbeville, for the flood is come in at Blanche-taque': then\nhe returned and lodged at Abbeville.\n\nThe king of England when he was past the river, he thanked God and so\nrode forth in like manner as he did before. Then he called Gobin Agace\nand did quit him his ransom and all his company, and gave him a\nhundred nobles and a good horse. And so the king rode forth fair and\neasily, and thought to have lodged in a great town called Noyelles;\nbut when he knew that the town pertained to the countess d'Aumale,\nsister to the lord Robert of Artois,[1] the king assured the town and\ncountry as much as pertained to her, and so went forth; and his\nmarshals rode to Crotoy on the sea-side and brent the town, and found\nin the haven many ships and barks charged with wines of Poitou,\npertaining to the merchants of Saintonge and of Rochelle: they brought\nthe best thereof to the king's host. Then one of the marshals rode to\nthe gates of Abbeville and from thence to Saint-Riquiers, and after to\nthe town of Rue-Saint-Esprit. This was on a Friday, and both battles\nof the marshals returned to the king's host about noon and so lodged\nall together near to Cressy in Ponthieu.\n\n      [1] She was in fact his daughter.\n\nThe king of England was well informed how the French king followed\nafter him to fight. Then he said to his company: 'Let us take here\nsome plot of ground, for we will go no farther till we have seen our\nenemies. I have good cause here to abide them, for I am on the right\nheritage of the queen my mother, the which land was given at her\nmarriage: I will challenge it of mine adversary Philip of Valois.' And\nbecause that he had not the eighth part in number of men as the French\nking had, therefore he commanded his marshals to chose a plot of\nground somewhat for his advantage: and so they did, and thither the\nking and his host went. Then he sent his currours to Abbeville, to see\nif the French king drew that day into the field or not. They went\nforth and returned again, and said how they could see none appearance\nof his coming: then every man took their lodging for that day, and to\nbe ready in the morning at the sound of the trumpet in the same place.\nThis Friday the French king tarried still in Abbeville abiding for his\ncompany, and sent his two marshals to ride out to see the dealing of\nthe Englishmen, and at night they returned, and said how the\nEnglishmen were lodged in the fields. That night the French king made\na supper to all the chief lords that were there with him, and after\nsupper the king desired them to be friends each to other. The king\nlooked for the earl of Savoy, who should come to him with a thousand\nspears, for he had received wages for a three months of them at Troyes\nin Champagne.\n\n\n\n\nOF THE ORDER OF THE ENGLISHMEN AT CRESSY, HOW THEY MADE THREE BATTLES\nAFOOT\n\n\nOn the Friday, as I said before, the king of England lay in the\nfields, for the country was plentiful of wines and other victual, and\nif need had been, they had provision following in carts and other\ncarriages. That night the king made a supper to all his chief lords of\nhis host and made them good cheer; and when they were all departed to\ntake their rest, then the king entered into his oratory and kneeled\ndown before the altar, praying God devoutly, that if he fought the\nnext day, that he might achieve the journey to his honour: then about\nmidnight he laid him down to rest, and in the morning he rose betimes\nand heard mass, and the prince his son with him, and the most part of\nhis company were confessed and houselled; and after the mass said, he\ncommanded every man to be armed and to draw to the field to the same\nplace before appointed. Then the king caused a park to be made by the\nwood side behind his host, and there was set all carts and carriages,\nand within the park were all their horses, for every man was afoot;\nand into this park there was but one entry. Then he ordained three\nbattles: in the first was the young prince of Wales, with him the earl\nof Warwick and Oxford, the lord Godfrey of Harcourt, sir Raynold\nCobham, sir Thomas Holland, the lord Stafford, the lord of Mohun, the\nlord Delaware, sir John Chandos, sir Bartholomew de Burghersh, sir\nRobert Nevill, the lord Thomas Clifford, the lord Bourchier, the lord\nde Latimer, and divers other knights and squires that I cannot name:\nthey were an eight hundred men of arms and two thousand archers, and a\nthousand of other with the Welshmen: every lord drew to the field\nappointed under his own banner and pennon. In the second battle was\nthe earl of Northampton, the earl of Arundel, the lord Ros, the lord\nLucy, the lord Willoughby, the lord Basset, the lord of Saint-Aubin,\nsir Louis Tufton, the lord of Multon, the lord Lascelles and divers\nother, about an eight hundred men of arms and twelve hundred archers.\nThe third battle had the king: he had seven hundred men of arms and\ntwo thousand archers. Then the king leapt on a hobby,[1] with a white\nrod in his hand, one of his marshals on the one hand and the other on\nthe other hand: he rode from rank to rank desiring every man to take\nheed that day to his right and honour. He spake it so sweetly and with\nso good countenance and merry cheer, that all such as were discomfited\ntook courage in the seeing and hearing of him. And when he had thus\nvisited all his battles, it was then nine of the day: then he caused\nevery man to eat and drink a little, and so they did at their leisure.\nAnd afterward they ordered again their battles: then every man lay\ndown on the earth and by him his salet and bow, to be the more fresher\nwhen their enemies should come.\n\n      [1] 'Un petit palefroi.'\n\n\n\n\nTHE ORDER OF THE FRENCHMEN AT CRESSY, AND HOW THEY BEHELD THE\nDEMEANOUR OF THE ENGLISHMEN\n\n\nThis Saturday the French king rose betimes and heard mass in Abbeville\nin his lodging in the abbey of Saint Peter, and he departed after the\nsun-rising. When he was out of the town two leagues, approaching\ntoward his enemies, some of his lords said to him: 'Sir, it were good\nthat ye ordered your battles, and let all your footmen pass somewhat\non before, that they be not troubled with the horsemen.' Then the king\nsent four knights, the Moine (of) Bazeilles, the lord of Noyers, the\nlord of Beaujeu and the lord d'Aubigny to ride to aview the English\nhost; and so they rode so near that they might well see part of their\ndealing. The Englishmen saw them well and knew well how they were come\nthither to aview them: they let them alone and made no countenance\ntoward them, and let them return as they came. And when the French\nking saw these four knights return again, he tarried till they came to\nhim and said: 'Sirs, what tidings?' These four knights each of them\nlooked on other, for there was none would speak before his companion;\nfinally the king said to (the) Moine, who pertained to the king of\nBohemia and had done in his days so much, that he was reputed for one\nof the valiantest knights of the world: 'Sir, speak you,' Then he\nsaid: 'Sir, I shall speak, sith it pleaseth you, under the correction\nof my fellows. Sir, we have ridden and seen the behaving of your\nenemies: know ye for truth they are rested in three battles abiding\nfor you. Sir, I will counsel you as for my part, saving your\ndispleasure, that you and all your company rest here and lodge for\nthis night: for or they that be behind of your company be come hither,\nand or your battles be set in good order, it will be very late, and\nyour people be weary and out of array, and ye shall find your enemies\nfresh and ready to receive you. Early in the morning ye may order your\nbattles at more leisure and advise your enemies at more deliberation,\nand to regard well what way ye will assail them; for, sir, surely they\nwill abide you.'\n\nThen the king commanded that it should be so done. Then his two\nmarshals one rode before, another behind, saying to every banner:\n'Tarry and abide here in the name of God and Saint Denis.' They that\nwere foremost tarried, but they that were behind would not tarry, but\nrode forth, and said how they would in no wise abide till they were as\nfar forward as the foremost: and when they before saw them come on\nbehind, then they rode forward again, so that the king nor his\nmarshals could not rule them. So they rode without order or good\narray, till they came in sight of their enemies: and as soon as the\nforemost saw them, they reculed then aback without good array, whereof\nthey behind had marvel and were abashed, and thought that the foremost\ncompany had been fighting. Then they might have had leisure and room\nto have gone forward, if they had list: some went forth and some abode\nstill. The commons, of whom all the ways between Abbeville and Cressy\nwere full, when they saw that they were near to their enemies, they\ntook their swords and cried: 'Down with them! let us slay them all.'\nThere is no man, though he were present at the journey, that could\nimagine or shew the truth of the evil order that was among the French\nparty, and yet they were a marvellous great number. That I write in\nthis book I learned it specially of the Englishmen, who well beheld\ntheir dealing; and also certain knights of sir John of Hainault's, who\nwas always about king Philip, shewed me as they knew.\n\n\n\n\nOF THE BATTLE OF CRESSY BETWEEN THE KING OF ENGLAND AND THE FRENCH\nKING\n\n\nThe Englishmen, who were in three battles lying on the ground to rest\nthem, as soon as they saw the Frenchmen approach, they rose upon their\nfeet fair and easily without any haste and arranged their battles. The\nfirst, which was the prince's battle, the archers there stood in\nmanner of a herse and the men of arms in the bottom of the battle. The\nearl of Northampton and the earl of Arundel with the second battle\nwere on a wing in good order, ready to comfort the prince's battle, if\nneed were.\n\nThe lords and knights of France came not to the assembly together in\ngood order, for some came before and some came after in such haste and\nevil order, that one of them did trouble another. When the French king\nsaw the Englishmen, his blood changed, and said to his marshals: 'Make\nthe Genoways go on before and begin the battle in the name of God and\nSaint Denis.' There were of the Genoways cross-bows about a fifteen\nthousand,[1] but they were so weary of going afoot that day a six\nleagues armed with their cross-bows, that they said to their\nconstables: 'We be not well ordered to fight this day, for we be not\nin the case to do any great deed of arms: we have more need of rest.'\nThese words came to the earl of Alengon, who said: 'A man is well at\nease to be charged with such a sort of rascals, to be faint and fail\nnow at most need.' Also the same season there fell a great rain and a\nclipse[2] with a terrible thunder, and before the rain there came\nflying over both battles a great number of crows for fear of the\ntempest coming. Then anon the air began to wax clear, and the sun to\nshine fair and bright, the which was right in the Frenchmen's eyen and\non the Englishmen's backs. When the Genoways were assembled together\nand began to approach, they made a great leap[3] and cry to abash the\nEnglishmen, but they stood still and stirred not for all that: then\nthe Genoways again the second time made another leap and a fell cry,\nand stept forward a little, and the Englishmen removed not one foot:\nthirdly, again they leapt and cried, and went forth till they came\nwithin shot; then they shot fiercely with their cross-bows. Then the\nEnglish archers stept forth one pace and let fly their arrows so\nwholly (together) and so thick, that it seemed snow. When the Genoways\nfelt the arrows piercing through heads, arms and breasts, many of them\ncast down their cross-bows and did cut their strings and returned\ndiscomfited. When the French king saw them fly away, he said: 'Slay\nthese rascals, for they shall let and trouble us without reason.' Then\nye should have seen the men of arms dash in among them and killed a\ngreat number of them: and ever still the Englishmen shot whereas they\nsaw thickest press; the sharp arrows ran into the men of arms and into\ntheir horses, and many fell, horse and men, among the Genoways, and\nwhen they were down, they could not relieve[4] again, the press was so\nthick that one overthrew another. And also among the Englishmen there\nwere certain rascals that went afoot with great knives, and they went\nin among the men of arms, and slew and murdered many as they lay on\nthe ground, both earls, barons, knights and squires, whereof the king\nof England was after displeased, for he had rather they had been taken\nprisoners.\n\n      [1] Villani, a very good authority on the subject, says 6000,\n      brought from the ships at Harfleur.\n\n      [2] A mistranslation of 'une esclistre,' 'a flash of lightning.'\n\n      [3] These 'leaps' of the Genoese are invented by the translator,\n      and have passed from him into several respectable English\n      text-books, sometimes in company with the eclipse above\n      mentioned. Froissart says 'Il commenci\u00e8rent \u00e0 juper moult\n      epouvantablement'; that is, 'to utter cries.' Another text makes\n      mention of the English cannons at this point: 'The English\n      remained still and let off some cannons that they had, to\n      frighten the Genoese.'\n\n      [4] The translator's word 'relieve' (relyuue) represents\n      'relever,' for 'se relever.'\n\nThe valiant king of Bohemia called Charles of Luxembourg, son to the\nnoble emperor Henry of Luxembourg, for all that he was nigh blind,\nwhen he understood the order of the battle, he said to them about him:\n'Where is the lord Charles my son?' His men said: 'Sir, we cannot\ntell; we think he be fighting.' Then he said: 'Sirs, ye are my men, my\ncompanions and friends in this journey: I require you bring me so far\nforward, that I may strike one stroke with my sword.' They said they\nwould do his commandment, and to the intent that they should not lose\nhim in the press, they tied all their reins of their bridles each to\nother and set the king before to accomplish his desire, and so they\nwent on their enemies. The lord Charles of Bohemia his son, who wrote\nhimself king of Almaine and bare the arms, he came in good order to\nthe battle; but when he saw that the matter went awry on their party,\nhe departed, I cannot tell you which way. The king his father was so\nfar forward that he strake a stroke with his sword, yea and more than\nfour, and fought valiantly and so did his company; and they adventured\nthemselves so forward, that they were there all slain, and the next\nday they were found in the place about the king, and all their horses\ntied each to other.\n\nThe earl of Alen\u00e7on came to the battle right ordinately and fought\nwith the Englishmen, and the earl of Flanders also on his part. These\ntwo lords with their companies coasted the English archers and came to\nthe prince's battle, and there fought valiantly long. The French king\nwould fain have come thither, when he saw their banners, but there was\na great hedge of archers before him. The same day the French king had\ngiven a great black courser to sir John of Hainault, and he made the\nlord Tierry of Senzeille to ride on him and to bear his banner. The\nsame horse took the bridle in the teeth and brought him through all\nthe currours of the Englishmen, and as he would have returned again,\nhe fell in a great dike and was sore hurt, and had been there dead, an\nhis page had not been, who followed him through all the battles and\nsaw where his master lay in the dike, and had none other let but for\nhis horse, for the Englishmen would not issue out of their battle for\ntaking of any prisoner. Then the page alighted and relieved his\nmaster: then he went not back again the same way that they came, there\nwas too many in his way.\n\nThis battle between Broye and Cressy this Saturday was right cruel and\nfell, and many a feat of arms done that came not to my knowledge. In\nthe night[5] divers knights and squires lost their masters, and\nsometime came on the Englishmen, who received them in such wise that\nthey were ever nigh slain; for there was none taken to mercy nor to\nransom, for so the Englishmen were determined.\n\n      [5] 'Sus le nuit,' 'towards nightfall.'\n\nIn the morning[6] the day of the battle certain Frenchmen and Almains\nperforce opened the archers of the prince's battle and came and fought\nwith the men of arms hand to hand. Then the second battle of the\nEnglishmen came to succour the prince's battle, the which was time,\nfor they had as then much ado; and they with the prince sent a\nmessenger to the king, who was on a little windmill hill. Then the\nknight said to the king: 'Sir, the earl of Warwick and the earl of\nOxford, sir Raynold Cobham and other, such as be about the prince your\nson, are fiercely fought withal and are sore handled; wherefore they\ndesire you that you and your battle will come and aid them; for if the\nFrenchmen increase, as they doubt they will, your son and they shall\nhave much ado.' Then the king said: 'Is my son dead or hurt or on the\nearth felled?' 'No, sir,' quoth the knight, 'but he is hardly matched;\nwherefore he hath need of your aid.' 'Well,' said the king, 'return to\nhim and to them that sent you hither, and say to them that they send\nno more to me for any adventure that falleth, as long as my son is\nalive: and also say to them that they suffer him this day to win his\nspurs;[7] for if God be pleased, I will this journey be his and the\nhonour thereof, and to them that be about him.' Then the knight\nreturned again to them and shewed the king's words, the which greatly\nencouraged them, and repoined[8] in that they had sent to the king as\nthey did.\n\n      [6] The text has suffered by omissions. What Froissart says is\n      that if the battle had begun in the morning, it might have gone\n      better for the French, and then he instances the exploits of\n      those who broke through the archers. The battle did not begin\n      till four o'clock in the afternoon.\n\n      [7] 'Que il laissent \u00e0 l'enfant gaegnier ses esperons.'\n\n      [8] i.e. 'they repoined': Fr. 'se reprisent.'\n\nSir Godfrey of Harcourt would gladly that the earl of Harcourt his\nbrother might have been saved; for he heard say by them that saw his\nbanner how that he was there in the field on the French party: but sir\nGodfrey could not come to him betimes, for he was slain or he could\ncome at him, and so was also the earl of Aumale his nephew. In another\nplace the earl of Alen\u00e7on and the earl of Flanders fought valiantly,\nevery lord under his own banner; but finally they could not resist\nagainst the puissance of the Englishmen, and so there they were also\nslain, and divers other knights and squires. Also the earl Louis of\nBlois, nephew to the French king, and the duke of Lorraine fought\nunder their banners, but at last they were closed in among a company\nof Englishmen and Welshmen, and there were slain for all their\nprowess. Also there was slain the earl of Auxerre, the earl of\nSaint-Pol and many other.\n\nIn the evening the French king, who had left about him no more than a\nthree-score persons, one and other, whereof sir John of Hainault was\none, who had remounted once the king, for his horse was slain with an\narrow, then he said to the king: 'Sir, depart hence, for it is time;\nlose not yourself wilfully: if ye have loss at this time, ye shall\nrecover it again another season.' And so he took the king's horse by\nthe bridle and led him away in a manner perforce. Then the king rode\ntill he came to the castle of Broye. The gate was closed, because it\nwas by that time dark: then the king called the captain, who came to\nthe walls and said: 'Who is that calleth there this time of night?'\nThen the king said: 'Open your gate quickly, for this is the fortune\nof France.'[9] The captain knew then it was the king, and opened the\ngate and let down the bridge. Then the king entered, and he had with\nhim but five barons, sir John of Hainault, sir Charles of Montmorency,\nthe lord of Beaujeu, the lord d'Aubigny and the lord of Montsault. The\nking would not tarry there, but drank and departed thence about\nmidnight, and so rode by such guides as knew the country till he came\nin the morning to Amiens, and there he rested.\n\n      [9] 'C'est la fortune de France': but the better MSS. have\n      'c'est li infortun\u00e9s rois de France.'\n\nThis Saturday the Englishmen never departed from their battles for\nchasing of any man, but kept still their field, and ever defended\nthemselves against all such as came to assail them. This battle ended\nabout evensong time.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE NEXT DAY AFTER THE BATTLE THE ENGLISHMEN DISCOMFITED DIVERS\nFRENCHMEN\n\n\nOn this Saturday, when the night was come and that the Englishmen\nheard no more noise of the Frenchmen, then they reputed themselves to\nhave the victory, and the Frenchmen to be discomfited, slain and fled\naway. Then they made great fires and lighted up torches and candles,\nbecause it was very dark. Then the king avaled down from the little\nhill whereas he stood; and of all that day till then his helm came\nnever on his head. Then he went with all his battle to his son the\nprince and embraced him in his arms and kissed him, and said: 'Fair\nson, God give you good perseverance; ye are my good son, thus ye have\nacquitted you nobly: ye are worthy to keep a realm.' The prince\ninclined himself to the earth, honouring the king his father.\n\nThis night they thanked God for their good adventure and made no boast\nthereof, for the king would that no man should be proud or make boast,\nbut every man humbly to thank God. On the Sunday in the morning there\nwas such a mist, that a man might not see the breadth of an acre of\nland from him. Then there departed from the host by the commandment of\nthe king and marshals five hundred spears and two thousand archers, to\nsee if they might see any Frenchmen gathered again together in any\nplace. The same morning out of Abbeville and Saint-Riquiers in\nPonthieu the commons of Rouen and of Beauvais issued out of their\ntowns, not knowing of the discomfiture of the day before. They met\nwith the Englishmen weening they had been Frenchmen, and when the\nEnglishmen saw them, they set on them freshly, and there was a sore\nbattle; but at last the Frenchmen fled and kept none array. There were\nslain in the ways and in hedges and bushes more than seven thousand,\nand if the day had been clear there had never a one escaped. Anon\nafter, another company of Frenchmen were met by the Englishmen, the\narchbishop of Rouen and the great prior of France, who also knew\nnothing of the discomfiture the day before, for they heard that the\nFrench king should have fought the same Sunday, and they were going\nthitherward. When they met with the Englishmen, there was a great\nbattle, for they were a great number, but they could not endure\nagainst the Englishmen; for they were nigh all slain, few escaped; the\ntwo lords were slain. This morning the Englishmen met with divers\nFrenchmen that had lost their way on the Saturday and had lain all\nnight in the fields, and wist not where the king was nor the captains.\nThey were all slain, as many as were met with; and it was shewed me\nthat of the commons and men afoot of the cities and good towns of\nFrance there was slain four times as many as were slain the Saturday\nin the great battle.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE NEXT DAY AFTER THE BATTLE OF CRESSY THEY THAT WERE DEAD WERE\nNUMBERED BY THE ENGLISHMEN\n\n\nThe same Sunday, as the king of England came from mass, such as had\nbeen sent forth returned and shewed the king what they had seen and\ndone, and said: 'Sir, we think surely there is now no more appearance\nof any of our enemies.' Then the king sent to search how many were\nslain and what they were. Sir Raynold Cobham and Sir Richard Stafford\nwith three heralds went to search the field and country: they visited\nall them that were slain and rode all day in the fields, and returned\nagain to the host as the king was going to supper. They made just\nreport of that they had seen, and said how there were eleven great\nprinces dead, fourscore banners, twelve hundred knights, and more than\nthirty thousand other.[1] The Englishmen kept still their field all\nthat night: on the Monday in the morning the king prepared to depart:\nthe king caused the dead bodies of the great lords to be taken up and\nconveyed to Montreuil, and there buried in holy ground, and made a cry\nin the country to grant truce for three days, to the intent that they\nof the country might search the field of Cressy to bury the dead\nbodies.\n\n      [1] Another text makes the loss of persons below the rank of\n      knight 15,000 or 16,000, including the men of the towns. Both\n      estimates must be greatly exaggerated. Michael of Northburgh says\n      that 1542 were killed in the battle and about 2000 on the next\n      day. The great princes killed were the king of Bohemia, the duke\n      of Lorraine, the earls of Alen\u00e7on, Flanders, Blois, Auxerre,\n      Harcourt, Saint-Pol, Aumale, the grand prior of France and the\n      archbishop of Rouen.\n\nThen the king went forth and came before the town of\nMontreuil-by-the-sea, and his marshals ran toward Hesdin and Brent\nWaben and Serain, but they did nothing to the castle, it was so strong\nand so well kept. They lodged that night on the river of Hesdin\ntowards Blangy. The next day they rode toward Boulogne and came to the\ntown of Wissant: there the king and the prince lodged, and tarried\nthere a day to refresh his men, and on the Wednesday the king came\nbefore the strong town of Calais.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BATTLE OF POITIERS\n\nOF THE GREAT HOST THAT THE FRENCH KING BROUGHT TO THE BATTLE OF\nPOITIERS\n\n\nAfter the taking of the castle of Romorantin and of them that were\ntherein, the prince then and his company rode as they did before,\ndestroying the country, approaching to Anjou and to Touraine. The\nFrench king, who was at Chartres, departed and came to Blois and there\ntarried two days, and then to Amboise and the next day to Loches: and\nthen he heard how that the prince was at Touraine[1] and how that he\nwas returning by Poitou: ever the Englishmen were coasted by certain\nexpert knights of France, who alway made report to the king what the\nEnglishmen did. Then the king came to the Haye in Touraine and his men\nhad passed the river of Loire, some at the bridge of Orleans and some\nat Meung, at Saumur, at Blois, and at Tours and whereas they might:\nthey were in number a twenty thousand men of arms beside other; there\nwere a twenty-six dukes and earls and more than sixscore banners, and\nthe four sons of the king, who were but young, the duke Charles of\nNormandy, the lord Louis, that was from thenceforth duke of Anjou, and\nthe lord John duke of Berry, and the lord Philip, who was after duke\nof Burgoyne. The same season, pope Innocent the sixth sent the lord\nBertrand, cardinal of Perigord, and the lord Nicholas, cardinal of\nUrgel, into France, to treat for a peace between the French king and\nall his enemies, first between him and the king of Navarre, who was in\nprison: and these cardinals oftentimes spake to the king for his\ndeliverance during the siege at Bretuel, but they could do nothing in\nthat behalf. Then the cardinal of Perigord went to Tours, and there he\nheard how the French king hasted sore to find the Englishmen: then he\nrode to Poitiers, for he heard how both the hosts drew thitherward.\n\n      [1] 'En Touraine.'\n\nThe French king heard how the prince hasted greatly to return, and the\nking feared that he should scape him and so departed from Haye in\nTouraine, and all his company, and rode to Chauvigny, where he tarried\nthat Thursday in the town and without along by the river of Creuse,\nand the next day the king passed the river at the bridge there,\nweening that the Englishmen had been before him, but they were not.\nHowbeit they pursued after and passed the bridge that day more than\nthreescore thousand horses, and divers other passed at Chatelleraut,\nand ever as they passed they took the way to Poitiers.\n\nOn the other side the prince wist not truly where the Frenchmen were;\nbut they supposed that they were not far off, for they could not find\nno more forage, whereby they had great fault in their host of victual,\nand some of them repented that they had destroyed so much as they had\ndone before when they were in Berry, Anjou and Touraine, and in that\nthey had made no better provision. The same Friday three great lords\nof France, the lord of Craon, the lord Raoul of Coucy and the earl of\nJoigny, tarried all day in the town of Chauvigny, and part of their\ncompanies. The Saturday they passed the bridge and followed the king,\nwho was then a three leagues before, and took the way among bushes\nwithout a wood side to go to Poitiers.\n\nThe same Saturday the prince and his company dislodged from a little\nvillage thereby, and sent before him certain currours to see if they\nmight find any adventure and to hear where the Frenchmen were. They\nwere in number a threescore men of arms well horsed, and with them was\nthe lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt and the lord John of Ghistelles, and\nby adventure the Englishmen and Frenchmen met together by the foresaid\nwood side. The Frenchmen knew anon how they were their enemies; then\nin haste they did on their helmets and displayed their banners and\ncame a great pace towards the Englishmen: they were in number a two\nhundred men of arms. When the Englishmen saw them, and that they were\nso great a number, then they determined to fly and let the Frenchmen\nchase them, for they knew well the prince with his host was not far\nbehind. Then they turned their horses and took the corner of the wood,\nand the Frenchmen after them crying their cries and made great noise.\nAnd as they chased, they came on the prince's battle or they were ware\nthereof themselves; the prince tarried there to have word again from\nthem that he sent forth. The lord Raoul de Coucy with his banner went\nso far forward that he was under the prince's banner: there was a sore\nbattle and the knight fought valiantly; howbeit he was there taken,\nand the earl of Joigny, the viscount of Brosse, the lord of Chauvigny\nand all the other taken or slain, but a few that scaped. And by the\nprisoners the prince knew how the French king followed him in such\nwise that he could not eschew the battle:[2] then he assembled\ntogether all his men and commanded that no man should go before the\nmarshals' banners. Thus the prince rode that Saturday from the morning\ntill it was against night, so that he came within two little leagues\nof Poitiers. Then the captal de Buch, sir Aymenion of Pommiers, the\nlord Bartholomew of Burghersh and the lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt, all\nthese the prince sent forth to see if they might know what the\nFrenchmen did. These knights departed with two hundred men of arms\nwell horsed; they rode so far that they saw the great battle of the\nking's, they saw all the fields covered with men of arms. These\nEnglishmen could not forbear, but set on the tail of the French host\nand cast down many to the earth and took divers prisoners, so that the\nhost began to stir, and tidings thereof came to the French king as he\nwas entering into the city of Poitiers. Then he returned again and\nmade all his host do the same, so that Saturday it was very late or he\nwas lodged in the field. The English currours returned again to the\nprince and shewed him all that they saw and knew, and said how the\nFrench host was a great number of people. 'Well,' said the prince, 'in\nthe name of God let us now study how we shall fight with them at our\nadvantage.' That night the Englishmen lodged in a strong place among\nhedges, vines and bushes, and their host well watched, and so was the\nFrench host.\n\n      [2] Or rather, 'that the French king had gone in front of them\n      (les avoit advancez) and that he could in no way depart without\n      being fought with.'\n\n\n\n\nOF THE ORDER OF THE FRENCHMEN BEFORE THE BATTLE OF POITIERS\n\n\nOn the Sunday in the morning the French king, who had great desire to\nfight with the Englishmen, heard his mass in his pavilion and was\nhouselled, and his four sons with him. After mass there came to him\nthe duke of Orleans, the duke of Bourbon, the earl of Ponthieu, the\nlord Jaques of Bourbon,[1] the duke of Athens, constable of France,\nthe earl of Tancarville, the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl of\nDammartin, the earl of Ventadour, and divers other great barons of\nFrance and of other neighbours holding of France, as the lord\nClermont, the lord Arnold d'Audrehem, marshal of France, the lord of\nSaint-Venant, the lord John of Landas, the lord Eustace Ribemont, the\nlord Fiennes, the lord Geoffrey of Charny, the lord Chatillon, the\nlord of Sully, the lord of Nesle, sir Robert Duras and divers other;\nall these with the king went to counsel. Then finally it was ordained\nthat all manner of men should draw into the field, and every lord to\ndisplay his banner and to set forth in the name of God and Saint\nDenis: then trumpets blew up through the host and every man mounted on\nhorseback and went into the field, where they saw the king's banner\nwave with the wind. There might a been seen great nobless of fair\nharness and rich armoury of banners and pennons; for there was all the\nflower of France, there was none durst abide at home without he would\nbe shamed for ever. Then it was ordained by the advice of the\nconstable and marshals to be made three battles, and in each ward\nsixteen thousand men of arms all mustered and passed for men of arms.\nThe first battle the duke of Orleans to govern, with thirty-six\nbanners and twice as many pennons, the second the duke of Normandy and\nhis two brethren the lord Louis and the lord John, the third the king\nhimself: and while that these battles were setting in array, the king\ncalled to him the lord Eustace Ribemont, the lord John of Landas and\nthe lord Richard of Beaujeu, and said to them; 'Sirs, ride on before\nto see the dealing of the Englishmen and advise well what number they\nbe and by what means we may fight with them, other afoot or\na-horseback.' These three knights rode forth and the king was on a\nwhite courser and said a-high to his men: 'Sirs, among you, when ye be\nat Paris, at Chartres, at Rouen or at Orleans, then ye do threat the\nEnglishmen and desire to be in arms out against them. Now ye be come\nthereto: I shall now shew you them: now shew forth your evil will that\nye bear them and revenge your displeasures and damages that they have\ndone you, for without doubt we shall fight with them.' Such as heard\nhim said: 'Sir, in God's name so be it; that would we see[2] gladly.'\n\n      [1] That is, Jaques de Bourbon, earl of la Marche and Ponthieu.\n\n      [2] 'Verrons': but a better reading is 'ferons,' 'that will we\n      do gladly.'\n\n\nTherewith the three knights returned again to the king, who demanded\nof them tidings. Then sir Eustace of Ribemont answered for all and\nsaid: 'Sir, we have seen the Englishmen: by estimation they be two\nthousand men of arms and four thousand archers and a fifteen hundred\nof other. Howbeit they be in a strong place, and as far as we can\nimagine they are in one battle; howbeit they be wisely ordered, and\nalong the way they have fortified strongly the hedges and bushes: one\npart of their archers are along by the hedge, so that none can go nor\nride that way, but must pass by them, and that way must ye go an ye\npurpose to fight with them. In this hedge there is but one entry and\none issue by likelihood that four horsemen may ride afront. At the end\nof this hedge, whereas no man can go nor ride, there be men of arms\nafoot and archers afore them in manner of a herse, so that they will\nnot be lightly discomfited,'[3] 'Well,' said the king, 'what will ye\nthen counsel us to do?' Sir Eustace said: 'Sir, let us all be afoot,\nexcept three hundred men of arms, well horsed, of the best in your\nhost and most hardiest, to the intent they somewhat to break and to\nopen the archers, and then your battles to follow on quickly afoot and\nso to fight with their men of arms hand to hand. This is the best\nadvice that I can give you: if any other think any other way better,\nlet him speak.'\n\n      [3] The translation of this passage is unsatisfactory. It should\n      be: 'Howbeit they have ordered it wisely, and have taken post\n      along the road, which is fortified strongly with hedges and\n      thickets, and they have beset this hedge on one side (_or\n      according to another text_, on one side and on the other) with\n      their archers, so that one cannot enter nor ride along their road\n      except by them, and that way must he go who purposes to fight\n      with them. In this hedge there is but one entry and one issue,\n      where by likelihood four men of arms, as on the road, might ride\n      a-front. At the end of this hedge among vines and thorn-bushes,\n      where no man can go nor ride, are their men of arms all afoot,\n      and they have set in front of them their archers in manner of a\n      harrow, whom it would not be easy to discomfit.\n\nThe king said: 'Thus shall it be done': then the two marshals rode\nfrom battle to battle and chose out a three hundred knights and\nsquires of the most expert men of arms of all the host, every man well\narmed and horsed. Also it was ordained that the battles of Almains\nshould abide still on horseback to comfort the marshals, if need were,\nwhereof the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl of Nidau and the earl of\nNassau were captains. King John of France was there armed, and twenty\nother in his apparel; and he did put the guiding of his eldest son to\nthe lord of Saint-Venant, the lord of Landas and the lord Thibault of\nVaudenay; and the lord Arnold of Cervolles, called the archpriest,[4]\nwas armed in the armour of the young earl of Alen\u00e7on.\n\n      [4] Arnaud de Cervolles, one of the most celebrated adventurers\n      of the 14th century, called the archpriest because though a\n      layman he possessed the ecclesiastical fief of V\u00e9lines.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE CARDINAL OF PERIGORD TREATED TO MAKE AGREEMENT BETWEEN THE\nFRENCH KING AND THE PRINCE BEFORE THE BATTLE OF POITIERS\n\n\nWhen the French king's battles was ordered and every lord under his\nbanner among their own men, then it was commanded that every man\nshould cut their spears to a five foot long and every man to put off\ntheir spurs. Thus as they were ready to approach, the cardinal of\nPerigord[1] came in great haste to the king. He came the same morning\nfrom Poitiers; he kneeled down to the king and held up his hands and\ndesired him for God's sake a little to abstain setting forward till he\nhad spoken with him: then he said: 'Sir, ye have here all the flower\nof your realm against a handful of Englishmen as to regard your\ncompany,[2] and, sir, if ye may have them accorded to you without\nbattle, it shall be more profitable and honourable to have them by\nthat manner rather than to adventure so noble chivalry as ye have here\npresent. Sir, I require you in the name of God and humility that I may\nride to the prince and shew him what danger ye have him in,' The king\nsaid: 'It pleaseth me well, but return again shortly.' The cardinal\ndeparted and diligently he rode to the prince, who was among his men\nafoot: then the cardinal alighted and came to the prince, who received\nhim courteously. Then the cardinal after his salutation made he said:\n'Certainly, fair son, if you and your council advise justly the\npuissance of the French king, ye will suffer me to treat to make a\npeace between you, an I may,' The prince, who was young and lusty,\nsaid: 'Sir, the honour of me and of my people saved, I would gladly\nfall to any reasonable way.' Then the cardinal said: 'Sir, ye say\nwell, and I shall accord you, an I can; for it should be great pity if\nso many noblemen and other as be here on both parties should come\ntogether by battle,' Then the cardinal rode again to the king and\nsaid: 'Sir, ye need not to make any great haste to fight with your\nenemies, for they cannot fly from you though they would, they be in\nsuch a ground: wherefore, sir, I require you forbear for this day till\ntomorrow the sun-rising.' The king was loath to agree thereto, for\nsome of his council would not consent to it; but finally the cardinal\nshewed such reasons, that the king accorded that respite: and in the\nsame place there was pight up a pavilion of red silk fresh and rich,\nand gave leave for that day every man to draw to their lodgings except\nthe constable's and marshals' battles.\n\n      [1] Talleyrand de P\u00e9rigord.\n\n      [2] The meaning is, 'Ye have here all the flower of your realm\n      against a handful of people, for so the Englishmen are as\n      compared with your company.'\n\nThat Sunday all the day the cardinal travailed in riding from the one\nhost to the other gladly to agree them: but the French king would\nnot agree without he might have four of the principallest of the\nEnglishmen at his pleasure, and the prince and all the other to yield\nthemselves simply: howbeit there were many great offers made. The\nprince offered to render into the king's hands all that ever he had\nwon in that voyage, towns and castles, and to quit all prisoners that\nhe or any of his men had taken in that season, and also to swear not\nto be armed against the French king in seven year after; but the king\nand his council would none thereof: the uttermost that he would do\nwas, that the prince and a hundred of his knights should yield\nthemselves into the king's prison; otherwise he would not: the which\nthe prince would in no wise agree unto.\n\nIn the mean season that the cardinal rode thus between the hosts in\ntrust to do some good, certain knights of France and of England both\nrode forth the same Sunday, because it was truce for that day, to\ncoast the hosts and to behold the dealing of their enemies. So it\nfortuned that the lord John Chandos rode the same day coasting the\nFrench host, and in like manner the lord of Clermont, one of the\nFrench marshals, had ridden forth and aviewed the state of the English\nhost; and as these two knights returned towards their hosts, they met\ntogether: each of them bare one manner of device, a blue lady\nembroidered in a sunbeam above on their apparel. Then the lord\nClermont said: 'Chandos, how long have ye taken on you to bear my\ndevice?' 'Nay, ye bear mine,' said Chandos, 'for it is as well mine as\nyours.' 'I deny that,' said Clermont, 'but an it were not for the\ntruce this day between us, I should make it good on you incontinent\nthat ye have no right to bear my device.' 'Ah, sir,' said Chandos, 'ye\nshall find me to-morrow ready to defend you and to prove by feat of\narms that it is as well mine as yours,' Then Clermont said: 'Chandos,\nthese be well the words of you Englishmen, for ye can devise nothing\nof new, but all that ye see is good and fair.' So they departed\nwithout any more doing, and each of them returned to their host.\n\nThe cardinal of Perigord could in no wise that Sunday make any\nagreement between the parties, and when it was near night he returned\nto Poitiers. That night the Frenchmen took their ease; they had\nprovision enough, and the Englishmen had great default; they could get\nno forage, nor they could not depart thence without danger of their\nenemies. That Sunday the Englishmen made great dikes and hedges about\ntheir archers, to be the more stronger; and on the Monday in the\nmorning the prince and his company were ready apparelled as they were\nbefore, and about the sun-rising in like manner were the Frenchmen.\nThe same morning betimes the cardinal came again to the French host\nand thought by his preaching to pacify the parties; but then the\nFrenchmen said to him: 'Return whither ye will: bring hither no more\nwords of treaty nor peace: and ye love yourself depart shortly.' When\nthe cardinal saw that he travailed in vain, he took leave of the king\nand then he went to the prince and said: 'Sir, do what ye can; there\nis no remedy but to abide the battle, for I can find none accord in\nthe French king.' Then the prince said: 'The same is our intent and\nall our people: God help the right!' So the cardinal returned to\nPoitiers. In his company there were certain knights and squires, men\nof arms, who were more favourable to the French king than to the\nprince; and when they saw that the parties should fight, they stale\nfrom their masters and went to the French host; and they made their\ncaptain the chatelain of Amposte,[3] who was as then there with the\ncardinal, who knew nothing thereof till he was come to Poitiers.\n\n      [3] Amposta, a fortress in Catalonia.\n\nThe certainty of the order of the Englishmen was shewed to the French\nking, except they had ordained three hundred men a-horseback and as\nmany archers a-horseback to coast under covert of the mountain and to\nstrike into the battle of the duke of Normandy, who was under the\nmountain afoot. This ordinance they had made of new, that the\nFrenchmen knew not of. The prince was with his battle down among the\nvines and had closed in the weakest part with their carnages.\n\nNow will I name some of the principal lords and knights that were\nthere with the prince: the earl of Warwick, the earl of Suffolk, the\nearl of Salisbury, the earl of Oxford, the lord Raynold Cobham, the\nlord Spencer, the lord James Audley, the lord Peter his brother, the\nlord Berkeley, the lord Bassett, the lord Warin, the lord Delaware,\nthe lord Manne, the lord Willoughby, the lord Bartholomew de\nBurghersh, the lord of Felton, the lord Richard of Pembroke, the lord\nStephen of Cosington, the lord Bradetane and other Englishmen; and of\nGascon there was the lord of Pommiers, the lord of Languiran, the\ncaptal of Buch, the lord John of Caumont, the lord de Lesparre, the\nlord of Rauzan, the lord of Condon, the lord of Montferrand, the lord\nof Landiras, the lord soudic of Latrau and other that I cannot name;\nand of Hainowes the lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt, the lord John of\nGhistelles, and two other strangers, the lord Daniel Pasele and the\nlord Denis of Morbeke: all the prince's company passed not an eight\nthousand men one and other, and the Frenchmen were a sixty thousand\nfighting men, whereof there were more than three thousand knights.\n\n\n\n\nOF THE BATTLE OF POITIERS BETWEEN THE PRINCE OF WALES AND THE FRENCH\nKING\n\n\nWhen the prince saw that he should have battle and that the cardinal\nwas gone without any peace or truce making, and saw that the French\nking did set but little store by him, he said then to his men: 'Now,\nsirs, though we be but a small company as in regard to the puissance\nof our enemies, let us not be abashed therefor; for the victory lieth\nnot in the multitude of people, but whereas God will send it. If it\nfortune that the journey be ours, we shall be the most honoured people\nof all the world; and if we die in our right quarrel, I have the king\nmy father and brethren, and also ye have good friends and kinsmen;\nthese shall revenge us. Therefore, sirs, for God's sake I require you\ndo your devoirs this day; for if God be pleased and Saint George, this\nday ye shall see me a good knight.' These words and such other that\nthe prince spake comforted all his people. The lord sir John Chandos\nthat day never went from the prince, nor also the lord James Audley of\na great season; but when he saw that they should needs fight, he said\nto the prince: 'Sir, I have served always truly my lord your father\nand you also, and shall do as long as I live. I say this because I\nmade once a vow that the first battle that other the king your father\nor any of his children should be at, how that I would be one of the\nfirst setters on,[1] or else to die in the pain: therefore I require\nyour grace, as in reward for any service that ever I did to the king\nyour father or to you, that you will give me licence to depart from\nyou and to set myself thereas I may accomplish my vow.' The prince\naccorded to his desire and said, 'Sir James, God give you this day\nthat grace to be the best knight of all other,' and so took him by the\nhand. Then the knight departed from the prince and went to the\nforemost front of all the battles, all only accompanied with four\nsquires, who promised not to fail him. This lord James was a right\nsage and a valiant knight, and by him was much of the host ordained\nand governed the day before. Thus sir James was in front of the battle\nready to fight with the battle of the marshals of France. In like wise\nthe lord Eustace d'Aubrecicourt did his pain to be one of the foremost\nto set on. When sir James Audley began to set forward to his enemies,\nit fortuned to sir Eustace d'Aubrecicourt as ye shall hear after. Ye\nhave heard before how the Almains in the French host were appointed to\nbe still a-horseback. Sir Eustace being a-horseback laid his spear in\nthe rest and ran into the French battle, and then a knight of Almaine,\ncalled the lord Louis of Recombes, who bare a shield silver, five\nroses gules, and sir Eustace bare ermines, two branches of\ngules[2],--when this Almain saw the lord Eustace come from his\ncompany, he rode against him and they met so rudely, that both knights\nfell to the earth. The Almain was hurt in the shoulder, therefore he\nrose not so quickly as did sir Eustace, who when he was up and had\ntaken his breath, he came to the other knight as he lay on the ground;\nbut then five other knights of Almaine came on him all at once and\nbare him to the earth, and so perforce there he was taken prisoner and\nbrought to the earl of Nassau, who as then took no heed of him; and I\ncannot say whether they sware him prisoner or no, but they tied him to\na chare and there let him stand[3].\n\n      [1] The first setter-on and the best combatant.\n\n      [2] That is, two hamedes gules on a field ermine.\n\n      [3] They tied him on to a cart with their harness.\n\nThen the battle began on all parts, and the battles of the marshals of\nFrance approached, and they set forth that were appointed to break the\narray of the archers. They entered a-horseback into the way where the\ngreat hedges were on both sides set full of archers. As soon as the\nmen of arms entered, the archers began to shoot on both sides and did\nslay and hurt horses and knights, so that the horses when they felt\nthe sharp arrows they would in no wise go forward, but drew aback and\nflang and took on so fiercely, that many of them fell on their\nmasters, so that for press they could not rise again; insomuch that\nthe marshals' battle could never come at the prince. Certain knights\nand squires that were well horsed passed through the archers and\nthought to approach to the prince, but they could not. The lord James\nAudley with his four squires was in the front of that battle and there\ndid marvels in arms, and by great prowess he came and fought with sir\nArnold d'Audrehem under his own banner, and there they fought long\ntogether and sir Arnold was there sore handled. The battle of the\nmarshals began to disorder by reason of the shot of the archers with\nthe aid of the men of arms, who came in among them and slew of them\nand did what they list, and there was the lord Arnold d'Audrehem taken\nprisoner by other men than by sir James Audley or by his four squires;\nfor that day he never took prisoner, but always fought and went on his\nenemies.\n\nAlso on the French party the lord John Clermont fought under his own\nbanner as long as he could endure: but there he was beaten down and\ncould not be relieved nor ransomed, but was slain without mercy: some\nsaid it was because of the words that he had the day before to sir\nJohn Chandos. So within a short space the marshals' battles were\ndiscomfited, for they fell one upon another and could not go forth;[4]\nand the Frenchmen that were behind and could not get forward reculed\nback and came on the battle of the duke of Normandy, the which was\ngreat and thick and were afoot, but anon they began to open behind;[5]\nfor when they knew that the marshals' battle was discomfited, they\ntook their horses and departed, he that might best. Also they saw a\nrout of Englishmen coming down a little mountain a-horseback, and many\narchers with them, who brake in on the side of the duke's battle. True\nto say, the archers did their company that day great advantage; for\nthey shot so thick that the Frenchmen wist not on what side to take\nheed, and little and little the Englishmen won ground on them.\n\n      [4] 'Ne posient aler avant.'\n\n      [5] 'Which was great and thick in front (pardevant), but anon\n      it became open and thin behind.'\n\nAnd when the men of arms of England saw that the marshals' battle was\ndiscomfited and that the duke's battle began to disorder and open,\nthey leapt then on their horses, the which they had ready by them:\nthen they assembled together and cried, 'Saint George! Guyenne!' and\nthe lord Chandos said to the prince: 'Sir, take your horse and ride\nforth; this journey is yours: God is this day in your hands: get us to\nthe French king's battle, for their lieth all the sore of the matter.\nI think verily by his valiantness he will not fly: I trust we shall\nhave him by the grace of God and Saint George, so he be well fought\nwithal: and, sir, I heard you say that this day I should see you a\ngood knight.' The prince said, 'Let us go forth; ye shall not see me\nthis day return back,' and said, 'Advance, banner, in the name of God\nand of Saint George,' The knight that bare it did his commandment:\nthere was then a sore battle and a perilous, and many a man\noverthrown, and he that was once down could not be relieved again\nwithout great succour and aid. As the prince rode and entered in among\nhis enemies, he saw on his right hand in a little bush lying dead the\nlord Robert of Duras and his banner by him,[6] and a ten or twelve of\nhis men about him. Then the prince said to two of his squires and to\nthree archers: 'Sirs, take the body of this knight on a targe and bear\nhim to Poitiers, and present him from me to the cardinal of Perigord,\nand say how I salute him by that token.' And this was done. The prince\nwas informed that the cardinal's men were on the field against him,\nthe which was not pertaining to the right order of arms, for men of\nthe church that cometh and goeth for treaty of peace ought not by\nreason to bear harness nor to fight for neither of the parties; they\nought to be indifferent: and because these men had done so, the prince\nwas displeased with the cardinal, and therefore he sent unto him his\nnephew the lord Robert of Duras dead: and the chatelain of Amposte was\ntaken, and the prince would have had his head stricken off, because he\nwas pertaining to the cardinal, but then the lord Chandos said: 'Sir,\nsuffer for a season: intend to a greater matter: and peradventure the\ncardinal will make such excuse that ye shall be content.'\n\n      [6] The original adds, 'qui estoit de France au sentoir (sautoir)\n      de gueulles.'\n\nThen the prince and his company dressed them on the battle of the duke\nof Athens, constable of France. There was many a man slain and cast to\nthe earth. As the Frenchmen fought in companies, they cried,\n'Mountjoy! Saint Denis!' and the Englishmen, 'Saint George! Guyenne!'\nAnon the prince with his company met with the battle of Almains,\nwhereof the earl of Sarrebruck, the earl Nassau and the earl Nidau\nwere captains, but in a short space they were put to flight: the\narchers shot so wholly together that none durst come in their dangers:\nthey slew many a man that could not come to no ransom: these three\nearls was there slain, and divers other knights and squires of their\ncompany, and there was the lord d'Aubrecieourt rescued, by his own men\nand set on horseback, and after he did that day many feats of arms and\ntook good prisoners. When the duke of Normandy's battle saw the prince\napproach, they thought to save themselves, and so the duke and the\nking's children, the earl of Poitiers and the earl of Touraine, who\nwere right young, believed their governours and so departed from the\nfield, and with them more than eight hundred spears, that strake no\nstroke that day. Howbeit the lord Guichard d'Angle and the lord John\nof Saintr\u00e9, who were with the earl of Poitiers, would not fly, but\nentered into the thickest press of the battle. The king's three sons\ntook the way to Chauvigny, and the lord John of Landas and the lord\nThibauld of Vaudenay, who were set to await on the duke of Normandy,\nwhen they had brought the duke a long league from the battle, then\nthey took leave of the duke and desired the lord of Saint-Venant that\nhe should not leave the duke, but to bring him in safeguard, whereby\nhe should win more thank of the king than to abide still in the field.\nThen they met also the duke of Orleans and a great company with him,\nwho were also departed from the field with clear hands: there were\nmany good knights and squires, though that their masters departed from\nthe field, yet they had rather a died than to have had any reproach.\n\nThen the king's battle came on the Englishmen: there was a sore fight\nand many a great stroke given and received. The king and his youngest\nson met with the battle of the English marshals, the earl of Warwick\nand the earl of Suffolk, and with them of Gascons the captal of Buch,\nthe lord of Pommiers, the lord Amery of Tastes, the lord of Mussidan,\nthe lord of Languiran and the lord de Latrau. To the French party\nthere came time enough the lord John of Landas and the lord of\nVaudenay; they alighted afoot and went into the king's battle, and a\nlittle beside fought the duke of Athens, constable of France, and a\nlittle above him the duke of Bourbon and many good knights of\nBourbonnais and of Picardy with him, and a little on the one side\nthere were the Poitevins, the lord de Pons, the lord of Partenay, the\nlord of Dammartin, the lord of Tannay-Bouton, the lord of Surgieres,\nthe lord John Saintr\u00e9, the lord Guichard d'Angle, the lord Argenton,\nthe lord of Linieres, the lord of Montendre and divers other, also the\nviscount of Rochechouart and the earl of Aunay;[7] and of Burgoyne the\nlord James of Beaujeu, the lord de Chateau-Vilain and other: in\nanother part there was the earl of Ventadour and of Montpensier, the\nlord James of Bourbon, the lord John d'Artois and also the lord James\nhis brother, the lord Arnold of Cervolles, called the archpriest,\narmed for the young earl of Alen\u00e7on; and of Auvergne there was the\nlord of Mercoeur, the lord de la Tour, the lord of Chalen\u00e7on, the lord\nof Montaigu, the lord of Rochfort, the lord d'Acier, the lord d'Acon;\nand of Limousin there was the lord de Melval, the lord of Mareuil, the\nlord of Pierrebuffiere; and of Picardy there was the lord William of\nNesle, the lord Arnold of Rayneval, the lord Geoffrey of Saint-Dizier,\nthe lord of Chauny, the lord of Helly, the lord of Montsault, the lord\nof Hangest and divers other: and also in the king's battle there was\nthe earl Douglas of Scotland, who fought a season right valiantly, but\nwhen he saw the discomfiture, he departed and saved himself; for in no\nwise he would be taken of the Englishmen, he had rather been there\nslain. On the English part the lord James Audley with the aid of his\nfour squires fought always in the chief of the battle: he was sore\nhurt in the body and in the visage: as long as his breath served him\nhe fought; at last at the end of the battle his four squires took and\nbrought him out of the field and laid him under a hedge side for to\nrefresh him; and they unarmed him and bound up his wounds as well as\nthey could. On the French party king John was that day a full right\ngood knight: if the fourth part of his men had done their devoirs as\nwell as he did, the journey had been his by all likelihood. Howbeit\nthey were all slain and taken that were there, except a few that saved\nthemselves, that were with the king.[8] There was slain the duke Peter\nof Bourbon, the lord Guichard of Beaujeu, the lord of Landas, and the\nduke of Athens, constable of France, the bishop of Chalons in\nChampagne, the lord William of Nesle, the lord Eustace of Ribemont,\nthe lord de la Tour, the lord William of Montaigu, sir Grismouton of\nChambly, sir Baudrin de la Heuse, and many other, as they fought by\ncompanies; and there were taken prisoners the lord of Vaudenay, the\nlord of Pompadour, and the archpriest, sore hurt, the earl of\nVaudimont, the earl of Mons, the earl of Joinville, the earl of\nVendome, sir Louis of Melval, the lord Pierrebuffiere and the lord of\nSerignac: there were at that brunt, slain and taken more than two\nhundred knights.[9]\n\n      [7] Le conte d'Aulnoy,' but it should be 'visconte.'\n\n      [8] 'Howbeit they that stayed acquitted them as well as they\n      might, so that they were all slain or taken. Few escaped of those\n      that set themselves with the king': or according to the fuller\n      text: 'Few escaped of those that alighted down on the sand by the\n      side of the king their lord.'\n\n      [9] The translator has chosen to rearrange the above list of\n      killed, wounded or taken, which the French text gives in order\n      as they fought, saying that in one part there fell the duke of\n      Bourbon, sir Guichard of Beaujeu and sir John on Landas, and\n      there were severely wounded or taken the arch-priest, sir Thibaud\n      of Vodenay and sir Baudouin, d'Annequin; in another there were\n      slain the duke of Athens and the bishop of Chalons, and taken the\n      earl of Vaudemont and Joinville and the earl of Vendome: a little\n      above this there were slain sir William de Nesle, sir Eustace de\n      Ribemont and others, and taken sir Louis de Melval, the lord of\n      Pierrebuffi\u00e8re and the lord of Seregnach.\n\n\n\n\nOF TWO FRENCHMEN THAT FLED FROM THE BATTLE OF POITIERS AND TWO\nENGLISHMEN THAT FOLLOWED THEM\n\n\nAmong the battles, recounterings, chases and pursuits that were made\nthat day in the field, it fortuned so to sir Oudart of Renty that when\nhe departed from the field because he saw the field was lost without\nrecovery, he thought not to abide the danger of the Englishmen;\nwherefore he fled all alone and was gone out of the field a league,\nand an English knight pursued him and ever cried to him and said,\n'Return again, sir knight, it is a shame to fly away thus.' Then the\nknight turned, and the English knight thought to have stricken him\nwith his spear in the targe, but he failed, for sir Oudart swerved\naside from the stroke, but he failed not the English knight, for he\nstrake him such a stroke on the helm with his sword, that he was\nastonied and fell from his horse to the earth and lay still. Then sir\nOudart alighted and came to him or he could rise, and said, 'Yield\nyou, rescue or no rescue, or else I shall slay you.' The Englishman\nyielded and went with him, and afterward was ransomed. Also it\nfortuned that another squire of Picardy called John de Hellenes was\nfled from the battle and met with his page, who delivered him a new\nfresh horse, whereon he rode away alone. The same season there was in\nthe field the lord Berkeley of England, a young lusty knight, who the\nsame day reared his banner, and he all alone pursued the said John of\nHellenes. And when he had followed the space of a league, the said\nJohn turned again and laid his sword in the rest instead of a spear,\nand so came running toward the lord Berkeley, who lift up his sword to\nhave stricken the squire; but when he saw the stroke come, he turned\nfrom it, so that the Englishman lost his stroke and John strake him as\nhe passed on the arm, that the lord Berkeley's sword fell into the\nfield. When he saw his sword down, he lighted suddenly off his horse\nand came to the place where his sword lay, and as he stooped down to\ntake up his sword, the French squire did pike his sword at him, and by\nhap strake him through both the thighs, so that the knight fell to the\nearth and could not help himself. And John alighted off his horse and\ntook the knight's sword that lay on the ground, and came to him and\ndemanded if he would yield him or not. The knight then demanded his\nname. 'Sir,' said he, 'I hight John of Hellenes; but what is your\nname?' 'Certainly,' said the knight, 'my name is Thomas and am lord of\nBerkeley, a fair castle on the river of Severn in the marches of\nWales.' 'Well, sir,' quoth the squire, 'then ye shall be my prisoner,\nand I shall bring you in safe-guard and I shall see that you shall be\nhealed of your hurt.' 'Well,' said the knight, 'I am content to be\nyour prisoner, for ye have by law of arms won me.' There he sware to\nbe his prisoner, rescue or no rescue. Then the squire drew forth the\nsword out of the knight's thighs and the wound was open: then he\nwrapped and bound the wound and set him on his horse and so brought\nhim fair and easily to Chatelleraut, and there tarried more than\nfifteen days for his sake and did get him remedy for his hurt: and\nwhen he was somewhat amended, then he gat him a litter and so brought\nhim at his ease to his house in Picardy. There he was more than a year\ntill he was perfectly whole; and when he departed he paid for his\nransom six thousand nobles, and so this squire was made a knight by\nreason of the profit that he had of the lord Berkeley.\n\n\n\n\nHOW KING JOHN WAS TAKEN PRISONER AT THE BATTLE OF POITIERS\n\n\nOftentimes the adventures of amours and of war are more fortunate and\nmarvellous than any man can think or wish. Truly this battle, the\nwhich was near to Poitiers in the fields of Beauvoir and Maupertuis,\nwas right great and perilous, and many deeds of arms there was done\nthe which all came not to knowledge. The fighters on both sides\nendured much pain: king John with his own hands did that day marvels\nin arms: he had an axe in his hands wherewith he defended himself and\nfought in the breaking of the press. Near to the king there was taken\nthe earl of Tancarville, sir Jaques of Bourbon earl of Ponthieu, and\nthe lord John of Artois earl of Eu, and a little above that under the\nbanner of the capital of Buch was taken sir Charles of Artois and\ndivers other knights and squires. The chase endured to the gates of\nPoitiers: there were many slain and beaten down, horse and man, for\nthey of Poitiers closed their gates and would suffer none to enter;\nwherefore in the street before the gate was horrible murder, men hurt\nand beaten down. The Frenchmen yielded themselves as far off as they\nmight know an Englishman: there were divers English archers that had\nfour, five or six prisoners: the lord of Pons, a great baron of\nPoitou, was there slain, and many other knights and squires; and there\nwas taken the earl of Rochechouart, the lord of Dammartin, the lord of\nPartenay, and of Saintonge the lord of Montendre and the lord John of\nSaintr\u00e9, but he was so sore hurt that he had never health after: he\nwas reputed for one of the best knights in France. And there was left\nfor dead among other dead men the lord Guichard d'Angle, who fought\nthat day by the king right valiantly, and so did the lord of Charny,\non whom was great press, because he bare the sovereign banner of the\nking's: his own banner was also in the field, the which was of gules,\nthree scutcheons silver. So many Englishmen and Gascons come to that\npart, that perforce they opened the king's battle, so that the\nFrenchmen were so mingled among their enemies that sometime there was\nfive men upon one gentleman. There was taken the lord of Pompadour\nand[1] the lord Bartholomew de Burghersh, and there was slain sir\nGeoffrey of Charny with the king's banner in his hands: also the lord\nRaynold Cobham slew the earl of Dammartin. Then there was a great\npress to take the king, and such as knew him cried, 'Sir, yield you,\nor else ye are but dead.' There was a knight of Saint-Omer's, retained\nin wages with the king of England, called sir Denis Morbeke, who had\nserved the Englishmen five year before, because in his youth he had\nforfeited the realm of France for a murder that he did at\nSaint-Omer's. It happened so well for him, that he was next to the\nking when they were about to take him: he stept forth into the press,\nand by strength of his body and arms he came to the French king and\nsaid in good French, 'Sir, yield you,' The king beheld the knight and\nsaid: 'To whom shall I yield me? Where is my cousin the prince of\nWales? If I might see him, I would speak with him.' Denis answered and\nsaid: 'Sir, he is not here; but yield you to me and I shall bring you\nto him. 'Who be you?' quoth the king. 'Sir,' quoth he, 'I am Denis of\nMorbeke, a knight of Artois; but I serve the king of England because I\nam banished the realm of France and I have forfeited all that I had\nthere,' Then the king gave him his right gauntlet, saying, 'I yield me\nto you,' There was a great press about the king, for every man\nenforced him to say,[2] 'I have taken him,' so that the king could not\ngo forward with his young son the lord Philip with him because of the\npress.\n\n      [1] This 'and' should be 'by,' but the French text is responsible\n      for the mistake.\n\n      [2] 'S'effor\u00e7oit de dire.'\n\nThe prince of Wales, who was courageous and cruel as a lion, took that\nday great pleasure to fight and to chase his enemies. The lord John\nChandos, who was with him, of all that day never left him nor never\ntook heed of taking of any prisoner: then at the end of the battle he\nsaid to the prince: 'Sir, it were good that you rested here and set\nyour banner a-high in this bush, that your people may draw hither, for\nthey be sore spread abroad, nor I can see no more banners nor pennons\nof the French party; wherefore, sir, rest and refresh you, for ye be\nsore chafed.' Then the prince's banner was set up a-high on a bush,\nand trumpets and clarions began to sown. Then the prince did off his\nbassenet, and the knights for his body and they of his chamber were\nready about him, and a red pavilion pight up, and then drink was\nbrought forth to the prince and for such lords as were about him, the\nwhich still increased as they came from the chase: there they tarried\nand their prisoners with them. And when the two marshals were come to\nthe prince, he demanded of them if they knew any tiding of the French\nking. They answered and said: 'Sir, we hear none of certainty, but we\nthink verily he is other dead or taken, for he is not gone out of the\nbattles.' Then the prince said to the earl of Warwick and to sir\nRaynold Cobham: 'Sirs, I require you go forth and see what ye can\nknow, that at your return ye may shew me the truth.' These two lords\ntook their horses and departed from the prince and rode up a little\nhill to look about them: then they perceived a flock of men of arms\ncoming together right wearily:[3] there was the French king afoot in\ngreat peril, for Englishmen and Gascons were his masters; they had\ntaken him from sir Denis Morbeke perforce, and such as were most of\nforce said, 'I have taken him,' 'Nay,' quoth another, 'I have taken\nhim': so they strave which should have him. Then the French king, to\neschew that peril, said: 'Sirs, strive not: lead me courteously, and\nmy son, to my cousin the prince, and strive not for my taking, for I\nam so great a lord to make you all rich.' The king's words somewhat\nappeased them; howbeit ever as they went they made riot and brawled\nfor the taking of the king. When the two foresaid lords saw and heard\nthat noise and strife among them, they came to them and said: 'Sirs,\nwhat is the matter that ye strive for?' 'Sirs,' said one of them, 'it\nis for the French king, who is here taken prisoner, and there be more\nthan ten knights and squires that challenged the taking of him and of\nhis son.' Then the two lords entered into the press and caused every\nman to draw aback, and commanded them in the prince's name on pain of\ntheir heads to make no more noise nor to approach the king no nearer,\nwithout they were commanded. Then every man gave room to the lords,\nand they alighted and did their reverence to the king, and so brought\nhim and his son in peace and rest to the prince of Wales.\n\n      [3] 'Lentement.'\n\n\n\n\nOF THE GIFT THAT THE PRINCE GAVE TO THE LORD AUDLEY AFTER THE BATTLE\nOF POITIERS\n\n\nAs soon as the earl of Warwick and the lord Cobham were departed from\nthe prince, as ye have heard before, then the prince demanded of the\nknights that were about him for the lord Audley, if any knew anything\nof him. Some knights that were there answered and said: 'Sir, he is\nsore hurt and lieth in a litter here beside.' 'By my faith,' said the\nprince, 'of his hurts I am right sorry: go and know if he may be\nbrought hither, or else I will go and see him thereas he is.' Then two\nknights came to the lord Audley and said: 'Sir, the prince desireth\ngreatly to see you, other ye must go to him or else he will come to\nyou.' 'Ah, sir,' said the knight, 'I thank the prince when he thinketh\non so poor a knight as I am.' Then he called eight of his servants and\ncaused them to bear him in his litter to the place whereas the prince\nwas. Then the prince took him in his arms and kissed him and made him\ngreat cheer and said: 'Sir James, I ought greatly to honour you, for\nby your valiance ye have this day achieved the grace and renown of us\nall, and ye are reputed for the most valiant of all other,' 'Ah, sir,'\nsaid the knight, 'ye say as it pleaseth you: I would it were so: and\nif I have this day anything advanced myself to serve you and to\naccomplish the vow that I made, it ought not to be reputed to me any\nprowess.' 'Sir James,' said the prince, 'I and all ours take you in\nthis journey for the best doer in arms, and to the intent to furnish\nyou the better to pursue the wars, I retain you for ever to be my\nknight with five hundred marks of yearly revenues, the which I shall\nassign you on mine heritage in England.' 'Sir,' said the knight, 'God\ngrant me to deserve the great goodness that ye shew me': and so he\ntook his leave of the prince, for he was right feeble, and so his\nservants brought him to his lodging. And as soon as he was gone, the\nearl of Warwick and the lord Cobham returned to the prince and\npresented to him the French king. The prince made lowly reverence to\nthe king and caused wine and spices to be brought forth, and himself\nserved the king in sign of great love.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE ENGLISHMEN WON GREATLY AT THE BATTLE OF POITIERS\n\n\nThus this battle was discomfited, as ye have heard, the which was in\nthe fields of Maupertuis a two leagues from Poitiers the twenty-second\nday of September the year of our Lord MCCCLVI. It begun in the\nmorning[1] and ended at noon, but as then all the Englishmen were not\nreturned from the chase; therefore the prince's banner stood on a bush\nto draw all his men together, but it was well nigh night or all came\nfrom the chase. And as it was reported, there was slain all the flower\nof France, and there was taken with the king and the lord Philip his\nson a seventeen earls, beside barons, knights and squires, and slain a\nfive or six thousand of one and other. When every man was come from\nthe chase, they had twice as many prisoners as they were in number in\nall. Then it was counselled among them because of the great charge and\ndoubt to keep so many, that they should put many of them to ransom\nincontinent in the field, and so they did: and the prisoners found the\nEnglishmen and Gascons right courteous; there were many that day put\nto ransom and let go all only on their promise of faith and truth to\nreturn again between that and Christmas to Bordeaux with their\nransoms. Then that night they lay in the field beside whereas the\nbattle had been: some unarmed them, but not all, and unarmed all their\nprisoners, and every man made good cheer to his prisoner; for that day\nwhosoever took any prisoner, he was clear his and might quit or ransom\nhim at his pleasure. All such as were there with the prince were all\nmade rich with honour and goods, as well by ransoming of prisoners as\nby winning of gold, silver, plate, jewels, that was there found: there\nwas no man that did set anything by rich harness, whereof there was\ngreat plenty, for the Frenchmen came thither richly beseen, weening to\nhave had the journey for them.\n\n      [1] 'Environ heure de prime.'\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE LORD JAMES AUDLEY GAVE TO HIS FOUR SQUIRES THE FIVE HUNDRED\nMARKS OF REVENUES THAT THE PRINCE HAD GIVEN HIM\n\n\nWhen sir James Audley was brought to his lodging, then he sent for sir\nPeter Audley his brother and for the lord Bartholomew of Burghersh,\nthe lord Stephen of Cosington, the lord of Willoughby and the lord\nRalph Ferrers, all these were of his lineage, and then he called\nbefore him his four squires, that had served him that day well and\ntruly. Then he said to the said lords: 'Sirs, it hath pleased my lord\nthe prince to give me five hundred marks of revenues by year in\nheritage, for the which gift I have done him but small service with my\nbody. Sirs, behold here these four squires, who hath always served me\ntruly and specially this day: that honour that I have is by their\nvaliantness. Wherefore I will reward them: I give and resign into\ntheir hands the gift that my lord the prince hath given me of five\nhundred marks of yearly revenues, to them and to their heirs for ever,\nin like manner as it was given me. I clearly disherit me thereof and\ninherit them without any repeal[1] or condition. The lords and other\nthat ere there, every man beheld other and said among themselves: It\ncometh of a great nobleness to give this gift.' They answered him with\none voice: 'Sir, be it as God will; we shall bear witness in this\nbehalf wheresoever we be come.' Then they departed from him, and some\nof them went to the prince, who the same night would make a supper to\nthe French king and to the prisoners, for they had enough to do\nwithal, of that the Frenchmen brought with them,[2] for the Englishmen\nwanted victual before, for some in three days had no bread before.\n\n      [1] 'Rappel,' i.e. power of recalling the gift. The word\n      'repeal' is a correction of 'rebel.'\n\n      [2] 'Who was to give the king of France a supper of his own\n      provisions; for the French had brought great abundance with\n      them, and provisions had failed among the English,' etc.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE PRINCE MADE A SUPPER TO THE FRENCH KING THE SAME DAY OF THE\nBATTLE\n\n\nThe same day of the battle at night the prince made a supper in his\nlodging to the French king and to the most part of the great lords\nthat were prisoners. The prince made the king and his son, the lord\nJames of Bourbon, the lord John d'Artois, the earl of Tancarville, the\nearl of Estampes, the earl Dammartin, the earl of Joinville and the\nlord of Partenay to sit all at one board, and other lords, knights and\nsquires at other tables; and always the prince served before the king\nas humbly as he could, and would not sit at the king's board for any\ndesire that the king could make, but he said he was not sufficient to\nsit at the table with so great a prince as the king was. But then he\nsaid to the king: 'Sir, for God's sake make none evil nor heavy cheer,\nthough God this day did not consent to follow your will; for, sir,\nsurely the king my father shall bear you as much honour and amity as\nhe may do, and shall accord with you so reasonably that ye shall ever\nbe friends together after. And, sir, methinks ye ought to rejoice,\nthough the journey be not as ye would have had it, for this day ye\nhave won the high renown of prowess and have passed this day in\nvaliantness all other of your party. Sir, I say not this to mock you,\nfor all that be on our party, that saw every man's deeds, are plainly\naccorded by true sentence to give you the prize and chaplet.'\nTherewith the Frenchmen began to murmur and said among themselves how\nthe prince had spoken nobly, and that by all estimation he should\nprove a noble man, if God send him life and to persevere in such good\nfortune.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE PRINCE RETURNED TO BORDEAUX AFTER THE BATTLE OF POITIERS\n\n\nWhen supper was done, every man went to his lodging with their\nprisoners. The same night they put many to ransom and believed them on\ntheir faiths and troths, and ransomed them but easily, for they said\nthey would set no knight's ransom so high, but that he might pay at\nhis ease and maintain still his degree. The next day, when they had\nheard mass and taken some repast and that everything was trussed and\nready, then they took their horses and rode towards Poitiers. The same\nnight there was come to Poitiers the lord of Roye with a hundred\nspears: he was not at the battle, but he met the duke of Normandy near\nto Chauvigny, and the duke sent him to Poitiers to keep the town till\nthey heard other tidings. When the lord of Roye knew that the\nEnglishmen were so near coming to the city, he caused every man to be\narmed and every man to go to his defence to the walls, towers and\ngates; and the Englishmen passed by without any approaching, for they\nwere so laded with gold, silver and prisoners, that in their returning\nthey assaulted no fortress; they thought it a great deed if they might\nbring the French king, with their other prisoners and riches that they\nhad won, in safeguard to Bordeaux. They rode but small journeys\nbecause of their prisoners and great carriages that they had: they\nrode in a day no more but four or five leagues and lodged ever\nbetimes, and rode close together in good array saving the marshals'\nbattles, who rode ever before with five hundred men of arms to open\nthe passages as the prince should pass; but they found no encounters,\nfor all the country was so frayed that every man drew to the\nfortresses.\n\nAs the prince rode, it was shewed him how the lord Audley had given to\nhis four squires the gift of the five hundred marks that he had given\nunto him: then the prince sent for him and he was brought in his\nlitter to the prince, who received him courteously and said: 'Sir\nJames, we have knowledge that the revenues that we gave you, as soon\nas ye came to your lodging, you gave the same to four squires: we\nwould know why ye did so, and whether the gift was agreeable to you or\nnot.' 'Sir,' said the knight, 'it is of truth I have given it to them,\nand I shall shew you why I did so. These four squires that be here\npresent have a long season served me well and truly in many great\nbusinesses and, sir, in this last battle they served me in such wise\nthat an they had never done nothing else I was bound to reward them,\nand before the same day they had never nothing of me in reward. Sir, I\nam but a man alone: but by the aid and comfort of them I took on me to\naccomplish my vow long before made. I had been dead in the battle an\nthey had not been: wherefore, sir, when I considered the love that\nthey bare unto me, I had not been courteous if I would not a rewarded\nthem. I thank God I have had and shall have enough as long as I live:\nI will never be abashed for lack of good. Sir, if I have done this\nwithout your pleasure, I require you to pardon me, for, sir, both I\nand my squires shall serve you as well as ever we did.' Then the\nprince said: 'Sir James, for anything that ye have done I cannot blame\nyou, but can you good thank therefor; and for the valiantness of these\nsquires, whom ye praise so much, I accord to them your gift, and I\nwill render again to you six hundred marks in like manner as ye had\nthe other.'\n\nThus the prince and his company did so much that they passed through\nPoitou and Saintonge without damage and came to Blaye, and there\npassed the river of Gironde and arrived in the good city of Bordeaux.\nIt cannot be recorded the great feast and cheer that they of the city\nwith the clergy made to the prince, and how honourably they were there\nreceived. The prince brought the French king into the abbey of Saint\nAndrew's, and there they lodged both, the king in one part and the\nprince in the other. The prince bought of the lords, knights and\nsquires of Gascoyne the most part of the earls of the realm of France,\nsuch as were prisoners, and paid ready money for them. There was\ndivers questions and challenges made between the knights and squires\nof Gascoyne for taking of the French king; howbeit Denis Morbeke by\nright of arms and by true tokens that he shewed challenged him for his\nprisoner. Another squire of Gascoyne called Bernard of Truttes said\nhow he had right to him: there was much ado and many words before the\nprince and other lords that were there, and because these two\nchallenged each other to fight in that quarrel, the prince caused the\nmatter to rest till they came in England and that no declaration\nshould be made but afore the king of England his father; but because\nthe French king himself aided to sustain the challenge of Denis\nMorbeke, for he inclined more to him than to any other, the prince\ntherefore privily caused to be delivered to the said sir Denis two\nthousand nobles to maintain withal his estate.\n\nAnon after the prince came to Bordeaux, the cardinal of Perigord came\nthither, who was sent from the pope in legation, as it was said. He\nwas there more than fifteen days or the prince would speak with him\nbecause of the chatelain of Amposte and his men, who were against him\nin the battle of Poitiers. The prince believed that the cardinal sent\nthem thither, but the cardinal did so much by the means of the lord of\nCaumont, the lord of Montferrand and the captal of Buch, who were his\ncousins, they shewed so good reasons to the prince, that he was\ncontent to hear him speak. And when he was before the prince, he\nexcused himself so sagely that the prince and his council held him\nexcused, and so he fell again into the prince's love and redeemed out\nhis men by reasonable ransoms; and the chatelain was set to his ransom\nof ten thousand franks, the which he paid after. Then the cardinal\nbegan to treat on the deliverance of the French king, but I pass it\nbriefly because nothing was done. Thus the prince, the Gascons and\nEnglishmen tarried still at Bordeaux till it was Lent in great mirth\nand revel, and spent foolishly the gold and silver that they had won.\nIn England also there was great joy when they heard tidings of the\nbattle of Poitiers, of the discomfiting of the Frenchmen and taking of\nthe king: great solemnities were made in all churches and great fires\nand wakes throughout all England. The knights and squires, such as\nwere come home from that journey, were much made of and praised more\nthan other.\n\n\n\n\nWAT TYLER'S REBELLION\n\nHOW THE COMMONS OF ENGLAND REBELLED AGAINST THE NOBLEMEN\n\n\nIn the mean season while this treaty was, there fell in England great\nmischief and rebellion of moving of the common people, by which deed\nEngland was at a point to have been lost without recovery. There was\nnever realm nor country in so great adventure as it was in that time,\nand all because of the ease and riches that the common people were of,\nwhich moved them to this rebellion, as sometime they did in France,\nthe which did much hurt, for by such incidents the realm of France\nhath been greatly grieved.\n\nIt was a marvellous thing and of poor foundation that this mischief\nbegan in England, and to give ensample to all manner of people I will\nspeak hereof as it was done, as I was informed, and of the incidents\nthereof. There was an usage in England, and yet is in divers\ncountries, that the noblemen hath great franchise over the commons and\nkeepeth them in servage, that is to say, their tenants ought by custom\nto labour the lords' lands, to gather and bring home their corns, and\nsome to thresh and to fan, and by servage to make their hay and to hew\ntheir wood and bring it home. All these things they ought to do by\nservage, and there be more of these people in England than in any\nother realm. Thus the noblemen and prelates are served by them, and\nespecially in the county of Kent, Essex, Sussex and Bedford. These\nunhappy people of these said countries began to stir, because they\nsaid they were kept in great servage, and in the beginning of the\nworld, they said, there were no bondmen, wherefore they maintained\nthat none ought to be bond, without he did treason to his lord, as\nLucifer did to God; but they said they could have no such battle,[1]\nfor they were neither angels nor spirits, but men formed to the\nsimilitude of their lords, saying why should they then be kept so\nunder like beasts; the which they said they would no longer suffer,\nfor they would be all one, and if they laboured or did anything for\ntheir lords, they would have wages therefor as well as other. And of\nthis imagination was a foolish priest in the country of Kent called\nJohn Ball, for the which foolish words he had been three times in the\nbishop of Canterbury's prison: for this priest used oftentimes on the\nSundays after mass, when the people were going out of the minster, to\ngo into the cloister and preach, and made the people to assemble about\nhim, and would say thus: 'Ah, ye good people, the matters goeth not\nwell to pass in England, nor shall not do till everything be common,\nand that there be no villains nor gentlemen, but that we may be all\nunited together, and that the lords be no greater masters than we be.\nWhat have we deserved, or why should we be kept thus in servage? We be\nall come from one father and one mother, Adam and Eve: whereby can\nthey say or shew that they be greater lords than we be, saving by that\nthey cause us to win and labour for that they dispend? They are\nclothed in velvet and camlet furred with grise, and we be vestured\nwith poor cloth: they have their wines, spices and good bread, and we\nhave the drawing out of the chaff[2] and drink water; they dwell in\nfair houses, and we have the pain and travail, rain and wind in the\nfields; and by that that cometh of our labours they keep and maintain\ntheir estates: we be called their bondmen, and without we do readily\nthem service, we be beaten; and we have no sovereign to whom we may\ncomplain, nor that will hear us nor do us right. Let us go to the\nking, he is young, and shew him what servage we be in, and shew him\nhow we will have it otherwise, or else we will provide us of some\nremedy; and if we go together, all manner of people that be now in any\nbondage will follow us to the intent to be made free; and when the\nking seeth us, we shall have some remedy, either by fairness or\notherwise.' Thus John Ball said on Sundays, when the people issued out\nof the churches in the villages; wherefore many of the mean people\nloved him, and such as intended to no goodness said how he said truth;\nand so they would murmur one with another in the fields and in the\nways as they went together, affirming how John Ball said truth.\n\n      [1] The true text is, 'Mais ils n'avoient pas cette taille,'\n      'but they were not of that nature.' The translator found the\n      corruption 'bataille' for 'taille.'\n\n      [2] Froissart says 'le seigle, le retrait et la paille,' 'the\n      rye, the bran and the straw.' The translator's French text had\n      'le seigle, le retraict de la paille.'\n\nThe archbishop of Canterbury, who was informed of the saying of this\nJohn Ball, caused him to be taken and put in prison a two or three\nmonths to chastise him: howbeit, it had been much better at the\nbeginning that he had been condemned to perpetual prison or else to\nhave died, rather than to have suffered him to have been again\ndelivered out of prison; but the bishop had conscience to let him die.\nAnd when this John Ball was out of prison, he returned again to his\nerror, as he did before.\n\nOf his words and deeds there were much people in London informed, such\nas had great envy at them that were rich and such as were noble; and\nthen they began to speak among them and said how the realm of England\nwas right evil governed, and how that gold and silver was taken from\nthem by them that were named noblemen: so thus these unhappy men of\nLondon began to rebel and assembled them together, and sent word to\nthe foresaid countries that they should come to London and bring their\npeople with them, promising them how they should find London open to\nreceive them and the commons of the city to be of the same accord,\nsaying how they would do so much to the king that there should not be\none bondman in all England.\n\nThis promise moved so them of Kent, of Essex, of Sussex, of Bedford\nand of the countries about, that they rose and came towards London to\nthe number of sixty thousand. And they had a captain called Water\nTyler, and with him in company was Jack Straw and John Ball: these\nthree were chief sovereign captains, but the head of all was Water\nTyler, and he was indeed a tiler of houses, an ungracious patron. When\nthese unhappy men began thus to stir, they of London, except such as\nwere of their band, were greatly affrayed. Then the mayor of London\nand the rich men of the city took counsel together, and when they saw\nthe people thus coming on every side, they caused the gates of the\ncity to be closed and would suffer no man to enter into the city. But\nwhen they had well imagined, they advised not so to do, for they\nthought they should thereby put their suburbs in great peril to be\nbrent; and so they opened again the city, and there entered in at the\ngates in some place a hundred, two hundred, by twenty and by thirty,\nand so when they came to London, they entered and lodged: and yet of\ntruth the third part[3] of these people could not tell what to ask or\ndemand, but followed each other like beasts, as the shepherds[4] did\nof old time, saying how they would go conquer the Holy Land, and at\nlast all came to nothing. In like wise these villains and poor people\ncame to London, a hundred mile off, sixty mile, fifty mile, forty\nmile, and twenty mile off, and from all countries about London, but\nthe most part came from the countries before named, and as they came\nthey demanded ever for the king. The gentlemen of the countries,\nknights and squires, began to doubt, when they saw the people began to\nrebel; and though they were in doubt, it was good reason; for a less\noccasion they might have been affrayed. So the gentlemen drew together\nas well as they might.\n\n      [3] 'Bien les trois pars.'  i.e. 'three-fourths.'\n\n      [4] 'Les pastoureaulx.' The reference no doubt is to the\n      Pastoureaux of 1320, who were destroyed at Aigues-Mortes when\n      attempting to obtain a passage to the Holy Land.\n\nThe same day that these unhappy people of Kent were coming to London,\nthere returned from Canterbury the king's mother, princess of Wales,\ncoming from her pilgrimage. She was in great jeopardy to have been\nlost, for these people came to her chare and dealt rudely with her,\nwhereof the good lady was in great doubt lest they would have done\nsome villany to her or to her damosels. Howbeit, God kept her, and she\ncame in one day from Canterbury to London, for she never durst tarry\nby the way. The same time king Richard her son was at the Tower of\nLondon: there his mother found him, and with him there was the earl of\nSalisbury, the archbishop of Canterbury, sir Robert of Namur, the lord\nof Gommegnies and divers other, who were in doubt of these people that\nthus gathered together, and wist not what they demanded. This\nrebellion was well known in the king's court, or any of these people\nbegan to stir out of their houses; but the king nor his council did\nprovide no remedy therefor, which was great marvel. And to the intent\nthat all lords and good people and such as would nothing but good\nshould take ensample to correct them that be evil and rebellious, I\nshall shew you plainly all the matter, as it was.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EVIL DEEDS THAT THESE COMMONS OF ENGLAND DID TO THE KING'S\nOFFICERS, AND HOW THEY SENT A KNIGHT TO SPEAK WITH THE KING\n\n\nThe Monday before the feast of Corpus Christi the year of our Lord God\na thousand three hundred and eighty-one these people issued out of\ntheir houses to come to London to speak with the king to be made free,\nfor they would have had no bondman in England. And so first they came\nto Saint Thomas of Canterbury, and there John Ball had thought to have\nfound the bishop of Canterbury, but he was at London with the king.\nWhen Wat Tyler and Jack Straw entered into Canterbury, all the common\npeople made great feast, for all the town was of their assent; and\nthere they took counsel to go to London to the king, and to send some\nof their company over the river of Thames into Essex, into Sussex and\ninto the counties of Stafford and Bedford, to speak to the people that\nthey should all come to the farther side of London and thereby to\nclose London round about, so that the king should not stop their\npassages, and that they should all meet together on Corpus Christi\nday. They that were at Canterbury entered into Saint Thomas' church\nand did there much hurt, and robbed and brake up the bishop's chamber,\nand in robbing and bearing out their pillage they said: 'Ah, this\nchancellor of England hath had a good market to get together all this\nriches: he shall give us now account of the revenues of England and of\nthe great profits that he hath gathered sith the king's coronation.'\nWhen they had this Monday thus broken the abbey of Saint Vincent, they\ndeparted in the morning and all the people of Canterbury with them,\nand so took the way to Rochester and sent their people to the villages\nabout. And in their going they beat down and robbed houses of\nadvocates and procurers of the king's court and of the archbishop, and\nhad mercy of none. And when they were come to Rochester, they had\nthere good cheer; for the people of that town tarried for them, for\nthey were of the same sect, and then they went to the castle there and\ntook the knight that had the rule thereof, he was called sir John\nNewton, and they said to him: 'Sir, it behoveth you to go with us and\nyou shall be our sovereign captain and to do that we will have you,'\nThe knight excused himself honestly and shewed them divers\nconsiderations and excuses, but all availed him nothing, for they said\nunto him: 'Sir John, if ye do not as we will have you, ye are but\ndead,' The knight, seeing these people in that fury and ready to slay\nhim, he then doubted death and agreed to them, and so they took him\nwith them against his inward will; and in like wise did they of other\ncounties in England, as Essex, Sussex, Stafford, Bedford and Warwick,\neven to Lincoln; for they brought the knights and gentlemen into such\nobeisance, that they caused them to go with them, whether they would\nor not, as the lord Moylays, a great baron, sir Stephen of Hales and\nsir Thomas of Cosington and other.\n\nNow behold the great fortune. If they might have come to their\nintents, they would have destroyed all the noblemen of England, and\nthereafter all other nations would have followed the same and have\ntaken foot and ensample by them and by them of Gaunt and Flanders, who\nrebelled against their lord. The same year the Parisians rebelled in\nlike wise and found out the mallets of iron, of whom there were more\nthan twenty thousand, as ye shall hear after in this history; but\nfirst we will speak of them of England.\n\nWhen these people thus lodged at Rochester departed, and passed the\nriver and came to Brentford, alway keeping still their opinions,\nbeating down before them and all about the places and houses of\nadvocates and procurers, and striking off the heads of divers persons.\nAnd so long they went forward till they came within a four mile of\nLondon, and there lodged on a hill called Blackheath; and as they\nwent, they said ever they were the king's men and the noble commons of\nEngland:[1] and when they of London knew that they were come so near\nto them, the mayor, as ye have heard before, closed the gates and kept\nstraitly all the passages. This order caused the mayor, who was called\nNicholas Walworth,[2] and divers other rich burgesses of the city, who\nwere not of their sect; but there were in London of their unhappy\nopinions more than thirty thousand.\n\n      [1] 'That they were for the king and the noble commons (or\n      commonwealth) of England.'\n\n      [2] Froissart calls him John: his name was really William.\n\nThen these people thus being lodged on Blackheath determined to send\ntheir knight to speak with the king and to shew him how all that they\nhave done or will do is for him and his honour, and how the realm of\nEngland hath not been well governed a great space for the honour of\nthe realm nor for the common profit by his uncles and by the clergy,\nand specially by the archbishop of Canterbury his chancellor; whereof\nthey would have account. This knight durst do none otherwise, but so\ncame by the river of Thames to the Tower. The king and they that were\nwith him in the Tower, desiring to hear tidings, seeing this knight\ncoming made him way, and was brought before the king into a chamber;\nand with the king was the princess his mother and his two brethren,\nthe earl of Kent and the lord John Holland, the earl of Salisbury, the\nearl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford, the archbishop of Canterbury, the\nlord of Saint John's,[3] sir Robert of Namur, the lord of Vertaing,\nthe lord of Gommegnies, sir Henry of Senzeille, the mayor of London\nand divers other notable burgesses. This knight sir John Newton, who\nwas well known among them, for he was one of the king's officers, he\nkneeled down before the king and said: 'My right redoubted lord, let\nit not displease your grace the message that I must needs shew you,\nfor, dear sir, it is by force and against my will.' 'Sir John,' said\nthe king, 'say what ye will: I hold you excused.' 'Sir, the commons of\nthis your realm hath sent me to you to desire you to come and speak\nwith them on Blackheath; for they desire to have none but you: and,\nsir, ye need not to have any doubt of your person, for they will do\nyou no hurt; for they hold and will hold you for their king. But, sir,\nthey say they will shew you divers things, the which shall be right\nnecessary for you to take heed of, when they speak with you; of the\nwhich things, sir, I have no charge to shew you: but, sir, it may\nplease you to give me an answer such as may appease them and that they\nmay know for truth that I have spoken with you; for they have my\nchildren in hostage till I return again to them, and without I return\nagain, they will slay my children incontinent.'\n\n      [3] That is, the grand prior of the Hospital.\n\nThen the king made him an answer and said: 'Sir, ye shall have an\nanswer shortly.' Then the king took counsel what was best for him to\ndo, and it was anon determined that the next morning the king should\ngo down the river by water and without fail to speak with them. And\nwhen sir John Newton heard that answer, he desired nothing else and so\ntook his leave of the king and of the lords and returned again into\nhis vessel, and passed the Thames and went to Blackheath, where he had\nleft more than threescore thousand men. And there he answered them\nthat the next morning they should send some of their council to the\nThames, and there the king would come and speak with them.[4] This\nanswer greatly pleased them, and so passed that night as well as they\nmight, and the fourth part of them fasted for lack of victual for they\nhad none, wherewith they were sore displeased, which was good reason.\n\n      [4] 'Les quatre pars d'eux,' 'four-fifths of them.'\n\nAll this season the earl of Buckingham was in Wales, for there he had\nfair heritages by reason of his wife, who was daughter to the earl of\nNorthumberland and Hereford; but the voice was all through London how\nhe was among these people. And some said certainly how they had seen\nhim there among them; and all was because there was one Thomas in\ntheir company, a man of the county of Cambridge, that was very like\nthe earl. Also the lords that lay at Plymouth to go into Portugal were\nwell informed of this rebellion and of the people that thus began to\nrise; wherefore they doubted lest their viage should have been broken,\nor else they feared lest the commons about Hampton, Winchester and\nArundel would have come on them: wherefore they weighed up their\nanchors and issued out of the haven with great pain, for the wind was\nsore against them, and so took the sea and there cast anchor abiding\nfor the wind. And the duke of Lancaster, who was in the marches of\nScotland between Moorlane and Roxburgh entreating with the Scots,\nwhere it was shewed him of the rebellion, whereof he was in doubt, for\nhe knew well he was but little beloved with the commons of England;\nhowbeit, for all those tidings, yet he did sagely demean himself as\ntouching the treaty with the Scots. The earl Douglas, the earl of\nMoray, the earl of Sutherland and the earl Thomas Versy, and the Scots\nthat were there for the treaty knew right well the rebellion in\nEngland, how the common people in every part began to rebel against\nthe noblemen; wherefore the Scots thought that England was in great\ndanger to be lost, and therefore in their treaties they were the more\nstiffer against the duke of Lancaster and his council.\n\nNow let us speak of the commons of England and how they persevered.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE COMMONS OF ENGLAND ENTERED INTO LONDON, AND OF THE GREAT EVIL\nTHAT THEY DID, AND OF THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF CANTERBURY AND DIVERS\nOTHER\n\n\nIn the morning on Corpus Christi day king Richard heard mass in the\nTower of London, and all his lords, and then he took his barge with\nthe earl of Salisbury, the earl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford and\ncertain knights, and so rowed down along the Thames to Rotherhithe,\nwhereas was descended down the hill a ten thousand men to see the king\nand to speak with him. And when they saw the king's barge coming, they\nbegan to shout, and made such a cry, as though all the devils of hell\nhad been among them. And they had brought with them sir John Newton to\nthe intent that, if the king had not come, they would have stricken\nhim all to pieces, and so they had promised him. And when the king and\nhis lords saw the demeanour of the people, the best assured of them\nwere in dread; and so the king was counselled by his barons not to\ntake any landing there, but so rowed up and down the river. And the\nking demanded of them what they would, and said how he was come\nthither to speak with them, and they said all with one voice: 'We\nwould that ye should come aland, and then we shall shew you what we\nlack.' Then the earl of Salisbury answered for the king and said:\n'Sirs, ye be not in such order nor array that the king ought to speak\nwith you.' And so with those words no more said: and then the king was\ncounselled to return again to the Tower of London, and so he did.\n\nAnd when these people saw that, they were inflamed with ire and\nreturned to the hill where the great band was, and there shewed them\nwhat answer they had and how the king was returned to the Tower of\nLondon. Then they cried all with one voice, 'Let us go to London,' and\nso they took their way thither; and in their going they beat down\nabbeys and houses of advocates and of men of the court, and so came\ninto the suburbs of London, which were great and fair, and there beat\ndown divers fair houses, and specially they brake up the king's\nprisons, as the Marshalsea and other, and delivered out all the\nprisoners that were within: and there they did much hurt, and at the\nbridge foot they threat them of London because the gates of the bridge\nwere closed, saying how they would bren all the suburbs and so conquer\nLondon by force, and to slay and bren all the commons of the city.\nThere were many within the city of their accord, and so they drew\ntogether and said: 'Why do we not let these good people enter into the\ncity? they are your fellows, and that that they do is for us,' So\ntherewith the gates were opened, and then these people entered into\nthe city and went into houses and sat down to eat and drink. They\ndesired nothing but it was incontinent brought to them, for every man\nwas ready to make them good cheer and to give them meat and drink to\nappease them.\n\nThen the captains, as John Ball, Jack Straw and Wat Tyler, went\nthroughout London and a twenty thousand with them, and so came to the\nSavoy in the way to Westminster, which was a goodly house and it\npertained to the duke of Lancaster. And when they entered, they slew\nthe keepers thereof and robbed and pilled the house, and when they had\nso done, then they set fire on it and clean destroyed and brent it.\nAnd when they had done that outrage, they left not therewith, but went\nstraight to the fair hospital of the Rhodes called Saint John's,[1]\nand there they brent house, hospital, minster and all. Then they went\nfrom street to street and slew all the Flemings that they could find\nin church or in any other place, there was none respited from death.\nAnd they brake up divers houses of the Lombards and robbed them and\ntook their goods at their pleasure, for there was none that durst say\nthem nay. And they slew in the city a rich merchant called Richard\nLyon, to whom before that time Wat Tyler had done service in France;\nand on a time this Richard Lyon had beaten him, while he was his\nvarlet, the which Wat Tyler then remembered and so came to his house\nand strake off his head and caused it to be borne on a spear-point\nbefore him all about the city. Thus these ungracious people demeaned\nthemselves like people enraged and wood, and so that day they did much\nsorrow in London.\n\n      [1] This is called afterwards 'l'Ospital de Saint Jehan du\n      Temple,' and therefore would probably be the Temple, to which\n      the Hospitallers had suceeded. They had, however, another house\n      at Clerkenwell, which also had been once the property of the\n      Templars.\n\nAnd so against night they went to lodge at Saint Katherine's before\nthe Tower of London, saying how they would never depart thence till\nthey had the king at their pleasure and till he had accorded to them\nall (they would ask, and) that they would ask accounts of the\nchancellor of England, to know where all the good was become that he\nhad levied through the realm, and without he made a good account to\nthem thereof, it should not be for his profit. And so when they had\ndone all these evils to the strangers all the day, at night they\nlodged before the Tower.\n\nYe may well know and believe that it was great pity for the danger\nthat the king and such as were with him were in. For some time these\nunhappy people shouted and cried so loud, as though all the devils of\nhell had been among them. In this evening the king was counselled by\nhis brethren and lords and by sir Nicholas Walworth, mayor of London,\nand divers other notable and rich burgesses, that in the night time\nthey should issue out of the Tower and enter into the city, and so to\nslay all these unhappy people, while they were at their rest and\nasleep; for it was thought that many of them were drunken, whereby\nthey should be slain like flies; also of twenty of them there was\nscant one in harness. And surely the good men of London might well\nhave done this at their ease, for they had in their houses secretly\ntheir friends and servants ready in harness, and also sir Robert\nKnolles was in his lodging keeping his treasure with a sixscore ready\nat his commandment; in like wise was sir Perducas d'Albret, who was as\nthen in London, insomuch that there might well (have) assembled\ntogether an eight thousand men ready in harness. Howbeit, there was\nnothing done, for the residue of the commons of the city were sore\ndoubted, lest they should rise also, and the commons before were a\nthreescore thousand or more. Then the earl of Salisbury and the wise\nmen about the king said: 'Sir, if ye can appease them with fairness,\nit were best and most profitable, and to grant them everything that\nthey desire, for if we should begin a thing the which we could not\nachieve, we should never recover it again, but we and our heirs ever\nto be disinherited,' So this counsel was taken and the mayor\ncountermanded, and so commanded that he should not stir; and he did as\nhe was commanded, as reason was. And in the city with the mayor there\nwere twelve aldermen, whereof nine of them held with the king and the\nother three took part with these ungracious people, as it was after\nwell known, the which they full dearly bought.\n\nAnd on the Friday in the morning the people, being at Saint\nKatharine's near to the Tower, began to apparel themselves and to cry\nand shout, and said, without the king would come out and speak with\nthem, they would assail the Tower and take it by force, and slay all\nthem that were within. Then the king doubted these words and so was\ncounselled that he should issue out to speak with them: and then the\nking sent to them that they should all draw to a fair plain place\ncalled Mile-end, whereas the people of the city did sport them in the\nsummer season, and there the king to grant them that they desired; and\nthere it was cried in the king's name, that whosoever would speak with\nthe king let him go to the said place, and there he should not fail to\nfind the king. Then the people began to depart, specially the commons\nof the villages, and went to the same place: but all went not thither,\nfor they were not all of one condition; for there were some that\ndesired nothing but riches and the utter destruction of the noblemen\nand to have London robbed and pilled; that was the principal matter of\ntheir beginning, the which they well shewed, for as soon as the Tower\ngate opened and that the king was issued out with his two brethren and\nthe earl of Salisbury, the earl of Warwick, the earl of Oxford, sir\nRobert of Namur, the lord of Vertaing, the lord Gommegnies and divers\nother, then Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and John Ball and more than four\nhundred entered into the Tower and brake up chamber after chamber, and\nat last found the archbishop of Canterbury, called Simon, a valiant\nman and a wise, and chief chancellor of England, and a little before\nhe had said mass before the king. These gluttons took him and strake\noff his head, and also they beheaded the lord of Saint John's and a\nfriar minor, master in medicine, pertaining to the duke of Lancaster,\nthey slew him in despite of his master, and a sergeant at arms called\nJohn Leg; and these four heads were set on four long spears and they\nmade them to be borne before them through the streets of London and at\nlast set them a-high on London bridge, as though they had been\ntraitors to the king and to the realm. Also these gluttons entered\ninto the princess' chamber and brake her bed, whereby she was so sore\naffrayed that she swooned; and there she was taken up and borne to the\nwater side and put into a barge and covered, and so conveyed to a\nplace called the Queen's Wardrobe;[2] and there she was all that day\nand night like a woman half dead, till she was comforted with the king\nher son, as ye shall hear after.\n\n      [2] The Queen's Wardrobe was in the 'Royal' (called by Froissart\n      or his copyist 'la R\u00e9ole'), a palace near Blackfriars.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE NOBLES OF ENGLAND WERE IN GREAT PERIL TO HAVE BEEN DESTROYED,\nAND HOW THESE REBELS WERE PUNISHED AND SENT HOME TO THEIR OWN HOUSES\n\n\nWhen the king came to the said place of Mile-end without London, he\nput out of his company his two brethren, the earl of Kent and sir John\nHolland, and the lord of Gommegnies, for they durst not appear before\nthe people: and when the king and his other lords were there, he found\nthere a threescore thousand men of divers villages and of sundry\ncountries in England; so the king entered in among them and said to\nthem sweetly: 'Ah, ye good people, I am your king: what lack ye? what\nwill ye say?' Then such as understood him said: 'We will that ye make\nus free for ever, ourselves, our heirs and our lands, and that we be\ncalled no more bond nor so reputed.' 'Sirs,' said the king, 'I am well\nagreed thereto. Withdraw you home into your own houses and into such\nvillages as ye came from, and leave behind you of every village two or\nthree, and I shall cause writings to be made and seal them with my\nseal, the which they shall have with them, containing everything that\nye demand; and to the intent that ye shall be the better assured, I\nshall cause my banners to be delivered into every bailiwick, shire and\ncountries.'\n\nThese words appeased well the common people, such as were simple and\ngood plain men, that were come thither and wist not why. They said,\n'It was well said, we desire no better.' Thus these people began to be\nappeased and began to withdraw them into the city of London. And the\nking also said a word, the which greatly contented them. He said:\n'Sirs, among you good men of Kent ye shall have one of my banners with\nyou, and ye of Essex another, and ye of Sussex, of Bedford, of\nCambridge, of Yarmouth, of Stafford and of Lynn, each of you one; and\nalso I pardon everything that ye have done hitherto, so that ye follow\nmy banners and return home to your houses.' They all answered how they\nwould so do: thus these people departed and went into London. Then the\nking ordained more than thirty clerks the same Friday, to write with\nall diligence letter patents and sealed with the king's seal, and\ndelivered them to these people; and when they had received the\nwriting, they departed and returned into their own countries: but the\ngreat venom remained still behind, for Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and John\nBall said, for all that these people were thus appeased, yet they\nwould not depart so, and they had of their accord more than thirty\nthousand. So they abode still and made no press to have the king's\nwriting nor seal, for all their intents was to put the city to trouble\nin such wise as to slay all the rich and honest persons and to rob and\npill their houses. They of London were in great fear of this,\nwherefore they kept their houses privily with their friends and such\nservants as they had, every man according to his puissance. And when\nthese said people were this Friday thus somewhat appeased, and that\nthey should depart as soon as they had their writings, every man home\ninto his own country, then king Richard came into the Royal, where the\nqueen his mother was, right sore affrayed: so he comforted her as well\nas he could and tarried there with her all that night.\n\nYet I shall shew you of an adventure that fell by these ungracious\npeople before the city of Norwich, by a captain among them called\nGuilliam Lister of Stafford. The same day of Corpus Christi that these\npeople entered into London and brent the duke of Lancaster's house,\ncalled the Savoy; and the hospital of Saint John's and brake up the\nking's prisons and did all this hurt, as ye have heard before, the\nsame time there assembled together they of Stafford, of Lynn, of\nCambridge, of Bedford and of Yarmouth; and as they were coming towards\nLondon, they had a captain among them called Lister. And as they came,\nthey rested them before Norwich, and in their coming they caused every\nman to rise with them, so that they left no villains behind them. The\ncause why they rested before Norwich I shall shew you. There was a\nknight, captain of the town, called sir Robert Sale. He was no\ngentleman born, but he had the grace to be reputed sage and valiant in\narms, and for his valiantness king Edward made him knight. He was of\nhis body one of the biggest knights in all England. Lister and his\ncompany thought to have had this knight with them and to make him\ntheir chief captain, to the intent to be the more feared and beloved:\nso they sent to him that he should come and speak with them in the\nfield, or else they would bren the town. The knight considered that it\nwas better for him to go and speak with them rather than they should\ndo that outrage to the town: then he mounted on his horse and issued\nout of the town all alone, and so came to speak with them. And when\nthey saw him, they made him great cheer and honoured him much,\ndesiring him to alight off his horse and to speak with them, and so he\ndid: wherein he did great folly; for when he was alighted, they came\nround about him and began to speak fair to him and said: 'Sir Robert,\nye are a knight and a man greatly beloved in this country and renowned\na valiant man; and though ye be thus, yet we know you well, ye be no\ngentleman born, but son to a villain such as we be. Therefore come you\nwith us and be our master, and we shall make you so great a lord, that\none quarter of England shall be under your obeisance,' When the knight\nheard them speak thus, it was greatly contrarious to his mind, for he\nthought never to make any such bargain, and answered them with a\nfelonous regard: 'Fly away, ye ungracious people, false and evil\ntraitors that ye be: would you that I should forsake my natural lord\nfor such a company of knaves as ye be, to my dishonour for ever? I had\nrather ye were all hanged, as ye shall be; for that shall be your\nend.' And with those words he had thought to have leapt again upon his\nhorse, but he failed of the stirrup and the horse started away. Then\nthey cried all at him and said: 'Slay him without mercy.' When he\nheard those words, he let his horse go and drew out a good sword and\nbegan to scrimmish with them, and made a great place about him, that\nit was pleasure to behold him. There was none that durst approach near\nhim: there were some that approached near him, but at every stroke\nthat he gave he cut off other leg, head or arm: there was none so\nhardy but that they feared him: he did there such deeds of arms that\nit was marvel to regard. But there were more than forty thousand of\nthese unhappy people: they shot and cast at him, and he was unarmed:\nto say truth, if he had been of iron or steel, yet he must needs have\nbeen slain; but yet, or he died, he slew twelve out of hand, beside\nthem that he hurt. Finally he was stricken to the earth, and they cut\noff his arms and legs and then strake his body all to pieces. This was\nthe end of sir Robert Sale, which was great damage; for which deed\nafterward all the knights and squires of England were angry and sore\ndispleased when they heard thereof.\n\nNow let us return to the king. The Saturday the king departed from the\nWardrobe in the Royal and went to Westminster and heard mass in the\nchurch there, and all his lords with him. And beside the church there\nwas a little chapel with an image of our Lady, which did great\nmiracles and in whom the kings of England had ever great trust and\nconfidence. The king made his orisons before this image and did there\nhis offering; and then he leapt on his horse, and all his lords, and\nso the king rode toward London; and when he had ridden a little way,\non the left hand there was a way to pass without London.[1]\n\n      [1] Or rather, 'he found a place on the left hand to pass\n      without London.'\n\nThe same proper morning Wat Tyler, Jack Straw and John Ball had\nassembled their company to common together in a place called\nSmithfield, whereas every Friday there is a market of horses; and\nthere were together all of affinity more than twenty thousand, and yet\nthere were many still in the town, drinking and making merry in the\ntaverns and paid nothing, for they were happy that made them best\ncheer. And these people in Smithfield had with them the king's\nbanners, the which were delivered them the day before, and all these\ngluttons were in mind to overrun and to rob London the same day; for\ntheir captains said how they had done nothing as yet. 'These liberties\nthat the king hath given us is to us but a small profit: therefore let\nus be all of one accord and let us overrun this rich and puissant\ncity, or they of Essex, of Sussex, of Cambridge, of Bedford, of\nArundel, of Warwick, of Reading, of Oxford, of Guildford, of Lynn, of\nStafford, of Yarmouth, of Lincoln, of York and of Durham do come\nhither. For all these will come hither; Baker and Lister will bring\nthem hither; and if we be first lords of London and have the\npossession of the riches that is therein, we shall not repent us; for\nif we leave it, they that come after will have it from us.'\n\nTo this counsel they all agreed; and therewith the king came the same\nway unware of them, for he had thought to have passed that way without\nLondon, and with him a forty horse. And when he came before the abbey\nof Saint Bartholomew and beheld all these people, then the king rested\nand said how he would go no farther till he knew what these people\nailed, saying, if they were in any trouble, how he would rappease them\nagain. The lords that were with him tarried also, as reason was when\nthey saw the king tarry. And when Wat Tyler saw the king tarry, he\nsaid to his people: 'Sirs, yonder is the king: I will go and speak\nwith him. Stir not from hence, without I make you a sign; and when I\nmake you that sign, come on and slay all them except the king; but do\nthe king no hurt, he is young, we shall do with him as we list and\nshall lead him with us all about England, and so shall we be lords of\nall the realm without doubt.' And there was a doublet-maker of London\ncalled John Tycle, and he had brought to these gluttons a sixty\ndoublets, the which they ware: then he demanded of these captains who\nshould pay him for his doublets; he demanded thirty mark. Wat Tyler\nanswered him and said: 'Friend, appease yourself, thou shalt be well\npaid or this day be ended. Keep thee near me; I shall be thy\ncreditor.' And therewith he spurred his horse and departed from his\ncompany and came to the king, so near him that his horse head touched\nthe croup of the king's horse, and the first word that he said was\nthis: 'Sir king, seest thou all yonder people?' 'Yea truly,' said the\nking, 'wherefore sayest thou?' 'Because,' said he, 'they be all at my\ncommandment and have sworn to me faith and truth, to do all that I\nwill have them' 'In a good time,' said the king, 'I will well it be\nso.' Then Wat Tyler said, as he that nothing demanded but riot: 'What\nbelievest thou, king, that these people and as many more as be in\nLondon at my commandment, that they will depart from thee thus without\nhaving thy letters?' 'No,' said the king, 'ye shall have them: they\nbe ordained for you and shall be delivered every one each after other.\nWherefore, good fellows, withdraw fair and easily to your people and\ncause them to depart out of London; for it is our intent that each of\nyou by villages and townships shall have letters patents, as I have\npromised you.'\n\nWith those words Wat Tyler cast his eyen on a squire that was there\nwith the king bearing the king's sword, and Wat Tyler hated greatly\nthe same squire, for the same squire had displeased him before for\nwords between them. 'What,' said Tyler, 'art thou there? Give me thy\ndagger.' 'Nay,' said the squire, 'that will I not do: wherefore should\nI give it thee?' The king beheld the squire and said: 'Give it him;\nlet him have it.' And so the squire took it him sore against his will.\nAnd when this Wat Tyler had it, he began to play therewith and turned\nit in his hand, and said again to the squire: 'Give me also that\nsword.' 'Nay,' said the squire, 'it is the king's sword: thou art not\nworthy to have it, for thou art but a knave; and if there were no more\nhere but thou and I, thou durst not speak those words for as much gold\nin quantity as all yonder abbey.'[2] 'By my faith,' said Wat Tyler, 'I\nshall never eat meat till I have thy head': and with those words the\nmayor of London came to the king with a twelve horses well armed under\ntheir coats, and so he brake the press and saw and heard how Wat Tyler\ndemeaned himself, and said to him: 'Ha, thou knave, how art thou so\nhardy in the king's presence to speak such words? It is too much for\nthee so to do.' Then the king began to chafe and said to the mayor:\n'Set hands on him.' And while the king said so, Tyler said to the\nmayor: 'A God's name what have I said to displease thee?' 'Yes truly,'\nquoth the mayor, 'thou false stinking knave, shalt thou speak thus in\nthe presence of the king my natural lord? I commit never to live,\nwithout thou shalt dearly abye it.'[3] And with those words the mayor\ndrew out his sword and strake Tyler so great a stroke on the head,\nthat he fell down at the feet of his horse, and as soon as he was\nfallen, they environed him all about, whereby he was not seen of his\ncompany. Then a squire of the king's alighted, called John Standish,\nand he drew out his sword and put it into Wat Tyler's belly, and so he\ndied.\n\n      [2] The full text has, 'for as much gold as that minster of\n      Saint Paul is great.'\n\n      [3] 'Jamais je veux vivre, si tu ne le compares.'\n\nThen the ungracious people there assembled, perceiving their captain\nslain, began to murmur among themselves and said: 'Ah, our captain is\nslain, let us go and slay them all': and therewith they arranged\nthemselves on the place in manner of battle, and their bows before\nthem. Thus the king began a great outrage;[4] howbeit, all turned to\nthe best: for as soon as Tyler was on the earth, the king departed\nfrom all his company and all alone he rode to these people, and said\nto his own men: 'Sirs, none of you follow me; let me alone.' And so\nwhen he came before these ungracious people, who put themselves in\nordinance to revenge their captain, then the king said to them: 'Sirs,\nwhat aileth you? Ye shall have no captain but me: I am your king: be\nall in rest and peace.' And so the most part of the people that heard\nthe king speak and saw him among them, were shamefast and began to wax\npeaceable and to depart; but some, such as were malicious and evil,\nwould not depart, but made semblant as though they would do somewhat.\n\n      [4] 'Outrage' here means 'act of boldness,' as elsewhere, e.g.\n      'si fist une grant apertise d'armes et un grant outrage.'\n\nThen the king returned to his own company and demanded of them what\nwas best to be done. Then he was counselled to draw into the field,\nfor to fly away was no boot. Then said the mayor: 'It is good that we\ndo so, for I think surely we shall have shortly some comfort of them\nof London and of such good men as be of our part, who are purveyed and\nhave their friends and men ready armed in their houses.' And in the\nmean time voice and bruit ran through London how these unhappy people\nwere likely to slay the king and the mayor in Smithfield; through the\nwhich noise all manner of good men of the king's party issued out of\ntheir houses and lodgings well armed, and so came all to Smithfield\nand to the field where the king was, and they were anon to the number\nof seven or eight thousand men well armed. And first thither came sir\nRobert Knolles and sir Perducas d'Albret, well accompanied, and divers\nof the aldermen of London, and with them a six hundred men in harness,\nand a puissant man of the city, who was the king's draper,[5] called\nNicholas Bramber, and he brought with him a great company; and ever as\nthey came, they ranged them afoot in order of battle: and on the other\npart these unhappy people were ready ranged, making semblance to give\nbattle, and they had with them divers of the king's banners. There the\nking made three knights, the one the mayor of London sir Nicholas\nWalworth, sir John Standish and sir Nicholas Bramber. Then the lords\nsaid among themselves: 'What shall we do? We see here our enemies, who\nwould gladly slay us, if they might have the better hand of us.' Sir\nRobert Knolles counselled to go and fight with them and slay them all;\nyet the king would not consent thereto, but said: 'Nay, I will not so:\nI will send to them commanding them to send me again my banners and\nthereby we shall see what they will do. Howbeit, other by fairness or\notherwise, I will have them.' 'That is well said, sir,' quoth the earl\nof Salisbury. Then these new knights were sent to them, and these\nknights made token to them not to shoot at them, and when they came so\nnear them that their speech might be heard, they said: 'Sirs, the king\ncommandeth you to send to him again his banners, and we think he will\nhave mercy of you.' And incontinent they delivered again the banners\nand sent them to the king. Also they were commanded on pain of their\nheads, that all such as had letters of the king to bring them forth\nand to send them again to the king; and so many of them delivered\ntheir letters, but not all. Then the king made them to be all to torn\nin their presence; and as soon as the king's banners were delivered\nagain, these unhappy people kept none array, but the most part of them\ndid cast down their bows, and so brake their array and returned into\nLondon. Sir Robert Knolles was sore displeased in that he might not go\nto slay them all: but the king would not consent thereto, but said he\nwould be revenged of them well enough; and so he was after.\n\n      [5] 'Qui estoit des draps du roy.' He owned large estates in\n      Essex and also shops in London. He became one of the councillors\n      of Richard II.\n\nThus these foolish people departed, some one way and some another; and\nthe king and his lords and all his company right ordinately entered\ninto London with great joy. And the first journey that the king made\nhe went to the lady princess his mother, who was in a castle in the\nRoyal called the Queen's Wardrobe, and there she had tarried two days\nand two nights right sore abashed, as she had good reason; and when\nshe saw the king her son, she was greatly rejoiced and said: 'Ah, fair\nson, what pain and great sorrow that I have suffered for you this\nday!' Then the king answered and said: 'Certainly, madam, I know it\nwell; but now rejoice yourself and thank God, for now it is time. I\nhave this day recovered mine heritage and the realm of England, the\nwhich I had near lost.' Thus the king tarried that day with his\nmother, and every lord went peaceably to their own lodgings. Then\nthere was a cry made in every street in the king's name, that all\nmanner of men, not being of the city of London and have not dwelt\nthere the space of one year, to depart; and if any such be found there\nthe Sunday by the sun-rising, that they should be taken as traitors to\nthe king and to lose their heads. This cry thus made, there was none\nthat durst brake it, and so all manner of people departed and sparkled\nabroad every man to their own places. John Ball and Jack Straw were\nfound in an old house hidden, thinking to have stolen away, but they\ncould not, for they were accused by their own men. Of the taking of\nthem the king and his lords were glad, and then strake off their heads\nand Wat Tyler's also, and they were set on London bridge, and the\nvaliant men's heads taken down that they had set on the Thursday\nbefore. These tidings anon spread abroad, so that the people of the\nstrange countries, which were coming towards London, returned back\nagain to their own houses and durst come no farther.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN\n\nHOW THE EARL DOUGLAS WON THE PENNON OF SIR HENRY PERCY AT THE BARRIERS\nBEFORE NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, AND HOW THE SCOTS BRENT THE CASTLE OF\nPONTLAND, AND HOW SIR HENRY PERCY AND SIR RALPH HIS BROTHER TOOK\nADVICE TO FOLLOW THE SCOTS TO CONQUER AGAIN THE PENNON THAT WAS LOST\nAT THE SCRIMMISH\n\n\nWhen the English lords saw that their squire returned not again at the\ntime appointed, and could know nothing what the Scots did, nor what\nthey were purposed to do, then they thought well that their squire was\ntaken. The lords sent each to other, to be ready whensoever they\nshould hear that the Scots were abroad: as for their messenger, they\nthought him but lost.\n\nNow let us speak of the earl Douglas and other, for they had more to\ndo than they that went by Carlisle. When the earls of Douglas, of\nMoray, of March, and Dunbar[1] departed from the great host, they took\ntheir way thinking to pass the water and to enter into the bishopric\nof Durham, and to ride to the town and then to return, brenning and\nexiling the country and so to come to Newcastle and to lodge there in\nthe town in the despite of all the Englishmen. And as they determined,\nso they did assay to put it in use, for they rode a great pace under\ncovert without doing of any pillage by the way or assaulting of any\ncastle, tower or house, but so came into the lord Percy's land and\npassed the river of Tyne without any let a three leagues above\nNewcastle not far from Brancepeth, and at last entered into the\nbishopric of Durham, where they found a good country. Then they began\nto make war, to slay people and to bren villages and to do many sore\ndispleasures.\n\n      [1] George, earl of March and Dunbar: the text gives Mare, but\n      there was at this time no earl of Mar.\n\nAs at that time the earl of Northumberland and the other lords and\nknights of that country knew nothing of their coming. When tidings\ncame to Newcastle and to Durham that the Scots were abroad, and that\nthey might well see by the fires and smoke abroad in the country, the\nearl sent to Newcastle his two sons and sent commandment to every man\nto draw to Newcastle, saying to his sons: 'Ye shall go to Newcastle\nand all the country shall assemble there, and I shall tarry at\nAlnwick, which is a passage that they must pass by. If we may enclose\nthem, we shall speed well.' Sir Henry Percy and sir Ralph his brother\nobeyed their father's commandment and came thither with them of the\ncountry. The Scots rode burning and exiling the country, that the\nsmoke thereof came to Newcastle. The Scots came to the gates of Durham\nand scrimmished there; but they tarried not long but returned, as they\nhad ordained before to do, and that they found by the way took and\ndestroyed it. Between Durham and Newcastle is but twelve leagues\nEnglish and a good country: there was no town, without it were closed,\nbut it was brent, and they repassed the river of Tyne where they had\npassed before, and then came before Newcastle and there rested. All\nthe English knights and squires of the country of York and bishopric\nof Durham were assembled at Newcastle, and thither came the seneschal\nof York, sir Ralph Lumley, sir Matthew Redman, captain of Berwick, sir\nRobert Ogle, sir Thomas Grey, sir Thomas Holton, sir John Felton, sir\nJohn Lilleburn, sir Thomas Abingdon, the baron of Hilton, sir John\nCoppledike and divers other, so that the town was so full of people\nthat they wist not where to lodge.\n\nWhen these three Scottish earls who were chief captains had made their\nenterprise in the bishopric of Durham and had sore overrun the\ncountry, then they returned to Newcastle and there rested and tarried\ntwo days, and every day they scrimmished. The earl of Northumberland's\ntwo sons were two young lusty knights and were ever foremost at the\nbarriers to scrimmish. There were many proper feats of arms done and\nachieved: there was fighting hand to hand: among other there fought\nhand to hand the earl Douglas and sir Henry Percy, and by force of\narms the earl Douglas won the pennon of sir Henry Percy's, wherewith\nhe was sore displeased and so were all the Englishmen. And the earl\nDouglas said to sir Henry Percy: 'Sir, I shall bear this token of your\nprowess into Scotland and shall set it on high on my castle of\nDalkeith, that it may be seen far off,' 'Sir,' quoth sir Henry, 'ye\nmay be sure ye shall not pass the bounds of this country till ye be\nmet withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunt thereof,'\n'Well, sir,' quoth the earl Douglas, 'come this night to my lodging\nand seek for your pennon: I shall set it before my lodging and see if\nye will come to take it away.' So then it was late, and the Scots\nwithdrew to their lodgings and refreshed them with such as they had.\nThey had flesh enough: they made that night good watch, for they\nthought surely to be awaked for the words they had spoken, but they\nwere not, for sir Henry Percy was counselled not so to do.\n\nThe next day the Scots dislodged and returned towards their own\ncountry, and so came to a castle and a town called Pontland, whereof\nsir Edmund of Alphel was lord, who was a right good knight. There the\nScots rested, for they came thither betimes, and understood that the\nknight was in his castle. Then they ordained to assail the castle, and\ngave a great assault, so that by force of arms they won it and the\nknight within it. Then the town and castle was brent; and from thence\nthe Scots went to the town and castle of Otterburn, an eight English\nmile from Newcastle[2] and there lodged. That day they made none\nassault, but the next morning they blew their horns and made ready to\nassail the castle, which was strong, for it stood in the marish. That\nday they assaulted till they were weary, and did nothing. Then they\nsowned the retreat and returned to their lodgings. Then the lords drew\nto council to determine what they should do. The most part were of the\naccord that the next day they should dislodge without giving of any\nassault and to draw fair and easily towards Carlisle. But the earl\nDouglas brake that counsel and said: 'In despite of sir Henry Percy,\nwho said he would come and win again his pennon, let us not depart\nhence for two or three days. Let us assail this castle: it is\npregnable: we shall have double honour. And then let us see if he will\ncome and fetch his pennon: he shall be well defended.'[3] Every man\naccorded to his saying, what for their honour and for the love of him.\nAlso they lodged there at their ease, for there was none that troubled\nthem: they made many lodgings of boughs and great herbs and fortified\ntheir camp sagely with the marish that was thereby, and their\ncarriages were set at the entry into the marishes and had all their\nbeasts within the marish. Then they apparelled for to assault the next\nday: this was their intention.\n\n      [2] Froissart says 'eight English leagues.' In the next chapter\n      the distance becomes 'seven little leagues,' and later on, 'a\n      six English miles,' where the original is 'lieues.' The actual\n      distance is about thirty miles. The translator gives the form\n      'Combur' here, but 'Ottenburge' in the next chapter, as the\n      name of the place. It is remarkable indeed how little trouble\n      he seems to have taken generally to give English names correctly.\n      In this chapter we have 'Nymyche' for 'Alnwick' and 'Pouclan'\n      for 'Pontland,' forms rather less like the real names than those\n      which he found in the French text, viz. Nynich and Ponclau.\n\n      [3] Froissart says, 'if he comes, it shall be defended.' The\n      translator perhaps means 'he shall be prevented.'\n\nNow let us speak of sir Henry Percy and of sir Ralph his brother and\nshew somewhat what they did. They were sore displeased that the earl\nDouglas had won the pennon of their arms: also it touched greatly\ntheir honours, if they did not as sir Henry Percy said he would; for\nhe had said to the earl Douglas that he should not carry his pennon\nout of England, and also he had openly spoken it before all the\nknights and squires that were at Newcastle. The Englishmen there\nthought surely that the earl Douglas' band was but the Scots' vanguard\nand that their host was left behind. The knights of the country, such\nas were well expert in arms, spake against sir Henry Percy's opinion\nand said to him: 'Sir, there fortuneth in war oftentimes many losses.\nIf the earl Douglas have won your pennon, he bought it dear, for he\ncame to the gate to seek it and was well beaten:[4] another day ye\nshall win as much of him or more. Sir, we say this because we know\nwell all the power of Scotland is abroad in the fields, and if we\nissue out and be not men enow to fight with them, and peradventure\nthey have made this scrimmish with us to the intent to draw us out of\nthe town, and the number that they be of, as it is said, above forty\nthousand men, they may soon enclose us and do with us what they will.\nYet it were better to lose a pennon than two or three hundred knights\nand squires and put all our country in adventure,' These words\nrefrained sir Henry and his brother, for they would do nothing against\ncounsel. Then tidings came to them by such as had seen the Scots and\nseen all their demeanour and what way they took and where they rested.\n\n      [4] i.e. 'well fought with.'\n\n\n\n\nHOW SIR HENRY PERCY AND HIS BROTHER WITH A GOOD NUMBER OF MEN OF ARMS\nAND ARCHERS WENT AFTER THE SCOTS, TO WIN AGAIN HIS PENNON THAT THE\nEARL DOUGLAS HAD WON BEFORE NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, AND HOW THEY ASSAILED\nTHE SCOTS BEFORE OTTERBURN IN THEIR LODGINGS\n\n\nIt was shewed to sir Henry Percy and to his brother and to the other\nknights and squires that were there, by such as had followed the Scots\nfrom Newcastle and had well advised their doing, who said to sir Henry\nand to sir Ralph: 'Sirs, we have followed the Scots privily and have\ndiscovered all the country. The Scots be at Pontland and have taken\nsir Edmund Alphel in his own castle, and from thence they be gone to\nOtterburn and there they lay this night. What they will do to-morrow\nwe know not: they are ordained to abide there: and, sirs, surely their\ngreat host is not with them, for in all they pass not there a three\nthousand men,' When sir Henry heard that, he was joyful and said:\n'Sirs, let us leap on our horses, for by the faith I owe to God and to\nmy lord my father I will go seek for my pennon and dislodge them this\nsame night.' Knights and squires that heard him agreed thereto and\nwere joyous, and every man made him ready.\n\nThe same evening the bishop of Durham came thither with a good\ncompany, for he heard at Durham how the Scots were before Newcastle\nand how that the lord Percy's sons with other lords and knights should\nfight with the Scots: therefore the bishop of Durham to come to the\nrescue had assembled up all the country and so was coming to\nNewcastle. But sir Henry Percy would not abide his coming, for he had\nwith him six hundred spears, knights and squires, and an eight\nthousand footmen. They thought that sufficient number to fight with\nthe Scots, if they were not but three hundred spears and three\nthousand of other. Thus they departed from Newcastle after dinner and\nset forth in good order, and took the same way as the Scots had gone\nand rode to Otterburn, a seven little leagues from thence and fair\nway, but they could not ride fast because of their foot-men. And when\nthe Scots had supped and some laid down to their rest, and were weary\nof travailing and assaulting of the castle all that day, and thought\nto rise early in the morning in cool of the day to give a new assault,\ntherewith suddenly the Englishmen came on them and entered into the\nlodgings, weening it had been the masters' lodgings, and therein were\nbut varlets and servants. Then the Englishmen cried, 'Percy, Percy!'\nand entered into the lodgings, and ye know well where such affray is\nnoise is soon raised: and it fortuned well for the Scots, for when\nthey saw the Englishmen came to wake them, then the lord sent a\ncertain of their servants of foot-men to scrimmish with the Englishmen\nat the entry of the lodgings, and in the mean time they armed and\napparelled them, every man under his banner and under his captain's\npennon. The night was far on, but the moon shone so bright as an it\nhad been in a manner day. It was in the month of August and the\nweather fair and temperate.\n\nThus the Scots were drawn together and without any noise departed from\ntheir lodgings and went about a little mountain, which was greatly for\ntheir advantage. For all the day before they had well advised the\nplace and said among themselves: 'If the Englishmen come on us\nsuddenly, then we will do thus and thus, for it is a jeopardous thing\nin the night if men of war enter into our lodgings. If they do, then\nwe will draw to such a place, and thereby other we shall win or lose.'\nWhen the Englishmen entered into the field, at the first they soon\novercame the varlets, and as they entered further in, always they\nfound new men to busy them and to scrimmish with them. Then suddenly\ncame the Scots from about the mountain and set on the Englishmen or\nthey were ware, and cried their cries; whereof the Englishmen were\nsore astonied. Then they cried 'Percy!' and the other party cried\n'Douglas!'\n\nThere began a cruel battle and at the first encounter many were\noverthrown of both parties; and because the Englishmen were a great\nnumber and greatly desired to vanquish their enemies, and rested at\ntheir pace[1] and greatly did put aback the Scots, so that the Scots\nwere near discomfited. Then the earl James Douglas, who was young and\nstrong and of great desire to get praise and grace, and was willing to\ndeserve to have it, and cared for no pain nor travail, came forth with\nhis banner and cried, 'Douglas, Douglas!' and sir Henry Percy and sir\nRalph his brother, who had great indignation against the earl Douglas\nbecause he had won the pennon of their arms at the barriers before\nNewcastle, came to that part and cried, 'Percy!' Their two banners met\nand their men: there was a sore fight: the Englishmen were so strong\nand fought so valiantly that they reculed the Scots back. There were\ntwo valiant knights of Scots under the banner of the earl Douglas,\ncalled sir Patrick of Hepbourn and sir Patrick his son. They acquitted\nthemselves that day valiantly: the earl's banner had been won, an they\nhad not been: they defended it so valiantly and in the rescuing\nthereof did such feats of arms, that it was greatly to their\nrecommendation and to their heirs' for ever after.\n\n      [1] In French, 'ilz se arresterent,' without 'and.'\n\nIt was shewed me by such as had been at the same battle, as well by\nknights and squires of England as of Scotland, at the house of the\nearl of Foix,--for anon after this battle was done I met at Orthez two\nsquires of England called John of Chateauneuf and John of Cantiron;\nalso when I returned to Avignon I found also there a knight and a\nsquire of Scotland; I knew them and they knew me by such tokens as I\nshewed them of their country, for I, author of this book, in my youth\nhad ridden nigh over all the realm of Scotland, and I was as then a\nfifteen days in the house of earl William Douglas, father to the same\nearl James, of whom I spake of now, in a castle of five leagues from\nEdinburgh in the country of Dalkeith;[2] the same time I saw there\nthis earl James, a fair young child, and a sister of his called the\nlady Blanche,--and I was informed by both these parties[3] how this\nbattle was as sore a battle fought as lightly hath been heard of\nbefore of such a number; and I believe it well, for Englishmen on the\none party and Scots on the other party are good men of war, for when\nthey meet there is a hard fight without sparing, there is no ho\nbetween them as long as spears, swords, axes or daggers will endure,\nbut lay on each upon other, and when they be well beaten[4] and that\nthe one party hath obtained the victory, they then glorify so in their\ndeeds of arms and are so joyful, that such as be taken they shall be\nransomed or they go out of the field, so that shortly each of them is\nso content with other that at their departing-courteously they will\nsay, 'God thank you'; but in fighting one with another there is no\nplay nor sparing, and this is true, and that shall well appear by this\nsaid rencounter, for it was as valiantly foughten as could be devised,\nas ye shall hear.\n\n      [2] 'Which is called in the country Dalkeith.' The French has\n      'que on nomme au pays Dacquest,' of which the translator makes\n      'in the countrey of Alquest.'\n\n      [3] 'By both sides,' i.e. Scotch and English.\n\n      [4] 'When they have well fought.'\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE EARL JAMES DOUGLAS BY HIS VALIANTNESS ENCOURAGED HIS MEN, WHO\nWERE RECULED AND IN A MANNER DISCOMFITED, AND IN HIS SO DOING HE WAS\nWOUNDED TO DEATH\n\n\nKnights and squires were of good courage on both parties to fight\nvaliantly: cowards there had no place, but hardiness reigned with\ngoodly feats of arms, for knights and squires were so joined together\nat hand strokes, that archers had no place of nother party. There the\nScots shewed great hardiness and fought merrily with great desire of\nhonour: the Englishmen were three to one: howbeit, I say not but\nEnglishmen did nobly acquit themselves, for ever the Englishmen had\nrather been slain or taken in the place than to fly. Thus, as I have\nsaid, the banners of Douglas and Percy and their men were met each\nagainst other, envious who should win the honour of that journey. At\nthe beginning the Englishmen were so strong that they reculed back\ntheir enemies: then the earl Douglas, who was of great heart and high\nof enterprise, seeing his men recule back, then to recover the place\nand to shew knightly valour he took his axe in both his hands, and\nentered so into the press that he made himself way in such wise, that\nnone durst approach near him, and he was so well armed that he bare\nwell off such strokes as he received.[1] Thus he went ever forward\nlike a hardy Hector, willing alone to conquer the field and to\ndiscomfit his enemies: but at last he was encountered with three\nspears all at once, the one strake him on the shoulder, the other on\nthe breast and the stroke glinted down to his belly, and the third\nstrake him in the thigh, and sore hurt with all three strokes, so that\nhe was borne perforce to the earth and after that he could not be\nagain relieved. Some of his knights and squires followed him, but not\nall, for it was night, and no light but by the shining of the moon.\nThe Englishmen knew well they had borne one down to the earth, but\nthey wist not who it was; for if they had known that it had been the\nearl Douglas, they had been thereof so joyful and so proud that the\nvictory had been theirs. Nor also the Scots knew not of that adventure\ntill the end of the battle; for if they had known it, they should have\nbeen so sore despaired and discouraged that they would have fled away.\nThus as the earl Douglas was felled to the earth, he was stricken into\nthe head with an axe, and another stroke through the thigh: the\nEnglishmen passed forth and took no heed of him: they thought none\notherwise but that they had slain a man of arms. On the other part the\nearl George de la March and of Dunbar fought right valiantly and gave\nthe Englishmen much ado, and cried, 'Follow Douglas,' and set on the\nsons of Percy: also earl John of Moray with his banner and men fought\nvaliantly and set fiercely on the Englishmen, and gave them so much to\ndo that they wist not to whom to attend.\n\n      [1] 'No man was so well armed that he did not fear the great\n      strokes which he gave.'\n\n\n\n\nHOW IN THIS BATTLE SIR RALPH PERCY WAS SORE HURT AND TAKEN PRISONER BY\nA SCOTTISH KNIGHT\n\n\nOf all the battles and encounterings that I have made mention of\nherebefore in all this history, great or small, this battle that I\ntreat of now was one of the sorest and best foughten without cowardice\nor faint hearts. For there was nother knight nor squire but that did\nhis devoir and fought hand to hand: this battle was like the battle of\nBecherel,[1] the which was valiantly fought and endured. The earl of\nNorthumberland's sons, sir Henry and sir Ralph Percy, who were chief\nsovereign captains, acquitted themselves nobly, and sir Ralph Percy\nentered in so far among his enemies that he was closed in and hurt,\nand so sore handled that his breath was so short, that he was taken\nprisoner by a knight of the earl of Moray's called sir John Maxwell.\nIn the taking the Scottish knight demanded what he was, for it was in\nthe night, so that he knew him not, and sir Ralph was so sore overcome\nand bled fast, that at last he said: 'I am Ralph Percy.' Then the Scot\nsaid: 'Sir Ralph, rescue or no rescue I take you for my prisoner: I am\nMaxwell.' 'Well,' quoth sir Ralph, 'I am content: but then take heed\nto me, for I am sore hurt, my hosen and my greaves are full of blood,'\nThen the knight saw by him the earl Moray and said: 'Sir, here I\ndeliver to you sir Ralph Percy as prisoner; but, sir, let good heed be\ntaken to him, for he is sore hurt.' The earl was joyful of these words\nand said: 'Maxwell, thou hast well won thy spurs.' Then he delivered\nsir Ralph Percy to certain of his men, and they stopped and wrapped\nhis wounds: and still the battle endured, not knowing who had as then\nthe better, for there were many taken and rescued again that came to\nno knowledge.\n\n      [1] Or, according to another reading, 'Cocherel.'\n\nNow let us speak of the young James earl of Douglas, who did marvels\nin arms or he was beaten down. When he was overthrown, the press was\ngreat about him, so that he could not relieve, for with an axe he had\nhis death's wound. His men followed him as near as they could, and\nthere came to him sir James Lindsay his cousin and sir John and sir\nWalter Sinclair and other knights and squires. And by him was a gentle\nknight of his, who followed him all the day, and a chaplain of his,\nnot like a priest but like a valiant man of arms, for all that night\nhe followed the earl with a good axe in his hands and still\nscrimmished about the earl thereas he lay, and reculed back some of\nthe Englishmen with great strokes that he gave. Thus he was found\nfighting near to his master, whereby he had great praise, and thereby\nthe same year he was made archdeacon of Aberdeen. This priest was\ncalled sir William of North Berwick: he was a tall man and a hardy and\nwas sore hurt. When these knights came to the earl, they found him in\nan evil case and a knight of his lying by him called sir Robert Hart:\nhe had a fifteen wounds in one place and other. Then sir John Sinclair\ndemanded of the earl how he did. 'Right evil, cousin,' quoth the earl,\n'but thanked be God there hath been but a few of mine ancestors that\nhath died in their beds: but, cousin, I require you think to revenge\nme, for I reckon myself but dead, for my heart fainteth oftentimes. My\ncousin Walter and you, I pray you raise up again my banner which lieth\non the ground, and my squire Davie Collemine slain: but, sirs, shew\nnother to friend nor foe in what case ye see me in; for if mine\nenemies knew it, they would rejoice, and our friends discomforted.'\nThe two brethren of Sinclair and sir James Lindsay did as the earl had\ndesired them and raised up again his banner and cried 'Douglas!' Such\nas were behind and heard that cry drew together and set on their\nenemies valiantly and reculed back the Englishmen and many overthrown,\nand so drave the Englishmen back beyond the place whereas the earl\nlay, who was by that time dead, and so came to the earl's banner, the\nwhich sir John Sinclair held in his hands, and many good knights and\nsquires of Scotland about him, and still company drew to the cry of\n'Douglas.' Thither came the earl Moray with his banner well\naccompanied, and also the earl de la March and of Dunbar, and when\nthey saw the Englishmen recule and their company assembled together,\nthey renewed again the battle and gave many hard and sad strokes.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE SCOTS WON THE BATTLE AGAINST THE ENGLISHMEN BESIDE OTTERBURN,\nAND THERE WAS TAKEN PRISONERS SIR HENRY AND SIR RALPH PERCY, AND HOW\nAN ENGLISH SQUIRE WOULD NOT YIELD HIM, NO MORE WOULD A SCOTTISH\nSQUIRE, AND SO DIED BOTH; AND HOW THE BISHOP OF DURHAM AND HIS COMPANY\nWERE DISCOMFITED AMONG THEMSELVES\n\n\nTo say truth, the Englishmen were sorer travailed than the Scots, for\nthey came the same day from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a six English miles,\nand went a great pace to the intent to find the Scots, which they did;\nso that by their fast going they were near out of breath, and the\nScots were fresh and well rested, which greatly availed them when time\nwas of their business: for in the last scrimmish they reculed back the\nEnglishmen in such wise, that after that they could no more assemble\ntogether, for the Scots passed through their battles. And it fortuned\nthat sir Henry Percy and the lord of Montgomery, a valiant knight of\nScotland, fought together hand to hand right valiantly without letting\nof any other, for every man had enough to do. So long they two fought\nthat per force of arms sir Henry Percy was taken prisoner by the said\nlord of Montgomery.\n\nThe knights and squires of Scotland, as sir Marc Adreman,[1] sir\nThomas Erskine, sir William, sir James and sir Alexander Lindsay, the\nlord of Fenton, sir John of Saint-Moreaulx,[2] sir Patrick of Dunbar,\nsir John and sir Walter Sinclair, sir John Maxwell, sir Guy Stuart,\nsir John Haliburton, sir Alexander Ramsay, Robert Collemine[3] and his\ntwo sons John and Robert; who were there made knights, and a hundred\nknights and squires that I cannot name, all these right valiantly did\nacquit themselves. And on the English party, before that the lord\nPercy was taken and after, there fought valiantly sir Ralph Lumley,\nsir Matthew Redman, sir Thomas Ogle, sir Thomas Gray, sir Thomas\nHelton, sir Thomas Abingdon, sir John Lilleburn, sir William\nWalsingham, the baron of Helton, sir John of Colpedich,[4] the\nseneschal of York and divers other footmen. Whereto should I write\nlong process? This was a sore battle and well foughten; and as fortune\nis always changeable, though the Englishmen were more in number than\nthe Scots and were right valiant men of war and well expert, and that\nat the first front they reculed back the Scots, yet finally the Scots\nobtained the place and victory, and all the foresaid Englishmen taken,\nand a hundred more, saving sir Matthew Redman, captain of Berwick, who\nwhen he knew no remedy nor recoverance, and saw his company fly from\nthe Scots and yielded them on every side, then he took his horse and\ndeparted to save himself.\n\n      [1] Perhaps 'Malcolm Drummond.'\n\n      [2] The true reading seems to be 'Sandilands.'\n\n      [3] Perhaps 'Coningham.'\n\n      [4] Either 'Copeland' or 'Copeldike.'\n\nThe same season about the end of this discomfiture there was an\nEnglish squire called Thomas Waltham, a goodly and a valiant man, and\nthat was well seen, for of all that night he would nother fly nor yet\nyield him. It was said he had made a vow at a feast in England, that\nthe first time that ever he saw Englishmen and Scots in battle, he\nwould so do his devoir to his power, in such wise that either he would\nbe reputed for the best doer on both sides or else to die in the pain.\nHe was called a valiant and a hardy man and did so much by his\nprowess, that under the banner of the earl of Moray he did such\nvaliantness in arms, that the Scots had marvel thereof, and so was\nslain in fighting: the Scots would gladly have taken him alive, but he\nwould never yield, he hoped ever to have been rescued. And with him\nthere was a Scottish squire slain, cousin to the king of Scots, called\nSimon Glendowyn; his death was greatly complained of the Scots.\n\nThis battle was fierce and cruel till it came to the end of the\ndiscomfiture; but when the Scots saw the Englishmen recule and yield\nthemselves, then the Scots were courteous and set them to their\nransom, and every man said to his prisoner: 'Sirs, go and unarm you\nand take your ease; I am your master:' and so made their prisoners as\ngood cheer as though they had been brethren, without doing to them any\ndamage. The chase endured a five English miles, and if the Scots had\nbeen men enow, there had none scaped, but other they had been taken or\nslain. And if Archambault Douglas and the earl of Fife, the earl\nSutherland and other of the great company who were gone towards\nCarlisle had been there, by all likelihood they had taken the bishop\nof Durham and the town of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. I shall shew you how.\nThe same evening that the Percies departed from Newcastle, as ye have\nheard before, the bishop of Durham with the rearband came to Newcastle\nand supped: and as he sat at the table, he had imagination in himself\nhow he did not acquit himself well to see the Englishmen in the field\nand he to be within the town. Incontinent he caused the table to be\ntaken away and commanded to saddle his horses and to sown the\ntrumpets, and called up men in the town to arm themselves and to mount\non their horses, and foot-men to order themselves to depart. And thus\nevery man departed out of the town to the number of seven thousand,\ntwo thousand on horseback and five thousand afoot; they took their way\ntoward Otterburn, whereas the battle had been. And by that time they\nhad gone two mile[5] from Newcastle tidings came to them how their men\nwere fighting with the Scots. Therewith the bishop rested there, and\nincontinent came more flying fast, that they were out of breath. Then\nthey were demanded how the matter went. They answered and said: 'Right\nevil; we be all discomfited: here cometh the Scots chasing of us.'\nThese tidings troubled the Englishmen, and began to doubt. And again\nthe third time men came flying as fast as they might. When the men of\nthe bishopric of Durham heard of these evil tidings, they were abashed\nin such wise that they brake their array, so that the bishop could not\nhold together the number of five hundred. It was thought that if the\nScots had followed them in any number, seeing that it was night, that\nin the entering into the town, and the Englishmen so abashed, the town\nhad been won.\n\n      [5] The word 'lieue' is translated 'mile' throughout.\n\nThe bishop of Durham, being in the field, had good will to have\nsuccoured the Englishmen and recomforted his men as much as he could;\nbut he saw his own men fly as well as other. Then he demanded counsel\nof sir William Lucy and of sir Thomas Clifford and of other knights,\nwhat was best to do. These knights for their honour would give him no\ncounsel; for they thought to return again and do nothing should sown\ngreatly to their blame, and to go forth might be to their great\ndamage; and so stood still and would give none answer, and the longer\nthey stood, the fewer they were, for some still stale away. Then the\nbishop said: 'Sirs, all things considered, it is none honour to put\nall in peril, nor to make of one evil damage twain. We hear how our\ncompany be discomfited, and we cannot remedy it: for to go to recover\nthem, we know not with whom nor with what number we shall meet. Let us\nreturn fair and easily for this night to Newcastle, and to-morrow let\nus draw together and go look on our enemies.' Every man answered: 'As\nGod will, so be it.' Therewith they returned to Newcastle. Thus a man\nmay consider the great default that is in men that be abashed and\ndiscomfited: for if they had kept them together and have turned again\nsuch as fled, they had discomfited the Scots. This was the opinion of\ndivers; and because they did not thus, the Scots had the victory.\n\n\n\n\nHOW SIR MATTHEW REDMEN DEPARTED FROM THE BATTLE TO SAVE HIMSELF; AND\nHOW SIR JAMES LINDSAY WAS TAKEN PRISONER BY THE BISHOP OF DURHAM; AND\nHOW AFTER THE BATTLE SCURRERS WERE SENT FORTH TO DISCOVER THE COUNTRY\n\n\nI shall shew you of sir Matthew Redman, who was on horseback to save\nhimself, for he alone could not remedy the matter. At his departing\nsir James Lindsay was near to him and saw how sir Matthew departed,\nand this sir James, to win honour, followed in chase sir Matthew\nRedman, and came so near him that he might have striken him with his\nspear, if he had list. Then he said: 'Ah, sir knight, turn; it is a\nshame thus to fly: I am James of Lindsay: if ye will not turn, I shall\nstrike you on the back with my spear.' Sir Matthew spake no word, but\nstrake his horse with the spurs sorer than he did before. In this\nmanner he chased him more than three miles, and at last sir Matthew\nRedman's horse foundered and fell under him. Then he stept forth on\nthe earth and drew out his sword, and took courage to defend himself;\nand the Scot thought to have stricken him on the breast, but sir\nMatthew Redman swerved from the stroke, and the spear-point entered\ninto the earth. Then sir Matthew strake asunder the spear with his\nsword; and when sir James Lindsay saw how he had lost his spear, he\ncast away the truncheon and lighted afoot, and took a little\nbattle-axe that he carried at his back and handled it with his one\nhand quickly and deliverly, in the which feat Scots be well expert,\nand then he set at sir Matthew and he defended himself properly. Thus\nthey tourneyed together, one with an axe and the other with a sword, a\nlong season, and no man to let them. Finally sir James Lindsay gave\nthe knight such strokes and held him so short, that he was put out of\nbreath in such wise that he yielded himself, and said: 'Sir James\nLindsay, I yield me to you.' 'Well,' quoth he, 'and I receive you,\nrescue or no rescue,' 'I am content,' quoth Redman, 'so ye deal with\nme like a good companion.' 'I shall not fail that,' quoth Lindsay, and\nso put up his sword. 'Well, sir,' quoth Redman, 'what will you now\nthat I shall do? I am your prisoner, ye have conquered me. I would\ngladly go again to Newcastle, and within fifteen days I shall come to\nyou into Scotland, whereas ye shall assign me.' 'I am content,' quoth\nLindsay: 'ye shall promise by your faith to present yourself within\nthis three weeks at Edinboro, and wheresoever ye go, to repute\nyourself my prisoner,' All this sir Matthew sware and promised to\nfulfil. Then each of them took their horses and took leave each of\nother. Sir James returned, and his intent was to go to his own company\nthe same way that he came, and sir Matthew Redman to Newcastle.\n\nSir James Lindsay could not keep the right way as he came: it was dark\nand a mist, and he had not ridden half a mile, but he met face to face\nwith the bishop of Durham and more than five hundred Englishmen with\nhim. He might well escaped if he had would, but he supposed it had\nbeen his own company, that had pursued the Englishmen. When he was\namong them, one demanded of him what he was. 'I am,' quoth he, 'sir\nJames Lindsay,' The bishop heard those words and stept to him and\nsaid: 'Lindsay, ye are taken: yield ye to me.' 'Who be you?' quoth\nLindsay. 'l am,' quoth he, 'the bishop of Durham.' 'And from whence\ncome you, sir?' quoth Lindsay. 'I come from the battle,' quoth the\nbishop, 'but I struck never a stroke there. I go back to Newcastle for\nthis night, and ye shall go with me,' 'I may not choose,' quoth\nLindsay, 'sith ye will have it so. I have taken and I am taken; such\nis the adventures of arms.' 'Whom have ye taken?' quoth the bishop.\n'Sir,' quoth he, 'I took in the chase sir Matthew Redman.' 'And where\nis he?' quoth the bishop. 'By my faith, sir, he is returned to\nNewcastle: he desired me to trust him on his faith for three weeks,\nand so have I done,' 'Well,' quoth the bishop, 'let us go to\nNewcastle, and there ye shall speak with him.' Thus they rode to\nNewcastle together, and sir James Lindsay was prisoner to the bishop\nof Durham.\n\nUnder the banner of the earl de la March and of Dunbar was taken a\nsquire of Gascoyne, called John of Chateauneuf, and under the banner\nof the earl of Moray was taken his companion John de Camiron. Thus the\nfield was clean avoided, or the day appeared. The Scots drew together\nand took guides and sent out scurrers to see if any men were in the\nway from Newcastle, to the intent that they would not be troubled in\ntheir lodgings; wherein they did wisely, for when the bishop of Durham\nwas come again to Newcastle and in his lodging, he was sore pensive\nand wist not what to say nor do; for he heard say how his cousins the\nPercies were slain or taken, and all the knights that were with them.\nThen he sent for all the knights and squires that were in the town;\nand when they were come, he demanded of them if they should leave the\nmatter in that case, and said: 'Sirs, we shall bear great blame if we\nthus return without looking on our enemies,' Then they concluded by\nthe sun-rising every man to be armed, and on horseback and afoot to\ndepart out of the town and to go to Otterburn to fight with the Scots.\nThis was warned through the town by a trumpet, and every man armed\nthem and assembled before the bridge, and by the sun-rising they\ndeparted by the gate towards Berwick and took the way towards\nOtterburn to the number of ten thousand, what afoot and a-horseback.\nThey were not gone past two mile from Newcastle, when the Scots were\nsignified that the bishop of Durham was coming to themward to fight:\nthis they knew by their spies, such as they had set in the fields.\n\nAfter that sir Matthew Redman was returned to Newcastle and had shewed\nto divers how he had been taken prisoner by sir James Lindsay, then it\nwas shewed him how the bishop of Durham had taken the said sir James\nLindsay and how that he was there in the town as his prisoner. As soon\nas the bishop was departed, sir Matthew Redman went to the bishop's\nlodging to see his master, and there he found him in a study, lying in\na window,[1] and said: 'What, sir James Lindsay, what make you here?'\nThen sir James came forth of the study to him and gave him good\nmorrow, and said: 'By my faith, sir Matthew, fortune hath brought me\nhither; for as soon as I was departed from you, I met by chance the\nbishop of Durham, to whom I am prisoner, as ye be to me. I believe ye\nshall not need to come to Edinboro to me to make your finance: I think\nrather we shall make an exchange one for another, if the bishop be so\ncontent.' 'Well, sir,' quoth Redman, 'we shall accord right well\ntogether, ye shall dine this day with me: the bishop and our men be\ngone forth to fight with your men, I cannot tell what shall fall, we\nshall know at their return.' 'I am content to dine with you,' quoth\nLindsay. Thus these two knights dined together in Newcastle.\n\n      [1] Or rather, 'very pensive leaning against a window,' and\n      afterwards the expression 'came forth of the study to him'\n      should be 'broke off his thought and came towards him.'\n\nWhen the knights of Scotland were informed how the bishop of Durham\ncame on them with ten thousand men, they drew to council to see what\nwas best for them to do, other to depart or else to abide the\nadventure. All things considered, they concluded to abide, for they\nsaid they could not be in a better nor a stronger place than they were\nin already; they had many prisoners and they could not carry them\naway, if they should have departed; and also they had many of their\nmen hurt and also some of their prisoners, whom they thought they\nwould not leave behind them. Thus they drew together and ordered so\ntheir field, that there was no entry but one way, and they set all\ntheir prisoners together and made them to promise how that, rescue or\nno rescue, they should be their prisoners. After that they made all\ntheir minstrels to blow up all at once and made the greatest revel of\nthe world. Lightly it is the usage of Scots, that when they be thus\nassembled together in arms, the footmen beareth about their necks\nhorns in manner like hunters, some great, some small, and of all\nsorts, so that when they blow all at once, they make such a noise,\nthat it may be heard nigh four miles off: thus they do to abash their\nenemies and to rejoice themselves. When the bishop of Durham with his\nbanner and ten thousand men with him were approached, within a league,\nthen the Scots blew their horns in such wise, that it seemed that all\nthe devils in hell had been among them, so that such as heard them and\nknew not of their usage were sore abashed. This blowing and noise\nendured a long space and then ceased: and by that time the Englishmen\nwere within less than a mile. Then the Scots began to blow again and\nmade a great noise, and as long endured as it did before. Then the\nbishop approached with his battle well ranged in good order and came\nwithin the sight of the Scots, as within two bow-shot or less: then\nthe Scots blew again their horns a long space. The bishop stood still\nto see what the Scots would do and aviewed them well and saw how they\nwere in a strong ground greatly to their advantage. Then the bishop\ntook counsel what was best for him to do; but all things well advised,\nthey were not in purpose to enter in among the Scots to assail them,\nbut returned without doing of anything, for they saw well they might\nrather lose than win.\n\nWhen the Scots saw the Englishmen recule and that they should have no\nbattle, they went to their lodgings and made merry, and then ordained\nto depart from thence. And because that sir Ralph Percy was sore hurt,\nhe desired of his master that he might return to Newcastle or into\nsome place, whereas it pleased him unto such time as he were whole of\nhis hurts, promising, as soon as he were able to ride, to return into\nScotland, other to Edinboro or into any other place appointed. The\nearl of March, under whom he was taken, agreed thereto and delivered\nhim a horse litter and sent him away; and by like covenant divers\nother knights and squires were suffered to return and took term other\nto return or else to pay their finance, such as they were appointed\nunto. It was shewed me by the information of the Scots, such as had\nbeen at this said battle that was between Newcastle and Otterburn in\nthe year of our Lord God a thousand three hundred fourscore and eight,\nthe nineteenth day of August, how that there were taken prisoners of\nthe English party a thousand and forty men, one and other, and slain\nin the field and in the chase eighteen hundred and forty, and sore\nhurt more than a thousand: and of the Scots there were a hundred\nslain, and taken in the chase more than two hundred; for as the\nEnglishmen fled, when they saw any advantage they returned again and\nfought: by that means the Scots were taken and none otherwise. Every\nman may well consider that it was a well fought field, when there were\nso many slain and taken on both parties.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE SCOTS DEPARTED AND CARRIED WITH THEM THE EARL DOUGLAS DEAD,\nAND BURIED HIM IN THE ABBEY OF MELROSE; AND HOW SIR ARCHAMBAULT\nDOUGLAS AND HIS COMPANY DEPARTED FROM BEFORE CARLISLE AND RETURNED\nINTO SCOTLAND\n\n\nAfter this battle thus finished, every man returned,[1] and the earl\nDouglas' dead body chested and laid in a chare, and with him sir\nRobert Hart and Simon Glendowyn, then they prepared to depart: so they\ndeparted and led with them sir Henry Percy and more than forty knights\nof England, and took the way to the abbey of Melrose. At their\ndeparting they set fire in their lodgings, and rode all the day, and\nyet lay that night in the English ground: none denied them. The next\nday they dislodged early in the morning and so came that day to\nMelrose. It is an abbey of black monks on the border between both\nrealms. There they rested and buried the earl James Douglas. The\nsecond day after his obsequy was done reverently, and on his body laid\na tomb of stone and his banner hanging over him. Whether there were as\nthen any more earls of Douglas, to whom the land returned, or not, I\ncannot tell; for I, sir John Froissart, author of the book, was in\nScotland in the earl's castle of Dalkeith, living earl William, at\nwhich time he had two children, a son and a daughter; but after there\nwere many of the Douglases, for I have seen a five brethren, all\nsquires, bearing the name of Douglas, in the king of Scotland's house,\nDavid; they were sons to a knight in Scotland called sir James\nDouglas, and they bare in their arms gold, three oreilles gules, but\nas for the heritage, I know not who had it: as for sir Archambault\nDouglas, of whom I have spoken before in this history in divers\nplaces, who was a valiant knight, and greatly redoubted of the\nEnglishmen, he was but a bastard.\n\n      [1] That is, 'After the battle was over and every man had\n      returned,' but it should be, 'After all this was done and\n      everything was gathered together.'\n\nWhen these Scots had been at Melrose abbey and done there all that\nthey came thither for, then they departed each from other and went\ninto their own countries, and such as had prisoners, some led them\naway with them and some were ransomed and suffered to return. Thus\nthe Englishmen found the Scots right courteous and gentle in their\ndeliverance and ransom, so that they were well content. This was\nshewed me in the country of Bearn in the earl of Foix's house by a\nknight named John of Chateauneuf, who was taken prisoner at the same\njourney under the banner of the earl of March and Dunbar: and he\ngreatly praised the said earl, for he suffered him to pass in manner\nas he desired himself.\n\nThus these men of war of Scotland departed, and ransomed their\nprisoners as soon as they might right courteously, and so returned\nlittle and little into their own countries. And it was shewed me and I\nbelieve it well, that the Scots had by reason of that journey two\nhundred thousand franks for ransoming of prisoners: for sith the\nbattle that was before Stirling in Scotland, whereas sir Robert of\nBruce, sir William Douglas, sir Robert Versy, sir Simon Fraser and\nother Scots chased the Englishmen three days, they never had journey\nso profitable nor so honourable for them, as this was. When tidings\ncame to the other company of the Scots that were beside Carlisle, how\ntheir company had distressed the Englishmen beside Otterburn, they\nwere greatly rejoiced, and displeased in their minds that they had not\nbeen there. Then they determined to dislodge and to draw into their\nown countries, seeing their other company were withdrawn. Thus they\ndislodged and entered into Scotland.\n\nNow let us leave to speak of the Scots and of the Englishmen for this\ntime, and let us return to the young Charles of France, who with a\ngreat people went into Almaine, to bring the duke of Gueldres to\nreason.\n\nWhen the French king and all his army were past the river of Meuse at\nthe bridge of Morsay, they took the way of Ardennes and of Luxembourg,\nand always the pioneers were before, beating woods and bushes and\nmaking the ways plain. The duke of Juliers and his country greatly\ndoubted the coming of the French king, for they knew well they should\nhave the first assault and bear the first burden: and the land of\nJuliers is a plain country; in one day the men of war should do much\ndamage there, and destroy and waste all, except the castles and good\ntowns. Thus the French king entered into the country of Luxembourg and\ncame to an abbey, whereas Wenceslas sometime duke of Brabant was\nburied. There the king tarried two days: then he departed and took the\nway through Bastogne, and lodged within a league whereas the duchess\nof Brabant lay. She sent word of her being there to the duke of\nBurgoyne, and he brought her into the field to speak with the king,\nwho received her right honourably, and there communed together. Then\nthe duchess returned to Bastogne, and thither she was conveyed with\nsir John of Vienne and sir Guy of Tremouille; and the next day the\nking went forward, approaching to the land of his enemies, and came to\nthe entering into Almaine, on the frontiers of the duchy of Juliers.\nBut or he came so far forward, Arnold bishop of Liege had been with\nthe king and had greatly entreated for the duke of Juliers, that the\nking should not be miscontent with him, though he were father to the\nduke of Gueldres; for he excused him of the defiance that his son had\nmade, affirming how it was not by his knowledge nor consent,\nwherefore, he said, it were pity that the father should bear the\ndefault of the son. This excuse was not sufficient to the king nor to\nhis uncles: for the intent of the king and his council was, without\nthe duke of Juliers would come and make other manner of excuse, and to\nyield himself to the king's pleasure, his country should be the first\nthat should bear the burden. Then the bishop of Liege and the lords of\nHesbaing and the councils of the good towns offered to the king and\nhis council wholly the bishopric of Liege for his army to pass and\nrepass paying for their expenses, and to rest and refresh them there\nas long as it pleased them. The king thanked them, and so did his\nuncles, and would not refuse their offer, for he knew not what need he\nshould have after.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOLY GRAIL FROM THE BOOK OF KING ARTHUR\n\nBY\n\nSIR THOMAS MALORY\n\n\n_INTRODUCTORY NOTE\n\nThe earliest extant form of the story of the Holy Grail is the French\nmetrical romance of \"Perceval\" or \"Le Conte du Graal\" of Chr\u00e9tien de\nTroies, written about 1175. Chr\u00e9tien died leaving the poem unfinished,\nand it was continued by three other authors till it reached the vast\nsize of 63,000 lines. The religious signification of the Grail is\nsupposed to have been attached to it early in the thirteenth century\nby Robert de Boron; and, perhaps a little later, in the French prose\n\"Quest of the Holy Grail,\" Galahad takes the place of Perceval as the\nhero of the story. The later history of the various versions of the\nlegend is highly intricate, and in many points uncertain. It was from\na form of it embodied in the French prose \"Lancelot\" that Sir Thomas\nMalory drew the chapters of his \"Morte d'Arthur\" which are here\nreprinted, and which, more than the earlier versions, are the source\nfrom which the legend has passed into modern English poetry.\n\nUntil a few years ago Malory himself was little more than a name, our\ninformation about him being limited to the statement in Caxton's\nedition of the \"Morte d'Arthur\" that he was the author. It now appears\nprobable, however, that Sir Thomas Malory was an English knight born\nabout 1400, of an old Warwickshire family. He served in the French\nwars under Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, \"whom all Europe\nrecognized as embodying the knightly ideal of the age\" and may well\nhave owed his enthusiasm for chivalry to his association with this\ndistinguished nobleman. He died in 1471.\n\nMalory's book is a compilation from French and English sources. These\nare chosen without much discrimination, and put together without great\nskill in arrangement. But the author's whole-hearted enthusiasm for\nchivalrous ideals and the noble simplicity and fine rhythm of his\nprose have combined to give his work a unique place in English\nliterature. In it the age of chivalry is summed up and closed. It is\nnot without reason that the date of its publication by Caxton, 1485,\nshould be conventionally accepted as the end of the Middle Ages in\nEngland. Romance had passed under the printing press, and a new age\nhad begun._\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOLY GRAIL\n\nBEING BOOKS XIII, XIV, XV, XVI and XVII OF THE BOOK OF KING ARTHUR AND\nOF HIS NOBLE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRTEENTH BOOK.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHOW AT THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST OF PENTECOST ENTERED INTO THE HALL\nBEFORE KING ARTHUR A DAMOSEL, AND DESIRED SIR LAUNCELOT FOR TO COME\nAND DUB A KNIGHT, AND HOW HE WENT WITH HER\n\n\nAt the vigil of Pentecost, when all the fellowship of the Round Table\nwere come unto Camelot and there heard their service, and the tables\nwere set ready to the meat, right so entered into the hall a full fair\ngentlewoman on horseback, that had ridden full fast, for her horse was\nall besweated. Then she there alit, and came before the king and\nsaluted him; and he said: Damosel, God thee bless. Sir, said she, for\nGod's sake say me where Sir Launcelot is. Yonder ye may see him, said\nthe king. Then she went unto Launcelot and said: Sir Launcelot, I\nsalute you on King Pelles' behalf, and I require you come on with me\nhereby into a forest. Then Sir Launcelot asked her with whom she\ndwelled. I dwell, said she, with King Pelles. What will ye with me?\nsaid Launcelot. Ye shall know, said she, when ye come thither. Well,\nsaid he, I will gladly go with you. So Sir Launcelot bad his squire\nsaddle his horse and bring his arms; and in all haste he did his\ncommandment. Then came the queen unto Launcelot, and said: Will ye\nleave us at this high feast? Madam, said the gentlewoman, wit ye well\nhe shall be with you tomorn by dinner time. If I wist, said the queen,\nthat he should not be with us here tomorn he should not go with you by\nmy good will. Right so departed Sir Launcelot with the gentlewoman,\nand rode until that he came into a forest and into a great valley,\nwhere they saw an abbey of nuns; and there was a squire ready and\nopened the gates, and so they entered and descended off their horses;\nand there came a fair fellowship about Sir Launcelot, and welcomed\nhim, and were passing glad of his coming. And then they led him unto\nthe Abbess's chamber and unarmed him; and right so he was ware upon a\nbed lying two of his cousins, Sir Bors and Sir Lionel, and then he\nwaked them; and when they saw him they made great joy. Sir, said Sir\nBors unto Sir Launcelot, what adventure hath brought you hither, for\nwe weened tomorn to have found you at Camelot? As God me help, said\nSir Launcelot, a gentlewoman brought me hither, but I know not the\ncause. In the meanwhile that they thus stood talking together, therein\ncame twelve nuns that brought with them Galahad, the which was passing\nfair and well made, that unnethe in the world men might not find his\nmatch: and all those ladies wept. Sir, said they all, we bring you\nhere this child the which we have nourished, and we pray you to make\nhim a knight, for of a more worthier man's hand may he not receive the\norder of knighthood. Sir Launcelot beheld the young squire and saw him\nseemly and demure as a dove, with all manner of good features, that he\nweened of his age never to have seen so fair a man of form. Then said\nSir Launcelot: Cometh this desire of himself? He and all they said\nyea. Then shall he, said Sir Launcelot, receive the high order of\nknighthood as tomorn at the reverence of the high feast. That night\nSir Launcelot had passing good cheer; and on the morn at the hour of\nprime, at Galahad's desire, he made him knight and said: God make him\na good man, for of beauty faileth you not as any that liveth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nHOW THE LETTERS WERE FOUND WRITTEN IN THE SIEGE PERILOUS, AND OF THE\nMARVELLOUS ADVENTURE OF THE SWORD IN A STONE\n\n\nNow fair sir, said Sir Launcelot, will ye come with me unto the court\nof King Arthur? Nay, said he, I will not go with you as at this time.\nThen he departed from them and took his two cousins with him, and so\nthey came unto Camelot by the hour of underne on Whitsunday. By that\ntime the king and the queen were gone to the minster to hear their\nservice. Then the king and the queen were passing glad of Sir Bors and\nSir Lionel, and so was all the fellowship. So when the king and all\nthe knights were come from service, the barons espied in the sieges of\nthe Round Table all about, written with golden letters: Here ought to\nsit he, and he ought to sit here. And thus they went so long till that\nthey came to the Siege Perilous, where they found letters newly\nwritten of gold which said: Four hundred winters and four and fifty\naccomplished after the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ ought this\nsiege to be fulfilled. Then all they said: This is a marvellous thing\nand an adventurous. In the name of God, said Sir Launcelot; and then\naccounted the term of the writing from the birth of our Lord unto that\nday. It seemeth me, said Sir Launcelot, this siege ought to be\nfulfilled this same day, for this is the feast of Pentecost after the\nfour hundred and four and fifty year; and if it would please all\nparties, I would none of these letters were seen this day, till he be\ncome that ought to achieve this adventure. Then made they to ordain a\ncloth of silk, for to cover these letters in the Siege Perilous. Then\nthe king bad haste unto dinner. Sir, said Sir Kay the Steward, if ye\ngo now to your meat ye shall break your old custom of your court, for\nye have not used on this day to sit at your meat or that ye have seen\nsome adventure. Ye say sooth, said the king, but I had so great joy of\nSir Launcelot and of his cousins, which he come to the court whole and\nsound, so that I bethought me not of mine old custom. So, as they\nstood speaking, in came a squire and said unto the king: Sir, I bring\nunto you marvellous tidings. What be they? said the king. Sir, there\nis here beneath at the river a great stone which I saw fleet above the\nwater, and therein I saw sticking a sword. The king said: I will see\nthat marvel. So all the knights went with him, and when they came to\nthe river they found there a stone fleeting, as it were of red marble,\nand therein stuck a fair rich sword, and in the pommel thereof were\nprecious stones wrought with subtil letters of gold. Then the barons\nread the letters which said in this wise: Never shall man take me\nhence, but only he by whose side I ought to hang, and he shall be the\nbest knight of the world. When the king had seen the letters, he said\nunto Sir Launcelot: Fair sir, this sword ought to be yours, for I am\nsure ye be the best knight of the world. Then Sir Launcelot answered\nfull soberly: Certes, sir, it is not my sword; also, Sir, wit ye well\nI have no hardiness to set my hand to it, for it longed not to hang by\nmy side. Also, who that assayeth to take the sword and faileth of it,\nhe shall receive a wound by that sword that he shall not be whole long\nafter. And I will that ye wit that this same day shall the adventures\nof the Sangreal, that is called the Holy Vessel, begin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHOW SIR GAWAINE ESSAYED TO DRAW OUT THE SWORD, AND HOW AN OLD MAN\nBROUGHT IN GALAHAD\n\n\nNow, fair nephew, said the king unto Sir Gawaine, essay ye, for my\nlove Sir, he said, save your good grace I shall not do that. Sir, said\nthe king, essay to take the sword and at my commandment. Sir, said\nGawaine, your commandment I will obey. And therewith he took up the\nsword by the handles, but he might not stir it. I thank you, said the\nking to Sir Gawaine. My lord Sir Gawaine, said Sir Launcelot, now wit\nye well this sword shall touch you so sore that ye shall will ye had\nnever set your hand thereto for the best castle of this realm. Sir, he\nsaid, I might not withsay mine uncle's will and commandment. But when\nthe king heard this he repented it much, and said unto Sir Percivale\nthat he should essay, for his love. And he said: Gladly, for to bear\nSir Gawaine fellowship. And therewith he set his hand on the sword and\ndrew it strongly, but he might not move it. Then were there more that\ndurst be so hardy, to set their hands thereto. Now may ye go to your\ndinner, said Sir Kay unto the King, for a marvellous adventure have ye\nseen. So the king and all went unto the court, and every knight knew\nhis own place, and set him therein, and young men that were knights\nserved them. So when they were served, and all sieges fulfilled save\nonly the Siege Perilous, anon there befell a marvellous adventure,\nthat all the doors and windows of the palace shut by themself. Not for\nthen the hall was not greatly darked; and therewith they abashed both\none and other. Then King Arthur spake first and said: By God, fair\nfellows and lords, we have seen this day marvels, but or night I\nsuppose we shall see greater marvels. In the meanwhile came in a good\nold man, and an ancient, clothed all in white, and there was no knight\nknew from whence he came. And with him he brought a young knight, both\non foot, in red arms, without sword or shield, save a scabbard hanging\nby his side. And these words he said: Peace be with you, fair lords.\nThen the old man said unto Arthur: Sir, I bring here a young knight,\nthe which is of king's lineage, and of the kindred of Joseph of\nAramathie, whereby the marvels of this court, and of strange realms,\nshall be fully accomplished.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHOW THE OLD MAN BROUGHT GALAHAD TO THE SIEGE PERILOUS AND SET HIM\nTHEREIN, AND HOW ALL THE KNIGHTS MARVELLED\n\n\nThe king was right glad of his words, and said unto the good man: Sir,\nye be right welcome, and the young knight with you. Then the old man\nmade the young man to unarm him, and he was in a coat of red sendel,\nand bare a mantle upon his shoulder that was furred with ermine, and\nput that upon him. And the old knight said unto the young knight: Sir,\nfollow me. And anon he led him unto the Siege Perilous, where beside\nsat Sir Launcelot; and the good man lift up the cloth, and found there\nletters that said thus: This is the siege of Galahad, the haut prince.\nSir, said the old knight, wit ye well that place is yours. And then he\nset him down surely in that siege. And then he said to the old man:\nSir, ye may now go your way, for well have ye done that ye were\ncommanded to do; and recommend me unto my grandsire, King Pelles, and\nunto my lord Petchere, and say them on my behalf, I shall come and see\nthem as soon as ever I may. So the good man departed; and there met\nhim twenty noble squires, and so took their horses and went their way.\nThen all the knights of the Table Round marvelled greatly of Sir\nGalahad, that he durst sit there in that Siege Perilous, and was so\ntender of age; and wist not from whence he came but all only by God;\nand said: This is he by whom the Sangreal shall be achieved, for there\nsat never none but he, but he were mischieved. Then Sir Launcelot\nbeheld his son and had great joy of him. Then Bors told his fellows:\nUpon pain of my life this young knight shall come unto great worship.\nThis noise was great in all the court, so that it came to the queen.\nThen she had marvel what knight it might be that durst adventure him\nto sit in the Siege Perilous. Many said unto the queen he resembled\nmuch unto Sir Launcelot. I may well suppose, said the queen, that Sir\nLauncelot begat him on King Pelles' daughter, by the which he was made\nto lie by, by enchantment, and his name is Galahad. I would fain see\nhim, said the queen, for he must needs be a noble man, for so is his\nfather that him begat, I report me unto all the Table Round. So when\nthe meat was done that the king and all were risen, the king yede unto\nthe Siege Perilous and lift up the cloth, and found there the name of\nGalahad; and then he shewed it unto Sir Gawaine, and said: Fair\nnephew, now have we among us Sir Galahad, the good knight that shall\nworship us all; and upon pain of my life he shall achieve the\nSangreal, right as Sir Launcelot had done us to understand. Then came\nKing Arthur unto Galahad and said: Sir, ye be welcome, for ye shall\nmove many good knights to the quest of the Sangreal, and ye shall\nachieve that never knights might bring to an end. Then the king took\nhim by the hand, and went down from the palace to shew Galahad the\nadventures of the stone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHOW KING ARTHUR SHEWED THE STONE HOVING ON THE WATER TO GALAHAD, AND\nHOW HE DREW OUT THE SWORD\n\n\nThe queen heard thereof, and came after with many ladies, and shewed\nthem the stone where it hoved on the water. Sir, said the king unto\nSir Galahad, here is a great marvel as ever I saw, and right good\nknights have essayed and failed. Sir, said Galahad, that is no marvel,\nfor this adventure is not theirs but mine; and for the surety of this\nsword I brought none with me, for here by my side hangeth the\nscabbard. And anon he laid his hand on the sword, and lightly drew it\nout of the stone, and put it in the sheath, and said unto, the king:\nNow it goeth better than it did aforehand. Sir, said the King, a\nshield God shall send you. Now have I that sword that sometime was the\ngood knight's, Balin le Savage, and he was a passing good man of his\nhands; and with this sword he slew his brother Balan, and that was\ngreat pity, for he was a good knight, and either slew other through a\ndolorous strode that Balin gave unto my grandfather King Pelles, the\nwhich is not yet whole, nor not shall be till I heal him. Therewith\nthe king and all espied where came riding down the river a lady on a\nwhite palfrey toward them. Then she saluted the king and the queen,\nand asked if that Sir Launcelot was there. And then he answered\nhimself: I am here, fair lady. Then she said all with weeping: How\nyour great doing is changed sith this day in the morn. Damosel, why\nsay you so? said Launcelot. I say you sooth, said the damosel, for ye\nwere this day the best knight of the world, but who should say so now,\nhe should be a liar, for there is now one better than ye, and well it\nis proved by the adventures of the sword whereto ye durst not set to\nyour hand; and that is the change and leaving of your name. Wherefore\nI make unto you a remembrance, that ye shall not ween from henceforth\nthat ye be the best knight of the world. As touching unto that, said\nLauncelot, I know well I was never the best. Yes, said the damosel,\nthat were ye, and are yet, of any sinful man of the world. And, Sir\nking, Nacien, the hermit, sendeth thee word, that thee shall befall\nthe greatest worship that ever befell king in Britain; and I say you\nwherefore, for this day the Sangreal appeared in thy house and fed\nthee and all thy fellowship of the Round Table. So she departed and\nwent that same way that she came.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nHOW KING ARTHUR HAD ALL THE KNIGHTS TOGETHER FOR TO JOUST IN THE\nMEADOW BESIDE CAMELOT OR THEY DEPARTED\n\n\nNow, said the king, I am sure at this quest of the Sangreal shall all\nye of the Table Round depart, and never shall I see you again whole\ntogether; therefore I will see you all whole together in the meadow of\nCamelot to joust and to tourney, that after your death men may speak\nof it that such good knights were wholly together such a day. As unto\nthat counsel and at the king's request they accorded all, and took on\ntheir harness that longed unto jousting. But all this moving of the\nking was for this intent, for to see Galahad proved; for the king\ndeemed he should not lightly come again unto the court after his\ndeparting. So were they assembled in the meadow both more and less.\nThen Sir Galahad, by the prayer of the king and the queen, did upon\nhim a noble jesseraunce, and also he did on his helm, but shield would\nhe take none for no prayer of the king. And then Sir Gawaine and other\nknights prayed him to take a spear. Right so he did; and the queen was\nin a tower with all her ladies, for to behold that tournament. Then\nSir Galahad dressed him in middes of the meadow, and began to break\nspears marvellously, that all men had wonder of him; for he there\nsurmounted all other knights, for within a while he had defouled many\ngood knights of the Table Round save twain, that was Sir Launcelot and\nSir Percivale.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nHOW THE QUEEN DESIRED TO SEE GALAHAD; AND HOW AFTER, ALL THE KNIGHTS\nWERE REPLENISHED WITH THE HOLY SANGREAL, AND HOW THEY AVOWED THE\nENQUEST OF THE SAME\n\n\nThe the king, at the queen's request, made him to alight and to unlace\nhis helm, that the queen might see him in the visage. When she beheld\nhim she said: Soothly I dare well say that Sir Launcelot begat him,\nfor never two men resembled more in likeness, therefore it is no\nmarvel though he be of great prowess. So a lady that stood by the\nqueen said: Madam, for God's sake ought he of right to be so good a\nknight? Yea, forsooth, said the queen, for he is of all parties come\nof the best knights of the world and of the highest lineage; for Sir\nLauncelot is come but of the eighth degree from our Lord Jesu Christ,\nand Sir Galahad is of the ninth degree from our Lord Jesu Christ,\ntherefore I dare say they be the greatest gentlemen of the world. And\nthen the king and all estates went home unto Camelot, and so went to\nevensong to the great minster, and so after upon that to supper, and\nevery knight sat in his own place as they were toforehand. Then anon\nthey heard cracking and crying of thunder, that them thought the place\nshould all to drive. In the midst of this blast entered a sunbeam more\nclearer by seven times than ever they saw day, and all they were\nalighted of the grace of the Holy Ghost. Then began every knight to\nbehold other, and either saw other, by their seeming, fairer than ever\nthey saw afore. Not for then there was no knight might speak one word\na great while, and so they looked every man on other as they had been\ndumb. Then there entered into the hall the Holy Greal covered with\nwhite samite, but there was none might see it, nor who bare it. And\nthere was all the hall fulfilled with good odours, and every knight\nhad such meats and drinks as he best loved in this world. And when the\nHoly Greal had been borne through the hall, then the Holy Vessel\ndeparted suddenly, that they wist not where it became: then had they\nall breath to speak. And then the king yielded thankings to God, of\nHis good grace that he had sent them. Certes, said the king, we ought\nto thank our Lord Jesu greatly for that he hath shewed us this day, at\nthe reverence of this high feast of Pentecost. Now, said Sir Gawaine,\nwe have been served this day of what meats and drinks we thought on;\nbut one thing beguiled us, we might not see the holy Grail, it was so\npreciously covered. Wherefore I will make here avow, that tomorn,\nwithout longer abiding, I shall labour in the quest of the Sangreal,\nthat I shall hold me out a twelvemonth and a day, or more if need be,\nand never shall I return again unto the court till I have seen it more\nopenly than it hath been seen here; and if I may not speed I shall\nreturn again as he that may not be against the will of our Lord Jesu\nChrist. When they of the Table Round heard Sir Gawaine say so, they\narose up the most part and made such avows as Sir Gawaine had made.\nAnon as King Arthur heard this he was greatly displeased, for he wist\nwell they might not again say their avows. Alas, said King Arthur unto\nSir Gawaine, ye have nigh slain me with the avow and promise that ye\nhave made; for through you ye have bereft me the fairest fellowship\nand the truest of knighthood that ever were seen together in any realm\nof the world; for when they depart from hence I am sure they all shall\nnever meet more in this world, for they shall die many in the quest.\nAnd so it forthinketh me a little, for I have loved them as well as my\nlife, wherefore it shall grieve me right sore, the departition of this\nfellowship: for I have had an old custom to have them in my\nfellowship.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nHOW GREAT SORROW WAS MADE OF THE KING AND THE QUEEN AND LADIES FOR THE\nDEPARTING OF THE KNIGHTS, AND HOW THEY DEPARTED\n\n\nAnd therewith the tears filled in his eyes. And then he said: Gawaine,\nGawaine, ye have set me in great sorrow, for I have great doubt that\nmy true fellowship shall never meet here more again. Ah, said Sir\nLauncelot, comfort yourself; for it shall be unto us a great honour\nand much more than if we died in any other places, for of death we be\nsiccar. Ah, Launcelot, said the king, the great love that I have had\nunto you all the days of my life maketh me to say such doleful words;\nfor never Christian king had never so many worthy men at his table as\nI have had this day at the Round Table, and that is my great sorrow.\nWhen the queen, ladies, and gentlewomen, wist these tidings, they had\nsuch sorrow and heaviness that there might no tongue tell it, for\nthose knights had held them in honour and charity. But among all other\nQueen Guenever made great sorrow. I marvel, said she, my lord would\nsuffer them to depart from him. Thus was all the court troubled for\nthe love of the departition of those knights. And many of those ladies\nthat loved knights would have gone with their lovers; and so had they\ndone, had not an old knight come among them in religious clothing; and\nthen he spake all on high and said: Fair lords, which have sworn in\nthe quest of the Sangreal, thus sendeth you Nacien, the hermit, word,\nthat none in this quest lead lady nor gentlewoman with him, for it is\nnot to do in so high a service as they labour in; for I warn you\nplain, he that is not clean of his sins he shall not see the mysteries\nof our Lord Jesu Christ. And for this cause they left these ladies and\ngentlewomen. After this the queen came unto Galahad and asked him of\nwhence he was, and of what country. He told her of whence he was. And\nson unto Launcelot, she said he was. As to that, he said neither yea\nor nay. So God me help, said the queen, of your father ye need not to\nshame you, for he is the goodliest knight, and of the best men of the\nworld come, and of the strain of all parties, of kings. Wherefore ye\nought of right to be, of your deeds, a passing good man; and\ncertainly, she said, ye resemble him much. Then Sir Galahad was a\nlittle ashamed and said: Madam, sith ye know in certain, wherefore do\nye ask it me? for he that is my father shall be known openly and all\nbetimes. And then they went to rest them. And in the honour of the\nhighness of Galahad he was led into King Arthur's chamber, and there\nrested in his own bed. And as soon as it was day the king arose, for\nhe had no rest of all that night for sorrow. Then he went unto Gawaine\nand to Sir Launcelot that were arisen for to hear mass. And then the\nking again said: Ah Gawaine, Gawaine, ye have betrayed me; for never\nshall my court be amended by you, but ye will never be sorry for me as\nI am for you. And therewith the tears began to run down by his visage.\nAnd therewith the king said: Ah, knight Sir Launcelot, I require thee\nthou counsel me, for I would that this quest were undone an it might\nbe. Sir, said Sir Launcelot, ye saw yesterday so many worthy knights\nthat then were sworn that they may not leave it in no manner of wise.\nThat wot I well, said the king, but it shall so heavy me at their\ndeparting that I wot well there shall no manner of joy remedy me. And\nthen the king and the queen went unto the minster. So anon Launcelot\nand Gawaine commanded their men to bring their arms. And when they all\nwere armed save their shields and their helms, then they came to their\nfellowship, which were all ready in the same wise, for to go to the\nminster to hear their service. Then after the service was done the\nking would wit how many had undertaken the quest of the Holy Grail;\nand to account them he prayed them all. Then found they by tale an\nhundred and fifty, and all were knights of the Round Table. And then\nthey put on their helms and departed, and recommended them all wholly\nunto the queen: and there was weeping and great sorrow. Then the queen\ndeparted into her chamber so that no man should apperceive her great\nsorrows. When Sir Launcelot missed the queen he went into her chamber,\nand when she saw him she cried aloud: O Sir Launcelot, ye have\nbetrayed me and put me to death, for to leave thus my lord. Ah, madam,\nsaid Sir Launcelot, I pray you be not displeased, for I shall come as\nsoon as I may with my worship. Alas, said she, that ever I saw you;\nbut he that suffered death upon the cross for all mankind be to you\ngood conduct and safety, and all the whole fellowship. Right so\ndeparted Sir Launcelot, and found his fellowship that abode his\ncoming. And so they mounted upon their horses and rode through the\nstreets of Camelot; and there was weeping of the rich and poor, and\nthe king turned away and might not speak for weeping. So within a\nwhile they came to a city, and a castle that hight Vagon. There they\nentered into the castle, and the lord of that castle was an old man\nthat hight Vagon, and he was a good man of his living, and set open\nthe gates, and made them all the good cheer that he might. And so on\nthe morrow they were all accorded that they should depart every each\nfrom other; and then they departed on the morrow with weeping and\nmourning cheer, and every knight took the way that him best liked.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nHOW GALAHAD GAT HIM A SHIELD, AND HOW THEY SPED THAT PRESUMED TO TAKE\nDOWN THE SAID SHIELD\n\n\nNow rideth Sir Galahad yet without shield, and so he rode four days\nwithout any adventure. And at the fourth day after evensong he came to\na White Abbey, and there he was received with great reverence, and led\nto a chamber, and there he was unarmed; and then was he ware of two\nknights of the Round Table, one was King Bagdemagus, and that other\nwas Sir Uwaine. And when they saw him they went unto him and made of\nhim great solace, and so they went to supper. Sirs, said Sir Galahad,\nwhat adventure brought you hither? Sir, said they, it is told us that\nwithin this place is a shield that no man may bear about his neck but\nif that he be mischieved or dead within three days, or else maimed for\never. Ah sir, said King Bagdemagus, I shall it bear to-morrow for to\nessay this strange adventure. In the name of God, said Sir Galahad.\nSir, said Bagdemagus, an I may not achieve the adventure of this\nshield ye shall take it upon you, for I am sure ye shall not fail.\nSir, said Galahad, I agree right well thereto, for I have no shield.\nSo on the morn they arose and heard mass. Then King Bagdemagus asked\nwhere the adventurous shield was. Anon a monk led him behind an altar\nwhere the shield hung as white as any snow, but in the middes was a\nred cross. Sir, said the monk, this shield ought not to be hanged\nabout no knight's neck but he be the worthiest knight of the world,\nand therefore I counsel you knights to be well advised. Well, said\nKing Bagdemagus, I wot well that I am not the best knight of the\nworld, but yet shall I essay to bear it. And so he bare it out of the\nmonastery; and then he said unto Sir Galahad: If it will please you I\npray you abide here still, till ye know how I shall speed. I shall\nabide you here, said Galahad. Then King Bagdemagus took with him a\nsquire, the which should bring tidings unto Sir Galahad how he sped.\nThen when they had ridden a two mile and came in a fair valley afore\nan hermitage, then they saw a goodly knight come from that part in\nwhite armour, horse and all; and he came as fast as his horse might\nrun, with his spear in the rest, and King Bagdemagus dressed his spear\nagainst him and brake it upon the white knight. But the other struck\nhim so hard that he brake the mails, and thrust him through the right\nshoulder, for the shield covered him not as at that time; and so he\nbare him from his horse. And therewith he alighted and took the white\nshield from him, saying: Knight, thou hast done thyself great folly,\nfor this shield ought not to be borne but by him that shall have no\npeer that liveth. And then he came to King Bagdemagus' squire and\nsaid: Bear this shield unto the good knight Sir Galahad, that thou\nleft in the abbey, and greet him well from me. Sir, said the squire,\nwhat is your name? Take thou no heed of my name, said the knight, for\nit is not for thee to know nor for none earthly man. Now, fair sir,\nsaid the squire, at the reverence of Jesu Christ, tell me for what\ncause this shield may not be borne but if the bearer thereof be\nmischieved. Now sith thou hast conjured me so, said the knight, this\nshield behoveth unto no man but unto Galahad. And the squire went unto\nBagdemagus and asked whether he were sore wounded or not. Yea,\nforsooth, said he, I shall escape hard from the death. Then he fetched\nhis horse, and brought him with great pain unto an abbey. Then was he\ntaken down softly and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and there was looked\nto his wounds. And as the book telleth, he lay there long, and escaped\nhard with the life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nHOW GALAHAD DEPARTED WITH THE SHIELD, AND HOW KING EVELAKE HAD\nRECEIVED THE SHIELD OF JOSEPH OF ARAMATHIE\n\n\nSir Galahad, said the squire, that knight that wounded Bagdemagus\nsendeth you greeting, and bad that ye should bear this shield,\nwherethrough great adventures should befall. Now blessed be God and\nfortune, said Galahad. And then he asked his arms, and mounted upon\nhis horse, and hung the white shield about his neck, and commended\nthem unto God. And Sir Uwaine said he would bear him fellowship if it\npleased him. Sir, said Galahad, that may ye not, for I must go alone,\nsave this squire shall bear me fellowship: and so departed Uwaine.\nThen within a while came Galahad there as the white knight abode him\nby the hermitage, and every each saluted other courteously. Sir, said\nGalahad, by this shield be many marvels fallen? Sir, said the knight,\nit befell after the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ thirty-two year,\nthat Joseph of Aramathie, the gentle knight, the which took down our\nLord off the holy Cross, at that time he departed from Jerusalem with\na great party of his kindred with him. And so he laboured till that\nthey came to a city that hight Sarras. And at that same hour that\nJoseph came to Sarras there was a king that hight Evelake, that had\ngreat war against the Saracens, and in especial against one Saracen,\nthe which was King Evelake's cousin, a rich king and a mighty, which\nmarched nigh this land, and his name was called Tolleme la Feintes. So\non a day these two met to do battle. Then Joseph, the son of Joseph of\nAramathie, went to King Evelake and told him he should be discomfit\nand slain, but if he left his belief of the old law and believed upon\nthe new law. And then there he shewed him the right belief of the Holy\nTrinity, to the which he agreed unto with all his heart; and there\nthis shield was made for King Evelake, in the name of Him that died\nupon the Cross. And then through his good belief he had the better of\nKing Tolleme. For when Evelake was in the battle there was a cloth set\nafore the shield, and when he was in the greatest peril he let put\naway the cloth, and then his enemies saw a figure of a man on the\nCross, wherethrough they all were discomfit. And so it befell that a\nman of King Evelake's was smitten his hand off, and bare that hand in\nhis other hand; and Joseph called that man unto him and bade him go\nwith good devotion touch the Cross. And as soon as that man had\ntouched the Cross with his hand it was as whole as ever it was tofore.\nThen soon after there fell a great marvel, that the cross of the\nshield at one time vanished away that no man wist where it became. And\nthen King Evelake was baptised, and for the most part all the people\nof that city. So, soon after Joseph would depart, and King Evelake\nwould go with him whether he would or nold. And so by fortune they\ncame into this land, that at that time was called Great Britain; and\nthere they found a great felon paynim, that put Joseph into prison.\nAnd so by fortune tidings came unto a worthy man that hight Mondrames,\nand he assembled all his people for the great renown he had heard of\nJoseph; and so he came into the land of Great Britain and disinherited\nthis felon paynim and consumed him; and therewith delivered Joseph out\nof prison. And after that all the people were turned to the Christian\nfaith.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nHOW JOSEPH MADE A CROSS ON THE WHITE SHIELD WITH HIS BLOOD, AND HOW\nGALAHAD WAS BY A MONK BROUGHT TO A TOMB\n\n\nNot long after that Joseph was laid in his deadly bed. And when King\nEvelake saw that he made much sorrow, and said: For thy love I have\nleft my country, and sith ye shall depart out of this world, leave me\nsome token of yours that I may think on you. Joseph said: That will I\ndo full gladly; now bring me your shield that I took you when ye went\ninto battle against King Tolleme. Then Joseph bled sore at the nose,\nso that he might not by no mean be staunched. And there upon that\nshield he made a cross of his own blood. Now may ye see a remembrance\nthat I love you, for ye shall never see this shield but ye shall think\non me, and it shall be always as fresh as it is now. And never shall\nman bear this shield about his neck but he shall repent it, unto the\ntime that Galahad, the good knight, bare it; and the last of my\nlineage shall have it about his neck, that shall do many marvellous\ndeeds. Now, said King Evelake, where shall I put this shield, that\nthis worthy knight may have it? Ye shall leave it there as Nacien, the\nhermit, shall be put after his death; for thither shall that good\nknight come the fifteenth day after that he shall receive the order of\nknighthood: and so that day that they set is this time that he have\nhis shield, and in the same abbey lieth Nacien, the hermit. And then\nthe white knight vanished away. Anon as the squire had heard these\nwords, he alit off his hackney and kneeled down at Galahad's feet, and\nprayed him that he might go with him till he had made him knight. If I\nwould not refuse you? Then will ye make me a knight? said the squire,\nand that order, by the grace of God, shall be well set in me. So Sir\nGalahad granted him, and turned again unto the abbey where they came\nfrom; and there men made great joy of Sir Galahad. And anon as he was\nalit there was a monk brought him unto a tomb in a churchyard, where\nthere was such a noise that who that heard it should verily nigh be\nmad or lose his strength: and Sir, they said, we deem it is a fiend.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nOF THE MARVEL THAT SIR GALAHAD SAW AND HEARD IN THE TOMB; AND HOW HE\nMADE MELIAS KNIGHT\n\n\nNow lead me thither, said Galahad. And so they did, all armed save his\nhelm. Now, said the good man, go to the tomb and lift it up. So he\ndid, and heard a great noise; and piteously it said, that all men\nmight hear it: Sir Galahad, the servant of Jesu Christ, come thou not\nnigh me, for thou shalt make me go again there where I have been so\nlong. But Galahad was nothing afraid, but lifted up the stone; and\nthere came out so foul a smoke, and after he saw the foulest figure\nleap thereout that ever he saw in the likeness of a man; and then he\nblessed him and wist well it was a fiend. Then heard he a voice say:\nGalahad, I see there environ about thee so many angels that my power\nmay not dare thee. Right so Sir Galahad saw a body all armed lie in\nthat tomb, and beside him a sword. Now, fair brother, said Galahad,\nlet us remove this body, for it is not worthy to lie in this\nchurchyard, for he was a false Christian man. And therewith they all\ndeparted and went to the abbey. And anon as he was unarmed a good man\ncame and set him down by him and said: Sir, I shall tell you what\nbetokeneth all that ye saw in the tomb; for that covered body\nbetokeneth the duresse of the world, and the great sin that our Lord\nfound in the world. For there was such wretchedness that the father\nloved not the son, nor the son loved not the father; and that was one\nof the causes that our Lord took flesh and blood of a clene maiden,\nfor our sins were so great at that time that wellnigh all was\nwickedness. Truly, said Galahad, I believe you right well. So Sir\nGalahad rested him there that night; and upon the morn he made the\nsquire knight, and asked him his name, and of what kindred he was\ncome. Sir, said he, men calleth me Melias de Lile, and I am the son of\nthe king of Denmark. Now, fair sir, said Galahad, sith that ye be come\nof kings and queens, now look that knighthood be well set in you, for\nye ought to be a mirror unto all chivalry. Sir, said Sir Melias, ye\nsay sooth. But, sir, sithen ye have made me a knight ye must of right\ngrant me my first desire that is reasonable. Ye say sooth, said\nGalahad. Melias said: Then that ye will suffer me to ride with you in\nthis quest of the Sangreal, till that some adventure depart us. I\ngrant you, sir. Then men brought Sir Melias his armour and his spear\nand his horse, and so Sir Galahad and he rode forth all that week or\nthey found any adventure. And then upon a Monday in the morning, as\nthey were departed from an abbey, they came to a cross which departed\ntwo ways, and in that cross were letters written that said thus: Now,\nye knights errant, the which goeth to seek knights adventurous, see\nhere two ways; that one way defendeth thee that thou ne go that way,\nfor he shall not go out of the way again but if he be a good man and a\nworthy knight; and if thou go on the left hand, thou shalt not lightly\nthere win prowess, for thou shalt in this way be soon essayed. Sir,\nsaid Melias to Galahad, if it like you to suffer me to take the way on\nthe left hand, tell me, for there I shall well prove my strength. It\nwere better, said Galahad, ye rode not that way, for I deem I should\nbetter escape in that way than ye. Nay, my lord, I pray you let me\nhave that adventure. Take it in God's name, said Galahad.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nOF THE ADVENTURE THAT MELIAS HAD, AND HOW GALAHAD REVENGED HIM, AND\nHOW MELIAS WAS CARRIED INTO AN ABBEY\n\n\nAnd then rode Melias into an old forest, and therein he rode two days\nand more. And then he came into a fair meadow, and there was a fair\nlodge of boughs. And then he espied in that lodge a chair, wherein was\na crown of gold, subtily wrought. Also there were cloths covered upon\nthe earth, and many delicious meats set thereon. Sir Melias beheld\nthis adventure, and thought it marvellous, but he had no hunger, but\nof the crown of gold he took much keep; and therewith he stooped down\nand took it up, and rode his way with it. And anon he saw a knight\ncame riding after him that said: Knight, set down that crown which is\nnot yours, and therefore defend you. Then Sir Melias blessed him and\nsaid: Fair lord of heaven, help and save thy new-made knight. And then\nthey let their horses run as fast as they might, so that the other\nknight smote Sir Melias through hauberk and through the left side,\nthat he fell to the earth nigh dead. And then he took the crown and\nwent his way; and Sir Melias lay still and had no power to stir. In\nthe meanwhile by fortune there came Sir Galahad and found him there in\nperil of death. And then he said: Ah, Melias, who hath wounded you?\ntherefore it had been better to have ridden the other way. And when\nSir Melias heard him speak: Sir, he said, for God's love let me not\ndie in this forest, but bear me unto the abbey here beside, that I may\nbe confessed and have my rights. It shall be done, said Galahad, but\nwhere is he that hath wounded you? With that Sir Galahad heard in the\nleaves cry on high: Knight, keep thee from me. Ah sir, said Melias,\nbeware, for that is he that hath slain me. Sir Galahad answered: Sir\nknight, come on your peril. Then either dressed to other, and came\ntogether as fast as their horses might run, and Galahad smote him so\nthat his spear went through his shoulder, and smote him down off his\nhorse, and in the falling Galahad's spear brake. With that came out\nanother knight out of the leaves, and brake a spear upon Galahad or\never he might turn him. Then Galahad drew out his sword and smote off\nthe left arm of him, so that it fell to the earth. And then he fled,\nand Sir Galahad pursued fast after him. And then he turned again unto\nSir Melias, and there he alit and dressed him softly on his horse\ntofore him, for the truncheon of his spear was in his body; and Sir\nGalahad start up behind him, and held him in his arms, and so brought\nhim to the abbey, and there unarmed him and brought him to his\nchamber. And then he asked his Saviour. And when he had received Him\nhe said unto Sir Galahad: Sir, let death come when it pleaseth him.\nAnd therewith he drew out the truncheon of the spear out of his body:\nand then he swooned. Then came there an old monk which sometime had\nbeen a knight, and beheld Sir Melias. And anon he ransacked him; and\nthen he said unto Sir Galahad: I shall heal him of his wound, by the\ngrace of God, within the term of seven weeks. Then was Sir Galahad\nglad, and unarmed him, and said he would abide there three days. And\nthen he asked Sir Melias how it stood with him. Then he said he was\nturned unto helping, God be thanked.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nHOW SIR GALAHAD DEPARTED, AND HOW HE WAS COMMANDED TO GO TO THE CASTLE\nOF MAIDENS TO DESTROY THE WICKED CUSTOM\n\n\nNow will I depart, said Galahad, for I have much on hand, for many\ngood knights be full busy about it, and this knight and I were in the\nsame quest of the Sangreal. Sir, said the good man, for his sin he was\nthus wounded; and I marvel, said the good man, how ye durst take upon\nyou so rich a thing as the high order of knighthood without clene\nconfession, and that was the cause ye were bitterly wounded. For the\nway on the right hand betokeneth the highway of our Lord Jesu Christ,\nand the way of a good true good liver. And the other way betokeneth\nthe way of sinners and of misbelievers. And when the devil saw your\npride and presumption, for to take you in the quest of the Sangreal,\nthat made you to be overthrown, for it may not be achieved but by\nvirtuous living. Also, the writing on the cross was a signification of\nheavenly deeds, and of knightly deeds in God's works, and no knightly\ndeeds in worldly works. And pride is head of all deadly sins, that\ncaused this knight to depart from Galahad. And where thou tookest the\ncrown of gold thou sinnest in covetise and in theft: all this were no\nknightly deeds. And this Galahad, the holy knight, the which fought\nwith the two knights, the two knights signify the two deadly sins\nwhich were wholly in this knight Melias; and they might not withstand\nyou, for ye are without deadly sin. Now departed Galahad from thence,\nand betaught them all unto God. Sir Melias said: My lord Galahad, as\nsoon as I may ride I shall seek you. God send you health, said\nGalahad, and so took his horse and departed, and rode many journeys\nforward and backward, as adventure would lead him. And at the last it\nhappened him to depart from a place or a castle the which was named\nAbblasoure; and he had heard no mass, the which he was wont ever to\nhear or ever he departed out of any castle or place, and kept that for\na custom. Then Sir Galahad came unto a mountain where he found an old\nchapel, and found there nobody, for all, all was desolate; and there\nhe kneeled tofore the altar, and besought God of wholesome counsel. So\nas he prayed he heard a voice that said: Go thou now, thou adventurous\nknight, to the Castle of Maidens, and there do thou away the wicked\ncustoms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nHOW SIR GALAHAD FOUGHT WITH THE KNIGHTS OF THE CASTLE, AND DESTROYED\nTHE WICKED CUSTOM\n\n\nWhen Sir Galahad heard this he thanked God, and took his horse; and he\nhad not ridden but half a mile, he saw in a valley afore him a strong\ncastle with deep ditches, and there ran beside it a fair river that\nhight Severn; and there he met with a man of great age, and either\nsaluted other, and Galahad asked him the castle's name. Fair sir, said\nhe, it is the Castle of Maidens. That is a cursed castle, said\nGalahad, and all they that be conversant therein, for all pity is out\nthereof, and all hardiness and mischief is therein. Therefore, I\ncounsel you, sir knight, to turn again. Sir, said Galahad, wit you\nwell I shall not turn again. Then looked Sir Galahad on his arms that\nnothing failed him, and then he put his shield afore him; and anon\nthere met him seven fair maidens, the which said unto him: Sir knight,\nye ride here in a great folly, for ye have the water to pass over. Why\nshould I not pass the water? said Galahad. So rode he away from them\nand met with a squire that said: Knight, those knights in the castle\ndefy you, and defenden you ye go no further till that they wit what ye\nwould. Fair sir, said Galahad, I come for to destroy the wicked custom\nof this castle. Sir, an ye will abide by that ye shall have enough to\ndo. Go you now, said Galahad, and haste my needs. Then the squire\nentered into the castle. And anon after there came out of the castle\nseven knights, and all were brethren. And when they saw Galahad they\ncried: Knight, keep thee, for we assure thee nothing but death. Why,\nsaid Galahad; will ye all have ado with me at once? Yea, said they,\nthereto mayest thou trust. Then Galahad put forth his spear and smote\nthe foremost to the earth, that near he brake his neck. And\ntherewithal the other smote him on his shield great strokes, so that\ntheir spears brake. Then Sir Galahad drew out his sword, and set upon\nthem so hard that it was marvel to see it, and so through great force\nhe made them to forsake the field; and Galahad chased them till they\nentered into the castle, and so passed through the castle at another\ngate. And there met Sir Galahad an old man clothed in religious\nclothing, and said; Sir, have here the keys of this castle. Then Sir\nGalahad opened the gates, and saw so much people in the streets that\nhe might not number them, and all said: Sir, ye be welcome, for long\nhave we abiden here our deliverance. Then came to him a gentlewoman\nand said: These knights be fled, but they will come again this night,\nand here to begin again their evil custom. What will ye that I shall\ndo? said Galahad. Sir, said the gentlewoman, that ye send after all\nthe knights hither that hold their lands of this castle, and make them\nto swear for to use the customs that were used heretofore of old time.\nI will well, said Galahad. And there she brought him an horn of ivory,\nbounden with gold richly, and said: Sir, blow this horn which will be\nheard two mile about this castle. When Sir Galahad had blown the horn\nhe set him down upon a bed. Then came a priest to Galahad, and said:\nSir, it is past a seven year agone that these seven brethren came into\nthis castle, and harboured with the lord of this castle, that hight\nthe Duke Lianour, and he was lord of all this country. And when they\nespied the duke's daughter, that was a full fair woman, then by their\nfalse covin they made debate betwixt themself, and the duke of his\ngoodness would have departed them, and there they slew him and his\neldest son. And then they took the maiden and the treasure of the\ncastle. And then by great force they held all the knights of this\ncastle against their will under their obeisance, and in great service\nand truage, robbing and pillaging the poor common people of all that\nthey had. So it happened on a day the duke's daughter said: Ye have\ndone unto me great wrong to slay mine own father, and my brother, and\nthus to hold our lands: not for then, she said, ye shall not hold this\ncastle for many years, for by one knight ye shall be overcome. Thus\nshe prophesied seven years agone. Well, said the seven knights, sithen\nye say so, there shall never lady nor knight pass this castle but they\nshall abide maugre their heads, or die therefor, till that knight be\ncome by whom we shall lose this castle. And therefore is it called the\nMaidens' Castle, for they have devoured many maidens. Now, said\nGalahad, is she here for whom this castle was lost? Nay sir, said the\npriest, she was dead within these three nights after that she was thus\nenforced; and sithen have they kept her younger sister, which endureth\ngreat pains with more other ladies. By this were the knights of the\ncountry come, and then he made them do homage and fealty to the king's\ndaughter, and set them in great ease of heart. And in the morn there\ncame one to Galahad and told him how that Gawaine, Gareth, and Uwaine,\nhad slain the seven brethren. I suppose well, said Sir Galahad, and\ntook his armour and his horse, and commended them unto God.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nHOW SIR GAWAINE CAME TO THE ABBEY FOR TO FOLLOW GALAHAD, AND HOW HE\nWAS SHRIVEN TO A HERMIT\n\n\nNow, saith the tale, after Sir Gawaine departed, he rode many\njourneys, both toward and froward. And at the last he came to the\nabbey where Sir Galahad had the white shield, and there Sir Gawaine\nlearned the way to sewe after Sir Galahad; and so he rode to the abbey\nwhere Melias lay sick, and there Sir Melias told Sir Gawaine of the\nmarvellous adventures that Sir Galahad did. Certes, said Sir Gawaine,\nI am not happy that I took not the way that he went, for an I may meet\nwith him I will not depart from him lightly, for all marvellous\nadventures that Sir Galahad achieveth. Sir, said one of the monks, he\nwill not of your fellowship. Why? said Sir Gawaine. Sir, said he, for\nye be wicked and sinful, and he is full blessed. Right as they thus\nstood talking there came in riding Sir Gareth. And then they made joy\neither of other. And on the morn they heard mass, and so departed. And\nby the way they met with Sir Uwaine les Avoutres, and there Sir Uwaine\ntold Sir Gawaine how he had met with none adventure sith he departed\nfrom the court. Nor we, said Sir Gawaine. And either promised other of\nthe three knights not to depart while they were in that quest, but if\nfortune caused it. So they departed and rode by fortune till that they\ncame by the Castle of Maidens; and there the seven brethren espied the\nthree knights, and said: Sithen, we be flemyd by one knight from this\ncastle, we shall destroy all the knights of King Arthur's that we may\novercome, for the love of Sir Galahad. And therewith the seven knights\nset upon the three knights, and by fortune Sir Gawaine slew one of the\nbrethren, and each one of his fellows slew another, and so slew the\nremnant. And then they took the way under the castle, and there they\nlost the way that Sir Galahad rode, and there every each of them\ndeparted from other; and Sir Gawaine rode till he came to an\nhermitage, and there he found the good man saying his evensong of Our\nLady; and there Sir Gawaine asked harbour for charity, and the good\nman granted it him gladly. Then the good man asked him what he was.\nSir, he said, I am a knight of King Arthur's that am in the quest of\nthe Sangreal, and my name is Sir Gawaine. Sir, said the good man, I\nwould wit how it standeth betwixt God and you. Sir, said Sir Gawaine,\nI will with a good will shew you my life if it please you; and there\nhe told the hermit How a monk of an abbey called me wicked knight. He\nmight well say it, said the hermit, for when ye were first made knight\nyou should have taken you to knightly deeds and virtuous living, and\nye have done the contrary, for ye have lived mischievously many\nwinters; and Sir Galahad is a maid and sinner never, and that is the\ncause he shall achieve where he goeth that ye nor none such shall not\nattain, nor none in your fellowship, for ye have used the most\nuntruest life that ever I heard knight live. For certes had ye not\nbeen so wicked as ye are, never had the seven brethren been slain by\nyou and your two fellows. For Sir Galahad himself alone beat them all\nseven the day tofore, but his living is such he shall slay no man\nlightly. Also I may say you the Castle of Maidens betokeneth the good\nsouls that were in prison afore the Incarnation of Jesu Christ. And\nthe seven knights betoken the seven deadly sins that reigned that time\nin the world; and I may liken the good Galahad unto the son of the\nHigh Father, that light within a maid, and bought all the souls out of\nthrall: so did Sir Galahad deliver all the maidens out of the woful\ncastle. Now, Sir Gawaine, said the good man, thou must do penance for\nthy sin. Sir, what penance shall I do? Such as I will give, said the\ngood man. Nay, said Sir Gawaine, I may do no penance; for we knights\nadventurous oft suffer great woe and pain. Well, said the good man,\nand then he held his peace. And on the morn Sir Gawaine departed from\nthe hermit, and betaught him unto God. And by adventure he met with\nSir Aglovale and Sir Griflet, two knights of the Table Round. And they\ntwo rode four days without finding of any adventure, and at the fifth\nday they departed. And every each held as befel them by adventure.\nHere leaveth the tale o\u00a3 Sir Gawaine and his fellows, and speak we of\nSir Galahad.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nHOW SIR GALAHAD MET WITH SIR LAUNCELOT AND SIR PERCIVALE, AND SMOTE\nTHEM DOWN, AND DEPARTED FROM THEM\n\n\nSo when Sir Galahad was departed from the Castle o\u00a3 Maidens he rode\ntill he came to a waste forest, and there he met with Sir Launcelot\nand Sir Percivale, but they knew him not, for he was new disguised.\nRight so Sir Launcelot, his father, dressed his spear and brake it\nupon Sir Galahad, and Galahad smote him so again that he smote down\nhorse and man. And then he drew his sword, and dressed him unto Sir\nPercivale, and smote him so on the helm, that it rove to the coif of\nsteel; and had not the sword swerved Sir Percivale had been slain, and\nwith the stroke he fell out of his saddle. This jousts was done tofore\nthe hermitage where a recluse dwelled. And when she saw Sir Galahad\nride, she said: God be with thee, best knight of the world. Ah certes,\nsaid she, all aloud that Launcelot and Percivale might hear it: An\nyonder two knights had known thee as well as I do they would not have\nencountered with thee. When Sir Galahad heard her say so he was adread\nto be known: therewith he smote his horse with his spurs and rode a\ngreat pace froward them. Then perceived they both that he was Galahad;\nand up they gat on their horses, and rode fast after him, but in a\nwhile he was out of their sight. And then they turned again with heavy\ncheer. Let us spere some tidings, said Percivale, at yonder recluse.\nDo as ye list, said Sir Launcelot. When Sir Percivale came to the\nrecluse she knew him well enough, and Sir Launcelot both. But Sir\nLauncelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held no\npath but as wild adventure led him. And at the last he came to a stony\ncross which departed two ways in waste land; and by the cross was a\nstone that was of marble, but it was so dark that Sir Launcelot might\nnot wit what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him, and saw an old\nchapel, and there he weened to have found people; and Sir Launcelot\ntied his horse till a tree, and there he did off his shield and hung\nit upon a tree. And then he went to the chapel door, and found it\nwaste and broken. And within he found a fair altar, full richly\narrayed with cloth of clene silk, and there stood a fair clean\ncandlestick, which bare six great candles, and the candlestick was of\nsilver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this light he had great will for to\nenter into the chapel, but he could find no place where he might\nenter; then was he passing heavy and dismayed. Then he returned and\ncame to his horse and did off his saddle and bridle, and let him\npasture, and unlaced his helm, and ungirt his sword, and laid him down\nto sleep upon his shield tofore the cross.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT, HALF SLEEPING AND HALF WAKING, SAW A SICK MAN BORNE\nIN A LITTER, AND HOW HE WAS HEALED WITH THE SANGREAL\n\n\nAnd so he fell on sleep; and half waking and sleeping he saw come by\nhim two palfreys all fair and white, the which bare a litter, therein\nlying a sick knight. And when he was nigh the cross he there abode\nstill. All this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for he slept not verily;\nand he heard him say: O sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me?\nand when shall the holy vessel come by me, wherethrough I shall be\nblessed? For I have endured thus long, for little trespass. A full\ngreat while complained the knight thus, and always Sir Launcelot heard\nit. With that Sir Launcelot saw the candlestick with the six tapers\ncome before the cross, and he saw nobody that brought it. Also there\ncame a table of silver, and the holy vessel of the Sangreal, which\nLauncelot had seen aforetime in King Pescheour's house. And therewith\nthe sick knight set him up, and held up both his hands, and said: Fair\nsweet Lord, which is here within this holy vessel; take heed unto me\nthat I may be whole of this malady. And therewith on his hands and on\nhis knees he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed\nit, and anon he was whole; and then he said: Lord God, I thank thee,\nfor I am healed of this sickness. So when the holy vessel had been\nthere a great while it went unto the chapel with the chandelier and\nthe light, so that Launcelot wist not where it was become; for he was\novertaken with sin that he had no power to rise ageyne the holy\nvessel; wherefore after that many men said of him shame, but he took\nrepentance after that. Then the sick knight dressed him up and kissed\nthe cross; anon his squire brought him his arms, and asked his lord\nhow he did. Certes, said he, I thank God right well, through the holy\nvessel I am healed. But I have marvel of this sleeping knight that had\nno power to awake when this holy vessel was brought hither. I dare\nright well say, said the squire, that he dwelleth in some deadly sin\nwhereof he was never confessed. By my faith, said the knight,\nwhatsomever he be he is unhappy, for as I deem he is of the fellowship\nof the Round Table, the which is entered into the quest of the\nSangreal. Sir, said the squire, here I have brought you all your arms\nsave your helm and your sword, and therefore by mine assent now may ye\ntake this knight's helm and his sword: and so he did. And when he was\nclene armed he took Sir Launcelot's horse, for he was better than his;\nand so departed they from the Cross.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nHOW A VOICE SPAKE TO SIR LAUNCELOT, AND HOW HE FOUND HIS HORSE AND HIS\nHELM BORNE AWAY, AND AFTER WENT AFOOT\n\n\nThen anon Sir Launcelot waked, and set him up, and bethought him what\nhe had seen there, and whether it were dreams or not. Right so heard\nhe a voice that said: Sir Launcelot, more harder than is the stone,\nand more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and barer than is the\nleaf of the fig tree; therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee\nfrom this holy place. And when Sir Launcelot heard this he was passing\nheavy and wist not what to do, and so departed sore weeping, and\ncursed the time that he was born. For then he deemed never to have had\nworship more. For those words went to his heart, till that he knew\nwherefore he was called so. Then Sir Launcelot went to the cross and\nfound his helm, his sword, and his horse taken away. And then he\ncalled himself a very wretch, and most unhappy of all knights; and\nthere he said: My sin and my wickedness have brought me unto great\ndishonour. For when I sought worldly adventures for worldly desires, I\never achieved them and had the better in every place, and never was I\ndiscomfit in no quarrel, were it right or wrong. And now I take upon\nme the adventures of holy things, and now I see and understand that\nmine old sin hindereth me and shameth me, so that I had no power to\nstir nor speak when the holy blood appeared afore me. So thus lie\nsorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls sing: then somewhat he\nwas comforted. But when Sir Launcelot missed his horse and his harness\nthen he wist well God was displeased with him. Then he departed from\nthe cross on foot into a forest; and so by prime he came to an high\nhill, and found an hermitage and a hermit therein which was going unto\nmass. And then Launcelot kneeled down and cried on Our Lord mercy for\nhis wicked works. So when mass was done Launcelot called him, and\nprayed him for charity for to hear his life. With a good will, said\nthe good man. Sir, said he, be ye of King Arthur's court and of the\nfellowship of the Round Table? Yea forsooth, and my name is Sir\nLauncelot du Lake that hath been right well said of, and now my good\nfortune is changed, for I am the most wretch of the world. The hermit\nbeheld him and had marvel how he was so abashed. Sir, said the hermit,\nye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath caused\nyou to have more worldly worship than any knight that now liveth. And\nfor your presumption to take upon you in deadly sin for to be in His\npresence, where His flesh and His blood was, that caused you ye might\nnot see it with worldly eyes; for He will not appear where such\nsinners be, but if it be unto their great hurt and unto their great\nshame; and there is no knight living now that ought to give God so\ngreat thank as ye, for He hath given you beauty, seemliness, and great\nstrength above all other knights; and therefore ye are the more\nbeholding unto God than any other man, to love Him and dread Him, for\nyour strength and manhood will little avail you an God be against you.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT WAS SHRIVEN, AND WHAT SORROW HE MADE, AND OF THE\nGOOD ENSAMPLES WHICH WERE SHEWED HIM\n\n\nThen Sir Launcelot wept with heavy cheer, and said: Now I know well ye\nsay me sooth. Sir, said the good man, hide none old sin from me.\nTruly, said Sir Launcelot, that were me full loth to discover. For\nthis fourteen year I never discovered one thing that I have used, and\nthat may I now wyte my shame and my misadventure. And then he told\nthere that good man all his life. And how he had loved a queen\nimmeasurably and out of measure long. And all my great deeds of arms\nthat I have done, I did for the most part for the queen's sake, and\nfor her sake would I do battle were it right or wrong; and never did I\nbattle all only for God's sake, but for to win worship and to cause me\nto be the better beloved, and little or nought I thanked God of it.\nThen Sir Launcelot said: I pray you counsel me. I will counsel you,\nsaid the hermit, if ye will ensure me that ye will never come in that\nqueen's fellowship as much as ye may forbear. And then Sir Launcelot\npromised him he nold, by the faith of his body. Look that your heart\nand your mouth accord, said the good man, and I shall ensure you ye\nshall have more worship than ever ye had. Holy father, said Sir\nLauncelot, I marvel of the voice that said to me marvellous words, as\nye have heard toforehand. Have ye no marvel, said the good man,\nthereof, for it seemeth well God loveth you; for men may understand a\nstone is hard of kind, and namely one more than another; and that is\nto understand by thee, Sir Launcelot, for thou wilt not leave thy sin\nfor no goodness that God hath sent thee; therefore thou art more than\nany stone, and never wouldst thou be made neysshe nor by water nor by\nfire, and that is the hete of the Holy Ghost may not enter in thee,\nNow take heed, in all the world men shall not find one knight to whom\nOur Lord hath given so much of grace as He hath given you, for He hath\ngiven you fairness with seemliness, He hath given thee wit, discretion\nto know good from evil. He hath given thee prowess and hardiness, and\ngiven thee to work so largely that thou hast had at all days the\nbetter wheresomever thou came; and now Our Lord will suffer thee no\nlonger, but that thou shalt know Him whether thou wilt or nylt. And\nwhy the voice called thee bitterer than wood, for where overmuch sin\ndwelleth, there may be but little sweetness, wherefore thou art\nlikened to an old rotten tree. Now have I shewed thee why thou art\nharder than the stone and bitterer than the tree. Now shall I shew\nthee why thou art more naked and barer than the fig tree. It befel\nthat Our Lord on Palm Sunday preached in Jerusalem, and there He found\nin the people that all hardness was harboured in them, and there He\nfound in all the town not one that would harbour him. And then He went\nwithout the town, and found in the middes of the way a fig tree, the\nwhich was right fair and well garnished of leaves, but fruit had it\nnone. Then Our Lord cursed the tree that bare no fruit; that\nbetokeneth the fig tree unto Jerusalem, that had leaves and no fruit.\nSo thou, Sir Launcelot, when the Holy Grail was brought afore thee, He\nfound in thee no fruit, nor good thought nor good will, and defouled\nwith lechery. Certes, said Sir Launcelot, all that you have said is\ntrue, and from henceforward I cast me, by the grace of God, never to\nbe so wicked as I have been, but as to follow knighthood and to do\nfeats of arms. Then the good man enjoined Sir Launcelot such penance\nas he might do and to pursue knighthood, and so assoiled him, and\nprayed Sir Launcelot to abide with him all that day. I will well, said\nSir Launcelot, for I have neither helm, nor horse, nor sword. As for\nthat, said the good man, I shall help you or tomorn at even of an\nhorse, and all that longed unto you. And then Sir Launcelot repented\nhim greatly.\n\n_Here leaveth of the history of syr launcelot. And here followeth of\nsir Percyvale de galys which is the xiiii book_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTEENTH BOOK\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE CAME TO A RECLUSE AND ASKED COUNSEL, AND HOW SHE\nTOLD HIM THAT SHE WAS HIS AUNT\n\n\nNow saith the tale, that when Sir Launcelot was ridden after Sir\nGalahad, the which had all these adventures above said, Sir Percivale\nturned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of that\nknight that Launcelot followed. And so he kneeled at her window, and\nthe recluse opened it and asked Sir Percivale what he would. Madam, he\nsaid, I am a knight of King Arthur's court, and my name is Sir\nPercivale de Galis. When the recluse heard his name she had great joy\nof him, for mickle she had loved him tofore any other knight, for she\nought to do so, for she was his aunt. And then she commanded the gates\nto be opened, and there he had all the cheer that she might make him,\nand all that was in her power was at his commandment. So on the morn\nSir Percivale went to the recluse and asked her if she knew that\nknight with the white shield. Sir, said she, why would ye wit? Truly,\nmadam, said Sir Percivale, I shall never be well at ease till that I\nknow of that knight's fellowship, and that I may fight with him, for I\nmay not leave him so lightly, for I have the shame yet. Ah, Percivale,\nsaid she, would ye fight with him? I see well ye have great will to be\nslain as your father was through outrageousness. Madam, said Sir\nPercivale, it seemeth by your words that ye know me. Yea, said she, I\nwell ought to know you, for I am your aunt, although I be in a priory\nplace. For some called me sometime the queen of the Waste Lands, and I\nwas called the queen of most riches in the world; and it pleased me\nnever my riches so much as doth my poverty. Then Sir Percivale wept\nfor very pity when that he knew it was his aunt. Ah, fair nephew, said\nshe, when heard ye tidings of your mother? Truly, said he, I heard\nnone of her, but I dream of her much in my sleep; and therefore I wot\nnot whether she be dead or on live. Certes, fair nephew, said she,\nyour mother is dead, for after your departing from her she took such a\nsorrow that anon, after she was confessed, she died. Now, God have\nmercy on her soul, said Sir Percivale, it sore forthinketh me; but all\nwe must change the life. Now, fair aunt, tell me what is the knight? I\ndeem it be he that bare the red arms on Whitsunday. Wit you well, said\nshe, that this is he, for otherwise ought he not to do, but to go in\nred arms; and that same knight hath no peer, for he worketh all by\nmiracle, and he shall never be overcome of none earthly man's hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nHOW MERLIN LIKENED THE ROUND TABLE TO THE WORLD, AND HOW THE KNIGHTS\nTHAT SHOULD ACHIEVE THE SANGREAL SHOULD BE KNOWN\n\n\nAlso Merlin made the Round Table in tokening of roundness of the\nworld, for by the Round Table is the world signified by right, for all\nthe world, Christian and heathen, repair unto the Round Table; and\nwhen they are chosen to be of the fellowship of the Round Table they\nthink them more blessed and more in worship than if they had gotten\nhalf the world; and ye have seen that they have lost their fathers and\ntheir mothers, and all their kin, and their wives and their children,\nfor to be of your fellowship. It is well seen by you; for since ye\nhave departed from your mother ye would never see her, ye found such\nfellowship at the Round Table. When Merlin had ordained the Round\nTable he said, by them which should be fellows of the Round Table the\ntruth of the Sangreal should be well known. And men asked him how men\nmight know them that should best do and to achieve the Sangreal? Then\nhe said there should be three white bulls that should achieve it, and\nthe two should be maidens, and the third should be chaste. And that\none of the three should pass his father as much as the lion passeth\nthe leopard, both of strength and hardiness. They that heard Merlin\nsay so said thus unto Merlin: Sithen there shall be such a knight,\nthou shouldest ordain by thy crafts a siege, that no man should sit in\nit but he all only that shall pass all other knights. Then Merlin\nanswered that he would do so. And then he made the Siege Perilous, in\nthe which Galahad sat in at his meat on Whitsunday last past. Now,\nmadam, said Sir Percivale, so much have I heard of you that by my good\nwill I will never have ado with Sir Galahad but by way of kindness;\nand for God's love, fair aunt, can ye teach me some way where I may\nfind him? for much would I love the fellowship of him. Fair nephew,\nsaid she, ye must ride unto a castle the which is called Goothe, where\nhe hath a cousin-germain, and there may ye be lodged this night. And\nas he teacheth you, pursue after as fast as ye can; and if he can tell\nyou no tidings of him, ride straight unto the Castle of Carbonek,\nwhere the maimed king is there lying, for there shall ye hear true\ntidings of him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE CAME INTO A MONASTERY, WHERE HE FOUND KING EVELAKE,\nWHICH WAS AN OLD MAN\n\n\nThen departed Sir Percivale from his aunt, either making great sorrow.\nAnd so he rode till evensong time. And then he heard a clock smite;\nand then he was ware of an house closed well with walls and deep\nditches, and there he knocked at the gate and was let in, and he alit\nand was led unto a chamber, and soon he was unarmed. And there he had\nright good cheer all that night; and on the morn he heard his mass,\nand in the monastery he found a priest ready at the altar. And on the\nright side he saw a pew closed with iron, and behind the altar he saw\na rich bed and a fair, as of cloth of silk and gold. Then Sir\nPercivale espied that therein was a man or a woman, for the visage was\ncovered; then he left off his looking and heard his service. And when\nit came to the sacring, he that lay within that percloos dressed him\nup, and uncovered his head; and then him beseemed a passing old man,\nand he had a crown of gold upon his head, and his shoulders were naked\nand unhilled unto his navel. And then Sir Percivale espied his body\nwas full of great wounds, both on the shoulders, arms, and visage. And\never he held up his hands against our Lord's body, and cried: Fair,\nsweet Father, Jesu Christ, forget not me. And so he lay down, but\nalways he was in his prayers and orisons; and him seemed to be of the\nage of three hundred winter. And when the mass was done the priest\ntook Our Lord's body and bare it to the sick king. And when he had\nused it he did off his crown, and commanded the crown to be set on the\naltar. Then Sir Percivale asked one of the brethren what he was. Sir,\nsaid the good man, ye have heard much of Joseph of Aramathie, how he\nwas sent by Jesu Christ into this land for to teach and preach the\nholy Christian faith; and therefore he suffered many persecutions the\nwhich the enemies of Christ did unto him, and in the city of Sarras he\nconverted a king whose name was Evelake. And so this king came with\nJoseph into this land, and ever he was busy to be thereas the Sangreal\nwas; and on a time be nighed it so nigh that Our Lord was displeased\nwith him, but ever he followed it more and more, till God struck him\nalmost blind. Then this king cried mercy, and said: Fair Lord, let me\nnever die till the good knight of my blood of the ninth degree be\ncome, that I may see him openly that he shall achieve the Sangreal,\nthat I may kiss him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE SAW MANY MEN OF ARMS BEARING A DEAD KNIGHT, AND HOW\nHE FOUGHT AGAINST THEM\n\n\nWhen the king thus had made his prayers he heard a voice that said:\nHeard be thy prayers, for thou shalt not die till he have kissed thee.\nAnd when that knight shall come the clearness of your eyes shall come\nagain, and thou shalt see openly, and thy wounds shall be healed, and\nerst shall they never close. And this befel of King Evelake, and this\nsame king hath lived this three hundred winter this holy life, and men\nsay the knight is in the court that shall heal him. Sir, said the good\nman, I pray you tell me what knight that ye be, and if ye be of King\nArthur's court and of the Table Round. Yea, forsooth, said he, and my\nname is Sir Percivale de Galis. And when the good man understood his\nname he made great joy of him. And then Sir Percivale departed and\nrode till the hour of noon. And he met in a valley about a twenty men\nof arms, which bare in a bier a knight deadly slain. And when they saw\nSir Percivale they asked him of whence he was. And he answered: Of the\ncourt of King Arthur. Then they cried all at once: Slay him. Then Sir\nPercivale smote the first to the earth and his horse upon him. And\nthen seven of the knights smote upon his shield all at once, and the\nremnant slew his horse so that he fell to the earth. So had they slain\nhim or taken him had not the good knight, Sir Galahad, with the red\narms come there by adventure into those parts. And when he saw all\nthose knights upon one knight he cried: Save me that knight's life.\nAnd then he dressed him toward the twenty men of arms as fast as his\nhorse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and smote the foremost\nhorse and man to the earth. And when his spear was broken he set his\nhand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand\nthat it was marvel to see, and at every stroke he smote one down or\nput him to a rebuke, so that they would fight no more but fled to a\nthick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them. And when Sir Percivale\nsaw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his horse was away.\nAnd then he wist well it was Sir Galahad. And then he cried aloud: Ah,\nfair knight, abide and suffer me to do thankings unto thee, for much\nhave ye done for me. But ever Sir Galahad rode so fast that at the\nlast he passed out of his sight. And as fast as Sir Percivale might he\nwent after him on foot, crying. And then he met with a yeoman riding\nupon an hackney, the which led in his hand a great steed blacker than\nany bear. Ah, fair friend, said Sir Percivale, as ever I may do for\nyou, and to be your true knight in the first place ye will require me,\nthat ye will lend me that black steed, that I might overtake a knight\nthe which rideth afore me. Sir knight, said the yeoman, I pray you\nhold me excused of that, for that I may not do. For wit ye well, the\nhorse is such a man's horse, that an I lent it you or any man, that he\nwould slay me. Alas, said Sir Percivale, I had never so great sorrow\nas I have had for losing of yonder knight. Sir, said the yeoman, I am\nright heavy for you, for a good horse would beseem you well; but I\ndare not deliver you this horse but if ye would take him from me. That\nwill I not do, said Sir Percivale. And so they departed; and Sir\nPercivale set him down under a tree, and made sorrow out of measure.\nAnd as he was there, there came a knight riding on the horse that the\nyeoman led, and he was clene armed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHOW A YEOMAN DESIRED HIM TO GET AGAIN AN HORSE AND HOW SIR PERCIVALE'S\nHACKNEY WAS SLAIN, AND HOW HE GAT AN HORSE\n\n\nAnd anon the yeoman came pricking after as fast as ever he might, and\nasked Sir Percivale if he saw any knight riding on his black steed.\nYea, sir forsooth, said he; why, sir, ask ye me that? Ah, sir, that\nsteed he hath benome me with strength; wherefor my lord will slay me\nin what place he findeth me. Well, said Sir Percivale, what wouldst\nthou that I did? Thou seest well that I am on foot, but an I had a\ngood horse I should bring him soon again. Sir, said the yeoman, take\nmine hackney and do the best ye can, and I shall serve you on foot to\nwit how that ye shall speed. Then Sir Percivale alit upon that\nhackney, and rode as fast as he might, and at the last he saw that\nknight And then he cried: Knight, turn again; and he turned and set\nhis spear again Sir Percivale, and he smote the hackney in the middes\nof the breast that he fell down dead to the earth, and there he had a\ngreat fall, and the other rode his way. And then Sir Percivale was\nwood worth, and cried: Abide, wicked knight; coward and false-hearted\nknight, turn again and fight with me on foot. But he answered not, but\npassed on his way. When Sir Percivale saw he would not turn he cast\naway his helm and sword, and said: Now am I a very wretch, cursed and\nmost unhappy above all other knights. So in this sorrow he abode all\nthat day till it was night; and then he was faint, and laid him down\nand slept till it was midnight; and then he awakened and saw afore him\na woman which said unto him right fiercely: Sir Percivale, what dost\nthou here? He answered, I do neither good nor great ill. If thou wilt\nensure me, said she, that thou wilt fulfil my will when I summon thee,\nI shall lend thee mine own horse which shall bear thee whither thou\nwilt. Sir Percivale was glad of her proffer, and ensured her to fulfil\nall her desire. Then abide me here, and I shall go and fetch you an\nhorse. And so she came soon again and brought an horse with her that\nwas inly black. When Percivale beheld that horse he marvelled that it\nwas so great and so well apparelled; and not for then he was so hardy,\nand he leapt upon him, and took none heed of himself. And so anon as\nhe was upon him he thrust to him with his spurs, and so he rode by a\nforest, and the moon shone clear. And within an hour and less he bare\nhim four days' journey thence, until he came to a rough water the\nwhich roared, and his horse would have borne him into it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nOF THE GREAT DANGER THAT SIR PERCIVALE WAS IN BY HIS HORSE, AND HOW HE\nSAW A SERPENT AND A LION FIGHT\n\n\nAnd when Sir Percivale came nigh the brim, and saw the water so\nboistous, he doubted to overpass it. And then he made a sign of the\ncross on his forehead. When the fiend felt him so charged he shook off\nSir Percivale, and he went into the water crying and roaring, making\ngreat sorrow, and it seemed unto him that the water brent. Then Sir\nPercivale perceived it was a fiend, the which would have brought him\nunto his perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed Our\nLord to keep him from all such temptations; and so he prayed all that\nnight till on the morn that it was day; then he saw that he was in a\nwild mountain the which was closed with the sea nigh all about, that\nhe might see no land about him which might relieve him, but wild\nbeasts. And then he went into a valley, and there he saw a young\nserpent bring a young lion by the neck, and so he came by Sir\nPercivale. With that came a great lion crying and roaring after the\nserpent. And as fast as Sir Percivale saw this he marvelled, and hied\nhim thither, but anon the lion had overtaken the serpent and began\nbattle with him. And then Sir Percivale thought to help the lion for\nhe was the more natural beast of the two; and therewith he drew his\nsword, and set his shield afore him, and there he gave the serpent\nsuch a buffet that he had a deadly wound. When the lion saw that, he\nmade no resemblant to fight with him, but made him all the cheer that\na beast might make a man. Then Percivale perceived that, and cast down\nhis shield which was broken; and then he did off his helm for to\ngather wind, for he was greatly enchafed with the serpent: and the\nlion went alway about him fawning as a spaniel. And then he stroked\nhim on the neck and on the shoulders. And then he thanked God of the\nfellowship of that beast. And about noon the lion took his little\nwhelp and trussed him and bare him there he came from. Then was Sir\nPercivale alone. And as the tale telleth, he was one of the men of the\nworld at that time which most believed in our Lord Jesu Christ, for in\nthose days there were but few folks that believed in God perfectly.\nFor in those days the son spared not the father no more than a\nstranger. And so Sir Percivale comforted himself in our Lord Jesu, and\nbesought God no temptation should bring him out of God's service, but\nto endure as his true champion. Thus when Sir Percivale had prayed he\nsaw the lion come toward him, and then he couched down at his feet.\nAnd so all that night the lion and he slept together; and when Sir\nPercivale slept he dreamed a marvellous dream, that there two ladies\nmet with him, and that one sat upon a lion, and that other sat upon a\nserpent, and that one of them was young, and the other was old; and\nthe youngest him thought said: Sir Percivale, my lord saluteth thee,\nand sendeth thee word that thou array thee and make thee ready, for\ntomorn thou must fight with the strongest champion of the world. And\nif thou be overcome thou shalt not be quit for losing of any of thy\nmembers, but thou shalt be shamed for ever to the world's end. And\nthen he asked her what was her lord. And she said the greatest lord of\nall the world: and so she departed suddenly that he wist not where.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nOF THE VISION THAT SIR PERCIVALE SAW, AND HOW HIS VISION WAS\nEXPOUNDED, AND OF HIS LION\n\n\nThen came forth the other lady that rode upon the serpent, and she\nsaid: Sir Percivale, I complain me of you that ye have done unto me,\nand have not offended unto you. Certes, madam, he said, unto you nor\nno lady I never offended. Yes, said she, I shall tell you why. I have\nnourished in this place a great while a serpent, which served me a\ngreat while, and yesterday ye slew him as he gat his prey. Say me for\nwhat cause ye slew him, for the lion was not yours. Madam, said Sir\nPercivale, I know well the lion was not mine, but I did it for the\nlion is of more gentler nature than the serpent, and therefore I slew\nhim; meseemeth I did not amiss against you. Madam, said he, what would\nye that I did? I would, said she, for the amends of my beast that ye\nbecome my man. And then he answered: That will I not grant you. No,\nsaid she, truly ye were never but my servant syn ye received the\nhomage of Our Lord Jesu Christ. Therefore, I ensure you in what place\nI may find you without keeping I shall take you as he that sometime\nwas my man. And so she departed from Sir Percivale and left him\nsleeping, the which was sore travailed of his advision. And on the\nmorn he arose and blessed him, and he was passing feeble. Then was Sir\nPercivale ware in the sea, and saw a ship come sailing toward him; and\nSir Percivale went unto the ship and found it covered within and\nwithout with white samite. And at the board stood an old man clothed\nin a surplice, in likeness of a priest. Sir, said Sir Percivale, ye be\nwelcome. God keep you, said the good man. Sir, said the old man, of\nwhence be ye? Sir, said Sir Percivale, I am of King Arthur's court,\nand a knight of the Table Round, the which am in the quest of the\nSangreal; and here am I in great duresse, and never like to escape out\nof this wilderness. Doubt not, said the good man, an ye be so true a\nknight as the order of chivalry requireth, and of heart as ye ought to\nbe, ye should not doubt that none enemy should slay you. What are ye?\nsaid Sir Percivale. Sir, said the old man, I am of a strange country,\nand hither I come to comfort you. Sir, said Sir Percivale, what\nsignifieth my dream that I dreamed this night? And there he told him\naltogether: She which rode upon the lion betokeneth the new law of\nholy church, that is to understand, faith, good hope, belief, and\nbaptism. For she seemed younger than the other it is great reason, for\nshe was born in the resurrection and the passion of our Lord Jesu\nChrist. And for great love she came to thee to warn thee of thy great\nbattle that shall befall thee. With whom, said Sir Percivale, shall I\nfight? With the most champion of the world, said the old man; for as\nthe lady said, but if thou quit thee well thou shalt not be quit by\nlosing of one member, but thou shalt be shamed to the world's end. And\nshe that rode on the serpent signifieth the old law, and that serpent\nbetokeneth a fiend. And why she blamed thee that thou slewest her\nservant, it betokeneth nothing; the serpent that thou slewest\nbetokeneth the devil that thou rodest upon to the rock. And when thou\nmadest a sign of the cross, there thou slewest him, and put away his\npower. And when she asked thee amends and to become her man, and thou\nsaidst thou wouldst not, that was to make thee to believe on her and\nleave thy baptism. So he commanded Sir Percivale to depart, and so he\nleapt over the board and the ship, and all went away he wist not\nwhither. Then he went up unto the rock and found the lion which always\nkept him fellowship, and he stroked him upon the back and had great\njoy of him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE SAW A SHIP COMING TO HIM-WARD, AND HOW THE LADY OF\nTHE SHIP TOLD HIM OF HER DISHERITANCE\n\n\nBy that Sir Percivale had abiden there till mid-day he saw a ship came\nrowing in the sea as all the wind of the world had driven it. And so\nit drove under that rock. And when Sir Percivale saw this he hied him\nthither, and found the ship covered with silk more blacker than any\nbear, and therein was a gentlewoman of great beauty, and she was\nclothed richly that none might be better. And when she saw Sir\nPercivale she said: Who brought you in this wilderness where ye be\nnever like to pass hence, for ye shall die here for hunger and\nmischief? Damosel, said Sir Percivale, I serve the best man of the\nworld, and in his service he will not suffer me to die, for who that\nknocketh shall enter, and who that asketh shall have, and who that\nseeketh him he hideth him not. But then she said: Sir Percivale, wot\nye what I am? Yea, said he. Now who taught you my name? said she. Now,\nsaid Sir Percivale, I know you better than ye ween. And I came out of\nthe waste forest where I found the red knight with the white shield,\nsaid the damosel. Ah, damosel, said he, with that knight would I meet\npassing fain. Sir knight, said she, an ye will ensure me by the faith\nthat ye owe unto knighthood that ye shall do my will what time I\nsummon you, and I shall bring you unto that knight. Yea, said he, I\nshall promise you to fulfil your desire. Well, said she, now shall I\ntell you. I saw him in the forest chasing two knights unto a water,\nthe which is called Mortaise; and they drove him into that water for\ndread of death, and the two knights passed over, and the red knight\npassed after, and there his horse was drenched, and he, through great\nstrength, escaped unto the land: thus she told him, and Sir Percivale\nwas passing glad thereof. Then she asked him if he had ate any meat\nlate. Nay, madam, truly I ate no meat nigh this three days, but late\nhere I spake with a good man that fed me with his good words and holy,\nand refreshed me greatly. Ah, sir knight, said she, that same man is\nan enchanter and a multiplier of words. For an ye believe him ye shall\nplainly be shamed, and die in this rock for pure hunger, and be eaten\nwith wild beasts; and ye be a young man and a goodly knight, and I\nshall help you an ye will. What are ye, said Sir Percivale, that\nproffered me thus great kindness? I am, said she, a gentlewoman that\nam disherited, which was sometime the richest woman of the world.\nDamosel, said Sir Percivale, who hath disherited you? for I have great\npity of you. Sir, said she, I dwelled with the greatest man of the\nworld, and he made me so fair and clear that there was none like me;\nand of that great beauty I had a little pride more than I ought to\nhave had. Also I said a word that pleased him not. And then he would\nnot suffer me to be any longer in his company, and so drove me from\nmine heritage, and so disherited me, and he had never pity of me nor\nof none of my council, nor of my court. And sithen, sir knight, it\nhath befallen me so, and through me and mine I have benome him many of\nhis men, and made them to become my men. For they ask never nothing of\nme but I give it them, that and much more. Thus I and all my servants\nwere against him night and day. Therefore I know now no good knight,\nnor no good man, but I get them on my side an I may. And for that I\nknow that thou art a good knight, I beseech you to help me; and for ye\nbe a fellow of the Round Table, wherefore ye ought not to fail no\ngentlewoman which is disherited, an she besought you of help.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE PROMISED HER HELP, AND HOW HE REQUIRED HER OF LOVE,\nAND HOW HE WAS SAVED FROM THE FIEND\n\n\nThen Sir Percivale promised her all the help that he might; and then\nshe thanked him. And at that time the weather was hot. Then she called\nunto her a gentlewoman and bad her bring forth a pavilion; and so she\ndid, and pyght it upon the gravel. Sir, said she, now may ye rest you\nin this heat of the day. Then he thanked her, and she put off his helm\nand his shield, and there he slept a great while. And then he awoke\nand asked her if she had any meat, and she said: Yea, also ye shall\nhave enough. And so there was set enough upon the table, and thereon\nso much that he had marvel, for there was all manner of meats that he\ncould think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he\ndrank, him thought, and therewith he was a little chafed more than he\nought to be; with that he beheld the gentlewoman, and him thought she\nwas the fairest creature that ever he saw. And then Sir Percivale\nproffered her love, and prayed her that she would be his. Then she\nrefused him, in a manner, when he required her, for the cause he\nshould be the more ardent on her, and ever he ceased not to pray her\nof love. And when she saw him well enchafed, then she said: Sir\nPercivale, wit you well I shall not fulfil your will but if ye swear\nfrom henceforth ye shall be my true servant, and to do nothing but\nthat I shall command you. Will ye ensure me this as ye be a true\nknight? Yea, said he, fair lady, by the faith of my body. Well, said\nshe, now shall ye do with me what so it please you; and now wit ye\nwell ye are the knight in the world that I have most desire for. And\nthen two squires were commanded to make a bed in middes of the\npavilion. And anon she was unclothed and laid therein. And then Sir\nPercivale laid him down by her naked; and by adventure and grace he\nsaw his sword lie on the ground naked, in whose pommel was a red cross\nand the sign of the crucifix therein, and bethought him on his\nknighthood and his promise made toforehand unto the good man; then he\nmade a sign of the cross in his forehead, and therewith the pavilion\nturned up so down, and then it changed unto a smoke, and a black\ncloud, and then he was adread and cried aloud:\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE FOR PENANCE ROVE HIMSELF THROUGH THE THIGH; AND HOW\nSHE WAS KNOWN FOR THE DEVIL\n\n\nFair sweet father, Jesu Christ, ne let me not be shamed, the which was\nnigh lost had not thy good grace been. And then he looked into a ship,\nand saw her enter therein, which said: Sir Percivale, ye have betrayed\nme. And so she went with the wind roaring and yelling, that it seemed\nall the water brent after her. Then Sir Percivale made great sorrow,\nand drew his sword unto him, saying: Sithen my flesh will be my master\nI shall punish it; and therewith he rove himself through the thigh\nthat the blood start about him, and said: O good Lord, take this in\nrecompensation of that I have done against thee, my Lord. So then he\nclothed him and armed him, and called himself a wretch, saying: How\nnigh was I lost, and to have lost that I should never have gotten\nagain, that was my virginity, for that may never be recovered after it\nis once lost. And then he stopped his bleeding wound with a piece of\nhis shirt. Thus as he made his moan he saw the same ship come from\nOrient that the good man was in the day afore, and the noble knight\nwas ashamed with himself, and therewith he fell in a swoon. And when\nhe awoke he went unto him weakly, and there he saluted this good man.\nAnd then he asked Sir Percivale: How hast thou done sith I departed?\nSir, said he, here was a gentlewoman and led me into deadly sin. And\nthere he told him altogether. Knew ye not the maid? said the good man.\nSir, said he, nay, but well I wot the fiend sent her hither to shame\nme. O good knight, said he, thou art a fool, for that gentlewoman was\nthe master fiend of hell, the which hath power above all devils, and\nthat was the old lady that thou sawest in thine advision riding on the\nserpent. Then he told Sir Percivale how our Lord Jesu Christ beat him\nout of heaven for his sin, the which was the most brightest angel of\nheaven, and therefore he lost his heritage: And that was the champion\nthat thou foughtest withal, the which had overcome thee had not the\ngrace of God been. Now beware Sir Percivale, and taken this for an\nensample. And then the good man vanished away. Then Sir Percivale took\nhis arms, and entered into the ship, and so departed from thence.\n\n_Here endeth the fourtenthe booke, whiche is of syr Percyval. And here\nfolloweth of syre Launcelot, whiche is the fyftenth book_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIFTEENTH BOOK\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT CAME TO A CHAPEL, WHERE HE FOUND DEAD, IN A WHITE\nSHIRT, A MAN OF RELIGION, OF AN HUNDRED WINTER OLD\n\n\nWhen the hermit had kept Sir Launcelot three days, the hermit gat him\na horse, an helm, and a sword. And then he departed about the hour of\nnoon. And then he saw a little house. And when he came near he saw a\nchapel, and there beside he saw an old man that was clothed all in\nwhite full richly; and then Sir Launcelot said: God save you. God keep\nyou, said the good man, and make you a good knight. Then Sir Launcelot\nalit and entered into the chapel and there he saw an old man dead, in\na white shirt of passing fine cloth. Sir, said the good man, this man\nthat is dead ought not to be in such clothing as ye see him in, for in\nthat he brake the oath of his order, for he hath been more than an\nhundred winter a man of a religion. And then the good man and Sir\nLauncelot went into the chapel; and the good man took a stole about\nhis neck, and a book, and then he conjured on that book; and with that\nthey saw in an hideous figure and horrible, that there was no man so\nhard-hearted nor so hard but he should have been afeard. Then said the\nfiend: Thou hast travailed me greatly; now tell me what thou wilt with\nme. I will, said the good man, that thou tell me how my fellow became\ndead, and whether he be saved or damned. Then he said with an horrible\nvoice: He is not lost but saved. How may that be? said the good man;\nit seemed to me that he lived not well, for he brake his order for to\nwear a shirt where he ought to wear none, and who that trespasseth\nagainst our order doth not well. Not so, said the fiend, this man that\nlieth here dead was come of a great lineage. And there was a lord that\nhight the Earl de Vale, that held great war against this man's nephew,\nthe which hight Aguarus. And so this Aguarus saw the earl was bigger\nthan he. Then he went for to take counsel of his uncle, the which\nlieth here dead as ye may see. And then he asked leave, and went out\nof his hermitage for to maintain his nephew against the mighty earl;\nand so it happed that this man that lieth here dead did so much by his\nwisdom and hardiness that the earl was taken, and three of his lords,\nby force of this dead man.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOF A DEAD MAN, HOW MEN WOULD HAVE HEWN HIM, AND IT WOULD NOT BE, AND\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT TOOK THE HAIR OF THE DEAD MAN\n\n\nThen was there peace betwixt the earl and this Aguarus, and great\nsurety that the earl should never war against him. Then this dead man\nthat here lieth came to this hermitage again; and then the earl made\ntwo of his nephews for to be avenged upon this man. So they came on a\nday, and found this dead man at the sacring of his mass, and they\nabode him till he had said mass. And then they set upon him and drew\nout swords to have slain him; but there would no sword bite on him\nmore than upon a gad of steel, for the high Lord which he served he\nhim preserved. Then made they a great fire, and did off all his\nclothes, and the hair off his back. And then this dead man hermit said\nunto them: Ween you to burn me? It shall not lie in your power nor to\nperish me as much as a thread an there were any on my body. No, said\none of them, it shall be essayed. And then they despoiled him, and put\nupon him this shirt, and cast him in a fire, and there he lay all that\nnight till it was day in that fire, and was not dead, and so in the\nmorn I came and found him dead; but I found neither thread nor skin\ntamyd, and so took him out of the fire with great fear, and led him\nhere as ye may see. And now may ye suffer me to go my way, for I have\nsaid you the sooth. And then he departed with a great tempest. Then\nwas the good man and Sir Launcelot more gladder than they were tofore.\nAnd then Sir Launcelot dwelled with that good man that night. Sir,\nsaid the good man, be ye not Sir Launcelot du Lake? Yea, sir, said he.\nWhat seek ye in this country? Sir, said Sir Launcelot, I go to seek\nthe adventures of the Sangreal. Well, said he, seek it ye may well,\nbut though it were here ye shall have no power to see it no more than\na blind man should see a bright sword, and that is long on your sin,\nand else ye were more abler than any man living. And then Sir\nLauncelot began to weep. Then said the good man: Were ye confessed\nsith ye entered into the quest of the Sangreal? Yea, sir, said Sir\nLauncelot. Then upon the morn when the good man had sung his mass,\nthen they buried the dead man. Then Sir Launcelot said: Father, what\nshall I do? Now, said the good man, I require you take this hair that\nwas this holy man's and put it next thy skin, and it shall prevail\nthee greatly. Sir, and I will do it, said Sir Launcelot. Also I charge\nyou that ye eat no flesh as long as ye be in the quest of the\nSangreal, nor ye shall drink no wine, and that ye hear mass daily an\nye may do it. So he took the hair and put it upon him, and so departed\nat evensong-time. And so rode he into a forest, and there he met with\na gentlewoman riding upon a white palfrey, and then she asked him: Sir\nknight, whither ride ye? Certes, damosel, said Launcelot, I wot not\nwhither I ride but as fortune leadeth me. Ah, Sir Launcelot, said she,\nI wot what adventure ye seek, for ye were afore time nearer than ye be\nnow, and yet shall ye see it more openly than ever ye did, and that\nshall ye understand in short time. Then Sir Launcelot asked her where\nhe might be harboured that night. Ye shall not find this day nor\nnight, but tomorn ye shall find harbour good, and ease of that ye be\nin doubt of. And then he commended her unto God. Then he rode till\nthat he came to a Cross, and took that for his host as for that night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nOF A VISION THAT SIR LAUNCELOT HAD, AND HOW HE TOLD IT TO AN HERMIT,\nAND DESIRED COUNSEL OF HIM\n\n\nAnd so he put his horse to pasture, and did off his helm and his\nshield, and made his prayers unto the Cross that he never fall in\ndeadly sin again. And so he laid him down to sleep. And anon as he was\non sleep it befell him there an advision, that there came a man afore\nhim all by compass of stars, and that man had a crown of gold on his\nhead, and that man led in his fellowship seven kings and two knights.\nAnd all these worshipped the Cross, kneeling upon their knees, holding\nup their hands toward the heaven. And all they said: Fair sweet Father\nof heaven, come and visit us, and yield unto us every each as we have\ndeserved. Then looked Launcelot up to the heaven, and him seemed the\nclouds did open, and an old man came down, with a company of angels,\nand alit among them, and gave unto every each his blessing, and called\nthem his servants, and good and true knights. And when this old man\nhad said thus he came to one of those knights, and said: I have lost\nall that I have set in thee, for thou hast ruled thee against me as a\nwarrior, and used wrong wars with vain glory, more for the pleasure of\nthe world than to please me, therefore thou shalt be confounded\nwithout thou yield me my treasure. All this advision saw Sir Launcelot\nat the Cross. And on the morn he took his horse and rode till midday;\nand there by adventure he met with the same knight that took his\nhorse, helm, and his sword, when he slept when the Sangreal appeared\nafore the Cross. When Sir Launcelot saw him he saluted him not fair,\nbut cried on high: Knight, keep thee, for thou hast done to me great\nunkindness. And then they put afore them their spears, and Sir\nLauncelot came so fiercely upon him that he smote him and his horse\ndown to the earth, that he had nigh broken his neck. Then Sir\nLauncelot took the knight's horse that was his own aforehand, and\ndescended from the horse he sat upon, and mounted upon his own horse,\nand tied the knight's own horse to a tree that he might find that\nhorse when that he was arisen. Then Sir Launcelot rode till night and\nby adventure he met an hermit, and each of them saluted other; and\nthere he rested with that good man all night, and gave his horse such\nas he might get. Then said the good man unto Launcelot: Of whence be\nye? Sir, said he, I am of Arthur's court, and my name is Sir Launcelot\ndu Lake that am in the quest of the Sangreal, and therefore I pray you\nto counsel me of a vision the which I had at the Cross. And so he told\nhim all.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHOW THE HERMIT EXPOUNDED TO SIR LAUNCELOT HIS VISION, AND TOLD HIM\nTHAT SIR GALAHAD WAS HIS SON\n\n\nLo, Sir Launcelot, said the good man, there thou mightest understand\nthe high lineage that thou art come of, and thine advision betokeneth.\nAfter the passion of Jesu Christ forty year, Joseph of Aramathie\npreached the victory of King Evelake, that he had in the battles the\nbetter of his enemies. And of the seven kings and the two knights: the\nfirst of them is called Nappus, an holy man; and the second hight\nNacien, in remembrance of his grandsire, and in him dwelled our lord\nJesu Christ; and the third was called Helias le Grose; and the fourth\nhight Lisais; and the fifth hight Jonas, he departed out of his\ncountry and went into Wales, and took there the daughter of Manuel,\nwhereby he had the land of Gaul, and he came to dwell in this country.\nAnd of him came King Launcelot thy grandsire, the which there wedded\nthe king's daughter of Ireland, and he was as worthy a man as thou\nart, and of him came King Ban, thy father, the which was the last of\nthe seven kings. And by thee, Sir Launcelot, it signifieth that the\nangels said thou were none of the seven fellowships. And the last was\nthe ninth knight, he was signified to a lion, for he should pass all\nmanner of earthly knights that is Sir Galahad, the which thou gat on\nKing Pelles' daughter; and thou ought to thank God more than any other\nman living, for of a sinner earthly thou hast no peer as in\nknighthood, nor never shall be. But little thank hast thou given to\nGod for all the great virtues that God hath lent thee. Sir, said\nLauncelot, ye say that that good knight is my son. That oughtest thou\nto know and no man better, said the good man, for thou knewest the\ndaughter of King Pelles fleshly, and on her thou begattest Galahad,\nand that was he that at the feast of Pentecost sat in the Siege\nPerilous; and therefore make thou it known openly that he is one of\nthy begetting on King Pelles' daughter, for that will be your worship\nand honour, and to all thy kindred. And I counsel you in no place\npress not upon him to have ado with him. Well, said Launcelot,\nmeseemeth that good knight should pray for me unto the High Father,\nthat I fall not to sin again. Trust thou well, said the good man, thou\nfarest mickle the better for his prayer; but the son shall not bear\nthe wickedness of the father, nor the father shall not bear the\nwickedness of the son, but every each shall bear his own burden. And\ntherefore beseek thou only God, and he will help thee in all thy\nneeds. And then Sir Launcelot and he went to supper, and so laid him\nto rest, and the hair pricked so Sir Launcelot's skin which grieved\nhim full sore, but he took it meekly, and suffered the pain. And so on\nthe morn he heard his mass and took his arms, and so took his leave.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT JOUSTED WITH MANY KNIGHTS, AND HOW HE WAS TAKEN\n\n\nAnd then mounted upon his horse, and rode into a forest, and held no\nhighway. And as he looked afore him he saw a fair plain, and beside\nthat a fair castle, and afore the castle were many pavilions of silk\nand of diverse hue. And him seemed that he saw there five hundred\nknights riding on horseback; and there were two parties: they that\nwere of the castle were all on black horses and their trappours black,\nand they that were without were all on white horses and trappours, and\nevery each hurtled to other that it marvelled Sir Launcelot. And at\nthe last him thought they of the castle were put to the worse. Then\nthought Sir Launcelot for to help there the weaker party in increasing\nof his chivalry. And so Sir Launcelot thrust in among the party of the\ncastle, and smote down a knight, horse and man, to the earth. And then\nhe rushed here and there, and did marvellous deeds of arms. And then\nhe drew out his sword, and struck many knights to the earth, so that\nall those that saw him marvelled that ever one knight might do so\ngreat deeds of arms. But always the white knights held them nigh about\nSir Launcelot, for to tire him and wind him. But at the last, as a man\nmay not ever endure, Sir Launcelot waxed so faint of fighting and\ntravailing, and was so weary of his great deeds, but he might not lift\nup his arms for to give one stroke, so that he weened never to have\nborne arms; and then they all took and led him away into a forest, and\nthere made him to alight and to rest him. And then all the fellowship\nof the castle were overcome for the default of him. Then they said all\nunto Sir Launcelot: Blessed be God that ye be now of our fellowship,\nfor we shall hold you in our prison; and so they left him with few\nwords. And then Sir Launcelot made great sorrow, For never or now was\nI never at tournament nor jousts but I had the best, and now I am\nshamed; and then he said: Now I am sure that I am more sinfuller than\never I was. Thus he rode sorrowing, and half a day he was out of\ndespair, till that he came into a deep valley. And when Sir Launcelot\nsaw he might not ride up into the mountain, he there alit under an\napple tree, and there he left his helm and his shield, and put his\nhorse unto pasture. And then he laid him down to sleep. And then him\nthought there came an old man afore him, the which said: Ah, Launcelot\nof evil faith and poor belief, wherefore is thy will turned so lightly\ntoward thy deadly sin? And when he had said thus he vanished away, and\nLauncelot wist not where he was become. Then he took his horse, and\narmed him; and as he rode by the way he saw a chapel where was a\nrecluse, which had a window that she might see up to the altar. And\nall aloud she called Launcelot, for that he seemed a knight errant.\nAnd then he came, and she asked him what he was, and of what place,\nand where about he went to seek.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT TOLD HIS VISION UNTO A WOMAN, AND HOW SHE EXPOUNDED\nIT UNTO HIM\n\n\nAnd then he told her all together word by word, and the truth how it\nbefell him at the tournament. And after told her his advision that he\nhad had that night in his sleep, and prayed her to tell him what it\nmight mean, for he was not well content with it. Ah, Launcelot, said\nshe, as long as ye were knight of earthly knighthood ye were the most\nmarvellous man of the world, and most adventurous. Now, said the lady,\nsithen ye be set among the knights of heavenly adventures, if\nadventure fell thee contrary at that tournament have thou no marvel,\nfor that tournament yesterday was but a tokening of Our Lord. And not\nfor then there was none enchantment, for they at the tournament were\nearthly knights. The tournament was a token to see who should have\nmost knights, either Eliazar, the son of King Pelles, or Argustus, the\nson of King Harlon. But Eliazar was all clothed in white, and Argustus\nwas covered in black, the which were come. All what this betokeneth I\nshall tell you. The day of Pentecost, when King Arthur held his court,\nit befell that earthly kings and knights took a tournament together,\nthat is to say the quest of the Sangreal. The earthly knights were\nthey the which were clothed all in black, and the covering betokeneth\nthe sins whereof they be not confessed. And they with the covering of\nwhite betokeneth virginity, and they that chose chastity. And thus was\nthe quest begun in them. Then thou beheld the sinners and the good\nmen, and when thou sawest the sinners overcome, thou inclinest to that\nparty for bobaunce and pride of the world, and all that must be left\nin that quest, for in this quest thou shalt have many fellows and thy\nbetters. For thou art so feeble of evil trust and good belief, this\nmade it when thou were there where they took thee and led thee into\nthe forest. And anon there appeared the Sangreal unto the white\nknights, but thou was so feeble of good belief and faith that thou\nmightest not abide it for all the teaching of the good man, but anon\nthou turnest to the sinners, and that caused thy misadventure that\nthou should'st know good from evil and vain glory of the world, the\nwhich is not worth a pear. And for great pride thou madest great\nsorrow that thou haddest not overcome all the white knights with the\ncovering of white by whom was betokened virginity and chastity; and\ntherefore God was wroth with you, for God loveth no such deeds in this\nquest. And this advision signifieth that thou were of evil faith and\nof poor belief, the which will make thee to fall into the deep pit of\nhell if thou keep thee not. Now have I warned thee of thy vain glory\nand of thy pride, that thou hast many times erred against thy Maker.\nBeware of everlasting pain, for of all earthly knights I have most\npity of thee, for I know well thou hast not thy peer of any earthly\nsinful man. And so she commended Sir Launcelot to dinner. And after\ndinner he took his horse and commended her to God, and so rode into a\ndeep valley, and there he saw a river and an high mountain. And\nthrough the water he must needs pass, the which was hideous; and then\nin the name of God he took it with good heart. And when he came over\nhe saw an armed knight, horse and man black as any bear; without any\nword he smote Sir Launcelot's horse to the earth; and so he passed on,\nhe wist not where he was become. And then he took his helm and his\nshield, and thanked God of his adventure.\n\n_Here leveth of the story of syr launcelot. And speke we of sir\ngawayne, the whiche is the xvi. book_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIXTEENTH BOOK\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHOW SIR GAWAINE WAS NIGH WEARY OF THE QUEST OF THE SANGREAL, AND OF\nHIS MARVELLOUS DREAM\n\n\nWhen Sir Gawaine was departed from his fellowship he rode long without\nany adventure. For he found not the tenth part of adventure as he was\nwont to do. For Sir Gawaine rode from Whitsuntide until Michaelmas and\nfound none adventure that pleased him. So on a day it befell Gawaine\nmet with Sir Ector de Maris, and either made great joy of other that\nit were marvel to tell. And so they told every each other, and\ncomplained them greatly that they could find none adventure. Truly,\nsaid Sir Gawaine unto Sir Ector, I am nigh weary of this quest, and\nloth I am to follow further in strange countries. One thing marvelled\nme, said Sir Ector, I have met with twenty knights, fellows of mine,\nand all they complain as I do. I have marvel, said Sir Gawaine, where\nthat Sir Launcelot, your brother, is. Truly, said Sir Ector, I cannot\nhear of him, nor of Sir Galahad, Percivale, nor Sir Bors. Let them be,\nsaid Sir Gawaine, for they four have no peers. And if one thing were\nnot in Sir Launcelot he had no fellow of none earthly man; but he is\nas we be, but if he took more pain upon him. But an these four be met\ntogether they will be loth that any man meet with them; for an they\nfail of the Sangreal it is in waste of all the remnant to recover it.\nThus as Ector and Gawaine rode more than eight days. And on a Saturday\nthey found an old chapel, the which was wasted that there seemed no\nman thither repaired; and there they alit, and set their spears at the\ndoor, and in they entered into the chapel, and there made their\norisons a great while, and set them down in the sieges of the chapel.\nAnd as they spake of one thing and other, for heaviness they fell on\nsleep, and there befel them both marvellous adventures. Sir Gawaine\nhim seemed he came into a meadow full of herbs and flowers, and there\nhe saw a rack of bulls, an hundred and fifty, that were proud and\nblack, save three of them were all white, and one had a black spot,\nand the other two were so fair and so white that they might be no\nwhiter. And these three bulls which were so fair were tied with two\nstrong cords. And the remnant of the bulls said among them: Go we\nhence to seek better pasture. And so some went, and some came again,\nbut they were so lean that they might not stand upright; and of the\nbulls that were so white, that one came again and no more. But when\nthis white bull was come again among these other there rose up a great\ncry for lack of wind that failed them; and so they departed one here\nand another there; this advision befell Gawaine that night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOF THE VISION OF SIR ECTOR, AND HOW HE JOUSTED WITH SIR UWAINE LES\nAVOUTRES, HIS SWORN BROTHER\n\n\nBut to Ector de Maris befell another vision the contrary. For it\nseemed him that his brother, Sir Launcelot, and he alit out of a chair\nand leapt upon two horses, and the one said to the other: Go we seek\nthat we shall not find. And him thought that a man beat Sir Launcelot,\nand despoiled him, and clothed him in another array, the which was all\nfull of knots, and set him upon an ass, and so he rode till he came to\nthe fairest well that ever he saw; and Sir Launcelot alit and would\nhave drunk of that well. And when he stooped to drink of the water the\nwater sank from him. And when Sir Launcelot saw that, he turned and\nwent thither as the head came from. And in the meanwhile he trowed\nthat himself and Sir Ector rode till that they came to a rich man's\nhouse where there was a wedding. And there he saw a king the which\nsaid: Sir knight, here is no place for you. And then he turned again\nunto the chair that he came from. Thus within a while both Gawaine and\nEctor awaked, and either told other of their advision, the which\nmarvelled them greatly. Truly, said Ector, I shall never be merry till\nI hear tidings of my brother Launcelot. Now as they sat thus talking\nthey saw an hand showing unto the elbow, and was covered with red\nsamite, and upon that hung a bridle not right rich, and held within\nthe fist a great candle which burned right clear, and so passed afore\nthem, and entered into the chapel, and then vanished away and they\nwist not where. And anon came down a voice which said: Knights of full\nevil faith and of poor belief, these two things have failed you, and\ntherefore ye may not come to the adventures of the Sangreal. Then\nfirst spake Gawaine and said: Ector, have ye heard these words? Yea\ntruly, said Sir Ector, I heard all. Now go we, said Sir Ector, unto\nsome hermit that will tell us of our advision, for it seemeth me we\nlabour all in vain. And so they departed and rode into a valley, and\nthere met with a squire which rode on an hackney, and they saluted him\nfair. Sir, said Gawaine, can thou teach us to any hermit? Here is one\nin a little mountain, but it is so rough there may no horse go\nthither, and therefore ye must go upon foot; there shall ye find a\npoor house, and there is Nacien the hermit, which is the holiest man\nin this country. And so they departed either from other. And then in a\nvalley they met with a knight all armed, which proffered them to joust\nas far as he saw them. In the name of God, said Sir Gawaine, sith I\ndeparted from Camelot there was none proffered me to joust but once.\nAnd now, sir, said Ector, let me joust with him. Nay, said Gawaine, ye\nshall not but if I be beat; it shall not forethink me then if ye go\nafter me. And then either embraced other to joust and came together as\nfast as their horses might run, and brast their shields and the mails,\nand the one more than the other; and Gawaine was wounded in the left\nside, but the other knight was smitten through the breast, and the\nspear came out on the other side, and so they fell both out of their\nsaddles, and in the falling they brake both their spears. Anon Gawaine\narose and set his hand to his sword, and cast his shield afore him.\nBut all for naught was it, for the knight had no power to rise against\nhim. Then said Gawaine: Ye must yield you as an overcome man, or else\nI may slay you. Ah, sir knight, said he, I am but dead, for God's sake\nand of your gentleness lead me here unto an abbey that I may receive\nmy Creator. Sir, said Gawaine, I know no house of religion hereby.\nSir, said the knight, set me on an horse tofore you, and I shall teach\nyou. Gawaine set him up in the saddle, and he leapt up behind him for\nto sustain him, and so came to an abbey where they were well received;\nand anon he was unarmed, and received his Creator. Then he prayed\nGawaine to draw out the truncheon of the spear out of his body. Then\nGawaine asked him what he was that knew him not. I am, said he, of\nKing Arthur's court, and was a fellow of the Round Table, and we were\nbrethren sworn together; and now Sir Gawaine, thou hast slain me, and\nmy name is Uwaine les Avoutres, that sometime was son unto King\nUriens, and was in the quest of the Sangreal; and now forgive it thee\nGod, for it shall ever be said that the one sworn brother hath slain\nthe other.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHOW SIR GAWAINE AND SIR ECTOR CAME TO AN HERMITAGE TO BE CONFESSED,\nAND HOW THEY TOLD TO THE HERMIT THEIR VISIONS\n\n\nAlas, said Gawaine, that ever this misadventure is befallen me. No\nforce, said Uwaine, sith I shall die this death, of a much more\nworshipfuller man's hand might I not die; but when ye come to the\ncourt recommend me unto my lord, King Arthur, and all those that be\nleft on live, and for old brotherhood think on me. Then began Gawaine\nto weep, and Ector also. And then Uwaine himself and Sir Gawaine drew\nout the truncheon of the spear, and anon departed the soul from the\nbody. Then Sir Gawaine and Sir Ector buried him as men ought to bury a\nking's son, and made write upon his name, and by whom he was slain.\nThen departed Gawaine and Ector as heavy as they might for their\nmisadventure, and so rode till that they came to the rough mountain,\nand there they tied their horses and went on foot to the hermitage.\nAnd when they were come up they saw a poor house, and beside the\nchapel a little courtelage, where Nacien the hermit gathered worts, as\nhe which had tasted none other meat of a great while. And when he saw\nthe errant knights he came toward them and saluted them, and they him\nagain. Fair lords, said he, what adventure brought you hither? Sir,\nsaid Gawaine, to speak with you for to be confessed. Sir, said the\nhermit, I am ready. Then they told him so much that he wist well what\nthey were. And then he thought to counsel them if he might. Then began\nGawaine first and told him of his advision that he had had in the\nchapel, and Ector told him all as it is afore rehearsed. Sir, said the\nhermit unto Sir Gawaine, the fair meadow and the rack therein ought to\nbe understood the Round Table, and by the meadow ought to be\nunderstood humility and patience, those be the things which be always\ngreen and quick; for men may no time overcome humility and patience,\ntherefore was the Round Table founded; and the chivalry hath been at\nall times so by the fraternity which was there that she might not be\novercome; for men said she was founded in patience and in humility. At\nthe rack ate an hundred and fifty bulls; but they ate not in the\nmeadow, for their hearts should be set in humility and patience, and\nthe bulls were proud and black save only three. By the bulls is to\nunderstand the fellowship of the Round Table, which for their sin and\ntheir wickedness be black. Blackness is to say without good or\nvirtuous works. And the three bulls which were white save only one\nthat was spotted: the two white betoken Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale,\nfor they be maidens clene and without spot; and the third that had a\nspot signifieth Sir Bors de Ganis, which trespassed but once in his\nvirginity, but sithen he kept himself so well in chastity that all is\nforgiven him and his misdeeds. And why those three were tied by the\nnecks, they be three knights in virginity and chastity, and there is\nno pride smitten in them. And the black bulls which said: Go we hence,\nthey were those which at Pentecost at the high feast took upon them to\ngo in the quest of the Sangreal without confession: they might not\nenter in the meadow of humility and patience. And therefore they\nreturned into waste countries, that signifieth death, for there shall\ndie many of them: every each of them shall slay other for sin, and\nthey that shall escape shall be so lean that it shall be marvel to see\nthem. And of the three bulls without spot, the one shall come again,\nand the other two never.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHOW THE HERMIT EXPOUNDED THEIR VISION\n\n\nThen spake Nacien unto Ector: Sooth it is that Launcelot and ye come\ndown off one chair: the chair betokeneth mastership and lordship which\nye came down from. But ye two knights, said the hermit, ye go to seek\nthat ye shall never find, that is the Sangreal; for it is the secret\nthing of our Lord Jesu Christ. What is to mean that Sir Launcelot fell\ndown off his horse: he hath left pride and taken him to humility, for\nhe had cried mercy loud for his sin, and sore repented him, and our\nLord hath clothed him in his clothing which is full of knots, that is\nthe hair that he weareth daily. And the ass that he rode upon is a\nbeast of humility, for God would not ride upon no steed, nor upon no\npalfrey; so in ensample that an ass betokeneth meekness, that thou\nsawest Sir Launcelot ride on in thy sleep. And the well whereas the\nwater sank from him when he should have taken thereof, and when he saw\nhe might not have it, he returned thither from whence he came, for the\nwell betokeneth the high grace of God, the more men desire it to take\nit, the more shall be their desire. So when he came nigh the Sangreal,\nhe meeked him that he held him not a man worthy to be so nigh the holy\nvessel, for he had been so befouled in deadly sin by the space of many\nyears; yet when he kneeled to drink of the well, there he saw great\nprovidence o\u00a3 the Sangreal. And for he had served so long the devil,\nhe shall have vengeance four and twenty days long, for that he hath\nbeen the devil's servant four and twenty years. And then soon after he\nshall return unto Camelot out of this country, and he shall say a part\nof such things as he hath found. Now will I tell you what betokeneth\nthe hand with the candle and the bridle: that is to understand the\nholy ghost where charity is ever, and the bridle signifieth\nabstinence. For when she is bridled in Christian man's heart she\nholdeth him so short that he falleth not in deadly sin. And the candle\nwhich sheweth clearness and sight signifieth the right way of Jesu\nChrist. And when he went and said: Knights of poor faith and of wicked\nbelief, these three things failed, charity, abstinence, and truth;\ntherefore ye may not attain that high adventure of the Sangreal.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nOF THE GOOD COUNSEL THAT THE HERMIT GAVE TO HIM\n\n\nCertes, said Gawaine, soothly have ye said, that I see it openly. Now,\nI pray you, good man and holy father, tell me why we met not with so\nmany adventures as we were wont to do, and commonly have the better. I\nshall tell you gladly, said the good man; the adventure of the\nSangreal which ye and many other have undertaken the quest of it and\nfind it not, the cause is for it appeareth not to sinners. Wherefore\nmarvel not though ye fail thereof, and many other. For ye be an untrue\nknight, and a great murderer, and to good men signifieth other things\nthan murder. For I dare say as sinful as Sir Launcelot hath been, sith\nthat he went into the quest of the Sangreal he slew never man, nor\nnought shall, till that he come unto Camelot again, for he hath taken\nupon him for to forsake sin. And nere that he nys not stable, but by\nhis thought he is likely to turn again, he should be next to achieve\nit save Galahad, his son. But God knoweth his thought and his\nunstableness, and yet shall he die right an holy man, and no doubt he\nhath no fellow of no earthly sinful man. Sir, said Gawaine, it seemeth\nme by your words that for our sins it will not avail us to travel in\nthis quest. Truly, said the good man, there be an hundred such as ye\nbe that never shall prevail, but to have shame. And when they had\nheard these voices they commended him unto God. Then the good man\ncalled Gawaine, and said: It is long time passed sith that ye were\nmade knight, and never sithen thou servedst thy Maker, and now thou\nart so old a tree that in thee is neither life nor fruit; wherefore\nbethink thee that thou yield to Our Lord the bare rind, sith the fiend\nhath the leaves and the fruit. Sir, said Gawaine, an I had leisure I\nwould speak with you, but my fellow here, Sir Ector, is gone, and\nabideth me yonder beneath the hill. Well, said the good man, thou were\nbetter to be counselled. Then departed Gawaine and came to Ector, and\nso took their horses and rode till they came to a forester's house,\nwhich harboured them right well. And on the morn they departed from\ntheir host, and rode long or they could find any adventure.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nHOW SIR BORS MET WITH AN HERMIT, AND HOW HE WAS CONFESSED TO HIM, AND\nOF HIS PENANCE ENJOINED TO HIM\n\n\nWhen Bors was departed from Camelot he met with a religious man riding\non an ass, and Sir Bors saluted him. Anon the good man knew him that\nhe was one of the knights errant that was in the quest of the\nSangreal. What are ye? said the good man. Sir, said he, I am a knight\nthat fain would be counselled in the quest of the Sangreal, for he\nshall have much earthly worship that may bring it to an end. Certes,\nsaid the good man, that is sooth, for he shall be the best knight of\nthe world, and the fairest of all the fellowship. But wit you well\nthere shall none attain it but by cleanness, that is pure confession.\nSo rode they together till that they came to an hermitage. And there\nhe prayed Bors to dwell all that night with him. And so he alit and\nput away his armour, and prayed him that he might be confessed; and so\nthey went into the chapel, and there he was clean confessed, and they\nate bread and drank water together. Now, said the good man, I pray\nthee that thou eat none other till that thou sit at the table where\nthe Sangreal shall be. Sir, said he, I agree me thereto, but how wit\nye that I shall sit there. Yes, said the good man, that know I, but\nthere shall be but few of your fellows with you. All is welcome, said\nSir Bors, that God sendeth me. Also, said the good man, instead of a\nshirt, and in sign of chastisement, ye shall wear a garment; therefore\nI pray you do off all your clothes and your shirt: and so he did. And\nthen he took him a scarlet coat, so that should be instead of his\nshirt till he had fulfilled the quest of the Sangreal; and the good\nman found in him so marvellous a life and so stable, that he marvelled\nand felt that he was never corrupt in fleshly lusts, but in one time\nthat he begat Elian le Blank. Then he armed him, and took his leave,\nand so departed. And so a little from thence he looked up into a tree,\nand there he saw a passing great bird upon an old tree, and it was\npassing dry, without leaves; and the bird sat above, and had birds,\nthe which were dead for hunger. So smote he himself with his beak, the\nwhich was great and sharp. And so the great bird bled till that he\ndied among his birds. And the young birds took the life by the blood\nof the great bird. When Bors saw this he wist well it was a great\ntokening; for when he saw the great bird arose not, then he took his\nhorse and yede his way. So by evensong, by adventure he came to a\nstrong tower and an high, and there was he lodged gladly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nHOW SIR BORS WAS LODGED WITH A LADY, AND HOW HE TOOK UPON HIM FOR TO\nFIGHT AGAINST A CHAMPION FOR HER LAND\n\n\nAnd when he was unarmed they led him into an high tower where was a\nlady, young, lusty, and fair. And she received him with great joy, and\nmade him to sit down by her, and so was he set to sup with flesh and\nmany dainties. And when Sir Bors saw that, he bethought him on his\npenance, and bad a squire to bring him water. And so he brought him,\nand he made sops therein and ate them. Ah, said the lady, I trow ye\nlike not my meat. Yes, truly, said Sir Bors, God thank you, madam, but\nI may eat none other meat this day. Then she spake no more as at that\ntime, for she was loth to displease him. Then after supper they spake\nof one thing and other. With that came a squire and said: Madam, ye\nmust purvey you tomorn for a champion, for else your sister will have\nthis castle and also your lands, except ye can find a knight that will\nfight tomorn in your quarrel against Pridam le Noire. Then she made\nsorrow and said: Ah, Lord God, wherefore granted ye to hold my land,\nwhereof I should now be disherited without reason and right? And when\nSir Bors had heard her say thus, he said, I shall comfort you. Sir,\nsaid she, I shall tell you there was here a king that hight Aniause,\nwhich held all this land in his keeping. So it mishapped he loved a\ngentlewoman a great deal elder than I. So took he her all this land to\nher keeping, and all his men to govern; and she brought up many evil\ncustoms whereby she put to death a great part of his kinsmen. And when\nhe saw that, he let chase her out of this land, and betook it me, and\nall this land in my demesnes. But anon as that worthy king was dead,\nthis other lady began to war upon me, and hath destroyed many of my\nmen, and turned them against me, that I have wellnigh no man left me;\nand I have nought else but this high tower that she left me. And yet\nshe hath promised me to have this tower, without I can find a knight\nto fight with her champion. Now tell me, said Sir Bors, what is that\nPridam le Noire? Sir, said she, he is the most doubted man of this\nland. Now may ye send her word that ye have found a knight that shall\nfight with that Pridam le Noire in God's quarrel and yours. Then that\nlady was not a little glad, and sent word that she was purveyed, and\nthat night Bors had good cheer; but in no bed he would come, but laid\nhim on the floor, nor never would do otherwise till that he had met\nwith the quest of the Sangreal.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nOF A VISION WHICH SIR BORS HAD THAT NIGHT, AND HOW HE FOUGHT AND\nOVERCAME HIS ADVERSARY\n\n\nAnd anon as he was asleep him befel a vision, that there came to him\ntwo birds, the one as white as a swan, and the other was marvellous\nblack; but it was not so great as the other, but in the likeness of a\nRaven. Then the white bird came to him, and said: An thou wouldst give\nme meat and serve me I should give thee all the riches of the world,\nand I shall make thee as fair and as white as I am. So the white bird\ndeparted, and there came the black bird to him, and said: An thou\nwolt, serve me to-morrow and have me in no despite though I be black,\nfor wit thou well that more availeth my blackness than the other's\nwhiteness. And then he departed. And he had another vision: him\nthought that he came to a great place which seemed a chapel, and there\nhe found a chair set on the left side, which was wormeaten and feeble.\nAnd on the right hand were two flowers like a lily, and the one would\nhave benome the other's whiteness but a good man departed them that\nthe one touched not the other; and then out of every flower came out\nmany flowers, and fruit great plenty. Then him thought the good man\nsaid: Should not he do great folly that would let these two flowers\nperish for to succour the rotten tree, that it fell not to the earth?\nSir, said he, it seemeth me that this wood might not avail. Now keep\nthee, said the good man, that thou never see such adventure befall\nthee. Then he awaked and made a sign of the cross in middes of the\nforehead, and so rose and clothed him. And there came the lady of the\nplace, and she saluted him, and he her again, and so went to a chapel\nand heard their service. And there came a company of knights, that the\nlady had sent for, to lead Sir Bors unto battle. Then asked he his\narms. And when he was armed she prayed him to take a little morsel to\ndine. Nay, madam, said he, that shall I not do till I have done my\nbattle, by the grace of God. And so he lept upon his horse, and\ndeparted all the knights and men with him. And as soon as these two\nladies met together, she which Bors should fight for complained her,\nand said: Madam, ye have done me wrong to bereave me of my lands that\nKing Aniause gave me, and full loth I am there should be any battle.\nYe shall not choose, said the other lady, or else your knight withdraw\nhim. Then there was the cry made, which party had the better of the\ntwo knights, that his lady should rejoice all the land. Now departed\nthe one knight here, and the other there. Then they came together with\nsuch a raundon that they pierced their shields and their hauberks, and\nthe spears flew in pieces, and they wounded either other sore. Then\nhurtled they together, so that they fell both to the earth, and their\nhorses betwixt their legs; and anon they arose, and set hands to their\nswords, and smote each one other upon the heads, that they made great\nwounds and deep, that the blood went out of their bodies. For there\nfound Sir Bors greater defence in that knight more than he weened. For\nthat Pridam was a passing good knight, and he wounded Sir Bors full\nevil, and he him again; but ever this Pridam held the stour in like\nhard. That perceived Sir Bors, and suffered him till he was nigh\nattaint. And then he ran upon him more and more, and the other went\nback for dread of death. So in his withdrawing he fell upright, and\nSir Bors drew his helm so strongly that he rent it from his head, and\ngave him great strokes with the flat of his sword upon the visage, and\nbad him yield him or he should slay him. Then he cried him mercy and\nsaid: Fair knight, for God's love slay me not, and I shall ensure thee\nnever to war against thy lady, but be alway toward her. Then Bors let\nhim be; then the old lady fled with all her knights.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nHOW THE LADY WAS RETURNED TO HER LANDS BY THE BATTLE OF SIR BORS, AND\nOF HIS DEPARTING, AND HOW HE MET SIR LIONEL TAKEN AND BEATEN WITH\nTHORNS, AND ALSO OF A MAID WHICH SHOULD HAVE BEEN DISHONOURED\n\n\nSo then came Bors to all those that held lands of his lady, and said\nhe should destroy them but if they did such service unto her as longed\nto their lands. So they did their homage, and they that would not were\nchased out of their lands. Then befel that young lady to come to her\nestate again, by the mighty prowess of Sir Bors de Ganis. So when all\nthe country was well set in peace, then Sir Bors took his leave and\ndeparted; and she thanked him greatly, and would have given him great\nriches, but he refused it. Then he rode all that day till night, and\ncame to an harbour to a lady which knew him well enough, and made of\nhim great joy. Upon the morn, as soon as the day appeared, Bors\ndeparted from thence, and so rode into a forest unto the hour of\nmidday, and there befel him a marvellous adventure. So he met at the\ndeparting of the two ways two knights that led Lionel, his brother,\nall naked, bounden upon a strong hackney, and his hands bounden tofore\nhis breast. And every each of them held in his hands thorns wherewith\nthey went beating him so sore that the blood trailed down more than in\nan hundred places of his body, so that he was all blood tofore and\nbehind, but he said never a word; as he which was great of heart he\nsuffered all that ever they did to him as though he had felt none\nanguish. Anon Sir Bors dressed him to rescue him that was his brother;\nand so he looked upon the other side of him, and saw a knight which\nbrought a fair gentlewoman, and would have set her in the thickest\nplace of the forest for to have been the more surer out of the way\nfrom them that sought him. And she which was nothing assured cried\nwith an high voice: Saint Mary succour your maid. And anon she espied\nwhere Sir Bors came riding. And when she came nigh him she deemed him\na knight of the Round Table, whereof she hoped to have some comfort;\nand then she conjured him: By the faith that he ought unto him in\nwhose service thou art entered in, and for the faith ye owe unto the\nhigh order of knighthood, and for the noble King Arthur's sake, that I\nsuppose that made thee knight, that thou help me, and suffer me not to\nbe shamed of this knight. When Bors heard her say thus he had so much\nsorrow there he nyst not what to do. For if I let my brother be in\nadventure he must be slain, and that would I not for all the earth.\nAnd if I help not the maid she is shamed for ever, and also she shall\nlose her virginity the which she shall never get again. Then lift he\nup his eyes and said weeping: Fair sweet Lord Jesu Christ, whose liege\nman I am, keep Lionel, my brother, that these knights slay him not,\nand for pity of you, and for Mary's sake, I shall succour this maid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nHOW SIR BORS LEFT TO RESCUE HIS BROTHER, AND RESCUED THE DAMOSEL; AND\nHOW IT WAS TOLD HIM THAT LIONEL WAS DEAD\n\n\nThen dressed he him unto the knight the which had the gentlewoman, and\nthen he cried: Sir knight, let your hand off that maiden, or ye be but\ndead. And then he set down the maiden, and was armed at all pieces\nsave he lacked his spear. Then he dressed his shield, and drew out his\nsword, and Bors smote him so hard that it went through his shield and\nhabergeon on the left shoulder. And through great strength he beat him\ndown to the earth, and at the pulling out of Bors' spear there he\nswooned. Then came Bors to the maid and said: How seemeth it you? of\nthis knight ye be delivered at this time. Now sir, said she, I pray\nyou lead me there as this knight had me. So shall I do gladly: and\ntook the horse of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman upon\nhim, and so brought her as she desired. Sir knight, said she, ye have\nbetter sped than ye weened, for an I had lost my maidenhead, five\nhundred men should have died for it. What knight was he that had you\nin the forest? By my faith, said she, he is my cousin. So wot I never\nwith what engyn the fiend enchafed him, for yesterday he took me from\nmy father privily; for I nor none of my father's men mistrusted him\nnot, and if he had had my maidenhead he should have died for the sin,\nand his body shamed and dishonoured for ever. Thus as she stood\ntalking with him there came twelve knights seeking after her, and anon\nshe told them all how Bors had delivered her; then they made great\njoy, and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and he\nshould be right welcome. Truly, said Bors, that may not be at this\ntime, for I have a great adventure to do in this country. So he\ncommended them unto God and departed. Then Sir Bors rode after Lionel,\nhis brother, by the trace of their horses, thus he rode seeking a\ngreat while. Then he overtook a man clothed in a religious clothing,\nand rode on a strong black horse blacker than a bear, and said: Sir\nknight, what seek you? Sir, said he, I seek my brother that I saw\nwithin a while beaten with two knights. Ah, Bors, discomfort you not,\nnor fall into no wanhope, for I shall tell you tidings such as they\nbe, for truly he is dead. Then showed he him a new slain body lying in\na bush, and it seemed him well that it was the body of Lionel; and\nthen he made such a sorrow that he fell to the earth all in a swoon,\nand lay a great while there. And when he came to himself he said: Fair\nbrother, sith the company of you and me is departed shall I never have\njoy in my heart, and now he which I have taken unto my master, He be\nmy help. And when he had said thus he took his body lightly in his\narms, and put it upon the arson of his saddle. And then he said to the\nman: Canst thou tell me unto some chapel where that I may bury this\nbody? Come on, said he, here is one fast by; and so long they rode\ntill they saw a fair tower, and afore it there seemed an old feeble\nchapel. And then they alit both, and put him into a tomb of marble.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nHOW SIR BORS TOLD HIS DREAM TO A PRIEST, WHICH HE HAD DREAMED, AND OF\nTHE COUNSEL THAT THE PRIEST GAVE TO HIM\n\n\nNow leave we him here, said the good man, and go we to our harbour\ntill to-morrow; we will come here again to do him service. Sir, said\nBors, be ye a priest? Yea forsooth, said he. Then I pray you tell me a\ndream that befell to me the last night. Say on, said he. Then he began\nso much to tell him of the great bird in the forest, and after told\nhim of his birds, one white, another black, and of the rotten tree,\nand of the white flowers. Sir, I shall tell you a part now, and the\nother dele to-morrow. The white fowl betokeneth a gentlewoman, fair\nand rich, which loved thee paramours, and hath loved thee long; and if\nthou warne her love she shall go die anon, if thou have no pity on\nher. That signifieth the great bird, the which shall make thee to\nwarne her. Now for no fear that thou hast, nor for no dread that thou\nhast of God, thou shalt not warne her, but thou wouldst not do it for\nto be holden chaste, for to conquer the loos of the vain glory of the\nworld; for that shall befall thee now an thou warne her, that\nLauncelot, the good knight, thy cousin, shall die. And therefore men\nshall now say that thou art a manslayer, both of thy brother, Sir\nLionel, and of thy cousin, Sir Launcelot du Lake, the which thou\nmightest have saved and rescued easily, but thou weenest to rescue a\nmaid which pertaineth nothing to thee. Now look thou whether it had\nbeen greater harm of thy brother's death, or else to have suffered her\nto have lost her maidenhood. Then asked he him: Hast thou heard the\ntokens o\u00a3 thy dream the which I have told to you? Yea forsooth, said\nSir Bors, all your exposition and declaring of my dream I have well\nunderstood and heard. Then said the man in this black clothing: Then\nis it in thy default if Sir Launcelot, thy cousin, die. Sir, said\nBors, that were me loth, for wit ye well there is nothing in the world\nbut I had lever do it than to see my lord Sir Launcelot du Lake, to\ndie in my default. Choose ye now the one or the other, said the good\nman. And then he led Sir Bors into an high tower, and there he found\nknights and ladies: those ladies said he was welcome, and so they\nunarmed him. And when he was in his doublet men brought him a mantle\nfurred with ermine, and put it about him; and then they made him such\ncheer that he had forgotten all his sorrow and anguish, and only set\nhis heart in these delights and dainties, and took no thought more for\nhis brother, Sir Lionel, neither of Sir Launcelot du Lake, his cousin.\nAnd anon came out of a chamber to him the fairest lady that ever he\nsaw, and more richer bysene than ever he saw Queen Guenever or any\nother estate. Lo, said they, Sir Bors, here is the lady unto whom we\nowe all our service, and I trow she be the richest lady and the\nfairest of all the world, and the which loveth you best above all\nother knights, for she will have no knight but you. And when he\nunderstood that language he was abashed. Not for then she saluted him,\nand he her; and then they sat down together and spake of many things,\nin so much that she besought him to be her love, for she had loved him\nabove all earthly men, and she should make him richer than ever was\nman of his age. When Bors understood her words he was right evil at\nease, which in no manner would not break chasity, so wist not he how\nto answer her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nHOW A DEVIL IN WOMAN'S LIKENESS WOULD HAVE TEMPTED SIR BORS, AND HOW\nBY GOD'S GRACE HE ESCAPED\n\n\nAlas, said she, Bors, shall ye not do my will? Madam, said Bors,\nthere is no lady in the world whose will I will fulfill as of this\nthing, for my brother lieth dead which was slain right late. Ah Bors,\nsaid she, I have loved you long for the great beauty I have seen in\nyou, and the great hardiness that I have heard of you, that needs ye\nmust lie by me this night, and therefore I pray you grant it me.\nTruly, said he, I shall not do it in no manner wise. Then she made him\nsuch sorrow as though she would have died. Well Bors, said she, unto\nthis have ye brought me, nigh to mine end. And therewith she took him\nby the hand, and bad him behold her. And ye shall see how I shall die\nfor your love. Ah, said then he, that shall I never see. Then she\ndeparted and went up into an high battlement, and led with her twelve\ngentlewomen; and when they were above, one of the gentlewomen cried,\nand said: Ah, Sir Bors, gentle knight have mercy on us all, and suffer\nmy lady to have her will, and if ye do not we must suffer death with\nour lady, for to fall down off this high tower, and if ye suffer us\nthus to die for so little a thing all ladies and gentlewomen will say\nof you dishonour. Then looked he upward, they seemed all ladies of\ngreat estate, and richly and well bisene. Then had he of them great\npity; not for that he was uncounselled in himself that lever he had\nthey all had lost their souls than he his, and with that they fell\nadown all at once unto the earth. And when he saw that, he was all\nabashed, and had thereof great marvel. With that he blessed his body\nand his visage. And anon he heard a great noise and a great cry, as\nthough all the fiends of hell had been about him; and therewith he saw\nneither tower nor lady, nor gentlewoman, nor no chapel where he\nbrought his brother to. Then held he up both his hands to the heaven,\nand said: Fair Father God, I am grievously escaped; and then he took\nhis arms and his horse and rode on his way. Then he heard a clock\nsmite on his right hand; and thither he came to an Abbey on his right\nhand, closed with high walls, and there was let in. Then they supposed\nthat he was one of the quest of the Sangreal, so they led him into a\nchamber and unarmed him. Sirs, said Sir Bors, if there be any holy man\nin this house I pray you let me speak with him. Then one of them led\nhim unto the Abbot, which was in a Chapel. And then Sir Bors saluted\nhim, and he him again. Sir, said Bors, I am a knight errant; and told\nhim all the adventure which he had seen. Sir Knight, said the Abbot, I\nwot not what ye be, for I weened never that a knight of your age might\nhave been so strong in the grace of our Lord Jesu Christ. Not for then\nye shall go unto your rest, for I will not counsel you this day, it is\ntoo late, and to-morrow I shall counsel you as I can.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nOF THE HOLY COMMUNICATION OF AN ABBOT TO SIR BORS, AND HOW THE ABBOT\nCOUNSELLED HIM\n\n\nAnd that night was Sir Bors served richly; and on the morn early he\nheard mass, and the Abbot came to him, and bad him good morrow, and\nBors to him again. And then he told him he was a fellow of the quest\nof the Sangreal, and how he had charge of the holy man to eat bread\nand water. Then said the Abbot: Our Lord Jesu Christ showed him unto\nyou in the likeness of a soul that suffered great anguish for us, syne\nHe was put upon the cross, and bled His heart blood for mankind: there\nwas the token and the likeness of the Sangreal that appeared afore\nyou, for the blood that the great fowl bled revived the chickens from\ndeath to life. And by the bare tree is betokened the world which is\nnaked and without fruit but if it come to Our Lord. Also the lady for\nwhom ye fought for, and King Aniause which was lord there tofore,\nbetokeneth Jesu Christ which is the King of the world. And that ye\nfought with the champion for the lady, this it betokeneth: for when ye\ntook the battle for the lady, by her shall ye understand the new law\nof Jesu Christ and Holy Church; and by the other lady ye shall\nunderstand the old law and the fiend, which all day warreth against\nHoly Church, therefore ye did your battle with right. For ye be Jesu\nChrist's knights, therefore ye ought to be defenders of Holy Church.\nAnd by the black bird might ye understand Holy Church, which sayeth I\nam black, but he is fair. And by the white bird might men understand\nthe fiend, and I shall tell you how the swan is white without forth,\nand black within: it is hypocrisy which is without yellow or pale, and\nseemeth without forth the servants of Jesu Christ, but they be within\nso horrible of filth and sin, and beguile the world evil. Also when\nthe fiend appeared to thee in likeness of a man of religion, and\nblamed thee that thou left thy brother for a lady, so led thee where\nthou seemed thy brother was slain, but he is yet on live; and all was\nfor to put thee in error, and bring thee unto wanhope and lechery, for\nhe knew thou were tender hearted, and all was for thou shouldst not\nfind the blessed adventure of the Sangreal. And the third fowl\nbetokeneth the strong battle against the fair ladies which were all\ndevils. Also the dry tree and the white lily: the dry tree betokeneth\nthy brother Lionel, which is dry without virtue, and therefore many\nmen ought to call him the rotten tree, and the wormeaten tree, for he\nis a murderer and doth contrary to the order of knighthood. And the\ntwo white flowers signify two maidens, the one is a knight which was\nwounded the other day, and the other is the gentlewoman which ye\nrescued; and why the other flower drew nigh the other, that was the\nknight which would have befouled her and himself both. And Sir Bors,\nye had been a great fool and in great peril for to have seen those two\nflowers perish for to succour the rotten tree, for and they had sinned\ntogether they had been damned; and for that ye rescued them both, men\nmight call you a very knight and servant of Jesu Christ.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nHOW SIR BORS MET WITH HIS BROTHER SIR LIONEL, AND HOW SIR LIONEL WOULD\nHAVE SLAIN SIR BORS\n\n\nThen went Sir Bors from thence and commended the abbot unto God. And\nthen he rode all that day, and harboured with an old lady. And on the\nmorn he rode to a castle in a valley, and there he met with a yeoman\ngoing a great pace toward a forest. Say me, said Sir Bors, canst thou\ntell me of any adventure? Sir, said he, here shall be under this\ncastle a great and a marvellous tournament. Of what folks shall it be?\nsaid Sir Bors. The Earl of Plains shall be in the one party, and the\nlady's nephew of Hervin on the other party. Then Bors thought to be\nthere if he might meet with his brother Sir Lionel, or any other of\nhis fellowship, which were in the quest of the Sangreal. And then he\nturned to an hermitage that was in the entry of the forest. And when\nhe was come thither he found there Sir Lionel, his brother, which sat\nall armed at the entry of the chapel door for to abide there harbour\ntill on the morn that the tournament shall be. And when Sir Bors saw\nhim he had great joy of him, that it were marvel to tell of his joy.\nAnd then he alit off his horse, and said: Fair sweet brother, when\ncame ye hither? Anon as Lionel saw him he said: Ah Bors, ye may not\nmake none avaunt, but as for you I might have been slain; when ye saw\ntwo knights leading me away beating me, ye left me for to succour a\ngentlewoman, and suffered me in peril of death; for never erst me did\nno brother to another so great an untruth. And for that misdeed now I\nensure you but death, for well have ye deserved it; therefore keep\nthee from henceforward, and that shall ye find as soon as I am armed.\nWhen Sir Bors understood his brother's wrath he kneeled down to the\nearth and cried him mercy, holding up both his hands, and prayed him\nto forgive him his evil will. Nay, said Lionel, that shall never be an\nI may have the higher hand, that I make mine avow to God, thou shalt\nhave death for it, for it were pity ye lived any longer. Right so he\nwent in and took his harness, and mounted upon his horse, and came\ntofore him and said: Bors, keep thee from me, for I shall do to thee\nas I would to a felon or a traitor, for ye be the untruest knight that\never came out of so worthy an house as was King Bors' de Ganis which\nwas our father, therefore start upon thy horse, and so shall ye be\nmost at your advantage. And but if ye will I will run upon you there\nas ye stand upon foot, and so the shame shall be mine and the harm\nyours, but of that shame ne reck I nought. When Sir Bors saw that he\nmust fight with his brother or else to die, he nist what to do; then\nhis heart counselled him not thereto, inasmuch as Lionel was born or\nhe, wherefore he ought to bear him reverence; yet kneeled he down\nafore Lionel's horse's feet, and said: Fair sweet brother, have mercy\nupon me and slay me not, and have in remembrance the great love which\nought to be between us twain. What Sir Bors said to Lionel he recked\nnot, for the fiend had brought him in such a will that he should slay\nhim. Then when Lionel saw he would none other, and that he would not\nhave risen to give him battle, he rushed over him so that he smote\nBors with his horse, feet upward to the earth, and hurt him so sore\nthat he swooned of distress, the which he felt in himself to have died\nwithout confession. So when Lionel saw this, he alit off his horse to\nhave smitten off his head. And so he took him by the helm, and would\nhave rent it from his head. Then came the hermit running unto him,\nwhich was a good man and of great age, and well had heard all the\nwords that were between them, and so fell down upon Sir Bors.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nHOW SIR COLGREVANCE FOUGHT AGAINST SIR LIONEL FOR TO SAVE SIR BORS,\nAND HOW THE HERMIT WAS SLAIN\n\n\nThen he said to Lionel: Ah gentle knight, have mercy upon me and on\nthy brother, for if thou slay him thou shalt be dead of sin, and that\nwere sorrowful, for he is one of the worthiest knights of the world,\nand of the best conditions. So God help me, said Lionel, sir priest,\nbut if ye flee from him I shall slay you, and he shall never the\nsooner be quit. Certes, said the good man, I have lever ye slay me\nthan him, for my death shall not be great harm, not half so much as of\nhis. Well, said Lionel, I am agreed; and set his hand to his sword and\nsmote him so hard that his head yede backward. Not for that he\nrestrained him of his evil will, but took his brother by the helm, and\nunlaced it to have stricken off his head, and had slain him without\nfail. But so it happed, Colgrevance, a fellow of the Round Table, came\nat that time thither as Our Lord's will was. And when he saw the good\nman slain he marvelled much what it might be. And then he beheld\nLionel would have slain his brother, and knew Sir Bors which he loved\nright well. Then start he down and took Lionel by the shoulders, and\ndrew him strongly aback from Bors, and said: Lionel, will ye slay your\nbrother, the worthiest knight of the world one? and that should no\ngood man suffer. Why, said Lionel, will ye let me? therefore if ye\nintermit you in this I shall slay you, and him after. Why, said\nColgrevance, is this sooth that ye will slay him? Slay him will I,\nsaid he, whoso say the contrary, for he hath done so much against me\nthat he hath well deserved it. And so ran upon him, and would have\nsmitten him through the head, and Sir Colgrevance ran betwixt them,\nand said: An ye be so hardy to do so more, we two shall meddle\ntogether. When Lionel understood his words he took his shield afore\nhim, and asked him what that he was. And he told him, Colgrevance, one\nof his fellows. Then Lionel defied him, and gave him a great stroke\nthrough the helm. Then he drew his sword, for he was a passing good\nknight, and defended him right manfully. So long dured the battle that\nBors rose up all anguishly, and beheld Colgrevance, the good knight,\nfought with his brother for his quarrel; then was he full sorry and\nheavy, and thought if Colgrevance slay him that was his brother he\nshould never have joy; and if his brother slew Colgrevance the shame\nshould ever be mine. Then would he have risen to have departed them,\nbut he had not so much might to stand on foot; so he abode him so long\ntill Colgrevance had the worse, for Lionel was of great chivalry and\nright hardy, for he had pierced the hauberk and the helm, that he\nabode but death, for he had lost much of his blood that it was marvel\nthat he might stand upright. Then beheld he Sir Bors which sat\ndressing him upward and said: Ah, Bors, why come ye not to cast me out\nof peril of death, wherein I have put me to succour you which were\nright now nigh the death? Certes, said Lionel, that shall not avail\nyou, for none of you shall bear others warrant, but that ye shall die\nboth of my hand. When Bors heard that, he did so much, he rose and put\non his helm. Then perceived he first the hermit priest which was\nslain, then made he a marvellous sorrow upon him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nHOW SIR LIONEL SLEW SIR COLGREVANCE, AND HOW AFTER HE WOULD HAVE SLAIN\nSIR BORS\n\n\nThen often Colgrevance cried upon Sir Bors: Why will ye let me die\nhere for your sake? if it please you that I die for you the death, it\nwill please me the better for to save a worthy man. With that word Sir\nLionel smote off the helm from his head. Then Colgrevance saw that he\nmight not escape; then he said: Fair sweet Jesu, that I have misdone\nhave mercy upon my soul, for such sorrow that my heart suffereth for\ngoodness, and for alms deed that I would have done here, be to me\nalygement of penance unto my soul's health. At these words Lionel\nsmote him so sore that he bare him to the earth. So he had slain\nColgrevance he ran upon his brother as a fiendly man, and gave him\nsuch a stroke that he made him stoop. And he that was full of humility\nprayed him for God's love to leave this battle: For an it befel, fair\nbrother, that I slew you or ye me, we should be dead of that sin.\nNever God me help but if I have on you mercy, and I may have the\nbetter hand. Then drew Bors his sword, all weeping, and said: Fair\nbrother, God knoweth mine intent. Ah, fair brother, ye have done full\nevil this day to slay such an holy priest the which never trespassed.\nAlso ye have slain a gentle knight, and one of our fellows. And well\nwot ye that I am not afeared of you greatly, but I dread the wrath of\nGod, and this is an unkindly war, therefore God show miracle upon us\nboth. Now God have mercy upon me though I defend my life against my\nbrother; with that Bors lift up his hand and would have smitten his\nbrother.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nHOW THERE CAME A VOICE WHICH CHARGED SIR BORS TO TOUCH HIM NOT, AND OF\nA CLOUD THAT CAME BETWEEN THEM\n\n\nAnd then he heard a voice that said: Flee Bors, and touch him not, or\nelse thou shall slay him. Right so alit a cloud betwixt them in\nlikeness of a fire and a marvellous flame, that both their two shields\nburnt. Then were they sore afraid, that they fell both to the earth,\nand lay there a great while in a swoon. And when they came to\nthemself, Bors saw that his brother had no harm; then he held up both\nhis hands, for he dread God had taken vengeance upon him. With that he\nheard a voice say: Bors, go hence, and bear thy brother no longer\nfellowship, but take thy way anon right to the sea, for Sir Percivale\nabideth thee there. Then he said to his brother: Fair sweet brother,\nforgive me for God's love all that I have trespassed unto you. Then he\nanswered: God forgive it thee and I do gladly. So Sir Bors departed\nfrom him and rode the next way to the sea. And at the last by fortune\nhe came to an Abbey which was nigh the sea. That night Bors rested him\nthere; and in his sleep there came a voice to him and bad him go to\nthe sea. Then he start up and made a sign of the Cross in the middes\nof his forehead, and took his harness, and made ready his horse, and\nmounted upon him; and at a broken wall he rode out, and rode so long\ntill that he came to the sea. And on the strand he found a ship\ncovered all with white samite, and he alit, and betook him to Jesu\nChrist. And as soon as he entered into the ship, the ship departed\ninto the sea, and went so fast that him seemed the ship went flying,\nbut it was soon dark so that he might know no man, and so he slept\ntill it was day. Then he awaked, and saw in middes of the ship a\nknight lie all armed save his helm. Then knew he that it was Sir\nPercivale of Wales, and then he made of him right great joy; but Sir\nPercivale was abashed of him, and he asked him what he was. Ah, fair\nsir, said Bors, know ye me not? Certes, said he, I marvel how ye came\nhither, but if Our Lord brought ye hither Himself. Then Sir Bors\nsmiled and did off his helm. Then Percivale knew him, and either made\ngreat joy of other, that it was marvel to hear. Then Bors told him how\nhe came into the ship, and by whose admonishment; and either told\nother of their temptations, as ye have heard toforehand. So went they\ndownward in the sea, one while backward, another while forward, and\nevery each comforted other, and oft were in their prayers. Then said\nSir Percivale: We lack nothing but Galahad, the good knight.\n\n_And thus endeth the syxteenth book, whiche is of syre Gawayne, Ector\nde marys, and syre Bors de ganys, and sir Percyval.\n\nAnd here followeth the sevententh book, whiche is of the noble Knyghte\nsyre Galahad._\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVENTEENTH BOOK\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHOW SIR GALAHAD FOUGHT AT A TOURNAMENT, AND HOW HE WAS KNOWN OF SIR\nGAWAINE AND SIR ECTOR DE MARIS\n\n\nNow saith this story, when Galahad had rescued Percivale from the\ntwenty knights, he yede then into a waste forest wherein he rode many\njourneys; and he found many adventures the which he brought to an end,\nwhereof the story maketh here no mention. Then he took his way to the\nsea on a day, and it befel as he passed by a castle where was a wonder\ntournament, but they without had done so much that they within were\nput to the worse, yet were they within good knights enough. When\nGalahad saw that those within were at so great a mischief that men\nslew them at the entry of the castle, then he thought to help them,\nand put a spear forth and smote the first that he fell to the earth,\nand the spear brake to pieces. Then he drew his sword and smote there\nas they were thickest, and so he did wonderful deeds of arms that all\nthey marvelled. Then it happed that Gawaine and Sir Ector de Maris\nwere with the knights without. But when they espied the white shield\nwith the red cross the one said to the other: Yonder is the good\nknight, Sir Galahad, the haut prince: now he should be a great fool\nwhich should meet with him to fight. So by adventure he came by Sir\nGawaine, and he smote him so hard that he clave his helm and the\ncoiffe of iron unto his head, so that Gawaine fell to the earth; but\nthe stroke was so great that it slanted down to the earth and carved\nthe horse's shoulder in two. When Ector saw Gawaine down he drew him\naside, and thought it no wisdom for to abide him, and also for natural\nlove, that he was his uncle. Thus through his great hardiness he beat\naback all the knights without. And then they within came out and\nchased them all about. But when Galahad saw there would none turn\nagain he stole away privily so that none wist where he was become. Now\nby my head, said Gawaine to Ector, now are the wonders true that were\nsaid of Launcelot du Lake, that the sword which stuck in the stone\nshould give me such a buffet that I would not have it for the best\ncastle in this world; and soothly now it is proved true, for never ere\nhad I such a stroke of man's hand. Sir, said Ector, meseemeth your\nquest is done. And yours is not done, said Gawaine, but mine is done,\nI shall seek no further. Then Gawaine was borne into a castle and\nunarmed him, and laid him in a rich bed, and a leech found that he\nmight live, and to be whole within a month. Thus Gawaine and Ector\nabode together, for Sir Ector would not away till Gawaine were whole.\nAnd the good knight, Galahad, rode so long till he came that night to\nthe Castle of Carboneck; and it befel him thus that he was benighted\nin an hermitage. So the good man was fain when he saw he was a knight\nerrant. Then when they were at rest there came a gentlewoman knocking\nat the door, and called Galahad, and so the good man came to the door\nto wit what she would. Then she called the hermit: Sir Ulfin, I am a\ngentlewoman that would speak with the knight which is with you. Then\nthe good man awaked Galahad, and bad him: Arise, and speak with a\ngentlewoman that seemeth hath great need of you. Then Galahad went to\nher and asked her what she would. Galahad, said she, I will that ye\narm you, and mount upon your horse and follow me, for I shall show you\nwithin these three days the highest adventure that ever any knight\nsaw. Anon Galahad armed him, and took his horse, and commended him to\nGod, and bad the gentlewoman go, and he would follow there as she\nliked.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nHOW SIR GALAHAD RODE WITH A DAMOSEL, AND CAME TO THE SHIP WHEREAS SIR\nBORS AND SIR PERCIVALE WERE IN\n\n\nSo she rode as fast as her palfrey might bear her, till that she came\nto the sea, the which was called Collibe. And at the night they came\nunto a castle in a valley, closed with a running water, and with\nstrong walls and high; and so she entered into the castle with\nGalahad, and there had he great cheer, for the lady of that castle was\nthe damosel's lady. So when he was unarmed, then said the damosel:\nMadam, shall we abide here all this day? Nay, said she, but till he\nhath dined and till he hath slept a little. So he ate and slept a\nwhile till that the maid called him, and armed him by torchlight. And\nwhen the maid was horsed and he both, the lady took Galahad a fair\nchild and rich; and so they departed from the castle till they came to\nthe seaside; and there they found the ship where Bors and Percivale\nwere in, the which cried on the ship's board: Sir Galahad, ye be\nwelcome, we have abiden you long. And when he heard them he asked them\nwhat they were. Sir, said she, leave your horse here, and I shall\nleave mine; and took their saddles and their bridles with them, and\nmade a cross on them, and so entered into the ship. And the two\nknights received them both with great joy, and every each knew other;\nand so the wind arose, and drove them through the sea in a marvellous\nplace. And within a while it dawned. Then did Galahad off his helm and\nhis sword, and asked of his fellows from whence came that fair ship.\nTruly, said they, ye wot as well as we but of God's grace; and then\nthey told every each to other of all their hard adventures, and of\ntheir great temptations. Truly, said Galahad, ye are much bounden to\nGod, for ye have escaped great adventures; and had not the gentlewoman\nbeen I had not come here, for as for you I weened never to have found\nyou in these strange countries. Ah Galahad, said Bors, if Launcelot,\nyour father, were here then were we well at ease, for then meseemed we\nfailed nothing. That may not be, said Galahad, but if it pleased Our\nLord. By then the ship went from the land of Logris, and by adventure\nit arrived up betwixt two rocks passing great and marvellous; but\nthere they might not land, for there was a swallow of the sea, save\nthere was another ship, and upon it they might go without danger. Go\nwe thither, said the gentlewoman, and there shall we see adventures,\nfor so is Our Lord's will. And when they came thither they found the\nship rich enough, but they found neither man nor woman therein. But\nthey found in the end of the ship two fair letters written, which said\na dreadful word and a marvellous: Thou man, which shall enter into\nthis ship, beware thou be in steadfast belief, for I am Faith, and\ntherefore beware how thou enterest, for an thou fail I shall not help\nthee. Then said the gentlewoman: Percivale, wot ye what I am? Certes,\nsaid he, nay, to my witing. Wit ye well, said she, that I am thy\nsister, which am daughter of King Pellinore, and therefore wit ye well\nye are the man in the world that I most love; and if ye be not in\nperfect belief of Jesu Christ enter not in no manner of wise, for then\nshould ye perish the ship, for he is so perfect he will suffer no\nsinner in him. When Percivale understood that she was his very sister\nhe was inwardly glad, and said: Fair sister, I shall enter therein,\nfor if I be a miscreature or an untrue knight there shall I perish.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHOW SIR GALAHAD ENTERED INTO THE SHIP, AND OF A FAIR BED THEREIN, WITH\nOTHER MARVELLOUS THINGS, AND OF A SWORD\n\n\nIn the meanwhile Galahad blessed him, and entered therein; and then\nnext the gentlewoman, and then Sir Bors and Sir Percivale. And when\nthey were in, it was so marvellous fair and rich that they marvelled;\nand in middes of the ship was a fair bed, and Galahad went thereto,\nand found there a crown of silk. And at the feet was a sword, rich and\nfair, and it was drawn out of the sheath half a foot and more; and the\nsword was of divers fashions, and the pommel was of stone, and there\nwas in him all manner of colours that any man might find, and every\neach of the colours had divers virtues; and the scales of the haft\nwere of two ribs of divers beasts, the one beast was a serpent which\nwas conversant in Calidone, and is called the serpent of the fiend;\nand the bone of him is of such a virtue that there is no hand that\nhandleth him shall never be weary nor hurt. And the other beast is a\nfish which is not right great, and haunteth the flood of Euphrates;\nand that fish is called Ertanax, and his bones be of such a manner of\nkind that who that handleth them shall have so much will that he shall\nnever be weary, and he shall not think on joy nor sorrow that he hath\nhad, but only that thing that he beholdeth before him. And as for this\nsword there shall never man begrip him at the handles but one, but he\nshall pass all other. In the name of God, said Percivale, I shall\nessay to handle it. So he set his hand to the sword, but he might not\nbegrip it. By my faith, said he, now have I failed. Bors set his hand\nthereto and failed. Then Galahad beheld the sword and saw letters like\nblood that said: Let see who shall essay to draw me out of my sheath,\nbut if he be more hardier than any other; and who that draweth me, wit\nye well he shall never fail of shame of his body, or to be wounded to\nthe death. By my faith, said Galahad, I would draw this sword out of\nthe sheath, but the offending is so great that I shall not set my hand\nthereto. Now sirs, said the gentlewoman, wit ye well that the drawing\nof this sword is warned to all men save all only to you. Also this\nship arrived in the realm of Logris; and that time was deadly war\nbetween King Labor, which was father unto the maimed king, and King\nHurlame, which was a Saracen. But then was he newly christened, so\nthat men held him afterward one of the wyttyest men of the world. And\nso upon a day it befel that King Labor and King Hurlame had assembled\ntheir folk upon the sea where this ship was arrived; and there King\nHurlame was discomfit, and his men slain; and he was afeard to be\ndead, and fled to his ship, and there found this sword and drew it,\nand came out and found King Labor, the man in the world of all\nChristendom in whom was then the greatest faith. And when King Hurlame\nsaw King Labor he dressed this sword, and smote him upon the helm so\nhard that he clave him and his horse to the earth with the first\nstroke of his sword. And it was in the realm of Logris; and so befel\ngreat pestilence and great harm to both realms. For sithen increased\nneither corn, nor grass, nor well-nigh no fruit, nor in the water was\nno fish; wherefore men call it the lands of the two marches, the waste\nland, for that dolorous stroke. And when King Hurlame saw this sword\nso carving, he turned again to fetch the scabbard, and so came into\nthis ship and entered, and put up the sword in the sheath. And as soon\nas he had done it he fell down dead afore the bed. Thus was the sword\nproved, that none ne drew it but he were dead or maimed. So lay he\nthere till a maiden came into the ship and cast him out, for there was\nno man so hardy of the world to enter into that ship for the defence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nOF THE MARVELS OF THE SWORD AND OF THE SCABBARD\n\n\nAnd then beheld they the scabbard, it seemed to be of a serpent's\nskin, and thereon were letters of gold and silver. And the girdle was\nbut poorly to come to, and not able to sustain such a rich sword. And\nthe letters said: He which shall wield me ought to be more harder than\nany other, if he bear me as truly as me ought to be borne. For the\nbody of him which I ought to hang by, he shall not be shamed in no\nplace while he is girt with this girdle, nor never none be so hardy to\ndo away this girdle; for it ought not to be done away but by the hands\nof a maid, and that she be a king's daughter and queen's, and she must\nbe a maid all the days of her life, both in will and in deed. And if\nshe break her virginity she shall die the most villainous death that\never died any woman. Sir, said Percivale, turn this sword that we may\nsee what is on the other side. And it was red as blood, with black\nletters as any coal, which said: He that shall praise me most, most\nshall he find me to blame at a great need; and to whom I should be\nmost debonair shall I be most felon, and that shall be at one time.\nFair brother, said she to Percivale, it befell after a forty year\nafter the passion of Jesu Christ that Nacien, the brother-in-law of\nKing Mordrains, was borne into a town more than fourteen days' journey\nfrom his country, by the commandment of Our Lord, into an isle, into\nthe parts of the West, that men clepyd the isle of Turnance. So befell\nit that he found this ship at the entry of a rock, and he found the\nbed and this sword as we have heard now. Not for then he had not so\nmuch hardiness to draw it; and there he dwelled an eight days, and at\nthe ninth day there fell a great wind which departed him out of the\nisle, and brought him to another isle by a rock, and there he found\nthe greatest giant that ever man might see. Therewith came that\nhorrible giant to slay him; and then he looked about him and might not\nflee, and he had nothing to defend him with. So he ran to his sword,\nand when he saw it naked he praised it much, and then he shook it, and\ntherewith he brake it in the middes. Ah, said Nacien, the thing that I\nmost praised ought I now most to blame, and therewith he threw the\npieces of his sword over his bed. And after he leapt over the board to\nfight with the giant, and slew him. And anon he entered into the ship\nagain, and the wind arose, and drove him through the sea, that by\nadventure he came to another ship where King Mordrains was, which had\nbeen tempted full evil with a fiend in the port of perilous rock. And\nwhen that one saw the other they made great joy of other, and either\ntold other of their adventure, and how the sword failed him at his\nmost need. When Mordrains saw the sword he praised it much: But the\nbreaking was not to do but by wickedness of thy self ward, for thou\nart in some sin. And there he took the sword, and set the pieces\ntogether, and they soldered as fair as ever they were tofore; and\nthere put he the sword in the sheath, and laid it down on the bed.\nThen heard they a voice that said: Go out of this ship a little while,\nand enter into the other, for dread ye fall in deadly sin, for and ye\nbe found in deadly sin ye may not escape but perish: and so they went\ninto the other ship. And as Nacien went over the board he was smitten\nwith a sword on the right foot, that he fell down noseling to the\nship's board; and therewith he said: O God, how am I hurt. And then\nthere came a voice and said: Take thou that for thy forfeit that thou\ndidst in drawing of this sword, therefore thou receivest a wound, for\nthou were never worthy to handle it, as the writing maketh mention. In\nthe name of God, said Galahad, ye are right wise of these works.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHOW KING PELLES WAS SMITTEN THROUGH BOTH THIGHS BECAUSE HE DREW THE\nSWORD, AND OTHER MARVELLOUS HISTORIES\n\n\nSir, said she, there was a king that hight Pelles, the maimed king.\nAnd while he might ride he supported much Christendom and Holy Church.\nSo upon a day he hunted in a wood of his which lasted unto the sea;\nand at the last he lost his hounds and his knights save only one: and\nthere he and his knight went till that they came toward Ireland, and\nthere he found the ship. And when he saw the letters and understood\nthem, yet he entered, for he was right perfect of his life, but his\nknight had none hardiness to enter; and there found he this sword, and\nhe drew it out as much as ye may see. So therewith entered a spear\nwherewith he was smitten him through both the thighs, and never sith\nmight he be healed, nor nought shall tofore we come to him. Thus, said\nshe, was not King Pelles, your grandsire, maimed for his hardiness? In\nthe name of God, damosel, said Galahad. So they went toward the bed to\nbehold all about it, and above the head there hung two swords. Also\nthere were two spindles which were as white as any snow, and other\nthat were as red as blood, and other above green as any emerald: of\nthese three colours were the spindles, and of natural colour within,\nand without any painting. These spindles, said the damosel, were when\nsinful Eve came to gather fruit, for which Adam and she were put out\nof paradise, she took with her the bough on which the apple hung on.\nThen perceived she that the branch was fair and green, and she\nremembered her the loss which came from the tree. Then she thought to\nkeep the branch as long as she might. And for she had no coffer to\nkeep it in, she put it in the earth. So by the will of Our Lord the\nbranch grew to a great tree within a little while, and was as white as\nany snow, branches, boughs, and leaves: that was a token a maiden\nplanted it. But after God came to Adam, and bad him know his wife\nfleshly as nature required. So lay Adam with his wife under the same\ntree; and anon the tree which was white was full green as any grass,\nand all that came out of it; and in the same time that they medled\ntogether there was Abel begotten: thus was the tree long of green\ncolour. And so it befell many days after, under the same tree Cain\nslew Abel, whereof befel great marvel. For anon as Abel had received\nthe death under the green tree, it lost the green colour and became\nred; and that was in tokening of the blood. And anon all the plants\ndied thereof, but the tree grew and waxed marvellously fair, and it\nwas the fairest tree and the most delectable that any man might behold\nand see; and so died the plants that grew out of it tofore that Abel\nwas slain under it. So long dured the tree till that Solomon, King\nDavid's son, reigned, and held the land after his father. This Solomon\nwas wise, and knew all the virtues of stones and trees, and so he knew\nthe course of the stars, and many other divers things. This Solomon\nhad an evil wife, wherethrough he weened that there had been no good\nwomen, and so he despised them in his books. So answered a voice him\nonce: Solomon, if heaviness come to a man by a woman, ne reck thou\nnever; for yet shall there come a woman whereof there shall come\ngreater joy to man an hundred times more than this heaviness giveth\nsorrow; and that woman shall be born of thy lineage. Then when Solomon\nheard these words he held himself but a fool, and the truth he\nperceived by old books. Also the Holy Ghost showed him the coming of\nthe glorious Virgin Mary. Then asked he of the voice, if it should be\nin the yerde of his lineage. Nay, said the voice, but there shall come\na man which shall be a maid, and the last of your blood, and he shall\nbe as good a knight as Duke Josua, thy brother-in-law.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nHOW SOLOMON TOOK DAVID'S SWORD BY THE COUNSEL OF HIS WIFE, AND OF\nOTHER MATTERS MARVELLOUS\n\n\nNow have I certified thee of that thou stoodest in doubt. Then was\nSolomon glad that there should come any such of his lineage; but ever\nhe marvelled and studied who that should be, and what his name might\nbe. His wife perceived that he studied, and thought she would know it\nat some season; and so she waited her time, and asked of him the cause\nof his studying, and there he told her all together how the voice told\nhim. Well, said she, I shall let make a ship of the best wood and most\ndurable that men may find. So Solomon sent for all the carpenters of\nthe land, and the best. And when they had made the ship the lady said\nto Solomon:\n\nSir, said she, syne it is so that this knight ought to pass all\nknights of chivalry which have been tofore him and shall come after\nhim, moreover I shall tell you, said she, ye shall go into Our Lord's\ntemple, where is King David's sword, your father, the which is the\nmarvelloust and the sharpest that ever was taken in any knight's hand.\nTherefore take that, and take off the pommel, and thereto make ye a\npommel of precious stones, that it be so subtilely made that no man\nperceive it but that they be all one; and after make there an hilt so\nmarvellously and wonderly that no man may know it; and after make a\nmarvellous sheath. And when ye have made all this I shall let make a\ngirdle thereto such as shall please me. All this King Solomon did let\nmake as she devised, both the ship and all the remnant. And when the\nship was ready in the sea to sail, the lady let make a great bed and\nmarvellous rich, and set her upon the bed's head, covered with silk,\nand laid the sword at the feet, and the girdles were of hemp, and\ntherewith the king was angry. Sir, wit ye well, said she, that I have\nnone so high a thing which were worthy to sustain so high a sword, and\na maid shall bring other knights thereto, but I wot not when it shall\nbe, nor what time. And there she let make a covering to the ship, of\ncloth of silk that should never rot for no manner of weather. Yet went\nthat lady and made a carpenter to come to the tree which Abel was\nslain under. Now, said she, carve me out of this tree as much wood as\nwill make me a spindle. Ah madam, said he, this is the tree the which\nour first mother planted. Do it, said she, or else I shall destroy\nthee. Anon as he began to work there came out drops of blood: and then\nwould he have left, but she would not suffer him, and so he took away\nas much wood as might make a spindle: and so she made him to take as\nmuch of the green tree and of the white tree. And when these three\nspindles were shapen she made them to be fastened upon the selar of\nthe bed. When Solomon saw this, he said to his wife: Ye have done\nmarvellously, for though all the world were here right now, he could\nnot devise wherefore all this was made, but Our Lord Himself; and thou\nthat hast done it wotest not what it shall betoken. Now let it be,\nsaid she, for ye shall hear tidings sooner than ye ween. Now shall ye\nhear a wonderful tale of King Solomon and his wife.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nA WONDERFUL TALE OF KING SOLOMON AND HIS WIFE\n\n\nThat night lay Solomon before the ship with little fellowship. And\nwhen he was on sleep him thought there come from heaven a great\ncompany of angels, and alit into the ship, and took water which was\nbrought by an angel, in a vessel of silver, and sprente all the ship.\nAnd after he came to the sword, and drew letters on the hilt. And\nafter went to the ship's board, and wrote there other letters which\nsaid: Thou man that wilt enter within me, beware that thou be full\nwithin the faith, for I ne am but Faith and Belief. When Solomon\nespied these letters he was abashed, so that he durst not enter, and\nso drew him aback; and the ship was anon shoven in the sea, and he\nwent so fast that he lost sight of him within a little while. And then\na little voice said: Solomon, the last knight of thy lineage shall\nrest in this bed. Then went Solomon and awaked his wife, and told her\nof the adventures of the ship. Now saith the history that a great\nwhile the three fellows beheld the bed and the three spindles. Then\nthey were at certain that they were of natural colours without\npainting. Then they lift up a cloth which was above the ground, and\nthere found a rich purse by seeming. And Percivale took it, and found\ntherein a writ and so he read it, and devised the manner of the\nspindles and of the ship, whence it came, and by whom it was made.\nNow, said Galahad, where shall we find the gentlewoman that shall make\nnew girdles to the sword? Fair sir, said Percivale's sister, dismay\nyou not, for by the leave of God I shall let make a girdle to the\nsword, such one as shall long thereto. And then she opened a box, and\ntook out girdles which were seemly wrought with golden threads, and\nupon that were set full precious stones, and a rich buckle of gold.\nLo, lords, said she, here is a girdle that ought to be set about the\nsword. And wit ye well the greatest part of this girdle was made of my\nhair, which I loved well while that I was a woman of the world. But as\nsoon as I wist that this adventure was ordained me I clipped off my\nhair, and made this girdle in the name of God. Ye be well found, said\nSir Bors, for certes ye have put us out of great pain, wherein we\nshould have entered ne had your tidings been. Then went the\ngentlewoman and set it on the girdle of the sword. Now, said the\nfellowship, what is the name of the sword, and what shall we call it?\nTruly, said she, the name of the sword is the Sword with the strange\ngirdles; and the sheath, mover of blood; for no man that hath blood in\nhim ne shall never see the one part of the sheath which was made of\nthe tree of life. Then they said to Galahad: In the name of Jesu\nChrist, and pray you that ye gird you with this sword which hath been\ndesired so much in the realm of Logris. Now let me begin, said\nGalahad, to grip this sword for to give you courage; but wit ye well\nit longeth no more to me than it doth to you. And then he gripped\nabout it with his fingers a great deal; and then she girt him about\nthe middle with the sword. Now reck I not though I die, for now I hold\nme one of the blessed maidens of the world, which hath made the\nworthiest knight of the world. Damosel, said Galahad, ye have done so\nmuch that I shall be your knight all the days of my life. Then they\nwent from that ship, and went to the other. And anon the wind drove\nthem into the sea a great pace, but they had no victuals: but it\nbefell that they came on the morn to a castle that men call\nCarteloise, that was in the marches of Scotland. And when they had\npassed the port, the gentlewoman said: Lords, here be men arriven\nthat, an they wist that ye were of King Arthur's court, ye should be\nassailed anon. Damosel, said Galahad, He that cast us out of the rock\nshall deliver us from them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nHOW GALAHAD AND HIS FELLOWS CAME TO A CASTLE, AND HOW THEY WERE FOUGHT\nWITHAL, AND HOW THEY SLEW THEIR ADVERSARIES, AND OTHER MATTERS\n\n\nSo it befell as they spoke thus there came a squire by them, and asked\nwhat they were; and they said they were of King Arthur's house. Is\nthat sooth? said he. Now by my head, said he, ye be ill arrayed; and\nthen turned he again unto the cliff fortress. And within a while they\nheard an horn blow. Then a gentlewoman came to them, and asked them of\nwhence they were; and they told her. Fair lords, said she, for God's\nlove turn again if ye may, for ye be come unto your death. Nay, they\nsaid, we will not turn again, for He shall help us in whose service we\nbe entered in. Then as they stood talking there came knights well\narmed, and bad them yield them or else die. That yielding, said they,\nshall be noyous to you. And therewith they let their horses run, and\nSir Percivale smote the foremost to the earth, and took his horse, and\nmounted thereupon, and the same did Galahad. Also Bors served another\nso, for they had no horses in that country, for they left their horses\nwhen they took their ship in other countries. And so when they were\nhorsed then began they to set upon them; and they of the castle fled\ninto the strong fortress, and the three knights after them into the\ncastle, and so alit on foot, and with their swords slew them down, and\ngat into the hall. Then when they beheld the great multitude of people\nthat they had slain, they held themself great sinners. Certes, said\nBors, I ween an God had loved them that we should not have had power\nto have slain them thus. But they have done so much against Our Lord\nthat He would not suffer them to reign no longer. Say ye not so, said\nGalahad, for if they misdid against God, the vengeance is not ours,\nbut to Him which hath power thereof. So came there out of a chamber a\ngood man which was a priest, and bare God's body in a cup. And when he\nsaw them which lay dead in the hall he was all abashed; and Galahad\ndid off his helm and kneeled down, and so did his two fellows. Sir,\nsaid they, have ye no dread of us, for we be of King Arthur's court.\nThen asked the good man how they were slain so suddenly, and they told\nit him. Truly, said the good man, an ye might live as long as the\nworld might endure, ne might ye have done so great an alms deed at\nthis. Sir, said Galahad, I repent me much, inasmuch as they were\nchristened. Nay, repent you not, said he, for they were not\nchristened, and I shall tell you how that I wot of this castle. Here\nwas Lord Earl Hernox not but one year, and he had three sons, good\nknights of arms, and a daughter, the fairest gentlewoman that men\nknew. So those three knights loved their sister so sore that they\nbrent in love, and so they lay by her, maugre her head. And for she\ncried to her father they slew her, and took their father and put him\nin prison, and wounded him nigh to death, but a cousin of hers rescued\nhim. And then did they great untruth: they slew clerks and priests,\nand made beat down chapels, that Our Lord's service might not be\nserved nor said. And this same day her father sent to me for to be\nconfessed and houseld; but such shame had never man as I had this day\nwith the three brethren, but the earl had me suffer, for he said they\nshould not long endure, for three servants of Our Lord should destroy\nthem, and now it is brought to an end. And by this may ye wit that Our\nLord is not displeased with your deeds. Certes, said Galahad, an it\nhad not pleased Our Lord, never should we have slain so many men in so\nlittle a while. And then they brought the Earl Hernox out of prison\ninto the middes of the hall, that knew Galahad anon, and yet he saw\nhim never afore but by revelation of Our Lord.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nHOW THE THREE KNIGHTS, WITH PERCIVALE'S SISTER, CAME UNTO THE SAME\nFOREST, AND OF AN HART AND FOUR LIONS, AND OTHER THINGS\n\n\nThen began he to weep right tenderly, and said: Long have I abiden\nyour coming, but for God's love hold me in your arms, that my soul may\ndepart out of my body in so good a man's arms as ye be. Gladly, said\nGalahad. And then one said on high, that all heard: Galahad, well hast\nthou avenged me on God's enemies. Now behoveth thee to go to the\nmaimed king as soon as thou mayest, for he shall receive by thee\nhealth which he hath abiden so long. And therewith the soul departed\nfrom the body, and Galahad made him to be buried as him ought to be.\nRight so departed the three knights, and Percivale's sister with them.\nAnd so they came into a waste forest, and there they saw afore them a\nwhite hart which four lions led. Then they took them to assent for to\nfollow after for to know whither they repaired; and so they rode after\na great pace till that they came to a valley, and thereby was an\nhermitage where a good man dwelled, and the hart and the lions entered\nalso. So when they saw all this they turned to the chapel, and saw the\ngood man in a religious weed and in the armour of Our Lord, for he\nwould sing mass of the Holy Ghost; and so they entered in and heard\nmass. And at the secrets of the mass they three saw the hart become a\nman, the which marvelled them, and set him upon the altar in a rich\nsiege; and saw the four lions were changed, the one to the form of a\nman, the other to the form of a lion, and the third to an eagle, and\nthe fourth was changed unto an ox. Then took they their siege where\nthe hart sat, and went out through a glass window, and there was\nnothing perished nor broken; and they heard a voice say: In such a\nmanner entered the Son of God in the womb of a maid Mary whose\nvirginity ne was perished ne hurt. And when they heard these words\nthey fell down to the earth and were astonied; and therewith was a\ngreat clereness. And when they were come to theirself again they went\nto the good man and prayed him that he would say them truth. What\nthing have ye seen? said he. And they told him all that they had seen.\nAh lords, said he, ye be welcome; now wot I well ye be the good\nknights the which shall bring the Sangreal to an end; for ye be they\nunto whom Our Lord shall shew great secrets. And well ought Our Lord\nbe signified to an hart, for the hart when he is old he waxeth young\nagain in his white skin. Right so cometh again Our Lord from death to\nlife, for He lost earthly flesh that was the deadly flesh, which He\nhad taken in the womb of the blessed Virgin Mary; and for that cause\nappeared Our Lord as a white hart without spot. And the four that were\nwith Him is to understand the four evangelists which set in writing a\npart of Jesu Christ's deeds that He did sometime when He was among you\nan earthly man; for wit ye well never erst ne might no knight know the\ntruth, for ofttimes or this Our Lord showed Him unto good men and unto\ngood knights, in likeness of an hart, but I suppose from henceforth ye\nshall see no more. And then they joyed much, and dwelled there all\nthat day. And upon the morrow when they had heard mass they departed\nand commended the good man to God: and so they came to a castle and\npassed by. So there came a knight armed after them and said: Lords,\nhark what I shall say to you.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nHOW THEY WERE DESIRED OF A STRANGE CUSTOM, THE WHICH THEY WOULD NOT\nOBEY; AND HOW THEY FOUGHT AND SLEW MANY KNIGHTS\n\n\nThis gentlewoman that ye lead with you is a maid? Sir, said she, a\nmaid I am. Then he took her by the bridle and said: By the Holy Cross,\nye shall not escape me tofore ye have yolden the custom of this\ncastle. Let her go, said Percivale, ye be not wise, for a maid in what\nplace she cometh is free. So in the meanwhile there came out a ten or\ntwelve knights armed, out of the castle, and with them came\ngentlewomen which held a dish of silver. And then they said: This\ngentlewoman must yield us the custom of this castle. Sir, said a\nknight, what maid passeth hereby shall give this dish full of blood of\nher right arm. Blame have ye, said Galahad, that brought up such\ncustoms, and so God me save, I ensure you of this gentlewoman ye shall\nfail while that I live. So God me help, said Percivale, I had lever be\nslain. And I also, said Sir Bors. By my troth, said the knight, then\nshall ye die, for ye may not endure against us though ye were the best\nknights of the world. Then let them run each to other, and the three\nfellows beat the ten knights, and then set their hands to their swords\nand beat them down and slew them. Then there came out of the castle a\nthree score knights armed. Fair lords, said the three fellows, have\nmercy on yourself and have not ado with us. Nay, fair lords, said the\nknights of the castle, we counsel you to withdraw you, for ye be the\nbest knights of the world, and therefore do no more, for ye have done\nenough. We will let you go with this harm, but we must needs have the\ncustom. Certes, said Galahad, for nought speak ye. Well, said they,\nwill ye die? We be not yet come thereto, said Galahad. Then began they\nto meddle together, and Galahad, with the strange girdles, drew his\nsword, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand, and slew what\nthat ever abode him, and did such marvels that there was none that saw\nhim but weened he had been none earthly man, but a monster. And his\ntwo fellows halp him passing well, and so they held the journey every\neach in like hard till it was night; then must they needs depart. So\ncame in a good knight, and said to the three fellows: If ye will come\nin to-night and take such harbour as here is ye shall be right\nwelcome, and we shall ensure you by the faith of our bodies, and as we\nbe true knights, to leave you in such estate to-morrow as we find you,\nwithout any falsehood. And as soon as ye know of the custom we dare\nsay ye will accord. Therefore for God's love, said the gentlewoman, go\nthither and spare not for me. Go we, said Galahad; and so they entered\ninto the chapel. And when they were alit they made great joy of them.\nSo within a while the three knights asked the custom of the castle and\nwherefore it was. What it is, said they, we will say you sooth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE'S SISTER BLED A DISH FULL OF BLOOD FOR TO HEAL A\nLADY, WHEREFORE SHE DIED; AND HOW THAT THE BODY WAS PUT IN A SHIP\n\n\nThere is in this castle a gentlewoman which we and this castle is\nhers, and many other. So it befell many years agone there fell upon\nher a malady; and when she had lain a great while she fell unto a\nmeasle, and of no leech she could have no remedy. But at the last an\nold man said an she might have a dish full of blood of a maid and a\nclene virgin in will and in work, and a king's daughter, that blood\nshould be her health, and for to anoint her withal; and for this thing\nwas this custom made. Now, said Percivale's sister, fair knights, I\nsee well that this gentlewoman is but dead. Certes, said Galahad, an\nye bleed so much ye may die. Truly, said she, an I die for to heal her\nI shall get me great worship and soul's health, and worship to my\nlineage, and better is one harm than twain. And therefore there shall\nbe no more battle, but tomorn I shall yield you your custom of this\ncastle. And then there was great joy more than there was tofore, for\nelse had there been mortal war upon the morn; notwithstanding she\nwould none other, whether they would or nold. That night were the\nthree fellows eased with the best; and on the morn they heard mass,\nand Sir Percivale's sister bad bring forth the sick lady. So she was,\nthe which was evil at ease. Then said she: Who shall let me blood? So\none came forth and let her blood, and she bled so much that the dish\nwas full. Then she lift up her hand and blessed her; and then she said\nto the lady: Madam, I am come to the death for to make you whole, for\nGod's love pray for me. With that she fell in a swoon. Then Galahad\nand his two fellows start up to her, and lift her up and staunched\nher, but she had bled so much that she might not live. Then she said\nwhen she was awaked: Fair brother Percivale, I die for the healing of\nthis lady, so I require you that ye bury me not in this country, but\nas soon as I am dead put me in a boat at the next haven, and let me go\nas adventure will lead me; and as soon as ye three come to the City of\nSarras, there to achieve the Holy Grail, ye shall find me under a\ntower arrived, and there bury me in the spiritual place; for I say you\nso much, there Galahad shall be buried, and ye also, in the same\nplace. Then Percivale understood these words, and granted it her\nweeping. And then said a voice: Lords and fellows, to-morrow at the\nhour of prime ye three shall depart every each from other, till the\nadventure bring you to the maimed king. Then asked she her Saviour;\nand as soon as she had received it the soul departed from the body. So\nthe same day was the lady healed, when she was anointed withal. Then\nSir Percivale made a letter of all that she had holpen them as in\nstrange adventures, and put it in her right hand, and so laid her in a\nbarge, and covered it with black silk; and so the wind arose, and\ndrove the barge from the land, and all knights beheld it till it was\nout of their sight. Then they drew all to the castle, and so forthwith\nthere fell a sudden tempest and a thunder, lightning, and rain, as all\nthe earth would have broken. So half the castle turned up so down. So\nit passed evensong or the tempest was ceased. Then they saw afore them\na knight armed and wounded hard in the body and in the head, that\nsaid: O God, succour me for now it is need. After this knight came\nanother knight and a dwarf, which cried to them afar: Stand, ye may\nnot escape. Then the wounded knight held up his hands to God that he\nshould not die in such tribulation. Truly, said Galahad, I shall\nsuccour him for His sake that he calleth upon. Sir, said Bors, I shall\ndo it, for it is not for you, for he is but one knight. Sir, said he,\nI grant. So Sir Bors took his horse, and commended him to God, and\nrode after, to rescue the wounded knight. Now turn we to the two\nfellows.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nHOW GALAHAD AND PERCIVALE FOUND IN A CASTLE MANY TOMBS OF MAIDENS THAT\nHAD BLED TO DEATH\n\n\nNow saith the story that all night Galahad and Percivale were in a\nchapel in their prayers, for to save Sir Bors. So on the morrow they\ndressed them in their harness toward the castle, to wit what was\nfallen of them therein. And when they came there they found neither\nman nor woman that he ne was dead by the vengeance of Our Lord. With\nthat they heard a voice that said: This vengeance is for blood\nshedding of maidens. Also they found at the end of the chapel a\nchurchyard and therein might they see a three score fair tombs, and\nthat place was so fair and so delectable that it seemed them there had\nbeen none tempest, for there lay the bodies of all the good maidens\nwhich were martyred for the sick lady's sake. Also they found the\nnames of every each, and of what blood they were come, and all were of\nkings' blood, and twelve of them were kings' daughters. Then they\ndeparted and went into a forest. Now, said Percivale unto Galahad, we\nmust depart, so pray we Our Lord that we may meet together in short\ntime: then they did off their helms and kissed together, and wept at\ntheir departing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT ENTERED INTO THE SHIP WHERE SIR PERCIVALE'S SISTER\nLAY DEAD, AND HOW HE MET WITH SIR GALAHAD, HIS SON\n\n\nNow saith the history, that when Launcelot was come to the water of\nMortoise, as it is rehearsed before, he was in great peril, and so he\nlaid him down and slept, and took the adventure that God would send\nhim. So when he was asleep there came a vision unto him and said:\nLauncelot, arise up and take thine armour, and enter into the first\nship that thou shalt find. And when he heard these words he start up\nand saw great clereness about him. And then he lift up his hand and\nblessed him, and so took his arms and made him ready; and so by\nadventure he came by a strand, and found a ship the which was without\nsail or oar. And as soon as he was within the ship there he felt the\nmost sweetness that ever he felt, and he was fulfilled with all thing\nthat he thought on or desired. Then he said: Fair sweet Father, Jesu\nChrist, I wot not in what joy I am, for this joy passeth all earthly\njoys that ever I was in. And so in this joy he laid him down to the\nship's board, and slept till day. And when he awoke he found there a\nfair bed, and therein lying a gentlewoman dead, the which was Sir\nPercivale's sister. And as Launcelot devised her, he espied in her\nright hand a writ, the which he read, the which told him all the\nadventures that ye have heard tofore, and of what lineage she was\ncome. So with this gentlewoman Sir Launcelot was a month and more. If\nye would ask how he lived, He that fed the people of Israel with manna\nin the desert, so was he fed; for every day when he had said his\nprayers he was sustained with the grace of the Holy Ghost. So on a\nnight he went to play him by the water side, for he was somewhat weary\nof the ship. And then he listened and heard an horse come, and one\nriding upon him. And when he came nigh he seemed a knight. And so he\nlet him pass, and went thereas the ship was; and there he alit, and\ntook the saddle and the bridle and put the horse from him, and went\ninto the ship. And then Launcelot dressed unto him, and said: Ye be\nwelcome. And he answered and saluted him again, and asked him: What is\nyour name? for much my heart giveth unto you. Truly, said he, my name\nis Launcelot du Lake. Sir, said he, then be ye welcome, for ye were\nthe beginning of me in this world. Ah, said he, are ye Galahad? Yea,\nforsooth, said he; and so he kneeled down and asked him his blessing,\nand after took off his helm and kissed him. And there was great joy\nbetween them, for there is no tongue can tell the joy that they made\neither of other, and many a friendly word spoken between, as kin\nwould, the which is no need here to be rehearsed. And there every each\ntold other of their adventures and marvels that were befallen to them\nin many journeys sith that they departed from the court. Anon, as\nGalahad saw the gentlewoman dead in the bed, he knew her well enough,\nand told great worship of her, that she was the best maid living, and\nit was great pity of her death. But when Launcelot heard how the\nmarvellous sword was gotten, and who made it, and all the marvels\nrehearsed afore, then he prayed Galahad, his son, that he would show\nhim the sword, and so he did; and anon he kissed the pommel, and the\nhilt, and the scabbard. Truly, said Launcelot, never erst knew I of so\nhigh adventures done, and so marvellous and strange. So dwelt\nLauncelot and Galahad within that ship half a year, and served God\ndaily and nightly with all their power; and often they arrived in\nisles far from folk, where there repaired none but wild beasts, and\nthere they found many strange adventures and perillous, which they\nbrought to an end; but for those adventures were with wild beasts, and\nnot in the quest of the Sangreal, therefore the tale maketh here no\nmention thereof, for it would be too long to tell of all those\nadventures that befell them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nHOW A KNIGHT BROUGHT UNTO SIR GALAHAD A HORSE, AND BAD HIM COME FROM\nHIS FATHER, SIR LAUNCELOT\n\n\nSo after, on a Monday, it befell that they arrived in the edge of a\nforest tofore a cross; and then saw they a knight armed all in white,\nand was richly horsed, and led in his right hand a white horse; and so\nhe came to the ship, and saluted the two knights on the High Lord's\nbehalf, and said: Galahad, sir, ye have been long enough with your\nfather, come out of the ship, and start upon this horse, and go where\nthe adventures shall lead thee in the quest of the Sangreal. Then he\nwent to his father and kissed him sweetly, and said: Fair sweet\nfather, I wot not when I shall see you more till I see the body of\nJesu Christ. I pray you, said Launcelot, pray ye to the High Father\nthat He hold me in His service. And so he took his horse, and there\nthey heard a voice that said: Think for to do well, for the one shall\nnever see the other before the dreadful day of doom. Now, son Galahad,\nsaid Launcelot, syne we shall depart, and never see other, I pray to\nthe High Father to conserve me and you both. Sir, said Galahad, no\nprayer availeth so much as yours. And therewith Galahad entered into\nthe forest. And the wind arose, and drove Launcelot more than a month\nthroughout the sea, where he slept but little, but prayed to God that\nhe might see some tidings of the Sangreal. So it befell on a night, at\nmidnight, he arrived afore a castle, on the back side, which was rich\nand fair, and there was a postern opened toward the sea, and was open\nwithout any keeping, save two lions kept the entry; and the moon shone\nclear. Anon Sir Launcelot heard a voice that said: Launcelot, go out\nof this ship and enter into the castle, where thou shalt see a great\npart of thy desire. Then he ran to his arms, and so armed him, and so\nwent to the gate and saw the lions. Then set he hand to his sword and\ndrew it. Then there came a dwarf suddenly, and smote him on the arm so\nsore that the sword fell out of his hand. Then heard he a voice say: O\nman of evil faith and poor belief, wherefore trowest thou more on thy\nharness than in thy Maker, for He might more avail thee than thine\narmour, in whose service that thou art set. Then said Launcelot: Fair\nFather Jesu Christ, I thank thee of Thy great mercy that Thou\nreprovest me of my misdeed; now see I well that ye hold me for your\nservant. Then took he again his sword and put it up in his sheath, and\nmade a cross in his forehead, and came to the lions, and they made\nsemblant to do him harm. Notwithstanding he passed by them without\nhurt, and entered into the castle to the chief fortress, and there\nwere they all at rest. Then Launcelot entered in so armed, for he\nfound no gate nor door but it was open. And at the last he found a\nchamber whereof the door was shut, and he set his hand thereto to have\nopened it, but he might not.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT WAS AFORE THE DOOR OF THE CHAMBER WHEREIN THE HOLY\nSANGREAL WAS\n\n\nThen he enforced him mickle to undo the door. Then he listened and\nheard a voice which sang so sweetly that it seemed none earthly thing;\nand him thought the voice said: Joy and honour be to the Father of\nHeaven. Then Launcelot kneeled down tofore the chamber, for well wist\nhe that there was the Sangreal within that chamber. Then said he: Fair\nsweet Father, Jesu Christ, if ever I did thing that pleased Thee, Lord\nfor Thy pity never have me not in despite for my sins done aforetime,\nand that Thou show me something of that I seek. And with that he saw\nthe chamber door open, and there came out a great clereness, that the\nhouse was as bright as all the torches of the world had been there. So\ncame he to the chamber door, and would have entered. And anon a voice\nsaid to him, Flee, Launcelot, and enter not, for thou oughtest not to\ndo it; and if thou enter thou shalt forethink it. Then he withdrew him\naback right heavy. Then looked he up in the middes of the chamber, and\nsaw a table of silver, and the holy vessel, covered with red samite,\nand many angels about it, whereof one held a candle of wax burning,\nand the other held a cross, and the ornaments of an altar. And before\nthe holy vessel he saw a good man clothed as a priest. And it seemed\nthat he was at the sacring of the mass. And it seemed to Launcelot\nthat above the priest's hands were three men, whereof the two put the\nyoungest by likeness between the priest's hands; and so he lift it up\nright high, and it seemed to show so to the people. And then Launcelot\nmarvelled not a little, for him thought the priest was so greatly\ncharged of the figure that him seemed that he should fall to the\nearth. And when he saw none about him that would help him, then came\nhe to the door a great pace, and said: Fair Father Jesu Christ, ne\ntake it for no sin though I help the good man which hath great need of\nhelp. Right so entered he into the chamber, and came toward the table\nof silver; and when he came nigh he felt a breath, that him thought it\nwas intermeddled with fire, which smote him so sore in the visage that\nhim thought it brent his visage; and therewith he fell to the earth,\nand had no power to arise, as he that was so araged, that had lost the\npower of his body, and his hearing, and his seeing. Then felt he many\nhands about him, which took him up and bare him out of the chamber\ndoor, without any amending of his swoon, and left him there, seeming\ndead to all people. So upon the morrow when it was fair day they\nwithin were arisen, and found Launcelot lying afore the chamber door.\nAll they marvelled how that he came in, and so they looked upon him,\nand felt his pulse to wit whether there were any life in him; and so\nthey found life in him, but he might not stand nor stir no member that\nhe had. And so they took him by every part of the body, and bare him\ninto a chamber, and laid him in a rich bed, far from all folk; and so\nhe lay four days. Then the one said he was on live, and the other\nsaid, Nay. In the name of God, said an old man, for I do you verily to\nwit he is not dead, but he is so full of life as the mightiest of you\nall; and therefore I counsel you that he be well kept till God send\nhim life again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT HAD LAIN FOUR AND TWENTY DAYS AND AS MANY NIGHTS AS\nA DEAD MAN, AND OTHER DIVERS MATTERS\n\n\nIn such manner they kept Launcelot four and twenty days and all so\nmany nights, that ever he lay still as a dead man; and at the\ntwenty-fifth day befell him after midday that he opened his eyes. And\nwhen he saw folk he made great sorrow, and said: Why have ye awaked\nme, for I was more at ease than I am now. O Jesu Christ, who might be\nso blessed that might see openly thy great marvels of secretness there\nwhere no sinner may be! What have ye seen? said they about him. I have\nseen, said he, so great marvels that no tongue may tell, and more than\nany heart can think, and had not my son been here afore me I had seen\nmuch more. Then they told him how he had lain there four and twenty\ndays and nights. Then him thought it was punishment for the four and\ntwenty years that he had been a sinner, wherefore Our Lord put him in\npenance four and twenty days and nights. Then looked Sir Launcelot\nafore him, and saw the hair which he had borne nigh a year, for that\nhe forethought him right much that he had broken his promise unto the\nhermit, which he had avowed to do. Then they asked how it stood with\nhim. For sooth, said he, I am whole of body, thanked be Our Lord;\ntherefore, sirs, for God's love tell me where I am. Then said they all\nthat he was in the castle of Carbonek. Therewith came a gentlewoman\nand brought him a shirt of small linen cloth, but he changed not\nthere, but took the hair to him again. Sir, said they, the quest of\nthe Sangreal is achieved now right in you, that never shall ye see of\nthe Sangreal no more than ye have seen. Now I thank God, said\nLauncelot, of His great mercy of that I have seen, for it sufficeth\nme; for as I suppose no man in this world hath lived better than I\nhave done to achieve that I have done. And therewith he took the hair\nand clothed him in it, and above that he put a linen shirt, and after\na robe of scarlet, fresh and new. And when he was so arrayed they\nmarvelled all, for they knew him that he was Launcelot, the good\nknight. And then they said all: O my lord Sir Launcelot, be that ye?\nAnd he said: Truly I am he. Then came word to King Pelles that the\nknight that had lain so long dead was Sir Launcelot. Then was the king\nright glad, and went to see him. And when Launcelot saw him come he\ndressed him against him, and there made the king great joy of him. And\nthere the king told him tidings that his fair daughter was dead. Then\nLauncelot was right heavy of it, and said: Sir, me forthinketh the\ndeath of your daughter, for she was a full fair lady, fresh and young.\nAnd well I wot she bare the best knight that is now on the earth, or\nthat ever was sith God was born. So the king held him there four days,\nand on the morrow he took his leave at King Pelles and at all the\nfellowship, and thanked them of their great labour. Right so as they\nsat at their dinner in the chief hall, then was it so that the\nSangreal had fulfilled the table with all manner of meats that any\nheart might think. So as they sat they saw all the doors and the\nwindows of the place were shut without man's hand, whereof they were\nall abashed, and none wist what to do. And then it happened suddenly\nthat a knight came to the chief door and knocked, and cried: Undo the\ndoor. But they would not. And ever he cried: Undo; but they would not.\nAnd at last it annoyed him so much that the king himself arose and\ncame to a window where the knight called. Then he said: Sir knight, ye\nshall not enter at this time while the Sangreal is here, and therefore\ngo into another; for certes ye be none of the knights of the quest,\nbut one of them which hath served the fiend, and hast left the service\nof Our Lord: and he was passing wroth at the king's words. Sir knight,\nsaid the king, sith ye would so fain enter, say me of what country ye\nbe. Sir, said he, I am of the realm of Logris, and my name is Ector de\nMaris, and brother unto my lord, Sir Launcelot. In the name of God,\nsaid the king, me forthinketh of what I have said, for your brother is\nhere within. And when Ector de Maris understood that his brother was\nthere, for he was the man in the world that he most dread and loved,\nand then he said: Ah God, now doubleth my sorrow and shame. Full truly\nsaid the good man of the hill unto Gawaine and to me of our dreams.\nThen went he out of the court as fast as his horse might, and so\nthroughout the castle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT RETURNED TOWARDS LOGRIS, AND OF OTHER ADVENTURES\nWHICH HE SAW IN THE WAY\n\n\nThen King Pelles came to Sir Launcelot and told him tidings of his\nbrother, whereof he was sorry, that he wist not what to do. So Sir\nLauncelot departed, and took his arms, and said he would go see the\nrealm of Logris, which I have not seen these twelve months. And\ntherewith he commended the king to God, and so rode through many\nrealms. And at the last he came to a white abbey, and there they made\nhim that night great cheer; and on the morn he rose and heard mass.\nAnd afore an altar he found a rich tomb, the which was newly made; and\nthen he took heed, and saw the sides written with gold which said:\nHere lieth King Bagdemagus of Gore, which King Arthur's nephew slew;\nand named him, Sir Gawaine. Then was he not a little sorry, for\nLauncelot loved him much more than any other, and had it been any\nother than Gawaine he should not have escaped from death to life; and\nsaid to himself: Ah Lord God, this is a great hurt unto King Arthur's\ncourt, the loss of such a man. And then he departed and came to the\nabbey where Galahad did the adventure of the tombs, and won the white\nshield with the red cross; and there had he great cheer all that\nnight. And on the morn he turned unto Camelot, where he found King\nArthur and the queen. But many of the knights of the Round Table were\nslain and destroyed, more than half. And so three were come home\nagain, that were Sir Gawaine, Sir Ector, and Sir Lionel, and many\nother that need not to be rehearsed. Then all the court was passing\nglad of Sir Launcelot, and the king asked him many tidings of his son\nGalahad. And there Launcelot told the king of his adventures that had\nbefallen him syne he departed. And also he told him of the adventures\nof Galahad, Percivale, and Bors, which that he knew by the letter of\nthe dead damosel, and as Galahad had told him. Now God would, said the\nking, that they were all three here. That shall never be, said\nLauncelot, for two of them shall ye never see, but one of them shall\ncome again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nHOW GALAHAD CAME TO KING MORDRAINS, AND OF OTHER MATTERS AND\nADVENTURES\n\n\nNow saith the story that Galahad rode many journeys in vain. And at\nthe last he came to the Abbey where King Mordrains was, and when he\nheard that, he thought he would abide to see him. And upon the morn,\nwhen he had heard mass, Galahad came unto King Mordrains, and anon the\nking saw him, which had lain blind a long time. And then he dressed\nhim against him, and said: Galahad, the servant of Jesu Christ, whose\ncoming I have abiden so long, now embrace me and let me rest on thy\nbreast, so that I may rest between thine arms, for thou art a clene\nvirgin above all knights, as the flower of the lily in whom virginity\nis signified, and thou art the rose the which is the flower of all\ngood virtues, and in colour of fire. For the fire of the Holy Ghost is\ntaken so in thee that my flesh which was of dead oldness is become\nyoung again. When Galahad heard his words, then he embraced him and\nall his body. Then said he: Fair Lord Jesu Christ, now I have my will.\nNow I require thee, in this point that I am in, thou come and visit\nme. And anon Our Lord heard his prayer: therewith the soul departed\nfrom the body. And then Galahad put him in the earth as a king ought\nto be, and so departed and came into a perilous forest where he found\nthe well the which boileth with great waves, as the tale telleth\ntofore. And as soon as Galahad set his hand thereto it ceased, so that\nit burnt no more, and the heat departed. For that it brent it was a\nsign of lechery, the which was that time much used. But that heat\nmight not abide his pure virginity. And this was taken in the country\nfor a miracle. And so ever after was it called Galahad's well. Then by\nadventure he came into the country of Gore, and into the Abbey where\nLauncelot had been toforehand, and found the tomb of King Bagdemagus,\nbut Joseph of Aramathie's son was founder thereof; and the tomb of\nSimeon where Launcelot had failed. Then he looked into a croft under\nthe minster, and there he saw a tomb which burnt full marvellously.\nThen asked he the brethren what it was. Sir, said they, a marvellous\nadventure that may not be brought unto none end but by him that\npasseth of bounty and of knighthood all the knights of the Round\nTable. I would, said Galahad, that ye would lead me thereto. Gladly,\nsaid they. And so they led him unto a cave. And he went down upon\ngretys, and came nigh the tomb. And then the flaming failed, and the\nfire stanched, the which many a day had been great. Then came there a\nvoice that said: much are ye beholden to thank Our Lord, the which\nhath given you a good hour, that ye may draw out the souls of earthly\npain, and to put them into the joys of paradise. I am of your kindred,\nthe which hath dwelled in this heat this three hundred four and fifty\nwinter to be purged of the sin that I did against Joseph of Aramathie.\nThen Galahad took the body in his arms and bare it into the minster.\nAnd that night lay Galahad in the abbey; and on the morn he gave him\nservice, and put him in the earth afore the high altar.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE AND SIR BORS MET WITH SIR GALAHAD, AND HOW THEY CAME\nTO THE CASTLE OF CARBONEK, AND OTHER MATTERS\n\n\nSo departed he from thence, and commended the brethren to God; and so\nhe rode five days till that he came to the maimed king. And ever\nfollowed Percivale the five days, asking where he had been; and so one\ntold him how the adventures of Logris were achieved. So on a day it\nbefell that they came out of a great forest, and there they met at\ntraverse with Sir Bors, the which rode alone. It is none need to tell\nif they were glad; and them he saluted, and they yielded him honour\nand good adventure, and every each told other. Then said Bors: It is\nmore than a year and an half that I ne lay ten times where men\ndwelled, but in wild forests and in mountains, but God was ever my\ncomfort. Then rode they a great while till that they came to the\ncastle of Carbonek. And when they were entered within the castle King\nPelles knew them; then there was great joy, for they wist well by\ntheir coming that they had fulfilled the quest of the Sangreal. Then\nEliazar, King Pelles' son, brought tofore them the broken sword\nwherewith Joseph was stricken through the thigh. Then Bors set his\nhand thereto, if that he might have soldered it again; but it would\nnot be. Then he took it to Percivale, but he had no more power thereto\nthan he. Now have ye it again, said Percivale to Galahad, for an it be\never achieved by any bodily man ye must do it. And then he took the\npieces and set them together, and they seemed that they had never been\nbroken, and as well as it had been first forged. And when they within\nespied that the adventure of the sword was achieved, then they gave\nthe sword to Bors, for it might not be better set; for he was a good\nknight and a worthy man. And a little afore even the sword arose great\nand marvellous, and was full of great heat that many men fell for\ndread. And anon alit a voice among them, and said: They that ought not\nto sit at the table of Jesu Christ arise, for now shall very knights\nbe fed. So they went thence, all save King Pelles and Eliazar, his\nson, the which were holy men, and a maid which was his niece; and so\nthese three fellows and they three were there, no more. Anon they saw\nknights all armed come in at the hall door, and did off their helms\nand their arms, and said unto Galahad: Sir, we have hied right much\nfor to be with you at this table where the holy meat shall be\ndeparted. Then said he: Ye be welcome, but of whence be ye? So three\nof them said they were of Gaul, and other three said they were of\nIreland, and the other three said they were of Denmark. So as they sat\nthus there came out a bed of tree, of a chamber, the which four\ngentlewomen brought; and in the bed lay a good man sick, and a crown\nof gold upon his head; and there in the middes of the place they set\nhim down, and went again their way. Then he lift up his head, and\nsaid: Galahad, Knight, ye be welcome, for much have I desired your\ncoming, for in such anguish I have been long. But now I trust to God\nthe term is come that my pain shall be allayed, that I shall pass out\nof this world so as it was promised me long ago. Therewith a voice\nsaid: There be two among you that be not in the quest of the Sangreal,\nand therefore depart ye.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nHOW GALAHAD AND HIS FELLOWS WERE FED OF THE HOLY SANGREAL, AND HOW OUR\nLORD APPEARED TO THEM, AND OTHER THINGS\n\n\nThen King Pelles and his son departed. And therewithal beseemed them\nthat there came a man, and four angels from heaven, clothed in\nlikeness of a bishop, and had a cross in his hand; and there four\nangels bare him in a chair, and set him down before the table of\nsilver whereupon the Sangreal was; and it seemed that he had in middes\nof his forehead letters the which said: See ye here Joseph, the first\nbishop of Christendom, the same which Our Lord succoured in the city\nof Sarras in the spiritual place. Then the knights marvelled, for that\nbishop was dead more than three hundred years tofore. O knights, said\nhe, marvel not, for I was sometime an earthly man. With that they\nheard the chamber door open, and there they saw angels; and two bare\ncandles of wax, and the third a towel, and the fourth a spear which\nbled marvellously, that three drops fell within a box which he held\nwith his other hand. And they set the candles upon the table, and the\nthird the towel upon the vessel, and the fourth the holy spear even\nupright upon the vessel. And then the bishop made semblant as though\nhe would have gone to the sacring of the mass. And then he took an\nubblye which was made in likeness of bread. And at the lifting up\nthere came a figure in likeness of a child, and the visage was as red\nand as bright as any fire, and smote himself into the bread, so that\nthey all saw it that the bread was formed of a fleshly man; and then\nhe put it into the holy vessel again, and then he did that longed to a\npriest to do to a mass. And then he went to Galahad and kissed him,\nand bad him go and kiss his fellows: and so he did anon. Now, said he,\nservants of Jesu Christ, ye shall be fed afore this table with\nsweetmeats that never knights tasted. And when he had said, he\nvanished away. And they set them at the table in great dread and made\ntheir prayers. Then looked they and saw a man come out of the holy\nvessel, that had all the signs of the passion of Jesu Christ, bleeding\nall openly, and said: My knights, and my servants, and my true\nchildren, which be come out of deadly life into spiritual life, I will\nnow no longer hide me from you, but ye shall see now a part of my\nsecrets and of my hidden things: now hold and receive the high meat\nwhich ye have so much desired. Then took he himself the holy vessel\nand came to Galahad; and he kneeled down, and there he received his\nSaviour, and after him so received all his fellows; and they thought\nit so sweet that it was marvellous to tell. Then said he to Galahad:\nSon, wotest thou what I hold betwixt my hands? Nay, said he, but if ye\nwill tell me. This is, said he, the holy dish wherein I ate the lamb\non Sher-Thursday. And now hast thou seen that thou most desired to\nsee, but yet hast thou not seen it so openly as thou shalt see it in\nthe city of Sarras in the spiritual place. Therefore thou must go\nhence and bear with thee this holy vessel; for this night it shall\ndepart from the realm of Logris, that it shall never be seen more\nhere. And wotest thou wherefore? For he is not served nor worshipped\nto his right by them of this land, for they be turned to evil living;\ntherefore I shall disherit them of the honour which I have done them.\nAnd therefore go ye three to-morrow unto the sea, where ye shall find\nyour ship ready and with you take the sword with the strange girdles,\nand no more with you but Sir Percivale and Sir Bors. Also I will that\nye take with you of the blood of this spear for to anoint the maimed\nking, both his legs and all his body, and he shall have his health.\nSir, said Galahad, why shall not these other fellows go with us? For\nthis cause: for right as I departed my apostles one here and another\nthere, so I will that ye depart; and two of you shall die in my\nservice, but one of you shall come again and tell tidings. Then gave\nhe them his blessing and vanished away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nHOW GALAHAD ANOINTED WITH THE BLOOD OF THE SPEAR THE MAIMED KING, AND\nOTHER ADVENTURES\n\n\nAnd Galahad went anon to the spear which lay upon the table, and\ntouched the blood with his fingers, and came after to the maimed king\nand anointed his legs. And therewith he clothed him anon, and start\nupon his feet out of his bed as an whole man, and thanked Our Lord\nthat He had healed him. And that was not to the world ward, for anon\nhe yielded him to a place of religion of white monks, and was a full\nholy man. That same night about midnight came a voice among them which\nsaid: My sons and not my chief sons, my friends and not my warriors,\ngo ye hence where ye hope best to do and as I bad you. Ah, thanked be\nThou, Lord, that Thou wilt vouchsafe to call us, Thy sinners. Now may\nwe well prove that we have not lost our pains. And anon in all haste\nthey took their harness and departed. But the three knights of Gaul,\none of them hight Claudine, King Claudas' son, and the other two were\ngreat gentlemen. Then prayed Galahad to every each of them, that if\nthey come to King Arthur's court that they should salute my lord, Sir\nLauncelot, my father, and of them of the Round Table; and prayed them\nif that they came on that part that they should not forget it. Right\nso departed Galahad, Percivale and Bors with him; and so they rode\nthree days, and then they came to a rivage, and found the ship whereof\nthe tale speaketh of tofore. And when they came to the board they\nfound in the middes the table of silver which they had left with the\nmaimed king, and the Sangreal which was covered with red samite. Then\nwere they glad to have such things in their fellowship; and so they\nentered and made great reverence thereto; and Galahad fell in his\nprayer long time to Our Lord, that at what time he asked, that he\nshould pass out of this world. So much he prayed till a voice said to\nhim: Galahad, thou shalt have thy request; and when thou askest the\ndeath of thy body thou shalt have it, and then shalt thou find the\nlife of the soul. Percivale heard this, and prayed him, of fellowship\nthat was between them, to tell him wherefore he asked such things.\nThat shall I tell you, said Galahad; the other day when we saw a part\nof the adventures of the Sangreal I was in such a joy of heart, that I\ntrow never man was that was earthly. And therefore I wot well, when my\nbody is dead my soul shall be in great joy to see the blessed Trinity\nevery day, and the Majesty of Our Lord, Jesu Christ. So long were they\nin the ship that they said to Galahad: Sir, in this bed ought ye to\nlie, for so saith the scripture. And so he laid him down and slept a\ngreat while; and when he awaked he looked afore him and saw the city\nof Sarras. And as they would have landed they saw the ship wherein\nPercivale had put his sister in. Truly, said Percivale, in the name of\nGod, well hath my sister holden us covenant. Then took they out of the\nship the table of silver, and he took it to Percivale and to Bors, to\ngo tofore, and Galahad came behind. And right so they went to the\ncity, and at the gate of the city they saw an old man crooked. Then\nGalahad called him and bad him help to bear this heavy thing. Truly,\nsaid the old man, it is ten year ago that I might not go but with\ncrutches. Care thou not, said Galahad, and arise up and shew thy good\nwill. And so he essayed, and found himself as whole as ever he was.\nThen ran he to the table, and took one part against Galahad, And anon\narose there great noise in the city, that a cripple was made whole by\nknights marvellous that entered into the city. Then anon after, the\nthree knights went to the water, and brought up into the palace\nPercivale's sister, and buried her as richly as a king's daughter\nought to be. And when the king of the city, which was cleped\nEstorause, saw the fellowship, he asked them of whence they were, and\nwhat thing it was that they had brought upon the table of silver. And\nthey told him the truth of the Sangreal, and the power which that God\nhad set there. Then the king was a tyrant, and was come of the line of\npaynims, and took them and put them in prison in a deep hole.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nHOW THEY WERE FED WITH THE SANGREAL WHILE THEY WERE IN PRISON, AND HOW\nGALAHAD WAS MADE KING\n\n\nBut as soon as they were there Our Lord sent them the Sangreal,\nthrough whose grace they were alway fulfilled while that they were in\nprison. So at the year's end it befel that this King Estorause lay\nsick, and felt that he should die. Then he sent for the three knights,\nand they came afore him; and he cried them mercy of that he had done\nto them, and they forgave it him goodly; and he died anon. When the\nking was dead all the city was dismayed, and wist not who might be\ntheir king. Right so as they were in counsel there came a voice among\nthem, and bad them choose the youngest knight of them three to be\ntheir king: For he shall well maintain you and all yours. So they made\nGalahad king by all the assent of the holy city, and else they would\nhave slain him. And when he was come to behold the land, he let make\nabove the table of silver a chest of gold and of precious stones, that\nhylled the holy vessel. And every day early the three fellows would\ncome afore it, and make their prayers. Now at the year's end, and the\nself day after Galahad had borne the crown of gold, he arose up early\nand his fellows, and came to the palace, and saw tofore them the holy\nvessel, and a man kneeling on his knees in likeness of a bishop, that\nhad about him a great fellowship of angels as it had been Jesu Christ\nhimself; and then he arose and began a mass of Our Lady. And when he\ncame to the sacrament of the mass, and had done, anon he called\nGalahad, and said to him: Come forth the servant of Jesu Christ, and\nthou shalt see that thou hast much desired to see. And then he began\nto tremble right hard when the deadly flesh began to behold the\nspiritual things. Then he held up his hands toward heaven and said:\nLord, I thank thee, for now I see that that hath been my desire many a\nday. Now, blessed Lord, would I not longer live, if it might please\nthee, Lord. And therewith the good man took Our Lord's body betwixt\nhis hands, and proffered it to Galahad, and he received it right\ngladly and meekly. Now wotest thou what I am? said the good man. Nay,\nsaid Galahad. I am Joseph of Aramathie, the which Our Lord hath sent\nhere to thee to bear thee fellowship; and wotest thou wherefore that\nhe hath sent me more than any other? For thou hast resembled me in two\nthings; in that thou hast seen the marvels of the Sangreal, in that\nthou hast been a clene maiden, as I have been and am. And when he had\nsaid these words Galahad went to Percivale and kissed him, and\ncommended him to God; and so he went to Sir Bors and kissed him, and\ncommended him to God, and said: Fair lord, salute me to my lord, Sir\nLauncelot, my father, and as soon as ye see him, bid him remember of\nthis unstable world. And therewith he kneeled down tofore the table\nand made his prayers, and then suddenly his soul departed to Jesu\nChrist, and a great multitude of angels bare his soul up to heaven,\nthat the two fellows might well behold it. Also the two fellows saw\ncome from heaven an hand, but they saw not the body. And then it came\nright to the Vessel, and took it and the spear, and so bare it up to\nheaven. Sithen was there never man so hardy to say that he had seen\nthe Sangreal.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nOF THE SORROW THAT PERCIVALE AND BORS MADE WHEN GALAHAD WAS DEAD: AND\nOF PERCIVALE HOW HE DIED, AND OTHER MATTERS\n\n\nWhen Percivale and Bors saw Galahad dead they made as much sorrow as\never did two men. And if they had not been good men they might lightly\nhave fallen in despair. And the people of the country and of the city\nwere right heavy. And then he was buried; and as soon as he was buried\nSir Percivale yielded him to an hermitage out of the city, and took a\nreligious clothing. And Bors was alway with him, but never changed he\nhis secular clothing, for that he purposed him to go again into the\nrealm of Logris. Thus a year and two months lived Sir Percivale in the\nhermitage a full holy life, and then passed out of this world; and\nBors let bury him by his sister and by Galahad in the spiritualities.\nWhen Bors saw that he was in so far countries as in the parts of\nBabylon he departed from Sarras, and armed him and came to the sea,\nand entered into a ship; and so it befell him in good adventure he\ncame into the realm of Logris; and he rode so fast till he came to\nCamelot where the king was. And then was there great joy made of him\nin the court, for they weened all he had been dead, forasmuch as he\nhad been so long out of the country. And when they had eaten, the king\nmade great clerks to come afore him, that they should chronicle of the\nhigh adventures of the good knights. When Bors had told him of the\nadventures of the Sangreal, such as had befallen him and his three\nfellows, that was Launcelot, Percivale, Galahad, and himself, there\nLauncelot told the adventures of the Sangreal that he had seen. All\nthis was made in great books, and put up in almeryes at Salisbury. And\nanon Sir Bors said to Sir Launcelot: Galahad, your own son, saluted\nyou by me, and after you King Arthur and all the Court, and so did Sir\nPercivale, for I buried them with mine own hands in the city of\nSarras. Also, Sir Launcelot, Galahad prayed you to remember of this\nunsyker world as ye behight him when ye were together more than half a\nyear. This is true, said Launcelot; now I trust to God his prayer\nshall avail me. Then Launcelot took Sir Bors in his arms, and said:\nGentle cousin, ye are right welcome to me, and all that ever I may do\nfor you and for yours ye shall find my poor body ready at all times,\nwhile the spirit is in it, and that I promise you faithfully, and\nnever to fail. And wit ye well, gentle cousin, Sir Bors, that ye and I\nwill never depart in sunder whilst our lives may last. Sir, said he, I\nwill as ye will.\n\n_Thus endeth thistory of the Sancgreal, that was breuely drawen oute\nof Frensshe in to Englysshe, the whiche is a story cronycled for one\nof the truest and the holyest that is in thys world, the which is the\nxvii. book_.\n\n\n\n\nA DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND\n\nWRITTEN BY\nWILLIAM HARRISON\n\nFOR\n\nHOLINSHED CHRONICLES\n\n\n\n\n_INTRODUCTORY NOTE\n\nNear the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, Reginald Wolfe, the Queen's\nPrinter, with the splendid audacity characteristic of that age,\nplanned to publish a \"universal Cosmography of the whole world, and\ntherewith also certain particular histories of every known nation.\"\nRaphael Holinshed had charge of the histories of England, Scotland,\nand Ireland, the only part of the work ever published; and these were\nissued in 1577, and have since been known as \"Holinshed's Chronicles.\"\nFrom them Shakespeare drew most of the material for his historical\nplays.\n\nAmong Holinshed's collaborators was one William Harrison, chaplain to\nLord Cobham, and later Rector of Radwinter in Essex and Canon of\nWindsor. To him was allotted the task of writing the \"Descriptions of\nBritain and England\" from which the following chapters are drawn. He\ngathered his facts from books, letters, maps, conversations, and, most\nimportant of all, his own observation and experience; and he put them\nloosely together into what he calls \"this foul frizzled treatise.\"\nYet, with all his modesty, he claims to \"have had an especial eye to\nthe truth of things\"; and as a result we have in his pages the most\nvivid and detailed picture in existence of the England into which\nShakespeare was born.\n\nIn 1876 Dr. Furnivall condensed Harrison's chapters for the New\nShakspere Society, and these have since been reprinted by Mr. Lothrop\nWithington in the modern dress in which the most interesting of them\nappear here. No apology is needed for thus selecting and rearranging,\nsince in their original form they were without unity, and formed part\nof a vast compilation.\n\nHarrison's merit does not lie in the rich interest of his matter\nalone. He wrote a racy style with a strong individual as well as\nElizabethan flavor; and his personal comment upon the manners of his\ntime serves as a piquant sauce to the solid meat of his historical\ninformation._\n\n\n\n\nA DESCRIPTION OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nOF DEGREES OF PEOPLE IN THE COMMONWEALTH OF ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapter 4; 1587, Book II., Chapter 5.][1]\n\n\n      [1] These references are to the first two editions of\n      Holinshed's _Chronicles_. The modernization of the spelling,\n      etc., follows that of Mr. L. Wilkington, whose notes are signed\n      W.\n\nWe in England, divide our people commonly into four sorts, as\ngentlemen, citizens or burgesses, yeomen, and artificers or labourers.\nOf gentlemen the first and chief (next the king) be the prince, dukes,\nmarquesses, earls, viscounts, and barons; and these are called\ngentlemen of the greater sort, or (as our common usage of speech is)\nlords and noblemen: and next unto them be knights, esquires, and, last\nof all, they that are simply called gentlemen. So that in effect our\ngentlemen are divided into their conditions, whereof in this chapter\nI will make particular rehearsal.\n\nThe title of prince doth peculiarly belong with us to the king's\neldest son, who is called Prince of Wales, and is the heir-apparent\nto the crown; as in France the king's eldest son hath the title of\nDauphin, and is named peculiarly _Monsieur_. So that the prince is so\ntermed of the Latin word _Princeps_, since he is (as I may call him)\nthe chief or principal next the king. The king's younger sons be but\ngentlemen by birth (till they have received creation or donation from\ntheir father of higher estate, as to be either viscounts, earls, or\ndukes) and called after their names, as Lord Henry, or Lord Edward,\nwith the addition of the word Grace, properly assigned to the king and\nprince, and now also by custom conveyed to dukes, archbishops, and (as\nsome say) to marquesses and their wives.[2]...\n\n      [2] Here follow etymologies of the terms \"Duke,\" \"Marquess,\"\n      and \"Baron.\"--W.\n\nUnto this place I also refer our bishops, who are accounted\nhonourable, called lords, and hold the same room in the Parliament\nhouse with the barons, albeit for honour sake the right hand of the\nprince is given unto them, and whose countenances in time past were\nmuch more glorious than at this present it is, because those lusty\nprelates sought after earthly estimation and authority with far more\ndiligence than after the lost sheep of Christ, of which they had small\nregard, as men being otherwise occupied and void of leisure to attend\nupon the same. Howbeit in these days their estate remaineth no less\nreverend than before, and the more virtuous they are that be of this\ncalling the better are they esteemed with high and low. They retain\nalso the ancient name (\"lord\") still, although it be not a little\nimpugned by such as love either to hear of change of all things or can\nabide no superiors. For notwithstanding it be true that in respect of\nfunction the office of the eldership[3] is equally distributed between\nthe bishop and the minister, yet for civil government's sake the first\nhave more authority given unto them by kings and princes, to the end\nthat the rest may thereby be with more ease retained within a limited\ncompass of uniformity than otherwise they would be if each one were\nsuffered to walk in his own course. This also is more to be marvelled\nat, that very many call for an alteration of their estate, crying to\nhave the word \"lord\" abolished, their civil authority taken from them,\nand the present condition of the church in other things reformed;\nwhereas, to say truly, few of them do agree upon form of discipline\nand government of the church succeedent, wherein they resemble the\nCapuans (of whom Livy doth speak) in the slaughter of their senate.\nNeither is it possible to frame a whole monarchy after the pattern of\none town or city, or to stir up such an exquisite face of the church\nas we imagine or desire, sith our corruption is such that it will\nnever yield to so great perfection; for that which is not able to be\nperformed in a private house will be much less be brought to pass in a\ncommonwealth and kingdom, before such a prince be found as Xenophon\ndescribeth, or such an orator as Tully hath devised.[4]...\n\n      [3] 1 Sam. ii. 15; 1 Kings i. 7.--H.\n\n      [4] Here follows a long paragraph on the character of the clergy\n      which is more appropriate to the chapter on \"The Church.\"--W.\n\nDukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts, and barons either be created of\nthe prince or come to that honour by being the eldest sons or highest\nin succession to their parents. For the eldest son of a duke during\nhis father's life is an earl, the eldest son of an earl is a baron, or\nsometimes a viscount, according as the creation is. The creation I\ncall the original donation and condition of the honour given by the\nprince for good service done by the first ancestor, with some\nadvancement, which, with the title of that honour, is always given to\nhim and his heirs males only. The rest of the sons of the nobility by\nthe rigour of the law be but esquires; yet in common speech all dukes'\nand marquesses' sons and earls' eldest sons be called lords, the which\nname commonly doth agree to none of lower degree than barons, yet by\nlaw and use these be not esteemed barons.\n\nThe barony or degree of lords doth answer to the degree of senators of\nRome (as I said) and the title of nobility (as we used to call it in\nEngland) to the Roman _Patricii_. Also in England no man is commonly\ncreated baron except he may dispend of yearly revenues a thousand\npounds, or so much as may fully maintain and bear out his countenance\nand port. But viscounts, earls, marquesses, and dukes exceed them\naccording to the proportion of their degree and honour. But though by\nchance he or his son have less, yet he keepeth this degree: but if the\ndecay be excessive, and not able to maintain the honour (as _Senatores\nRomani_ were _amoti \u00e0 senatu_), so sometimes they are not admitted to\nthe upper house in the parliament, although they keep the name of\n\"lord\" still, which cannot be taken from them upon any such occasion.\n\nThe most of these names have descended from the French invention, in\nwhose histories we shall read of them eight hundred years past.[5]...\n\n      [5] Here follows a learned disquisition upon \"Valvasors.\"--W.\n\nKnights be not born, neither is any man a knight by succession, no,\nnot the king or prince: but they are made either before the battle, to\nencourage them the more to adventure and try their manhood; or after\nthe battle ended, as an advancement for their courage and prowess\nalready shewed, and then are they called _Milites_; or out of the wars\nfor some great service done, or for the singular virtues which do\nappear in them, and then are they named _Equites Aurati_, as common\ncustom intendeth. They are made either by the king himself, or by his\ncommission and royal authority given for the same purpose, or by his\nlieutenant in the wars.[6]...\n\n      [6] Here follows a discourse upon _Equites Aurati_.--W.\n\nSometime diverse ancient gentlemen, burgesses, and lawyers are called\nunto knighthood by the prince, and nevertheless refuse to take that\nstate upon them, for which they are of custom punished by a fine, that\nredoundeth unto his coffers, and (to say truth) is oftentimes more\nprofitable unto him than otherwise their service should be, if they\ndid yield unto knighthood. And this also is a cause wherefore there be\nmany in England able to dispend a knight's living, which never come\nunto that countenance, and by their own consents. The number of the\nknights in Rome was also uncertain: and so is it of knights likewise,\nwith us, as at the pleasure of the prince. And whereas the _Equites\nRomani_ had _Equum Publicum_ of custom bestowed upon them, the knights\nof England have not so, but bear their own charges in that also, as in\nother kind of furniture, as armour meet for their defence and service.\nThis nevertheless is certain, that whoso may dispend forty pounds by\nthe year of free land, either at the coronation of the king, or\nmarriage of his daughter, or time of his dubbing, may be informed unto\nthe taking of that degree, or otherwise pay the revenues of his land\nfor one year, which is only forty pounds by an old proportion, and so\nfor a time be acquitted of that title.[7]...\n\n      [7] Here is a description of dubbing a knight.--W.\n\nAt the coronation of a king or queen, there be other knights made with\nlonger and more curious ceremonies, called \"knights of the bath.\" But\nhowsoever one be dubbed or made knight, his wife is by-and-by called\n\"Madam,\" or \"Lady,\" so well as the baron's wife: he himself having\nadded to his name in common appellation this syllable \"Sir,\" which is\nthe title whereby we call our knights in England. His wife also of\ncourtesy so long as she liveth is called \"my lady,\" although she\nhappen to marry with a gentleman or man of mean calling, albeit that\nby the common law she hath no such prerogative. If her first husband\nalso be of better birth than her second, though this latter likewise\nbe a knight, yet in that she pretendeth a privilege to lose no honour\nthrough courtesy yielded to her sex, she will be named after the most\nhonourable or worshipful of both, which is not seen elsewhere.\n\nThe other order of knighthood in England, and the most honourable, is\nthat of the garter, instituted by King Edward the Third, who, after he\nhad gained many notable victories, taken King John of France, and King\nJames of Scotland (and kept them both prisoners in the Tower o\u00a3 London\nat one time), expelled King Henry of Castille, the bastard, out of his\nrealm, and restored Don Pedro unto it (by the help of the Prince of\nWales and Duke of Aquitaine, his eldest son, called the Black Prince),\nhe then invented this society of honour, and made a choice out of his\nown realm and dominions, and throughout all Christendom of the best,\nmost excellent, and renowned persons in all virtues and honour, and\nadorned them with that title to be knights of his order, giving them a\ngarter garnished with gold and precious stones, to wear daily on the\nleft leg only; also a kirtle, gown, cloak, chaperon, collar, and other\nsolemn and magnificent apparel, both of stuff and fashion exquisite\nand heroical to wear at high feasts, and as to so high and princely an\norder appertaineth....\n\nThe order of the garter therefore was devised in the time of King\nEdward the Third, and (as some write) upon this occasion. The queen's\nmajesty then living, being departed from his presence the next way\ntoward her lodging, he following soon after happened to find her\ngarter, which slacked by chance and so fell from her leg, unespied in\nthe throng by such as attended upon her. His grooms and gentlemen also\npassed by it, as disdaining to stoop and take up such a trifle: but\nhe, knowing the owner, commanded one of them to stay and reach it up\nto him. \"Why, and like your grace,\" saith a gentleman, \"it is but some\nwoman's garter that hath fallen from her as she followed the queen's\nmajesty.\" \"Whatsoever it be,\" quoth the king, \"take it up and give it\nme.\" So when he had received the garter, he said to such as stood\nabout him: \"You, my masters, do make small account of this bule garter\nhere,\" and therewith held it out, \"but, if God lend me life for a few\nmonths, I will make the proudest of you all to reverence the like.\"\nAnd even upon this slender occasion he gave himself to the devising of\nthis order. Certes, I have not read of anything that having had so\nsimple a beginning hath grown in the end to so great honour and\nestimation.[8]...\n\n      [8] Long details are given of Garter history, very inaccurate,\n      both here and in the last omitted passage.--W.\n\nThere is yet another order of knights In England called knights\nbannerets, who are made in the field with the ceremony of cutting away\nthe point of his pennant of arms, and making it as it were a banner,\nso that, being before but a bachelor knight, he is now of an higher\ndegree, and allowed to display his arms in a banner, as barons do.\nHowbeit these knights are never made but in the wars, the king's\nstandard being unfolded.[9]...\n\n      [9] Derivations of \"Esquire\" and \"Gentleman\" are given.--W.\n\nMoreover, as the king doth dub knights, and createth the barons and\nhigher degrees, so gentlemen whose ancestors are not known to come in\nwith William Duke of Normandy (for of the Saxon races yet remaining we\nnow make none accounted, much less of the British issue) do take their\nbeginning in England, after this manner in our times.\n\nWhosoever studieth the laws of the realm, whoso abideth in the\nuniversity (giving his mind to his book), or professeth physic and the\nliberal sciences, or beside his service in the room of a captain in the\nwars, or good counsel given at home, whereby his commonwealth is\nbenefited, can live without manual labour, and thereto is able and will\nbear the port, charge, and countenance of a gentleman, he shall for\nmoney have a coat and arms bestowed upon him by heralds (who in the\ncharter of the same do of custom pretend antiquity and service, and\nmany gay things), and thereunto, being made so good cheap, be called\nmaster (which is the title that men give to esquires and gentlemen),\nand reputed for a gentleman ever after, which is so much less to be\ndisallowed of for that the prince doth lose nothing by it, the\ngentleman being so much subject to taxes and public payments as is the\nyeoman or husbandman, which he likewise doth bear the gladlier for the\nsaving of his reputation. Being called also to the wars (for with the\ngovernment of the commonwealth he meddleth little), whatsoever it cost\nhim, he will both array and arm himself accordingly, and shew the more\nmanly courage, and all the tokens of the person which he represented.\nNo man hath hurt by it but himself, who peradventure will go in wider\nbuskins than his legs will bear, or, as our proverb saith, \"now and\nthen bear a bigger sail than his boat is able to sustain.\"\n\nCertes the making of new gentlemen bred great strife sometimes amongst\nthe Romans, I mean when those which were _Novi homines_ were more\nallowed of for their virtues newly seen and shewed than the old smell\nof ancient race, lately defaced by the cowardice and evil life of their\nnephews and descendants, could make the other to be. But as envy hath\nno affinity with justice and equity, so it forceth not what language\nthe malicious do give out, against such as are exalted for their\nwisdoms. This nevertheless is generally to be reprehended in all\nestates of gentility, and which in short time will turn to the great\nruin of our country, and that is, the usual sending of noblemen's and\nmean gentlemen's sons into Italy, from whence they bring home nothing\nbut mere atheism, infidelity, vicious conversation, and ambitious and\nproud behaviour, whereby it cometh to pass that they return far worse\nmen than they went out. A gentleman at this present is newly come out\nof Italy, who went thither an earnest Protestant; but coming home he\ncould say after this manner; \"Faith and truth is to be kept where no\nloss or hindrance of a future purpose is sustained by holding of the\nsame; and forgiveness only to be shewed when full revenge is made.\"\nAnother no less forward than he, at his return from thence, could add\nthus much: \"He is a fool that maketh account of any religion, but more\nfool that will lose any part of his wealth or will come in trouble for\nconstant leaning to any; but if he yield to lose his life for his\npossession, he is stark mad, and worthy to be taken for most fool of\nall the rest.\" This gay booty got these gentlemen by going Into Italy;\nand hereby a man may see what fruit is afterward to be looked for where\nsuch blossoms do appear. \"I care not,\" saith a third, \"what you talk to\nme of God, so as I may have the prince and the laws of the realm on my\nside.\" Such men as this last are easily known; for they have learned in\nItaly to go up and down also in England with pages at their heels\nfinely apparelled, whose face and countenance shall be such as sheweth\nthe master not to be blind in his choice. But lest I should offend too\nmuch, I pass over to say any more of these Italianates and their\ndemeanour, which, alas! is too open and manifest to the world, and yet\nnot called into question.\n\nCitizens and burgesses have next place to gentlemen, who be those that\nare free within the cities, and are of some likely substance to bear\noffice in the same. But these citizens or burgesses are to serve the\ncommonwealth in their cities and boroughs, or in corporate towns where\nthey dwell, and in the common assembly of the realm wherein our laws\nare made (for in the counties they bear but little sway), which\nassembly is called the High Court of Parliament: the ancient cities\nappoint four and the borough two burgesses to have voices in it, and\ngive their consent or dissent unto such things as pass, to stay there\nin the name of the city or borough for which they are appointed.\n\nIn this place also are our merchants to be installed as amongst the\ncitizens (although they often change estate with gentlemen, as\ngentlemen do with them, by a mutual conversion of the one into the\nother), whose number is so increased in these our days that their\nonly maintenance is the cause of the exceeding prices of foreign\nwares, which otherwise, when every nation was permitted to bring in\nher own commodities, were far better, cheaper, and more plentifully\nto be had. Of the want of our commodities here at home, by their\ngreat transportation of them into other countries, I speak not, sith\nthe matter will easily betray itself. Certes among the Laced\u00e6monians\nit was found out that great numbers of merchants were nothing to the\nfurtherance of the state of the commonwealth: wherefore it is to be\nwished that the huge heap of them were somewhat restrained, as also\nof our lawyers, so should the rest live more easily upon their own,\nand few honest chapmen be brought to decay by breaking of the\nbankrupt. I do not deny but that the navy of the land is in part\nmaintained by their traffic, and so are the high prices of wares kept\nup, now they have gotten the only sale of things upon pretence of\nbetter furtherance of the commonwealth into their own hands: whereas\nin times past, when the strange bottoms were suffered to come in, we\nhad sugar for fourpence the pound, that now at the writing of this\nTreatise is well worth half-a-crown; raisins or currants for a penny\nthat now are holden at sixpence, and sometimes at eightpence and\ntenpence the pound; nutmegs at twopence halfpenny the ounce, ginger\nat a penny an ounce, prunes at halfpenny farthing, great raisins\nthree pounds for a penny, cinnamon at fourpence the ounce, cloves at\ntwopence, and pepper at twelve and sixteen pence the pound. Whereby\nwe may see the sequel of things not always, but very seldom, to be\nsuch as is pretended in the beginning. The wares that they carry out\nof the realm are for the most part broad clothes and carsies[10] of\nall colours, likewise cottons, friezes, rugs, tin, wool, our best\nbeer, baize, bustian, mockadoes (tufted and plain), rash, lead,\nfells, etc.: which, being shipped at sundry ports of our coasts, are\nborne from thence into all quarters of the world, and there either\nexchanged for other wares or ready money, to the great gain and\ncommodity of our merchants. And whereas in times past their chief\ntrade was into Spain, Portugal, France, Flanders, Danske (Denmark),\nNorway, Scotland, and Ireland only, now in these days, as men not\ncontented with these journeys, they have sought out the East and West\nIndies, and made now and then suspicious voyages, not only unto the\nCanaries and New Spain, but likewise into Cathay, Muscovy, and\nTartaria, and the regions thereabout, from whence (as they say) they\nbring home great commodities. But alas! I see not by all their travel\nthat the prices of things are any whit abated. Certes this enormity\n(for so I do account of it) was sufficiently provided for (Ann. 9\nEdward III.) by a noble statute made in that behalf, but upon what\noccasion the general execution thereof is stayed or not called on, in\ngood sooth, I cannot tell. This only I know, that every function and\nseveral vocation striveth with other, which of them should have all\nthe water of commodity run into her own cistern.\n\n      [10] Kerseys.\n\nYeomen are those which by our law are called _Legales homines_, free\nmen born English, and may dispend of their own free land in yearly\nrevenue to the sum of forty shillings sterling, or six pounds as money\ngoeth in our times. Some are of the opinion, by Cap. 2 Rich. 2 Ann.\n20, that they are the same which the Frenchmen call varlets, but, as\nthat phrase is used in my time, it is very unlikely to be so. The\ntruth is that the word is derived from the Saxon term, _Zeoman_, or\n_Geoman_, which signifieth (as I have read) a settled or staid man,\nsuch I mean as, being married and of some years, betaketh himself to\nstay in the place of his abode for the better maintenance of himself\nand his family, whereof the single sort have no regard, but are likely\nto be still fleeting now hither now thither, which argueth want of\nstability in determination and resolution of judgment, for the\nexecution of things of any importance. This sort of people have a\ncertain pre-eminence, and more estimation than labourers and the\ncommon sort of artificers, and these commonly live wealthily, keep\ngood houses, and travel to get riches. They are also for the most part\nfarmers to gentlemen (in old time called _Pagani, et opponuntur\nmilitibus_, and therefore Persius calleth himself _Semipaganus_), or\nat the leastwise artificers, and with grazing, frequenting of markets,\nand keeping of servants (not idle servants, as the gentlemen do, but\nsuch as get both their own and part of their masters' living), do come\nto great wealth, insomuch that many of them are able and do buy the\nlands of unthrifty gentlemen, and often setting their sons to the\nschools, to the universities, and to the Inns of the Court, or,\notherwise leaving them sufficient lands whereupon they may live\nwithout labour, do make them by those means to become gentlemen. These\nwere they that in times past made all France afraid. And albeit they\nbe not called \"Master,\" as gentlemen are, or \"Sir,\" as to knights\nappertaineth, but only \"John\" and \"Thomas,\" etc., yet have they been\nfound to have done very good service.\n\nThe kings of England in foughten battles were wont to remain among\nthem (who were their footmen) as the French kings did amongst their\nhorsemen, the prince thereby shewing where his chief strength did\nconsist.\n\nThe fourth and last sort of people in England are day-labourers, poor\nhusbandmen, and some retailers (which have no free land) copyholders,\nand all artificers, as tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, brickmakers,\nmasons, etc.[11]\n\n      [11] Capite censi, or Proletarii--H.\n\nAs for slaves and bondmen, we have none; nay, such is the privilege\nof our country by the especial grace of God and bounty of our\nprinces, that if any come hither from other realms, so soon as they\nset foot on land they become so free of condition as their masters,\nwhereby all note of servile bondage is utterly removed from them,\nwherein we resemble (not the Germans, who had slaves also, though\nsuch as in respect of the slaves of other countries might well be\nreputed free, but) the old Indians and the Taprobanes,[12] who\nsupposed it a great injury to Nature to make or suffer them to be\nbond, whom she in her wonted course doth product and bring forth\nfree. This fourth and last sort of people therefore have neither\nvoice nor authority in the commonwealth, but are to be ruled and not\nto rule other: yet they are not altogether neglected, for in cities\nand corporate towns, for default of yeomen, they are fain to make up\ntheir inquests of such manner of people. And in villages they are\ncommonly made churchwardens, sidesmen, aleconners, now and then\nconstables, and many times enjoy the name of head boroughs. Unto this\nsort also may our great swarms of idle serving-men be referred, of\nwhom there runneth a proverb, \"Young servingmen, old beggars,\"\nbecause service is none heritage. These men are profitable to none;\nfor, if their condition be well perused, they are enemies to their\nmasters; to their friends, and to themselves: for by them oftentimes\ntheir masters are encouraged unto unlawful exactions of their\ntenants, their friends brought unto poverty by their rents enhanced,\nand they themselves brought to confusion by their own prodigality and\nerrors, as men that, having not wherewith of their own to maintain\ntheir excesses, do search in highways, budgets, coffers, mails, and\nstables, which way to supply their wants. How divers of them also,\ncoveting to bear an high sail, do insinuate themselves with young\ngentlemen and noblemen newly come to their lands, the case is too\nmuch apparent, whereby the good natures of the parties are not only a\nlittle impaired, but also their livelihoods and revenues so wasted\nand consumed that, if at all, yet not in many years, they shall be\nable to recover themselves. It were very good therefore that the\nsuperfluous heaps of them were in part diminished. And since\nnecessity enforceth to have some, yet let wisdom moderate their\nnumbers, so shall their masters be rid of unnecessary charge, and the\ncommonwealth of many thieves. No nation cherisheth such store of them\nas we do here in England, in hope of which maintenance many give\nthemselves to idleness that otherwise would be brought to labour, and\nlive in order like subjects. Of their whoredoms I will not speak\nanything at all, more than of their swearing; yet is it found that\nsome of them do make the first a chief pillar of their building,\nconsuming not only the goods but also the health and welfare of many\nhonest gentlemen, citizens, wealthy yeomen, etc., by such unlawful\ndealings. But how far have I waded in this point, or how far may I\nsail in such a large sea? I will therefore now stay to speak any more\nof those kind of men. In returning therefore to my matter, this\nfurthermore among other things I have to say of our husbandmen and\nartificers, that they were never so excellent in their trades as at\nthis present. But as the workmanship of the latter sort was newer,\nmore fine, and curious to the eye, so was it never less strong and\nsubstantial for continuance and benefit of the buyers. Neither is\nthere anything that hurteth the common sort of our artificers more\nthan haste, and a barbarous or slavish desire to turn the penny, and,\nby ridding their work, to make speedy utterance of their wares: which\nenforceth them to bungle up and despatch many things they care not\nhow so they be out of their hands, whereby the buyer is often sore\ndefrauded, and findeth to his cost that haste maketh waste, according\nto the proverb.\n\n      [12] The Ceylonese. The Greek name for the island of Ceylon was\n      Taprobane, which Harrison used merely as a classical scholar.--W.\n\nOh, how many trades and handicrafts are now in England whereof the\ncommonwealth hath no need! How many needful commodities have we which\nare perfected with great cost, etc., and yet may with far more ease\nand less cost be provided from other countries if we could use the\nmeans! I will not speak of iron, glass, and such like, which spoil\nmuch wood, and yet are brought from other countries better cheap than\nwe can make them here at home; I could exemplify also in many other.\nBut to leave these things and proceed with our purpose, and herein (as\noccasion serveth) generally, by way of conclusion, to speak of the\ncommonwealth of England, I find that it is governed and maintained by\nthree sorts of persons--\n\n1. The prince, monarch, and head governor, which is called the king,\nor (if the crown fall to a woman) the queen: in whose name and by\nwhose authority all things are administered.\n\n2. The gentlemen which be divided into two sorts, as the barony or\nestate of lords (which containeth barons and all above that degree),\nand also those that be no lords, as knights, esquires, and simple\ngentlemen, as I have noted already. Out of these also are the great\ndeputies and high presidents chosen, of which one serveth in Ireland,\nas another did some time in Calais, and the captain now at Berwick, as\none lord president doth govern in Wales, and the other the north parts\nof this island, which later, with certain counsellors and judges, were\nerected by King Henry the Eighth. But, for so much as I have touched\ntheir conditions elsewhere, it shall be enough to have remembered them\nat this time.\n\n3. The third and last sort is named the yeomanry, of whom and their\nsequel, the labourers and artificers, I have said somewhat even now.\nWhereto I add that they may not be called _masters_ and _gentlemen_,\nbut _goodmen_, as Goodman Smith, Goodman Coot, Goodman Cornell,\nGoodman Mascall, Goodman Cockswet, etc., and in matters of law these\nand the like are called thus, _Giles Jewd, yeoman; Edward Mountford,\nyeoman; James Cocke, yeoman; Harry Butcher, yeoman_, etc.; by which\naddition they are exempt from the vulgar and common sorts. Cato\ncalleth them \"_Aratores et optimos cives rei public\u00e6_,\" of whom also\nyou may read more in the book of commonwealth which Sir Thomas Smith\nsome time penned of this land.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOF CITIES AND TOWNS IN ENGLAND\n\n[1577, Book II., Chapter 7, 1587, Book II., Chapter 13.]\n\n\nAs in old time we read that there were eight-and-twenty flamines and\narchflamines in the south part of this isle, and so many great cities\nunder their jurisdiction, so in these our days there is but one or\ntwo fewer, and each of them also under the ecclesiastical regiment of\nsome one bishop or archbishop, who in spiritual cases have the charge\nand oversight of the same. So many cities therefore are there in\nEngland and Wales as there be bishoprics and archbishoprics.[1] For,\nnotwithstanding that Lichfield and Coventry and Bath and Wells do seem\nto extend the aforesaid number unto nine-and-twenty, yet neither of\nthese couples are to be accounted but as one entire city and see of\nthe bishop, sith one bishopric can have relation but unto one see, and\nthe said see be situate but in one place, after which the bishop doth\ntake his name.[2]...\n\n      [1] If Harrison means to give us the impression that a city has\n      any direct connection with episcopal affairs, he is quite in\n      error. Cities are distinctly royal and imperial institutions.\n      The accident of the number of cities and sees being the same\n      comes from the natural tendency of the two institutions to drift\n      together, though of distinct origin--W.\n\n      [2] Here follows a long and learned disquisition upon the Roman\n      and other early towns, especially about St. Albans, a portion of\n      which will be found in the Appendix.--W.\n\nCertes I would gladly set down, with the names and number of the\ncities, all the towns and villages in England and Wales with their\ntrue longitudes and latitudes, but as yet I cannot come by them in\nsuch order as I would; howbeit the tale of our cities is soon found by\nthe bishoprics, sith every see hath such prerogative given unto it as\nto bear the name of a city and to use _Regaleius_ within her own\nlimits. Which privilege also is granted to sundry ancient towns in\nEngland, especially northward, where more plenty of them is to be\nfound by a great deal than in the south, The names therefore of our\ncities are these: London, York, Canterbury, Winchester, Carlisle,\nDurham, Ely, Norwich, Lincoln, Worcester, Gloucester, Hereford,\nSalisbury, Exeter, Bath, Lichfield, Bristol, Rochester, Chester,\nChichester, Oxford, Peterborough, Llandaff, St. Davids, Bangor, St.\nAsaph, whose particular plots and models, with their descriptions,\nshall ensue, if it may be brought to pass that the cutters can make\ndespatch of them before this history be published.\n\nOf towns and villages likewise thus much will I say, that there were\ngreater store in old time (I mean within three or four hundred years\npassed) than at this present. And this I note out of divers records,\ncharters, and donations (made in times past unto sundry religious\nhouses, as Glastonbury, Abingdon, Ramsey, Ely, and such like), and\nwhereof in these days I find not so much as the ruins. Leland, in\nsundry places, complaineth likewise of the decay of parishes in great\ncities and towns, missing in some six or eight or twelve churches and\nmore, of all which he giveth particular notice. For albeit that the\nSaxons builded many towns and villages, and the Normans well more at\ntheir first coming, yet since the first two hundred years after the\nlatter conquest, they have gone so fast again to decay that the\nancient number of them is very much abated. Ranulph, the monk of\nChester, telleth of general survey made in the fourth, sixteenth, and\nnineteenth of the reign of William Conqueror, surnamed the Bastard,\nwherein it was found that (notwithstanding the Danes had overthrown a\ngreat many) there were to the number of 52,000 towns, 45,002 parish\nchurches, and 75,000 knights' fees, whereof the clergy held 28,015. He\naddeth moreover that there were divers other builded since that time,\nwithin the space of a hundred years after the coming of the Bastard,\nas it were in lieu or recompense of those that William Rufus pulled\ndown for the erection of his New Forest. For by an old book which I\nhave, and some time written as it seemeth by an under-sheriff of\nNottingham, I find even in the time of Edward IV. 45,120 parish\nchurches, and but 60,216 knights' fees, whereof the clergy held as\nbefore 28,015, or at the least 28,000; for so small is the difference\nwhich he doth seem to use. Howbeit, if the assertions of such as write\nin our time concerning this matter either are or ought to be of any\ncredit in this behalf, you shall not find above 17,000 towns and\nvillages, and 9210 in the whole, which is little more than a fourth\npart of the aforesaid number, if it be thoroughly scanned.[3]...\n\n      [3] Here follows an allusion to the decay of Eastern cities.--W.\n\nIn time past in Lincoln (as the same goeth) there have been\ntwo-and-fifty parish churches, and good record appeareth for\neight-and-thirty, but now, if there be four-and-twenty, it is all.\nThis inconvenience hath grown altogether to the church by\nappropriations made unto monasteries and religious houses--a terrible\ncanker and enemy to religion.\n\nBut to leave this lamentable discourse of so notable and grievous an\ninconvenience, growing as I said by encroaching and joining of house\nto house and laying land to land, whereby the inhabitants of many\nplaces of our country are devoured and eaten up, and their houses\neither altogether pulled down or suffered to decay little by little,\nalthough some time a poor man per adventure doth dwell in one of them,\nwho, not being able to repair it, suffereth it to fall down--and\nthereto thinketh himself very friendly dealt withal, if he may have an\nacre of ground assigned unto him, wherein to keep a cow, or wherein to\nset cabbages, radishes, parsnips, carrots, melons, pompons,[4] or such\nlike stuff, by which he and his poor household liveth as by their\nprincipal food, sith they can do no better. And as for wheaten bread,\nthey eat it when they can reach unto the price of it, contenting\nthemselves in the meantime with bread made of oats or barley: a poor\nestate, God wot! Howbeit, what care our great encroachers? But in\ndivers places where rich men dwelled some time in good tenements,\nthere be now no houses at all, but hop-yards, and sheds for poles, or\nperadventure gardens, as we may see in Castle Hedingham, and divers\nother places. But to proceed.\n\n      [4] The old and proper form of the modern pumpkin.--W.\n\nIt is so that, our soil being divided into champaign ground and\nwoodland, the houses of the first lie uniformly builded in every town\ntogether, with streets and lanes; whereas in the woodland countries\n(except here and there in great market towns) they stand scattered\nabroad, each one dwelling in the midst of his own occupying. And as in\nmany and most great market towns, there are commonly three hundred or\nfour hundred families or mansions, and two thousand communicants (or\nperadventure more), so in the other, whether they be woodland or\nchampaign, we find not often above forty, fifty, or three score\nhouseholds, and two or three hundred communicants, whereof the\ngreatest part nevertheless are very poor folks, oftentimes without all\nmanner of occupying, sith the ground of the parish is gotten up into a\nfew men's hands, yea sometimes into the tenure of one or two or three,\nwhereby the rest are compelled either to be hired servants unto the\nother or else to beg their bread in misery from door to door.\n\nThere are some (saith Leland) which are not so favourable, when they\nhave gotten such lands, as to let the houses remain upon them to the\nuse of the poor; but they will compound with the lord of the soil to\npull them down for altogether, saying that \"if they did let them\nstand, they should but toll beggars to the town, thereby to surcharge\nthe rest of the parish, and lay more burden upon them.\" But alas!\nthese pitiful men see not that they themselves hereby do lay the\ngreatest log upon their neighbours' necks. For, sith the prince doth\ncommonly loose nothing of his duties accustomable to be paid, the rest\nof the parishioners that remain must answer and bear them out: for\nthey plead more charge other ways, saying: \"I am charged already with\na light horse; I am to answer in this sort, and after that matter.\"\nAnd it is not yet altogether out of knowledge that, where the king had\nseven pounds thirteen shillings at a task gathered of fifty wealthy\nhouseholders of a parish in England, now, a gentleman having three\nparts of the town in his own hands, four households do bear all the\naforesaid payment, or else Leland is deceived in his _Commentaries_,\nlib. 13, lately come to my hands, which thing he especially noted in\nhis travel over this isle. A common plague and enormity, both in the\nheart of the land and likewise upon the coasts. Certes a great number\ncomplain of the increase of poverty, laying the cause upon God, as\nthough he were in fault for sending such increase of people, or want\nof wars that should consume them, affirming that the land was never so\nfull, etc.; but few men do see the very root from whence it doth\nproceed. Yet the Romans found it out, when they flourished, and\ntherefore prescribed limits to every man's tenure and occupying. Homer\ncommendeth Achilles for overthrowing of five-and-twenty cities: but in\nmine opinion Ganges is much better preferred by Suidas for building of\nthree score in India, where he did plant himself. I could (if need\nrequired) set down in this place the number of religious houses and\nmonasteries, with the names of their founders, that have been in this\nisland: but, sith it is a thing of small importance, I pass it over as\nimpertinent to my purpose. Yet herein I will commend sundry of the\nmonastical votaries, especially monks, for that they were authors of\nmany goodly borowes and endwares,[5] near unto their dwellings\nalthough otherwise they pretended to be men separated from the world.\nBut alas! their covetous minds, one way in enlarging their revenues,\nand carnal intent another, appeared herein too, too much. For, being\nbold from time to time to visit their tenants, they wrought oft great\nwickedness, and made those endwares little better than brothel-houses,\nespecially where nunneries were far off, or else no safe access unto\nthem. But what do I spend my time in the rehearsal of these\nfilthinesses? Would to God the memory of them might perish with the\nmalefactors! My purpose was also at the end of this chapter to have\nset down a table of the parish churches and market towns throughout\nall England and Wales; but, sith I cannot perform the same as I would,\nI am forced to give over my purpose; yet by these few that ensue you\nshall easily see what I would have used according to the shires, if I\nmight have brought it to pass.\n\n      [5] The first is a variant on a Keltic, the second on a Saxon\n      word, both relating to matters sufficiently indicated in the\n      text.--W.\n\nShires.                  Market Towns.    Parishes.\n\nMiddlesex                     3              73\nLondon within the walls and without         120\nSurrey                        6             140\nSussex                       18             312\nKent                         17             398\nCambridge                     4             163\nBedford                       9              13\nHuntingdon                    5              78\nRutland                       2              47\nBerkshire                    11             150\nNorthampton                  10             326\nBuckingham                   11             196\nOxford                       10             216\nSouthampton                  18             248\nDorset                       19             279\nNorfolk                      26             625\nSuffolk                      25             575\nEssex                        18             415\n\nAnd these I had of a friend of mine, by whose travel and his master's\nexcessive charges I doubt not but my countrymen ere long shall see all\nEngland set forth in several shires after the same manner that\nOrtelius hath dealt with other countries of the main, to the great\nbenefit of our nation and everlasting fame of the aforesaid parties.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nOF GARDENS AND ORCHARDS\n\n[1587, Book II., Chapter 20.]\n\n\nAfter such time as Calais was won from the French, and that our\ncountrymen had learned to trade into divers countries (whereby they\ngrew rich), they began to wax idle also, and thereupon not only left\noff their former painfulness and frugality, but in like sort gave\nthemselves to live in excess and vanity, whereby many goodly\ncommodities failed, and in short time were not to be had amongst us.\nSuch strangers also as dwelled here with us, perceiving our\nsluggishness, and espying that this idleness of ours might redound to\ntheir great profit, forthwith employed their endeavors to bring in the\nsupply of such things as we lacked continually from foreign countries,\nwhich yet more augmented our idleness. For, having all things at\nreasonable prices (as we supposed) by such means from them, we thought\nit mere madness to spend either time or cost about the same here at\nhome. And thus we became enemies to our own welfare, as men that in\nthose days reposed our felicity in following the wars, wherewith we\nwere often exercised both at home and other places. Besides this, the\nnatural desire that mankind hath to esteem of things far sought,\nbecause they be rare and costly, and the irksome contempt of things\nnear hand, for that they are common and plentiful, hath borne no small\nsway also in this behalf amongst us. For hereby we have neglected our\nown good gifts of God, growing here at home, as vile and of no value,\nand had every trifle and toy in admiration that is brought hither from\nfar countries, ascribing I wot not what great forces and solemn\nestimation unto them, until they also have waxen old, after which they\nhave been so little regarded, if not more despised, amongst us than\nour own. Examples hereof I could set down many and in many things;\nbut, sith my purpose is to deal at this time with gardens and\norchards, it shall suffice that I touch them only, and show our\ninconstancy in the same, so far as shall seem and be convenient for my\nturn. I comprehend therefore under the word \"garden\" all such grounds\nas are wrought with the spade by man's hand, for so the case\nrequireth.\n\nOf wine I have written already elsewhere sufficiently, which commodity\n(as I have learned further since the penning of that book) hath been\nvery plentiful in this island, not only in the time of the Romans, but\nalso since the Conquest, as I have seen by record; yet at this present\nhave we none at all (or else very little to speak of) growing in this\nisland, which I impute not unto the soil, but the negligence of my\ncountrymen. Such herbs, fruits, and roots also as grow yearly out of\nthe ground, of seed, have been very plentiful in this land, in the\ntime of the first Edward, and after his days; but in process of time\nthey grew also to be neglected, so that from Henry the Fourth till the\nlatter end of Henry the Seventh and beginning of Henry the Eighth,\nthere was little or no use of them in England, but they remained\neither unknown or supposed as food more meet for hogs and savage\nbeasts to feed upon than mankind. Whereas in my time their use is not\nonly resumed among the poor commons. I mean of melons, pompons,\ngourds, cucumbers, radishes, skirets,[1] parsnips, carrots, cabbages,\nnavews,[2] turnips, and all kinds of salad herbs--but also fed upon as\ndainty dishes at the tables of delicate merchants, gentlemen, and the\nnobility, who make their provision yearly for new seeds out of strange\ncountries, from whence they have them abundantly. Neither do they now\nstay with such of these fruits as are wholesome in their kinds, but\nadventure further upon such as are very dangerous and hurtful, as the\nverangenes, mushrooms, etc., as if nature had ordained all for the\nbelly, or that all things were to be eaten for whose mischievous\noperation the Lord in some measure hath given and provided a remedy.\n\n      [1] A vegetable something like a carrot.\n\n      [2] A kind of turnip.\n\nHops in time past were plentiful in this land. Afterwards also their\nmaintenance did cease. And now, being revived, where are any better\nto be found? Where any greater commodity to be raised by them? Only\npoles are accounted to be their greatest charge. But, sith men have\nlearned of late to sow ashen kexes in ashyards by themselves, that\ninconvenience in short time will be redressed.\n\nMadder hath grown abundantly in this island, but of long time\nneglected, and now a little revived, and offereth itself to prove no\nsmall benefit unto our country, as many other things else, which are\nnow fetched from us: as we before time, when we gave ourselves to\nidleness, were glad to have them other.\n\nIf you look into our gardens annexed to our houses, how wonderfully is\ntheir beauty increased, not only with flowers, which Columella calleth\n_Terrena sydera_[3] saying,\n\n  \"_Pingit et in varios terrestria sydera flores_,\"[4]\n\nand variety of curious and costly workmanship, but also with rare and\nmedicinable herbs sought up in the land within these forty years: so\nthat, in comparison of this present, the ancient gardens were but\ndunghills and laistowes,[5] to such as did possess them. How art also\nhelpeth nature in the daily colouring, doubling, and enlarging the\nproportion of our flowers, it is incredible to report: for so curious\nand cunning are our gardeners now in these days that they presume to\ndo in manner what they list with nature, and moderate her course in\nthings as if they were her superiors. It is a world also to see how\nmany strange herbs, plants, and annual fruits are daily brought unto\nus from the Indies, Americans, Taprobane, Canary Isles, and all parts\nof the world: the which, albeit that in respect of the constitutions\nof our bodies they do not grow for us (because that God hath bestowed\nsufficient commodities upon every country for her own necessity), yet,\nfor delectation sake unto the eye and their odoriferous savours unto\nthe nose, they are to be cherished, and God to be glorified also in\nthem, because they are his good gifts, and created to do man help and\nservice. There is not almost one nobleman, gentleman, or merchant that\nhath not great store of these flowers, which now also do begin to wax\nso well acquainted with our soils that we may almost account of them\nas parcel of our own commodities. They have no less regard in like\nsort to cherish medicinable herbs fetched out of other regions nearer\nhand, insomuch that I have seen in some one garden to the number of\nthree hundred or four hundred of them, if not more, of the half of\nwhose names within forty years past we had no manner of knowledge. But\nherein I find some cause of just complaint, for that we extol their\nuses so far that we fall into contempt of our own, which are in truth\nmore beneficial and apt for us than such as grow elsewhere, sith (as I\nsaid before) every region hath abundantly within her own limits\nwhatsoever is needful and most convenient for them that dwell therein.\nHow do men extol the use of tobacco in my time, whereas in truth\n(whether the cause be in the repugnancy of our constitution unto the\noperation thereof, or that the ground doth alter her force, I cannot\ntell) it is not found of so great efficacy as they write. And beside\nthis, our common germander or thistle benet is found and known to be\nso wholesome and of so great power in medicine as any other herb, if\nthey be used accordingly. I could exemplify after the like manner in\nsundry other, as the _Salsa parilla, Mochoacan_, etc., but I forbear\nso to do, because I covet to be brief. And truly, the estimation and\ncredit that we yield and give unto compound medicines made with\nforeign drugs is one great cause wherefore the full knowledge and use\nof our own simples hath been so long raked up in the embers. And as\nthis may be verified so to be one sound conclusion, for, the greater\nnumber of simples that go unto any compound medicine, the greater\nconfusion is found therein, because the qualities and operations of\nvery few of the particulars are thoroughly known. And even so our\ncontinual desire of strange drugs, whereby the physician and\napothecary only hath the benefit, is no small cause that the use of\nour simples here at home doth go to loss, and that we tread those\nherbs under our feet, whose forces if we knew, and could apply them to\nour necessities, we would honour and have in reverence as to their\ncase behoveth. Alas! what have we to do with such Arabian and Grecian\nstuff as is daily brought from those parties which lie in another\nclime? And therefore the bodies of such as dwell there are of another\nconstitution than ours are here at home. Certes they grow not for us,\nbut for the Arabians and Grecians. And albeit that they may by skill\nbe applied unto our benefit, yet to be more skilful in them than in\nour own is folly; and to use foreign wares, when our own may serve the\nturn, is more folly; but to despise our own, and magnify above measure\nthe use of them that are sought and brought from far, is most folly of\nall: for it savoureth of ignorance, or at the leastwise of negligence,\nand therefore worthy of reproach.\n\n      [3] Earthly stars.\n\n      [4] \"And paints terrestrial constellations with varied flowers.\"\n\n      [5] Refuse-heaps.\n\nAmong the Indians, who have the most present cures for every disease\nof their own nation, there is small regard of compound medicines, and\nless of foreign drugs, because they neither know them nor can use\nthem, but work wonders even with their own simples. With them also the\ndifference of the clime doth show her full effect. For, whereas they\nwill heal one another in short time with application of one simple,\netc., if a Spaniard or Englishman stand in need of their help, they\nare driven to have a longer space in their cures, and now and then\nalso to use some addition of two or three simples at the most, whose\nforces unto them are thoroughly known, because their exercise is only\nin their own, as men that never sought or heard what virtue was in\nthose that came from other countries. And even so did Marcus Cato, the\nlearned Roman, endeavour to deal in his cures of sundry diseases,\nwherein he not only used such simples as were to be had in his own\ncountry, but also examined and learned the forces of each of them,\nwherewith he dealt so diligently that in all his lifetime he could\nattain to the exact knowledge but of a few, and thereto wrote of those\nmost learnedly, as would easily be seen if those his books were\nextant. For the space also of six hundred years the colewort only was\na medicine in Rome for all diseases, so that his virtues were\nthoroughly known in those parts. * * *\n\nFor my part, I doubt not if the use of outlandish drugs had not\nblinded our physicians of England in times past, but that the virtues\nof our simples here at home would have been far better known, and so\nwell unto us as those of India are to the practitioners of those\nparts, and thereunto be found more profitable for us than the foreign\neither are or may be. This also will I add, that even those which are\nmost common by reason of their plenty, and most vile because of their\nabundance, are not without some universal and special efficacy, if it\nwere known, for our benefit: sith God in nature hath so disposed his\ncreatures that the most needful are the most plentiful and serving for\nsuch general diseases as our constitution most commonly is affected\nwithal. Great thanks therefore be given unto the physicians of our age\nand country, who not only endeavour to search out the use of such\nsimples as our soil doth yield and bring forth, but also to procure\nsuch as grow elsewhere, upon purpose so to acquaint them with our\nclime that they in time, through some alteration received from the\nnature of the earth, may likewise turn to our benefit and commodity\nand be used as our own.\n\nThe chief workman (or, as I may call him, the founder of this device)\nis Carolus Clusius, the noble herbarist whose industry hath\nwonderfully stirred them up into this good act. For albeit that\nMatthiolus, Rembert, Lobell, and others have travelled very far in\nthis behalf, yet none hath come near to Clusius, much less gone\nfurther in the finding and true descriptions of such herbs as of late\nare brought to light. I doubt not but, if this man were in England but\none seven years, he would reveal a number of herbs growing with us\nwhereof neither our physicians nor apothecaries as yet have any\nknowledge. And even like thanks be given unto our nobility, gentlemen,\nand others, for their continual nutriture and cherishing of such\nhomeborne and foreign simples in their gardens: for hereby they shall\nnot only be had at hand and preserved, but also their forms made more\nfamiliar to be discerned and their forces better known than hitherto\nthey have been.\n\nAnd even as it fareth with our gardens, so doth it with our orchards,\nwhich were never furnished with so good fruit nor with such variety as\nat this present. For, beside that we have most delicate apples, plums,\npears, walnuts, filberts, etc., and those of sundry sorts, planted\nwithin forty years past, in comparison of which most of the old trees\nare nothing worth, so have we no less store of strange fruit, as\napricots, almonds, peaches, figs, corn-trees[6] in noblemen's\norchards. I have seen capers, oranges, and lemons, and heard of wild\nolives growing here, beside other strange trees, brought from far,\nwhose names I know not. So that England for these commodities was\nnever better furnished, neither any nation under their clime more\nplentifully endued with these and other blessings from the most high\nGod, who grant us grace withal to use the same to his honour and\nglory! And not as instruments and provocations into further excess and\nvanity, wherewith his displeasure may be kindled, lest these his\nbenefits do turn unto thorns and briers unto us for our annoyance and\npunishment, which he hath bestowed upon us for our consolation and\ncomfort.\n\n      [6] Probably _cornels_.\n\nWe have in like sort such workmen as are not only excellent in\ngrafting the natural fruits, but their artificial mixtures, whereby\none tree bringeth forth sundry fruits, and one and the same fruit of\ndivers colours and tastes, dallying as it were with nature and her\ncourse, as if her whole trade were perfectly known unto them: of hard\nfruits they will make tender, of sour sweet, of sweet yet more\ndelicate, bereaving also some of their kernels, other of their cores,\nand finally enduing them with the savour of musk, amber, or sweet\nspices, at their pleasures. Divers also have written at large of these\nseveral practices, and some of them how to convert the kernels of\npeaches into almonds, of small fruit to make far greater, and to\nremove or add superfluous or necessary moisture to the trees, with\nother things belonging to their preservation, and with no less\ndiligence than our physicians do commonly show upon our own diseased\nbodies, which to me doth seem right strange. And even so do our\ngardeners with their herbs, whereby they are strengthened against\nnoisome blasts, and preserved from putrefaction and hindrance: whereby\nsome such as were annual are now made perpetual, being yearly taken\nup, and either reserved in the house, or, having the ross pulled from\ntheir roots, laid again into the earth, where they remain in safety.\nWith choice they make also in their waters, and wherewith some of them\ndo now and then keep them moist, it is a world to see, insomuch that\nthe apothecaries' shops may seem to be needful also to our gardens and\norchards, and that in sundry wise: nay, the kitchen itself is so far\nfrom being able to be missed among them that even the very dish-water\nis not without some use amongst our finest plants. Whereby, and sundry\nother circumstances not here to be remembered, I am persuaded that,\nalbeit the gardens of the Hesperides were in times past so greatly\naccounted of, because of their delicacy, yet, if it were possible to\nhave such an equal judge as by certain knowledge of both were able to\npronounce upon them, I doubt not but he would give the prize unto the\ngardens of our days, and generally over all Europe, in comparison of\nthose times wherein the old exceeded. Pliny and others speak of a rose\nthat had three score leaves growing upon one button: but if I should\ntell of one which bare a triple number unto that proportion, I know I\nshall not be believed, and no great matter though I were not; howbeit\nsuch a one was to be seen in Antwerp, 1585, as I have heard, and I\nknow who might have had a slip or stallon thereof, if he would have\nventured ten pounds upon the growth of the same, which should have\nbeen but a tickle hazard, and therefore better undone, as I did always\nimagine. For mine own part, good reader, let me boast a little of my\ngarden, which is but small, and the whole area thereof little above\n300 foot of ground, and yet, such hath been my good luck in purchase\nof the variety of simples, that, notwithstanding my small ability,\nthere are very near three hundred of one sort and other contained\ntherein, no one of them being common or usually to be had. If\ntherefore my little plot, void of all cost in keeping, be so well\nfurnished, what shall we think of those of Hampton Court, Nonsuch,\nTibaults, Cobham Garden, and sundry others appertaining to divers\ncitizens of London, whom I could particularly name, if I should not\nseem to offend them by such my demeanour and dealing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nOF FAIRS AND MARKETS\n\n[1577, Book II., Chapter 11; 1587, Book II., Chapter 18.]\n\n\nThere are (as I take it) few great towns in England that have not\ntheir weekly markets, one or more granted from the prince, in which\nall manner of provision for household is to be bought and sold, for\nease and benefit of the country round about. Whereby, as it cometh to\npass that no buyer shall make any great journey in the purveyance of\nhis necessities, so no occupier shall have occasion to travel far off\nwith his commodities, except it be to seek for the highest prices,\nwhich commonly are near unto great cities, where round[1] and\nspeediest utterance[2] is always to be had. And, as these have been in\ntimes past erected for the benefit of the realm, so are they in many\nplaces too, too much abused: for the relief and ease of the buyer is\nnot so much intended in them as the benefit of the seller. Neither are\nthe magistrates for the most part (as men loath to displease their\nneighbours for their one year's dignity) so careful in their offices\nas of right and duty they should be. For, in most of these markets,\nneither assizes of bread nor orders for goodness and sweetness of\ngrain and other commodities that are brought thither to be sold are\nany whit looked unto, but each one suffered to sell or set up what and\nhow himself listeth: and this is one evident cause of dearth and\nscarcity in time of great abundance.\n\n      [1] Direct.\n\n      [2] Market.\n\nI could (if I would) exemplify in many, but I will touch no one\nparticularly, sith it is rare to see in any country town (as I said)\nthe assize of bread well kept according to the statute; and yet, if\nany country baker happen to come in among them on the market day with\nbread of better quantity, they find fault by-and-by with one thing or\nother in his stuff, whereby the honest poor man (whom the law of\nnations do commend, for that he endeavoureth to live by any lawful\nmeans) is driven away, and no more to come there, upon some round\npenalty, by virtue of their privileges. Howbeit, though they are so\nnice in the proportion of their bread, yet, in lieu of the same, there\nis such heady ale and beer in most of them as for the mightiness\nthereof among such as seek it out is commonly called \"huffcap,\" \"the\nmad dog,\" \"Father Whoreson,\" \"angels' food,\" \"dragon's milk,\"\n\"go-by-the-wall,\" \"stride wide,\" and \"lift leg,\" etc. And this is more\nto be noted, that when one of late fell by God's providence into a\ntroubled conscience, after he had considered well of his reachless\nlife and dangerous estate, another, thinking belike to change his\ncolour and not his mind, carried him straight away to the strongest\nale, as to the next physician. It is incredible to say how our\nmalt-bugs lug at this liquor, even as pigs should lie in a row lugging\nat their dame's teats, till they lie still again and be not able to\nwag. Neither did Romulus and Remus suck their she-wolf or shepherd's\nwife Lupa with such eager and sharp devotion as these men hale at\n\"huffcap,\" till they be red as cocks and little wiser than their\ncombs. But how am I fallen from the market into the ale-house? In\nreturning therefore unto my purpose, I find that in corn great abuse\nis daily suffered, to the great prejudice of the town and country,\nespecially the poor artificer and householder, which tilleth no land,\nbut, labouring all the week to buy a bushel or two of grain on the\nmarket day, can there have none for his money: because bodgers,\nloaders, and common carriers of corn do not only buy up all, but give\nabove the price, to be served of great quantities. Shall I go any\nfurther? Well, I will say yet a little more, and somewhat by mine own\nexperience.\n\nAt Michaelmas time poor men must make money of their grain, that they\nmay pay their rents. So long then as the poor man hath to sell, rich\nmen bring out none, but rather buy up that which the poor bring, under\npretence of seed corn or alteration of grain, although they bring none\nof their own, because one wheat often sown without change of seed will\nsoon decay and be converted into darnel. For this cause therefore they\nmust needs buy in the markets, though they be twenty miles off, and\nwhere they be not known, promising there, if they happen to be espied\n(which, God wot, is very seldom), to send so much to their next\nmarket, to be performed I wot not when.\n\nIf this shift serve not (neither doth the fox use always one track for\nfear of a snare), they will compound with some one of the town where\nthe market is holden, who for a pot of \"huffcap\" or \"merry-go-down,\"\nwill not let to buy it for them, and that in his own name. Or else\nthey wage one poor man or other to become a bodger, and thereto get\nhim a licence upon some forged surmise, which being done, they will\nfeed him with money to buy for them till he hath filled their lofts,\nand then, if he can do any good for himself, so it is; if not, they\nwill give him somewhat for his pains at this time, and reserve him for\nanother year. How many of the like providers stumble upon blind creeks\nat the sea coast, I wot not well; but that some have so done and yet\ndo under other men's wings, the case is too, too plain. But who dare\nfind fault with them, when they have once a licence? yes, though it be\nbut to serve a mean gentleman's house with corn, who hath cast up all\nhis tillage, because he boasteth how he can buy his grain in the\nmarket better cheap than he can sow his land, as the rich grazier\noften doth also upon the like device, because grazing requireth a\nsmaller household and less attendance and charge. If any man come to\nbuy a bushel or two for his expenses unto the market cross, answer is\nmade: \"Forsooth, here was one even now that bade me money for it, and\nI hope he will have it.\" And to say the truth, these bodgers are fair\nchapmen; for there are no more words with them, but _\"Let me see it!\nWhat shall I give you? Knit it up! I will have it--go carry it to such\na chamber, and if you bring in twenty_ seme[3] _more in the weekday to\nsuch an inn or sollar[4] where I lay my corn, I will have it, and give\nyou (   ) pence or more in every bushel for six weeks' day of payment\nthan another will.\"_ Thus the bodgers bear away all, so that the poor\nartificer and labourer cannot make his provision in the markets, sith\nthey will hardly nowadays sell by the bushel, nor break their measure;\nand so much the rather for that the buyer will look (as they say) for\nso much over measure in the bushel as the bodger will do in a quarter.\nNay, the poor man cannot oft get any of the farmer at home, because he\nprovideth altogether to serve the bodger, or hath an hope, grounded\nupon a greedy and insatiable desire of gain, that the sale will be\nbetter in the market, so that he must give twopence or a groat more in\nthe bushel at his house than the last market craved, or else go\nwithout it, and sleep with a hungry belly. Of the common carriage of\ncorn over unto the parts beyond the seas I speak not; or at the\nleastwise, if I should, I could not touch it alone, but needs must\njoin other provision withal, whereby not only our friends abroad, but\nalso many of our adversaries and countrymen, the papists, are\nabundantly relieved (as the report goeth); but sith I see it not, I\nwill not so trust mine ears as to write it for a truth. But to return\nto our markets again.\n\n      [3] Horse-loads.\n\n      [4] Loft.\n\nBy this time the poor occupier hath sold all his crop for need of\nmoney, being ready peradventure to buy again ere long. And now is the\nwhole sale of corn in the great occupiers' hands, who hitherto have\nthreshed little or none of their own, but bought up of other men as\nmuch as they could come by. Henceforth also they begin to sell, not by\nthe quarter or load at the first (for marring the market) but by the\nbushel or two, or a horseload at the most, thereby to be seen to keep\nthe cross, either for a show, or to make men eager to buy, and so, as\nthey may have it for money, not to regard what they pay. And thus corn\nwaxeth dear; but it will be dearer the next market day. It is possible\nalso that they mislike the price in the beginning for the whole year\nensuing, as men supposing that corn will be little worth for this and\nof better price the next year. For they have certain superstitious\nobservations whereby they will give a guess at the sale of corn for\nthe year following. And our countrymen do use commonly for barley,\nwhere I dwell, to judge after the price at Baldock upon St. Matthew's\nday; and for wheat, as it is sold in seed time. They take in like sort\nexperiment by sight of the first flocks of cranes that flee southward\nin winter, the age of the moon in the beginning of January, and such\nother apish toys as by laying twelve corns upon the hot hearth for the\ntwelve months, etc., whereby they shew themselves to be scant good\nChristians; but what care they, so that they come by money? Hereupon\nalso will they thresh out three parts of the old corn, towards the\nlatter end of the summer, when new cometh apace to hand, and cast the\nsame in the fourth unthreshed, where it shall lie until the next\nspring, or peradventure till it must and putrify. Certes it is not\ndainty to see musty corn in many of our great markets of England which\nthese great occupiers bring forth when they can keep it no longer. But\nas they are enforced oftentimes upon this one occasion somewhat to\nabate the price, so a plague is not seldom engendered thereby among\nthe poorer sort that of necessity must buy the same, whereby many\nthousands of all degrees are consumed, of whose death (in mine\nopinion) these farmers are not unguilty. But to proceed. If they lay\nnot up their grain or wheat in this manner, they have yet another\npolicy, whereby they will seem to have but small store left in their\nbarns: for else they will gird their sheaves by the band, and stack it\nup anew in less room, to the end it may not only seem less in\nquantity, but also give place to the corn that is yet to come into the\nbarn or growing in the field. If there happen to be such plenty in the\nmarket on any market day that they cannot sell at their own price,\nthen will they set it up in some friend's house, against another on\nthe third day, and not bring it forth till they like of the sale. If\nthey sell any at home, beside harder measure, it shall be dearer to\nthe poor man that buyeth it by twopence or a groat in a bushel than\nthey may sell it in the market. But, as these things are worthy\nredress, so I wish that God would once open their eyes that deal thus\nto see their own errors: for as yet some of them little care how many\npoor men suffer extremity, so that they fill their purses and carry\naway the gain.\n\nIt is a world also to see how most places of the realm are pestered\nwith purveyors, who take up eggs, butter, cheese, pigs, capons, hens,\nchickens, hogs, bacon, etc., in one market under pretence of their\ncommissions, and suffer their wives to sell the same in another, or to\npoulterers of London. If these chapmen be absent but two or three\nmarket days then we may perfectly see these wares to be more\nreasonably sold, and thereunto the crosses sufficiently furnished of\nall things. In like sort, since the number of buttermen have so much\nincreased, and since they travel in such wise that they come to men's\nhouses for their butter faster than they can make it, it is almost\nincredible to see how the price of butter is augmented: whereas when\nthe owners were enforced to bring it to the market towns, and fewer of\nthese butter buyers were stirring, our butter was scarcely worth\neighteen pence the gallon that now is worth three shillings fourpence\nand perhaps five shillings. Whereby also I gather that the maintenance\nof a superfluous number of dealers in most trades, tillage always\nexcepted, is one of the greatest causes why the prices of things\nbecame excessive: for one of them do commonly use to outbid another.\nAnd whilst our country commodities are commonly bought and sold at our\nprivate houses, I never look to see this enormity redressed or the\nmarkets well furnished.\n\nI could say more, but this is even enough, and more peradventure than\nI shall be well thanked for: yet true it is, though some think it no\ntrespass. This moreover is to be lamented, that one general measure is\nnot in use throughout all England, but every market town hath in\nmanner a several bushel; and the lesser it be, the more sellers it\ndraweth to resort unto the same. Such also is the covetousness of many\nclerks of the market, that in taking a view of measures they will\nalways so provide that one and the same bushel shall be either too big\nor too little at their next coming, and yet not depart without a fee\nat the first so that what by their mending at one time, and impairing\nthe same at another, the country is greatly charged, and few just\nmeasures to be had in any steed. It is oft found likewise that divers\nunconscionable dealers have one measure to sell by and another to buy\nwithal; the like is also in weights, and yet all sealed and branded.\nWherefore it were very good that these two were reduced unto one\nstandard, that is, one bushel, one pound, one quarter, one hundred,\none tale, one number: so should things in time fall into better order\nand fewer causes of contention be moved in this land. Of the complaint\nof such poor tenants as pay rent corn unto their landlords, I speak\nnot, who are often dealt withal very hardly. For, beside that in\nmeasuring of ten quarters for the most part they lose one through the\niniquity of the bushel (such is the greediness of the appointed\nreceivers thereof), fault is found also with the goodness and\ncleanness of the grain. Whereby some piece of money must needs pass\nunto their purses to stop their mouths withal, or else \"My lord will\nnot like of the corn,\" \"Thou art worthy to lose thy lease,\" etc. Or,\nif it be cheaper in the market than the rate allowed for it is in\ntheir rents, then must they pay money and no corn, which is no small\nextremity. And thereby we may see how each one of us endeavoureth to\nfleece and eat up another.\n\nAnother thing there is in our markets worthy to be looked into, and\nthat is the recarriage of grain from the same into lofts and cellars,\nof which before I gave some intimation; wherefore if it were ordered\nthat every seller should make his market by an hour, or else the\nbailey or clerk of the said market to make sale thereof, according to\nhis discretion, without liberty to the farmers to set up their corn in\nhouses and chambers, I am persuaded that the prices of our grain would\nsoon be abated. Again, if it were enacted that each one should keep\nhis next market with his grain (and not to run six, eight, ten,\nfourteen, or twenty miles from home to sell his corn where he doth\nfind the highest price, and thereby leaveth his neighbours\nunfurnished), I do not think but that our markets would be far better\nserved than at this present they are. Finally, if men's barns might be\nindifferently viewed immediately after harvest, and a note gathered by\nan estimate, and kept by some appointed and trusty person for that\npurpose, we should have much more plenty of corn in our town crosses\nthan as yet is commonly seen: because each one hideth and hoardeth\nwhat he may, upon purpose either that it will be dearer, or that he\nshall have some privy vein by bodgers, who do accustomably so deal\nthat the sea doth load away no small part thereof into other countries\nand our enemies, to the great hindrance of our commonwealth at home,\nand more likely yet to be, except some remedy be found. But what do I\ntalk of these things, or desire the suppression of bodgers, being a\nminister? Certes I may speak of them right well as feeling the harm in\nthat I am a buyer, nevertheless I speak generally in each of them.\n\nTo conclude therefore, in our markets all things are to be sold\nnecessary for man's use; and there is our provision made commonly for\nall the week ensuing. Therefore, as there are no great towns without\none weekly market at least, so there are very few of them that have\nnot one or two fairs or more within the compass of the year, assigned\nunto them by the prince And albeit that some of them are not much\nbetter than Louse fair,[5] or the common kirkemesses,[6] beyond the\nsea, yet there are divers not inferior to the greatest marts in\nEurope, as Stourbridge fair near to Cambridge, Bristow fair,\nBartholomew fair at London, Lynn mart, Cold fair at Newport pond for\ncattle, and divers other, all which, or at leastwise the greatest part\nof them (to the end I may with the more ease to the reader and less\ntravel to myself fulfil my task in their recital), I have set down\naccording to the names of the months wherein they are holden at the\nend of this book, where you shall find them at large as I borrowed the\nsame from J. Stow and the reports of others.\n\n      [5] The ancient London counterpart of the more modern \"Rag\n      Fair\" known to literary fame.--W.\n\n      [6] The Kermess, or literally, \"Church mass,\" so famous in\n      \"Faust.\"--W.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nOF THE ANCIENT AND PRESENT ESTATE OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND\n\n[1577, Book II., Chapter 5, 1585, Book II., Chapter 1.]\n\n\nThere are now two provinces only in England, of which the first and\ngreatest is subject to the see of Canterbury, comprehending a part of\nLhoegres, whole Cambria, and also Ireland, which in time past were\nseveral, and brought into one by the archbishop of the said see, and\nassistance of the pope, who, in respect of meed, did yield unto the\nambitious desires of sundry archbishops of Canterbury, as I have\nelsewhere declared. The second province is under the see of York. And,\nof these, each hath her archbishop resident commonly within her own\nlimits, who hath not only the chief dealing in matters appertaining to\nthe hierarchy and jurisdiction of the church, but also great authority\nin civil affairs touching the government of the commonwealth, so far\nforth as their commissions and several circuits do extend.\n\nIn old time there were three archbishops, and so many provinces in\nthis isle, of which one kept at London, another at York, and the third\nat Caerleon upon Usk. But as that of London was translated to\nCanterbury by Augustine, and that of York remaineth (notwithstanding\nthat the greatest part of his jurisdiction is now bereft him and given\nto the Scottish archbishop), so that of Caerleon is utterly\nextinguished, and the government of the country united to that of\nCanterbury in spiritual cases, after it was once before removed to St.\nDavid's in Wales, by David, successor to Dubritius, and uncle to King\nArthur, in the 519 of Grace, to the end that he and his clerks might\nbe further off from the cruelty of the Saxons, where it remained till\nthe time of the Bastard, and for a season after, before it was annexed\nto the see of Canterbury.\n\nThe Archbishop of Canterbury is commonly called the Primate of all\nEngland; and in the coronations of the kings of this land, and all\nother times wherein it shall please the prince to wear and put on his\ncrown, his office is to set it upon their heads. They bear also the\nname of their high chaplains continually, although not a few of them\nhave presumed (in time past) to be their equals, and void of\nsubjection unto them. That this is true, it may easily appear by their\nown acts yet kept in record, beside their epistles and answers written\nor in print, wherein they have sought not only to match but also to\nmate[1] them with great rigour and more than open tyranny. Our\nadversaries will peradventure deny this absolutely, as they do many\nother things apparent, though not without shameless impudence, or at\nthe leastwise defend it as just and not swerving from common equity,\nbecause they imagine every archbishop to be the king's equal in his\nown province. But how well their doing herein agreeth with the saying\nof Peter and examples of the primitive church it may easily appear.\nSome examples also of their demeanour--I mean in the time of popery--I\nwill not let to remember, lest they should say I speak of malice, and\nwithout all ground of likelihood.\n\n      [1] Overcome.\n\nOf their practices with mean persons I speak not, neither will I begin\nat Dunstan, the author of all their pride and presumption here in\nEngland....\n\nWherefore I refer you to those reports of Anselm and Becket\nsufficiently penned by other, the which Anselm also making a shew as\nif he had been very unwilling to be placed in the see of Canterbury,\ngave this answer to the letters of such his friends as did make\nrequest unto him to take the charge upon him--\n\n    _\"Secularia negotia, nescio, quia scire nolo, eorum n\u00e1mque\n    occupationes horreo, liberum affectans animum. Voluntati sacrarum\n    intendo scripturarum, vos dissonantiam facitis, verendumque est n\u00e9\n    aratrum sancta ecclesia, quod in Anglia duo boves validi et pari\n    fortitudine, ad bonum certantes, id est, rex et archepiscopus,\n    debeant trahere nunc ove verula cum tauro indomito jugata,\n    distorqueatur a recto. Ego ovis verula, qui si quietus essem,\n    verbi Dei lacte, et operinento lan\u00e6, aliquibus poss\u00e8m fortassis\n    non ingratus esse, sed si me cum hoc tauro coniungitis, videbitis\n    pro disparilitate trahentium, aratrum non rect\u00e8 procedere,\"_ etc.\n\nWhich is in English thus--\n\n    \"Of secular affairs I have no skill, because I will not know them;\n    for I even abhor the troubles that rise about them, as one that\n    desireth to have his mind at liberty. I apply my whole endeavour\n    to the rule of the Scriptures; you lead me to the contrary; and it\n    is to be feared lest the plough of holy church, which two strong\n    oxen of equal force, and both like earnest to contend unto that\n    which is good (that is, the king and the archbishop), ought to\n    draw, should thereby now swerve from the right furrow, by matching\n    of an old sheep with a wild, untamed bull. I am that old sheep,\n    who, if I might be quiet, could peradventure shew myself not\n    altogether ungrateful to some, by feeding them with the milk of\n    the Word of God, and covering them with wool: but if you match me\n    with this bull, you shall see that, through want of equality in\n    draught, the plough will not go to right,\" etc.\n\nAs followeth in the process of his letters. The said Thomas Becket was\nso proud that he wrote to King Henry the Second, as to his lord, to\nhis king, and to his son, offering him his counsel, his reverence, and\ndue correction, etc. Others in like sort have protested that they owed\nnothing to the kings of this land, but their council only, reserving\nall obedience unto the see of Rome, whereby we may easily see the\npride and ambition of the clergy in the blind time of ignorance.\n\nAnd as the old cock of Canterbury did crow in this behalf, so the\nyoung cockerels of other sees did imitate his demeanour, as may be\nseen by this one example also in King Stephen's time, worthy to be\nremembered; unto whom the Bishop of London would not so much as swear\nto be true subject: wherein also he was maintained by the pope....\n\nThus we see that kings were to rule no further than it pleased the\npope to like of; neither to challenge more obedience of their subjects\nthan stood also with their good will and pleasure. He wrote in like\nsort unto Queen Maud about the same matter, making her \"Samson's\ncalf\"[2] (the better to bring his purpose to pass)....\n\n      [2] A fool or dupe.\n\nIs it not strange that a peevish order of religion (devised by man)\nshould break the express law of God, who commandeth all men to honour\nand obey their kings and princes, in whom some part of the power of\nGod is manifest and laid open unto us? And even unto this end the\ncardinal of Hostia also wrote to the canons of Paul's after this\nmanner, covertly encouraging them to stand to their election of the\nsaid Robert, who was no more willing to give over his new bishopric\nthan they careful to offend the king, but rather imagined which way to\nkeep it still, maugre his displeasure, and yet not to swear obedience\nunto him for all that he should be able to do or perform unto the\ncontrary....\n\nHereby you see how King Stephen was dealt withal. And albeit the\nArchbishop of Canterbury is not openly to be touched herewith, yet it\nis not to be doubted but he was a doer in it, so far as might tend to\nthe maintenance of the right and prerogative of holy church. And even\nno less unquietness had another of our princes with Thomas of Arundel,\nwho fled to Rome for fear of his head, and caused the pope to write an\nambitious and contumelious letter unto his sovereign about his\nrestitution. But when (by the king's letters yet extant, and beginning\nthus: _\"Thomas proditionis non expers nostr\u00e6 regi\u00e6 majestati insidias\nfabricavit\"_[3]) the pope understood the bottom of the matter, he was\ncontented that Thomas should be deprived, and another archbishop\nchosen in his stead.\n\n      [3] \"Thomas, not innocent of treason, has intrigued against\n      the majesty of our court.\"\n\nNeither did this pride stay at archbishops and bishops, but descended\nlower, even to the rake-hells of the clergy and puddles of all\nungodliness. For, beside the injury received of their superiors, how\nwas King John dealt withal by the vile Cistertians at Lincoln in the\nsecond of his reign? Certes when he had (upon just occasion) conceived\nsome grudge against them for their ambitious demeanour, and upon\ndenial to pay such sums of money as were allotted unto them, he had\ncaused seizure to be made of such horses, swine, neat, and other\nthings of theirs as were maintained in his forests, they denounced him\nas fast amongst themselves with bell, book, and candle, to be accursed\nand excommunicated. Thereunto they so handled the matter with the pope\nand their friends that the king was fain to yield to their good\ngraces, insomuch that a meeting for pacification was appointed between\nthem at Lincoln, by means of the present Archbishop of Canterbury, who\nwent off between him and the Cistertian commissioners before the\nmatter could be finished. In the end the king himself came also unto\nthe said commissioners as they sat in their chapterhouse, and there\nwith tears fell down at their feet, craving pardon for his trespasses\nagainst them, and heartily requiring that they would (from henceforth)\ncommend him and his realm in their prayers unto the protection of the\nAlmighty, and receive him into their fraternity, promising moreover\nfull satisfaction of their damages sustained, and to build an house of\ntheir order in whatsoever place of England it should please them to\nassign. And this he confirmed by charter bearing date the\nseven-and-twentieth of November, after the Scottish king was returned\ninto Scotland, and departed from the king. Whereby (and by other the\nlike, as between John Stratford and Edward the Third, etc.) a man may\neasily conceive how proud the clergymen have been in former times, as\nwholly presuming upon the primacy of their pope. More matter could I\nallege of these and the like broils, not to be found among our common\nhistoriographers. Howbeit, reserving the same unto places more\nconvenient, I will cease to speak of them at this time, and go forward\nwith such other things as my purpose is to speak of. At the first,\ntherefore, there was like and equal authority in both our archbishops,\nbut as he of Canterbury hath long since obtained the prerogative above\nYork (although I say not without great trouble, suit, some bloodshed,\nand contention), so the Archbishop of York is nevertheless written\nPrimate of England, as one contenting himself with a piece of a title\nat the least, when all could not be gotten. And as he of Canterbury\ncrowneth the king, so this of York doth the like to the queen, whose\nperpetual chaplain he is, and hath been from time to time, since the\ndetermination of this controversy, as writers do report. The first\nalso hath under his jurisdiction to the number of one-and-twenty\ninferior bishops; the other hath only four, by reason that the\nchurches of Scotland are now removed from his obedience unto an\narchbishop of their own, whereby the greatness and circuit of the\njurisdiction of York is not a little diminished. In like sort, each of\nthese seven-and-twenty sees have their cathedral churches, wherein the\ndeans (a calling not known in England before the Conquest) do bear the\nchief rule, being men especially chosen to that vocation, both for\ntheir learning and godliness, so near as can be possible. These\ncathedral churches have in like manner other dignities and canonries\nstill remaining unto them, as heretofore under the popish regiment.\nHowbeit those that are chosen to the same are no idle and unprofitable\npersons (as in times past they have been when most of these livings\nwere either furnished with strangers, especially out of Italy, boys,\nor such idiots as had least skill of all in discharging of those\nfunctions whereunto they were called by virtue of these stipends), but\nsuch as by preaching and teaching can and do learnedly set forth the\nglory of God, and further the overthrow of anti-Christ to the\nuttermost of their powers.\n\nThese churches are called cathedral, because the bishops dwell or lie\nnear unto the same, as bound to keep continual residence within their\njurisdictions for the better oversight and governance of the same, the\nword being derived _a cathedra_--that is to say, a chair or seat where\nhe resteth, and for the most part abideth. At the first there was but\none church in every jurisdiction, whereinto no man entered to pray but\nwith some oblation or other toward the maintenance of the pastor. For\nas it was reputed an infamy to pass by any of them without visitation,\nso it was no less reproach to appear empty before the Lord. And for\nthis occasion also they were builded very huge and great; for\notherwise they were not capable to such multitude as came daily unto\nthem to hear the Word and receive the sacraments.\n\nBut as the number of Christians increased, so first monasteries, then\nfinally parish churches, were builded in every jurisdiction: from\nwhence I take our deanery churches to have their original (now called\n\"mother churches,\" and their incumbents, archpriests), the rest being\nadded since the Conquest, either by the lords of every town, or\nzealous men, loth to travel far, and willing to have some ease by\nbuilding them near hand. Unto these deanery churches also the clergy\nin old time of the same deanery were appointed to repair at sundry\nseasons, there to receive wholesome ordinances, and to consult upon\nthe necessary affairs of the whole jurisdiction if necessity so\nrequired; and some image hereof is yet to be seen in the north parts.\nBut as the number of churches increased, so the repair of the faithful\nunto the cathedrals did diminish; whereby they now become, especially\nin their nether parts, rather markets and shops for merchandise than\nsolemn places of prayer, whereunto they were first erected. Moreover,\nin the said cathedral churches upon Sundays and festival days the\ncanons do make certain ordinary sermons by course, whereunto great\nnumbers of all estates do orderly resort; and upon the working days,\nthrice in the week, one of the said canons (or some other in his\nstead) doth read and expound some piece of holy Scripture, whereunto\nthe people do very reverently repair. The bishops themselves in like\nsort are not idle in their callings; for, being now exempt from court\nand council, which is one (and a no small) piece of their felicity\n(although Richard Archbishop of Canterbury thought otherwise, as yet\nappeareth by his letters to Pope Alexander, Epistola 44, Petri\nBlesensis, where he saith, because the clergy of his time were\nsomewhat narrowly looked unto, _\"Supra dorsum ecclesi\u00e6 fabricant\npeccatores,\" etc._),[4] they so apply their minds to the setting forth\nof the Word that there are very few of them which do not every Sunday\nor oftener resort to some place or other within their jurisdictions\nwhere they expound the Scriptures with much gravity and skill, and yet\nnot without the great misliking and contempt of such as hate the Word.\nOf their manifold translations from one see to another I will say\nnothing, which is not now done for the benefit of the flock as the\npreferment of the party favoured and advantage unto the prince, a\nmatter in time past much doubted of--to wit, whether a bishop or\npastor might be translated from one see to another, and left undecided\ntill prescription by royal authority made it good. For, among princes,\na thing once done is well done, and to be done oftentimes, though no\nwarrant be to be found therefore.\n\n      [4] \"Sinners build on the back of the church.\"\n\nThey have under them also their archdeacons, some one, divers two, and\nmany four or more, as their circuits are in quantity, which\narchdeacons are termed in law the bishops' eyes; and these (beside\ntheir ordinary courts, which are holden within so many or more of\ntheir several deaneries by themselves or their officials once in a\nmonth at the least) do keep yearly two visitations or synods (as the\nbishop doth in every third year, wherein he confirmeth some children,\nthough most care but a little for that ceremony), in which they make\ndiligent inquisition and search, as well for the doctrine and\nbehaviour of the ministers as the orderly dealing of the parishioners\nin resorting to their parish churches and conformity unto religion.\nThey punish also with great severity all such trespassers, either in\nperson or by the purse (where permutation of penance is thought more\ngrievous to the offender), as are presented unto them; or, if the\ncause be of the more weight, as in cases of heresy, pertinacy,\ncontempt, and such like, they refer them either to the bishop of the\ndiocese, or his chancellor, or else to sundry grave persons set in\nauthority, by virtue of an high commission directed unto them from the\nprince to that end, who in very courteous manner do see the offenders\ngently reformed or else severely punished if necessity so enforce.\n\nBeside this, in many of our archdeaconries, we have an exercise lately\nbegun which for the most part is called a _prophecy_ or _conference_,\nand erected only for the examination or trial of the diligence of the\nclergy in their study of holy Scriptures. Howbeit, such is the thirsty\ndesire of the people in these days to hear the Word of God that they\nalso have as it were with zealous violence intruded themselves among\nthem (but as hearers only) to come by more knowledge through their\npresence at the same. Herein also (for the most part) two of the\nyounger sort of ministers do expound each after other some piece of\nthe Scriptures ordinarily appointed unto them in their courses\n(wherein they orderly go through with some one of the Evangelists, or\nof the Epistles, as it pleaseth the whole assembly to choose at the\nfirst in every of these conferences); and when they have spent an hour\nor a little more between them, then cometh one of the better learned\nsort, who, being a graduate for the most part, or known to be a\npreacher sufficiently authorised and of a sound judgment, supplieth\nthe room of a moderator, making first a brief rehearsal of their\ndiscourses, and then adding what him thinketh good of his own\nknowledge, whereby two hours are thus commonly spent at this most\nprofitable meeting. When all is done, if the first speakers have\nshewed any piece of diligence, they are commended for their travel,\nand encouraged to go forward. If they have been found to be slack, or\nnot sound in delivery of their doctrine, their negligence and error is\nopenly reproved before all their brethren, who go aside of purpose\nfrom the laity after the exercise ended to judge of these matters, and\nconsult of the next speakers and quantity of the text to be handled in\nthat place. The laity never speak, of course (except some vain and\nbusy head will now and then intrude themselves with offence), but are\nonly hearers; and, as it is used in some places weekly, in other once\nin fourteen days, in divers monthly, and elsewhere twice in a year, so\nis it a notable spur unto all the ministers thereby to apply their\nbooks, which otherwise (as in times past) would give themselves to\nhawking, hunting, tables, cards, dice, tippling at the alehouse,\nshooting of matches, and other like vanities, nothing commendable in\nsuch as should be godly and zealous stewards of the good gifts of God,\nfaithful distributors of his Word unto the people, and diligent\npastors according to their calling.\n\nBut alas! as Sathan, the author of all mischief, hath in sundry\nmanners heretofore hindered the erection and maintenance of many good\nthings, so in this he hath stirred up adversaries of late unto this\nmost profitable exercise, who, not regarding the commodity that riseth\nthereby so well to the hearers as speakers, but either stumbling (I\ncannot tell how) at words and terms, or at the leastwise not liking to\nhear of the reprehension of vice, or peradventure taking a misliking\nat the slender demeanours of such negligent ministers as now and then\nin their course do occupy the rooms, have either by their own\npractice, their sinister information, or suggestions made upon\nsurmises unto other, procured the suppression of these conferences,\ncondemning them as hurtful, pernicious, and daily breeders of no small\nhurt and inconvenience. But hereof let God be judge, unto the cause\nbelongeth.\n\nOur elders or ministers and deacons (for subdeacons and the other\ninferior orders sometime used in popish church we have not) are made\naccording to a certain form of consecration concluded upon in the time\nof King Edward the Sixth by the clergy of England, and soon after\nconfirmed by the three estates of the realm in the high court of\nparliament. And out of the first sort--that is to say, of such as are\ncalled to the ministry (without respect whether they be married or\nnot)--are bishops, deans, archdeacons, and such as have the higher\nplaces in the hierarchy of the church elected; and these also, as all\nthe rest, at the first coming unto any spiritual promotion do yield\nunto the prince the entire tax of that their living for one whole\nyear, if it amount in value unto ten pounds and upwards, and this\nunder the name and title of first fruits.\n\nWith us also it is permitted that a sufficient man may (by\ndispensation from the prince) hold two livings, not distant either\nfrom other above thirty miles; whereby it cometh to pass that, as her\nMajesty doth reap some commodity by the faculty, so that the unition\nof two in one man doth bring oftentimes more benefit to one of them in\na month (I mean for doctrine) than they have had before peradventure\nin many years.\n\nMany exclaim against such faculties, as if there were more good\npreachers that want maintenance than livings to maintain them. Indeed\nwhen a living is void there are so many suitors for it that a man\nwould think the report to be true, and most certain; but when it\ncometh to the trial (who are sufficient and who not, who are staid men\nin conversation, judgment, and learning), of that great number you\nshall hardly find one or two such as they ought to be, and yet none\nmore earnest to make suit, to promise largely, bear a better shew, or\nfind fault with the stage of things than they. Nevertheless I do not\nthink that their exclamations, if they were wisely handled, are\naltogether grounded upon rumours or ambitious minds, if you respect\nthe state of the thing itself, and not the necessity growing through\nwant of able men to furnish out all the cures in England, which both\nour universities are never able to perform. For if you observe what\nnumbers of preachers Cambridge and Oxford do yearly send forth, and\nhow many new compositions are made in the Court of First Fruits by the\ndeaths of the last incumbents, you shall soon see a difference.\nWherefore, if in country towns and cities, yea even in London itself,\nfour or five of the little churches were brought into one, the\ninconvenience would in great part be redressed and amended.\n\nAnd, to say truth, one most commonly of those small livings is of so\nlittle value that it is not able to maintain a mean scholar, much less\na learned man, as not being above ten, twelve, sixteen, seventeen,\ntwenty, or thirty pounds at the most, toward their charges, which now\n(more than before time) do go out of the same. I say more than before,\nbecause every small trifle, nobleman's request, or courtesy craved by\nthe bishop, doth impose and command a twentieth part, a three score\npart, or twopence in the pound, etc., out of the livings, which\nhitherto hath not been usually granted, but by the consent of a synod,\nwherein things were decided according to equity, and the poorer sort\nconsidered of, which now are equally burdened.\n\nWe pay also the tenths of our livings to the prince yearly, according\nto such valuation of each of them as hath been lately made: which\nnevertheless in time past were not annual, but voluntary, and paid at\nrequest of king or pope.[5]...\n\n      [5] Here follows a story about the bootless errand of a pope's\n      legate in 1452.--W.\n\nBut to return to our tenths, a payment first as devised by the pope,\nand afterward taken up as by the prescription of the king, whereunto\nwe may join also our first fruits, which is one whole year's commodity\nof our living, due at our entrance into the same, the tenths abated\nunto the prince's coffers, and paid commonly in two years. For the\nreceipt also of these two payments an especial office or court is\nerected, which beareth name of First Fruits and Tenths, whereunto, if\nthe party to be preferred do not make his dutiful repair by an\nappointed time after possession taken, there to compound for the\npayment of his said fruits, he incurreth the danger of a great\npenalty, limited by a certain statute provided in that behalf against\nsuch as do intrude into the ecclesiastical function and refuse to pay\nthe accustomed duties belonging to the same.\n\nThey pay likewise subsidies with the temporalty, but in such sort that\nif these pay after four shillings for land, the clergy contribute\ncommonly after six shillings of the pound, so that of a benefice of\ntwenty pounds by the year the incumbent thinketh himself well\nacquitted if, all ordinary payments being discharged, he may reserve\nthirteen pounds six shillings eightpence towards his own sustentation\nor maintenance of his family. Seldom also are they without the compass\nof a subsidy; for if they be one year clear from this payment (a thing\nnot often seen of late years), they are like in the next to hear of\nanother grant: so that I say again they are seldom without the limit\nof a subsidy. Herein also they somewhat find themselves grieved that\nthe laity may at every taxation help themselves, and so they do,\nthrough consideration had of their decay and hindrance, and yet their\nimpoverishment cannot but touch also the parson or vicar, unto whom\nsuch liberty is denied, as is daily to be seen in their accounts and\ntithings.\n\nSome of them also, after the marriages of their children, will have\ntheir proportions qualified, or by friendship get themselves quite out\nof the book. But what stand I upon these things, who have rather to\ncomplain of the injury offered by some of our neighbours of the laity,\nwhich daily endeavour to bring us also within the compass of their\nfifteens or taxes for their own ease, whereas the tax of the whole\nrealm, which is commonly greater in the champagne than woodland soil,\namounteth only to 37,930 pounds ninepence halfpenny, is a burden easy\nenough to be borne upon so many shoulders, without the help of the\nclergy, whose tenths and subsidies make up commonly a double, if not\ntreble sum unto their aforesaid payments? Sometimes also we are\nthreatened with a _Melius inquirendum_, as if our livings were not\nracked high enough already. But if a man should seek out where all\nthose church lands which in time past did contribute unto the old sum\nrequired or to be made up, no doubt no small number of the laity of\nall states should be contributors also with us, the prince not\ndefrauded of her expectation and right. We are also charged with\narmour and munitions from thirty pounds upwards, a thing more needful\nthan divers other charges imposed upon us are convenient, by which and\nother burdens our ease groweth to be more heavy by a great deal\n(notwithstanding our immunity from temporal services) than that of the\nlaity, and, for aught that I see, not likely to be diminished, as if\nthe church were now become the ass whereon every market man is to ride\nand cast his wallet.\n\nThe other payments due unto the archbishop and bishop at their several\nvisitations (of which the first is double to the latter), and such\nalso as the archdeacon receive that his synods, etc., remain still as\nthey did without any alteration. Only this I think he added within\nmemory of man, that at the coming of every prince his appointed\nofficers do commonly visit the whole realm under the form of an\necclesiastical inquisition, in which the clergy do usually pay double\nfees, as unto the archbishop.\n\nHereby then, and by those already remembered, it is found that the\nChurch of England is no less commodious to the prince's coffers than\nthe state of the laity, if it do not far exceed the same, since their\npayments are certain, continual, and seldom abated, howsoever they\ngather up their own duties with grudging, murmuring, suit, and\nslanderous speeches of the payers, or have their livings otherwise\nhardly valued unto the uttermost farthing, or shrewdly cancelled by\nthe covetousness of the patrons, of whom some do bestow advowsons of\nbenefices upon their bakers, butlers, cooks, good archers, falconers,\nand horsekeepers, instead of other recompense, for their long and\nfaithful service, which they employ afterward unto the most advantage.\n\nCertes here they resemble the pope very much; for, as he sendeth out\nhis idols, so do they their parasites, pages, chamberlains, stewards,\ngrooms, and lackeys; and yet these be the men that first exclaim of\nthe insufficiency of the ministers, as hoping thereby in due time to\nget also their glebes and grounds into their hands. In times past\nbishoprics went almost after the same manner under the lay princes,\nand then under the pope, so that he which helped a clerk unto a see\nwas sure to have a present or purse fine, if not an annual pension,\nbesides that which went to the pope's coffers, and was thought to be\nvery good merchandise.\n\nTo proceed therefore with the rest, I think it good also to remember\nthat the names usually given unto such as feed the flock remain in\nlike sort as in times past, so that these words, _parson, vicar,\ncurate_, and such, are not yet abolished more than the canon law\nitself, which is daily pleaded, as I have said elsewhere, although the\nstatutes of the realm have greatly infringed the large scope and\nbrought the exercise of the same into some narrower limits. There is\nnothing read in our churches but the canonical Scriptures, whereby it\ncometh to pass that the Psalter is said over once in thirty days, the\nNew Testament four times, and the Old Testament once in the year. And\nhereunto, if the curate be adjudged by the bishop or his deputies\nsufficiently instructed in the holy Scriptures, and therewithal able\nto teach, he permitteth him to make some exposition or exhortation in\nhis parish unto amendment of life. And for so much as our churches and\nuniversities have been so spoiled in time of error, as there cannot\nyet be had such number of able pastors as may suffice for every parish\nto have one, there are (beside four sermons appointed by public order\nin the year) certain sermons or homilies (devised by sundry learned\nmen, confirmed for sound doctrine by consent of the divines, and\npublic authority of the prince), and those appointed to be read by the\ncurates of mean understanding (which homilies do comprehend the\nprincipal parts of Christian doctrine, as of original sin, of\njustification by faith, of charity, and such like) upon the Sabbath\ndays unto the congregation. And, after a certain number of psalms\nread, which are limited according to the dates of the month, for\nmorning and evening prayer we have two lessons, whereof the first is\ntaken out of the Old Testament, the second out of the New; and of\nthese latter, that in the morning is out of the Gospels, the other in\nthe afternoon out of some one of the Epistles. After morning prayer\nalso, we have the Litany and suffrages, an invocation in mine opinion\nnot devised without the great assistance of the Spirit of God,\nalthough many curious mind-sick persons utterly condemn it as\nsuperstitious, and savouring of conjuration and sorcery.\n\nThis being done, we proceed unto the communion, if any communicants be\nto receive the Eucharist; if not, we read the Decalogue, Epistle, and\nGospel, with the Nicene Creed (of some in derision called the \"dry\ncommunion\"), and then proceed unto an homily or sermon, which hath a\npsalm before and after it, and finally unto the baptism of such\ninfants as on every Sabbath day (if occasion so require) are brought\nunto the churches; and thus is the forenoon bestowed. In the afternoon\nlikewise we meet again, and, after the psalms and lessons ended, we\nhave commonly a sermon, or at the leastwise our youth catechised by\nthe space of an hour. And thus do we spend the Sabbath day in good and\ngodly exercises, all done in our vulgar tongue, that each one present\nmay hear and understand the same, which also in cathedral and\ncollegiate churches is so ordered that the psalms only are sung by\nnote, the rest being read (as in common parish churches) by the\nminister with a loud voice, saving that in the administration of the\ncommunion the choir singeth the answers, the creed, and sundry other\nthings appointed, but in so plain, I say, and distinct manner that\neach one present may understand what they sing, every word having but\none note, though the whole Harmony consist of many parts, and those\nvery cunningly set by the skilful in that science.\n\nCertes this translation of the service of the church into the vulgar\ntongue hath not a little offended the pope almost in every age, as a\nthing very often attempted by divers princes, but never generally\nobtained, for fear lest the consenting thereunto might breed the\noverthrow (as it would indeed) of all his religion and hierarchy;\nnevertheless, in some places where the kings and princes dwelled not\nunder his nose, it was performed maugre his resistance. Wratislaus,\nDuke of Bohemia, would long since have done the like also in his\nkingdom; but, not daring to venture so far without the consent of the\npope, he wrote unto him thereof, and received his answer inhibitory\nunto all his proceeding in the same....\n\nI would set down two or three more of the like instruments passed from\nthat see unto the like end, but this shall suffice, being less common\nthan the other, which are to be had more plentifully.\n\nAs for our churches themselves, bells and times of morning and evening\nprayer remain as in times past, saving that all images, shrines,\ntabernacles, rood-lofts, and monuments of idolatry are removed, taken\ndown, and defaced, only the stories in glass windows excepted, which,\nfor want of sufficient store of new stuff, and by reason of extreme\ncharge that should grow by the alteration of the same into white panes\nthroughout the realm, are not altogether abolished in most places at\nonce, but by little and little suffered to decay, that white glass may\nbe provided and set up in their rooms. Finally, whereas there was wont\nto be a great partition between the choir and the body of the church,\nnow it is either very small or none at all, and (to say the truth)\naltogether needless, sith the minister saith his service commonly in\nthe body of the church, with his face toward the people, in a little\ntabernacle of wainscot provided for the purpose, by which means the\nignorant do not only learn divers of the psalms and usual prayers by\nheart, but also such as can read do pray together with him, so that\nthe whole congregation at one instant pour out their petitions unto\nthe living God for the whole estate of His church in most earnest and\nfervent manner. Our holy and festival days are very well reduced also\nunto a less number; for whereas (not long since) we had under the pope\nfour score and fifteen, called festival, and thirty _profesti_, beside\nthe Sundays, they are all brought unto seven and twenty, and, with\nthem, the superfluous numbers of idle wakes, guilds, fraternities,\nchurch-ales, help-ales, and soul-ales, called also dirge-ales, with\nthe heathenish rioting at bride-ales, are well diminished and laid\naside. And no great matter were it if the feasts of all our apostles,\nevangelists, and martyrs, with that of all saints, were brought to the\nholy days that follow upon Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide, and\nthose of the Virgin Mary, with the rest, utterly removed from the\ncalendars, as neither necessary nor commendable in a reformed church.\n\nThe apparel in like sort of our clergymen is comely, and, in truth,\nmore decent than ever it was in the popish church, before the\nuniversities bound their graduates unto a stable attire, afterward\nusurped also even by the blind Sir Johns. For, if you peruse well my\nChronology ensuing, you shall find that they went either in divers\ncolours like players, or in garments of light hue, as yellow, red,\ngreen, etc., with their shoes piked, their hair crisped, their girdles\narmed with silver, their shoes, spurs, bridles, etc., buckled with\nlike metal, their apparel (for the most part) of silk, and richly\nfurred, their caps laced and buttoned with gold, so that to meet a\npriest in those days was to behold a peacock that spreadeth his tail\nwhen he danceth before the hen, which now (I say) is well reformed.\nTouching hospitality, there was never any greater used in England,\nsith by reason that marriage is permitted to him that will choose that\nkind of life, their meat and drink is more orderly and frugally\ndressed, their furniture of household more convenient and better\nlooked unto, and the poor oftener fed generally than heretofore they\nhave been, when only a few bishops and double or treble beneficed men\ndid make good cheer at Christmas only, or otherwise kept great houses\nfor the entertainment of the rich, which did often see and visit them.\nIt is thought much peradventure that some bishops, etc., in our time\ndo come short of the ancient gluttony and prodigality of their\npredecessors; but to such as do consider of the curtailing of their\nlivings, or excessive prices whereunto things are grown, and how their\ncourse is limited by law, and estate looked into on every side, the\ncause of their so doing is well enough perceived. This also offended\nmany, that they should, after their deaths, leave their substances to\ntheir wives and children, whereas they consider not that in old time\nsuch as had no lemans nor bastards (very few were there, God wot, of\nthis sort) did leave their goods and possessions to their brethren and\nkinsfolks, whereby (as I can shew by good record) many houses of\ngentility have grown and been erected. If in any age some one of them\ndid found a college, almshouse, or school, if you look unto these our\ntimes, you shall see no fewer deeds of charity done, nor better\ngrounded upon the right stub of piety than before. If you say that\ntheir wives be fond, after the decease of their husbands, and bestow\nthemselves not so advisedly as their calling requireth (which, God\nknoweth, these curious surveyors make small account of truth, further\nthan thereby to gather matter of reprehension), I beseech you then to\nlook into all states of the laity, and tell me whether some duchesses,\ncountesses, barons' or knights' wives, do not fully so often offend in\nthe like as they? For Eve will be Eve, though Adam would say nay. Not\na few also find fault with our threadbare gowns, as if not our patrons\nbut our wives were causes of our woe. But if it were known to all that\nI know to have been performed of late in Essex, where a minister\ntaking a benefice (of less than twenty pounds in the Queen's books, so\nfar as I remember) was enforced to pay to his patron twenty quarters\nof oats, ten quarters of wheat, and sixteen yearly of barley (which he\ncalled _hawks' meat_), and another let the like in farm to his patron\nfor ten pounds by the year which is well worth forty at the least, the\ncause of our threadbare gowns would easily appear: for such patrons do\nscrape the wool from our cloaks. Wherefore I may well say that such a\nthreadbare minister is either an ill man or hath an ill patron, or\nboth; and when such cooks and cobbling shifters shall be removed and\nweeded out of the ministry, I doubt not but our patrons will prove\nbetter men, and be reformed whether they will or not, or else the\nsingle-minded bishops shall see the living bestowed upon such as do\ndeserve it. When the Pragmatic Sanction took place first in France, it\nwas supposed that these enormities should utterly have ceased; but\nwhen the elections of bishops came once into the hands of the canons\nand spiritual men, it grew to be far worse. For they also, within a\nwhile waxing covetous, by their own experience learned aforehand,\nraised the markets, and sought after new gains by the gifts of the\ngreatest livings in that country, wherein (as Machiavelli writeth) are\neighteen archbishoprics, one hundred forty and five bishoprics, 740\nabbeys, eleven universities, 1,000,700 steeples (if his report be\nsound). Some are of the opinion that, if sufficient men in every town\nmight be sent for from the universities, this mischief would soon be\nremedied; but I am clean of another mind. For, when I consider\nwhereunto the gifts of fellowships in some places are grown, the\nprofit that ariseth at sundry elections of scholars out of grammar\nschools to the posers, schoolmasters, and preferers of them to our\nuniversities, the gifts of a great number of almshouses builded for\nthe maimed and impotent soldiers by princes and good men heretofore\nmoved with a pitiful consideration of the poor distressed, how\nrewards, pensions, and annuities also do reign in other cases whereby\nthe giver is brought sometimes into extreme misery, and that not so\nmuch as the room of a common soldier is not obtained oftentimes\nwithout a _\"What will you give me?\"_ I am brought into such a mistrust\nof the sequel of this device that I dare pronounce (almost for\ncertain) that, if Homer were now alive, it should be said to him:\n\n    \"Tuque licet venias musis comitatus Homere,\n    Si nihil attuleris, ibis Homere foras!\"\n\nMore I could say, and more I would say, of these and other things,\nwere it not that in mine own judgment I have said enough already for\nthe advertisement of such as be wise. Nevertheless, before I finish\nthis chapter, I will add a word or two (so briefly as I can) of the\nold estate of cathedral churches, which I have collected together here\nand there among the writers, and whereby it shall easily be seen what\nthey were, and how near the government of ours do in these days\napproach unto them; for that there is an irreconcilable odds between\nthem and those of the Papists. I hope there is no learned man indeed\nbut will acknowledge and yield unto it.\n\nWe find therefore in the time of the primitive church that there was\nin every see or jurisdiction one school at the least, whereunto such\nas were catechists in Christian religion did resort. And hereof, as we\nmay find great testimony for Alexandria, Antioch, Rome, and Jerusalem,\nso no small notice is left of the like in the inferior sort, if the\nnames of such as taught in them be called to mind, and the histories\nwell read which make report of the same. These schools were under the\njurisdiction of the bishops, and from thence did they and the rest of\nthe elders choose out such as were the ripest scholars, and willing to\nserve in the ministry, whom they placed also in their cathedral\nchurches, there not only to be further instructed in the knowledge of\nthe world, but also to inure them to the delivery of the same unto the\npeople in sound manner, to minister the sacraments, to visit the sick\nand brethren imprisoned, and to perform such other duties as then\nbelonged to their charges. The bishop himself and elders of the church\nwere also hearers and examiners of their doctrine; and, being in\nprocess of time found meet workmen for the Lord's harvest, they were\nforthwith sent abroad (after imposition of hands and prayer generally\nmade for their good proceeding) to some place or other then destitute\nof her pastor, and other taken from the school also placed in their\nrooms. What number of such clerks belonged now and then to some one\nsee, the Chronology following shall easily declare; and, in like sort,\nwhat officers, widows, and other persons were daily maintained in\nthose seasons by the offerings and oblations of the faithful it is\nincredible to be reported, if we compare the same with the decays and\noblations seen and practised at this present. But what is that in all\nthe world which avarice and negligence will not corrupt and impair?\nAnd, as this is a pattern of the estate of the cathedral churches in\nthose times, so I wish that the like order of government might once\nagain be restored unto the same, which may be done with ease, sith the\nschools are already builded in every diocese, the universities, places\nof their preferment unto further knowledge, and the cathedral churches\ngreat enough to receive so many as shall come from thence to be\ninstructed unto doctrine. But one hindrance of this is already and\nmore and more to be looked for (beside the plucking and snatching\ncommonly seen from such houses and the church), and that is, the\ngeneral contempt of the ministry, and small consideration of their\nformer pains taken, whereby less and less hope of competent\nmaintenance by preaching the word is likely to ensue. Wherefore the\ngreatest part of the more excellent wits choose rather to employ their\nstudies unto physic and the laws, utterly giving over the study of the\nScriptures, for fear lest they should in time not get their bread by\nthe same. By this means also the stalls in their choirs would be\nbetter filled, which now (for the most part) are empty, and prebends\nshould be prebends indeed, there to live till they were preferred to\nsome ecclesiastical function, and then other men chosen to succeed\nthem in their rooms, whereas now prebends are but superfluous\nadditiments unto former excesses, and perpetual commodities unto the\nowners, which before time were but temporal (as I have said before).\nBut as I have good leisure to wish for these things, so it shall be a\nlonger time before it will be brought to pass. Nevertheless, as I will\npray for a reformation in this behold, so will I here conclude my\ndiscourse on the estate of our churches.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nOF THE FOOD AND DIET OF THE ENGLISH\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapter 1; 1587, Book II., Chapter 6.]\n\n\nThe situation of our region, lying near unto the north, doth cause the\nheat of our stomachs to be of somewhat greater force: therefore our\nbodies do crave a little more ample nourishment than the inhabitants\nof the hotter regions are accustomed withal, whose digestive force is\nnot altogether so vehement, because their internal heat is not so\nstrong as ours, which is kept in by the coldness of the air that from\ntime to time (especially in winter) doth environ our bodies.\n\nIt is no marvel therefore that our tables are oftentimes more\nplentifully garnished than those of other nations, and this trade hath\ncontinued with us even since the very beginning. For, before the\nRomans found out and knew the way unto our country, our predecessors\nfed largely upon flesh and milk, whereof there was great abundance in\nthis isle, because they applied their chief studies unto pasturage and\nfeeding. After this manner also did our Welsh Britons order themselves\nin their diet so long as they lived of themselves, but after they\nbecame to be united and made equal with the English they framed their\nappetites to live after our manner, so that at this day there is very\nlittle difference between us in our diets.\n\nIn Scotland likewise they have given themselves (of late years to\nspeak of) unto very ample and large diet, wherein as for some respect\nnature doth make them equal with us, so otherwise they far exceed us\nin over much and distemperate gormandise, and so ingross their bodies\nthat divers of them do oft become unapt to any other purpose than to\nspend their times in large tabling and belly cheer. Against this\npampering of their carcasses doth Hector Boethius in his description\nof the country very sharply inveigh in the first chapter of that\ntreatise. Henry Wardlaw also, bishop of St. Andrews, noting their\nvehement alteration from competent frugality into excessive gluttony\nto be brought out of England with James the First (who had been long\ntime prisoner there under the fourth and fifth Henries, and at his\nreturn carried divers English gentlemen into his country with him,\nwhom he very honourably preferred there), doth vehemently exclaim\nagainst the same in open Parliament holden at Perth, 1433, before the\nthree estates, and so bringeth his purpose to pass in the end, by\nforce of his learned persuasions, that a law was presently made there\nfor the restraint of superfluous diet; amongst other things, baked\nmeats (dishes never before this man's days seen in Scotland) were\ngenerally so provided for by virtue of this Act that it was not lawful\nfor any to eat of the same under the degree of a gentleman, and those\nonly but on high and festival days. But, alas, it was soon forgotten!\n\nIn old time these north Britons did give themselves universally to\ngreat abstinence, and in time of wars their soldiers would often feed\nbut once or twice at the most in two or three days (especially if they\nheld themselves in secret, or could have no issue out of their bogs\nand marshes, through the presence of the enemy), and in this distress\nthey used to eat a certain kind of confection, whereof so much as a\nbean would qualify their hunger above common expectation. In woods\nmoreover they lived with herbs and roots, or, if these shifts served\nnot through want of such provision at hand, then used they to creep\ninto the water or said moorish plots up unto the chins, and there\nremain a long time, only to qualify the heats of their stomachs by\nviolence, which otherwise would have wrought and been ready to oppress\nthem for hunger and want of sustenance. In those days likewise it was\ntaken for a great offence over all to eat either goose, hare, or hen,\nbecause of a certain superstitious opinion which they had conceived of\nthose three creatures; howbeit after that the Romans, I say, had once\nfound an entrance into this island it was not long ere open shipwreck\nwas made of this religious observation, so that in process of time so\nwell the north and south Britons as the Romans gave over to make such\ndifference in meats as they had done before.\n\nFrom thenceforth also unto our days, and even in this season wherein\nwe live, there is no restraint of any meat either for religious sake\nor public order in England, but it is lawful for every man to feed\nupon whatsoever he is able to purchase, except it be upon those days\nwhereon eating of flesh is especially forbidden by the laws of the\nrealm, which order is taken only to the end our numbers of cattle may\nbe the better increased and that abundance of fish which the sea\nyieldeth more generally received. Besides this, there is great\nconsideration had in making this law for the preservation of the navy\nand maintenance of convenient numbers of seafaring men, both which\nwould otherwise greatly decay if some means were not found whereby\nthey might be increased. But, howsoever this case standeth, white\nmeats, milk, butter, and cheese (which were never so dear as in my\ntime, and wont to be accounted of as one of the chief stays throughout\nthe island) are now reputed as food appertinent only to the inferior\nsort, whilst such as are more wealthy do feed upon the flesh of all\nkinds of cattle accustomed to be eaten, all sorts of fish taken upon\nour coasts and in our fresh rivers, and such diversity of wild and\ntame fowls as are either bred in our island or brought over unto us\nfrom other countries of the main.\n\nIn number of dishes and change of meat the nobility of England (whose\ncooks are for the most part musical-headed Frenchmen and strangers) do\nmost exceed, sith there is no day in manner that passeth over their\nheads wherein they have not only beef, mutton, veal, lamb, kid, pork,\ncony, capon, pig, or so many of these as the season yieldeth, but also\nsome portion of the red or fallow deer, beside great variety of fish\nand wild fowl, and thereto sundry other delicates wherein the sweet\nhand of the seafaring Portugal is not wanting: so that for a man to\ndine with one of them, and to taste of every dish that standeth before\nhim (which few used to do, but each one feedeth upon that meat him\nbest liketh for the time, the beginning of every dish notwithstanding\nbeing reserved unto the greatest personage that sitteth at the table,\nto whom it is drawn up still by the waiters as order requireth, and\nfrom whom it descendeth again even to the lower end, whereby each one\nmay taste thereof), is rather to yield unto a conspiracy with a great\ndeal of meat for the speedy suppression of natural health than the use\nof a necessary mean to satisfy himself with a competent repast to\nsustain his body withal. But, as this large feeding is not seen in\ntheir guests, no more is it in their own persons; for, sith they have\ndaily much resort unto their tables (and many times unlooked for), and\nthereto retain great numbers of servants, it is very requisite and\nexpedient for them to be somewhat plentiful in this behalf.\n\nThe chief part likewise of their daily provision is brought in before\nthem (commonly in silver vessels, if they be of the degree of barons,\nbishops, and upwards) and placed on their tables, whereof, when they\nhave taken what it pleaseth them, the rest is reserved, and afterwards\nsent down to their serving men and waiters, who feed thereon in like\nsort with convenient moderation, their reversion also being bestowed\nupon the poor which lie ready at their gates in great numbers to\nreceive the same. This is spoken of the principal tables whereat the\nnobleman, his lady, and guests are accustomed to sit; besides which\nthey have a certain ordinary allowance daily appointed for their\nhalls, where the chief officers and household servants (for all are\nnot permitted by custom to wait upon their master), and with them such\ninferior guests do feed as are not of calling to associate the\nnobleman himself; so that, besides those afore-mentioned, which are\ncalled to the principal table, there are commonly forty or three score\npersons fed in those halls, to the great relief of such poor suitors\nand strangers also as oft be partakers thereof and otherwise like to\ndine hardly. As for drink, it is usually filled in pots, goblets,\njugs, bowls of silver, in noblemen's houses; also in fine Venice\nglasses of all forms; and, for want of these elsewhere, in pots of\nearth of sundry colours and moulds, whereof many are garnished with\nsilver, or at the leastwise in pewter, all which notwithstanding are\nseldom set on the table, but each one, as necessity urgeth, calleth\nfor a cup of such drink as him listeth to have, so that, when he has\ntasted of it, he delivered the cup again to some one of the standers\nby, who, making it clean by pouring out the drink that remaineth,\nrestoreth it to the cupboard from whence he fetched the same. By this\ndevice (a thing brought up at the first by Mnesitheus of Athens, in\nconservation of the honour of Orestes, who had not yet made expiation\nfor the death of his adulterous parents, Aegisthus and Clytemnestra)\nmuch idle tippling is furthermore cut off; for, if the full pots\nshould continually stand at the elbow or near the trencher, divers\nwould always be dealing with them, whereas now they drink seldom, and\nonly when necessity urgeth, and so avoid the note of great drinking,\nor often troubling of the servitors with filling of their bowls.\nNevertheless in the noblemen's halls this order is not used, neither\nis any man's house commonly under the degree of a knight or esquire of\ngreat revenues. It is a world to see in these our days, wherein gold\nand silver most aboundeth, how that our gentility, as loathing those\nmetals (because of the plenty) do now generally choose rather the\nVenice glasses, both for our wine and beer, than any of those metals\nor stone wherein before time we have been accustomed to drink; but\nsuch is the nature of man generally that it most coveteth things\ndifficult to be attained; and such is the estimation of this stuff\nthat many become rich only with their new trade unto Murana (a town\nnear to Venice, situate on the Adriatic Sea), from whence the very\nbest are daily to be had, and such as for beauty do well near match\nthe crystal or the ancient _murrhina vasa_ whereof now no man hath\nknowledge. And as this is seen in the gentility, so in the wealthy\ncommunalty the like desire of glass is not neglected, whereby the gain\ngotten by their purchase is yet much more increased to the benefit of\nthe merchant. The poorest also will have glass if they may; but, sith\nthe Venetian is somewhat too dear for them, they content themselves\nwith such as are made at home of fern and burned stone; but in fine\nall go one way--that is, to shards at the last, so that our great\nexpenses in glasses (beside that they breed much strife toward such as\nhave the charge of them) are worst of all bestowed in mine opinion,\nbecause their pieces do turn unto no profit. If the philosopher's\nstone were once found, and one part hereof mixed with forty of molten\nglass, it would induce such a metallical toughness thereunto that a\nfall should nothing hurt it in such manner; yet it might peradventure\nbunch or batter it; nevertheless that inconvenience were quickly to be\nredressed by the hammer. But whither am I slipped?\n\nThe gentlemen and merchants keep much about one rate, and each of them\ncontenteth himself with four, five, or six dishes, when they have but\nsmall resort, or peradventure with one, or two, or three at the most,\nwhen they have no strangers to accompany them at their tables. And yet\ntheir servants have their ordinary diet assigned, beside such as is\nleft at their master's boards, and not appointed to be brought thither\nthe second time, which nevertheless is often seen, generally in\nvenison, lamb, or some especial dish, whereon the merchantman himself\nliketh to feed when it is cold, or peradventure for sundry causes\nincident to the feeder is better so than if it were warm or hot. To be\nshort, at such times as the merchants do make their ordinary or\nvoluntary feasts, it is a world to see what great provision is made of\nall manner of delicate meats, from every quarter of the country,\nwherein, beside that they are often comparable herein to the nobility\nof the land, they will seldom regard anything that the butcher usually\nkilleth, but reject the same as not worthy to come in place. In such\ncases also jellies of all colours, mixed with a variety in the\nrepresentation of sundry flowers, herbs, trees, forms of beasts, fish,\nfowls, and fruits, and thereunto marchpane wrought with no small\ncuriosity, tarts of divers hues, and sundry denominations, conserves\nof old fruits, foreign and home-bred, suckets, codinacs, marmalades,\nmarchpane, sugar-bread, gingerbread, florentines, wild fowls, venison\nof all sorts, and sundry outlandish confections, altogether seasoned\nwith sugar (which Pliny calleth _mel ex arundinibus_, a device not\ncommon nor greatly used in old time at the table, but only in\nmedicine, although it grew in Arabia, India, and Sicilia), do\ngenerally bear the sway, besides infinite devices of our own not\npossible for me to remember. Of the potato, and such venerous roots as\nare brought out of Spain, Portugal, and the Indies to furnish up our\nbanquets, I speak not, wherein our mures[1] of no less force, and to\nbe had about Crosby-Ravenswath, do now begin to have place.\n\n      [1] Sweet cicely, sometimes miscalled myrrh. Mure is the Saxon\n      word. At one time the plant was not uncommon as a salad.--W.\n\nBut among all these, the kind of meat which is obtained with most\ndifficulty and costs, is commonly taken for the most delicate, and\nthereupon each guest will soonest desire to feed. And as all estates\ndo exceed herein, I mean for strangeness and number of costly dishes,\nso these forget not to use the like excess in wine, insomuch as there\nis no kind to be had, neither anywhere more store of all sorts than in\nEngland, although we have none growing with us but yearly to the\nproportion of 20,000 of 30,000 tun and upwards, notwithstanding the\ndaily restraints of the same brought over unto us, whereof at great\nmeetings there is not some store to be had. Neither do I mean this of\nsmall wines only, as claret, white, red, French, etc., which amount to\nabout fifty-six sorts, according to the number of regions from whence\nthey came, but also of the thirty kinds of Italian, Grecian, Spanish,\nCanarian, etc., whereof vernage, catepument, raspis, muscadell,\nromnie, bastard lire, osy caprie, clary, and malmesey, are not least\nof all accompted of, because of their strength and valour. For, as I\nhave said in meat, so, the stronger the wine is, the more it is\ndesired, by means whereof, in old time, the best was called\n_theologicum_, because it was had from the clergy and religious men,\nunto whose houses many of the laity would often send for bottles\nfilled with the same, being sure they would neither drink nor be\nserved of the worst, or such as was any ways mingled or brewed by the\nvinterer: nay, the merchant would have thought that his soul should\nhave gone straightway to the devil if he should have served them with\nother than the best. Furthermore, when these have had their course\nwhich nature yieldeth, sundry sorts of artificial stuff as ypocras and\nwormwood wine must in like manner succeed in their turns, beside stale\nale and strong beer, which nevertheless bear the greatest brunt in\ndrinking, and are of so many sorts and ages as it pleaseth the brewer\nto make them.\n\nThe beer that is used at noblemen's tables in their fixed and standing\nhouses is commonly a year old, or peradventure of two years' tunning\nor more; but this is not general. It is also brewed in March, and\ntherefore called March beer; but, for the household, it is usually not\nunder a month's age, each one coveting to have the same stale as he\nmay, so that it be not sour, and his bread new as is possible, so that\nit be not hot.\n\nThe artificer and husbandman makes greatest account of such meat as\nthey may soonest come by, and have it quickliest ready, except it be\nin London when the companies of every trade do meet on their quarter\ndays, at which time they be nothing inferior to the nobility. Their\nfood also consisteth principally in beef, and such meat as the butcher\nselleth--that is to say, mutton, veal, lamb, pork, etc., whereof he\nfindeth great store in the markets adjoining, beside sows, brawn,\nbacon, fruit, pies of fruit, fowls of sundry sorts, cheese, butter,\neggs, etc., as the other wanteth it not at home, by his own provision\nwhich is at the best hand, and commonly least charge. In feasting\nalso, this latter sort, I mean the husbandmen, do exceed after their\nmanner, especially at bridals, purifications of women, and such odd\nmeetings, where it is incredible to tell what meat is consumed and\nspent, each one bringing such a dish, or so many with him, as his wife\nand he do consult upon, but always with this consideration, that the\nlesser friend shall have the better provision. This also is commonly\nseen at these banquets, that the good man of the house is not charged\nwith anything saving bread, drink, sauce, house-room, and fire. But\nthe artificers in cities and good towns do deal far otherwise; for,\nalbeit that some of them do suffer their jaws to go oft before their\nclaws, and divers of them, by making good cheer, do hinder themselves\nand other men, yet the wiser sort can handle the matter well enough in\nthese junketings, and therefore their frugality deserveth\ncommendation. To conclude, both the artificer and the husbandman are\nsufficiently liberal, and very friendly at their tables; and, when\nthey meet, they are so merry without malice, and plain without inward\nItalian or French craft and subtlety, that it would do a man good to\nbe in company among them. Herein only are the inferior sort somewhat\nto be blamed, that, being thus assembled, their talk is now and then\nsuch as savoureth of scurrility and ribaldry, a thing naturally\nincident to carters and clowns, who think themselves not to be merry\nand welcome if their foolish veins in this behalf be never so little\nrestrained. This is moreover to be added in these meetings, that if\nthey happen to stumble upon a piece of venison and a cup of wine or\nvery strong beer or ale (which latter they commonly provide against\ntheir appointed days), they think their cheer so great, and themselves\nto have fared so well, as the Lord Mayor of London, with whom, when\ntheir bellies be full, they will not often stick to make comparison,\nbecause that of a subject there is no public officer of any city in\nEurope that may compare in port and countenance with him during the\ntime of his office.\n\nI might here talk somewhat of the great silence that is used at the\ntables of the honourable and wiser sort generally over all the realm\n(albeit that too much deserveth no commendation, for it belongeth to\nguests neither to be _muti_ nor _loquaces_[2]), likewise of the\nmoderate eating and drinking that is daily seen, and finally of the\nregard that each one hath to keep himself from the note of surfeiting\nand drunkenness (for which cause salt meat, except beef, bacon, and\npork, are not any whit esteemed, and yet these three may not be much\npowdered); but, as in rehearsal thereof I should commend the nobleman,\nmerchant, and frugal artificer, so I could not clear the meaner sort\nof husbandmen and country inhabitants of very much babbling (except it\nbe here and there some odd yeoman), with whom he is thought to be the\nmerriest that talketh of most ribaldry or the wisest man that speaketh\nfastest among them, and now and then surfeiting and drunkenness which\nthey rather fall into for want of heed taking than wilfully following\nor delighting in those errors of set mind and purpose. It may be that\ndivers of them living at home, with hard and pinching diet, small\ndrink, and some of them having scarce enough of that, are soonest\novertaken when they come into such banquets, howbeit they take it\ngenerally as no small disgrace if they happen to be cupshotten, so\nthat it is a grief unto them, though now sans remedy, sith the thing\nis done and past. If the friends also of the wealthier sort come to\ntheir houses from far, they are commonly so welcome till they depart\nas upon the first day of their coming; whereas in good towns and\ncities, as London, etc., men oftentimes complain of little room, and,\nin reward of a fat capon or plenty of beef and mutton largely bestowed\nupon them in the country, a cup of wine or beer with a napkin to wipe\ntheir lips and an \"You are heartily welcome!\" is thought to be a great\nentertainment; and therefore the old country clerks have framed this\nsaying in that behalf, I mean upon the entertainment of townsmen and\nLondoners after the days of their abode, in this manner:\n\n    \"Primus jucundus, tollerabilis estque secundus,\n    Tertius est vanus, sed fetet quatriduanus.\"\n\n      [2] Neither \"silent\" nor \"garrulous.\"\n\nThe bread throughout the land is made of such grain as the soil\nyieldeth; nevertheless the gentility commonly provide themselves\nsufficiently of wheat for their own tables, whilst their household and\npoor neighbours in some shires are forced to content themselves with\nrye, or barley, yea, and in time of dearth, many with bread made\neither of beans, peas, of oats, or of altogether and some acorns\namong, of which scourge the poorest do soonest taste, sith they are\nleast able to provide themselves of better. I will not say that this\nextremity is oft so well to be seen in time of plenty as of dearth,\nbut, if I should, I could easily bring my trial. For, albeit that\nthere be much more ground eared now almost in every place than hath\nbeen of late years, yet such a price of corn continueth in each town\nand market without any just cause (except it be that landlords do get\nlicences to carry corn out of the land only to keep up the prices for\ntheir own private gains and ruin of the commonwealth), that the\nartificer and poor labouring man is not able to reach unto it, but is\ndriven to content himself with horse corn--I mean beans, peas, oats,\ntares, and lentils: and therefore it is a true proverb, and never so\nwell verified as now, that \"Hunger setteth his first foot into the\nhorse-manger.\"[3] If the world last awhile after this rate, wheat and\nrye will be no grain for poor men to feed on; and some caterpillars\nthere are that can say so much already.\n\n      [3] A famine at hand is first seen in the horse-manger, when\n      the poor do fall to horse corn.--H.\n\nOf bread made of wheat we have sundry sorts daily brought to the\ntable, whereof the first and most excellent is the manchet, which we\ncommonly call white bread, in Latin _primarius panis_, whereof Budeus\nalso speaketh, in his first book _De asse_; and our good workmen\ndeliver commonly such proportion that of the flour of one bushel with\nanother they make forty cast of manchet, of which every loaf weigheth\neight ounces into the oven, and six ounces out, as I have been\ninformed. The second is the cheat or wheaten bread, so named because\nthe colour thereof resembleth the grey or yellowish wheat, being clean\nand well dressed, and out of this is the coarsest of the bran (usually\ncalled gurgeons or pollard) taken. The ravelled is a kind of cheat\nbread also, but it retaineth more of the gross, and less of the pure\nsubstance of the wheat; and this, being more slightly wrought up, is\nused in the halls of the nobility and gentry only, whereas the other\neither is or should be baked in cities and good towns of an appointed\nsize (according to such price as the corn doth bear), and by a statute\nprovided by King John in that behalf.[4] The ravelled cheat therefore\nis generally so made that out of one bushel of meal, after two and\ntwenty pounds of bran be sifted and taken from it (whereunto they add\nthe gurgeons that rise from the manchet), they make thirty cast, every\nloaf weighing eighteen ounces into the oven, and sixteen ounces out;\nand, beside this, they so handle the matter that to every bushel of\nmeal they add only two and twenty, or three and twenty, pound of\nwater, washing also (in some houses) their corn before it go to the\nmill, whereby their manchet bread is more excellent in colour, and\npleasing to the eye, than otherwise it would be. The next sort is\nnamed brown bread, of the colour of which we have two sorts one baked\nup as it cometh from the mill, so that neither the bran nor the flour\nare any whit diminished; this, Celsus called _autopirus panis_, lib.\n2, and putteth it in the second place of nourishment. The other hath\nlittle or no flour left therein at all, howbeit he calleth it _Panem\nCibarium_, and it is not only the worst and weakest of all the other\nsorts, but also appointed in old time for servants, slaves, and the\ninferior kind of people to feed upon. Hereunto likewise, because it is\ndry and brickle in the working (for it will hardly be made up\nhandsomely into loaves), some add a portion of rye meal in our time,\nwhereby the rough dryness or dry roughness thereof is somewhat\nqualified, and then it is named _miscelin_, that is, bread made of\nmingled corn, albeit that divers do sow or mingle wheat and rye of set\npurpose at the mill, or before it come there, and sell the same at the\nmarkets under the aforesaid name.\n\n      [4] The size of bread is very ill kept or not at all looked\n      unto in the country towns or markets.--H.\n\nIn champaign countries much rye and barley bread is eaten, but\nespecially where wheat is scant and geson. As for the difference that\nit is between the summer and winter wheat, most husbandmen know it\nnot, sith they are neither acquainted with summer wheat nor winter\nbarley; yet here and there I find of both sorts, specially in the\nnorth and about Kendal, where they call it March wheat, and also of\nsummer rye, but in so small quantities as that I dare not pronounce\nthem to be greatly common among us.\n\nOur drink, whose force and continuance is partly touched already, is\nmade of barley, water, and hops, sodden and mingled together, by the\nindustry of our brewers in a certain exact proportion. But, before our\nbarley do come into their hands, it sustaineth great alteration, and\nis converted into malt, the making whereof I will here set down in\nsuch order as my skill therein may extend unto (for I am scarce a good\nmaltster), chiefly for that foreign writers have attempted to describe\nthe same, and the making of our beer, wherein they have shot so far\nwide, as the quantity of ground was between themselves and their mark.\nIn the meantime bear with me, gentle reader (I beseech thee), that\nlead thee from the description of the plentiful diet of our country\nunto the fond report of a servile trade, or rather from a table\ndelicately furnished into a musty malt-house; but such is now thy hap,\nwherefore I pray thee be contented.\n\nOur malt is made all the year long in some great towns; but in\ngentlemen's and yeomen's houses, who commonly make sufficient for\ntheir own expenses only, the winter half is thought most meet for that\ncommodity: howbeit the malt that is made when the willow doth bud is\ncommonly worst of all. Nevertheless each one endeavoureth to make it\nof the best barley, which is steeped in a cistern, in greater or less\nquantity, by the space of three days and three nights, until it be\nthoroughly soaked. This being done, the water is drained from it by\nlittle and little, till it be quite gone. Afterward they take it out,\nand, laying it upon the clean floor on a round heap, it resteth so\nuntil it be ready to shoot at the root end, which maltsters call\n_combing_. When it beginneth therefore to shoot in this manner, they\nsay it is come, and then forthwith they spread it abroad, first thick,\nand afterwards thinner and thinner upon the said floor (as it\n_combeth_), and there it lieth (with turning every day four or five\ntimes) by the space of one and twenty days at the least, the workmen\nnot suffering it in any wise to take any heat, whereby the bud end\nshould spire, that bringeth forth the blade, and by which oversight or\nhurt of the stuff itself the malt would be spoiled and turn small\ncommodity to the brewer. When it hath gone, or been turned, so long\nupon the floor, they carry it to a kiln covered with hair cloth, where\nthey give it gentle heats (after they have spread it there very thin\nabroad) till it be dry, and in the meanwhile they turn it often, that\nit may be uniformly dried. For the more it be dried (yet must it be\ndone with soft fire) the sweeter and better the malt is, and the\nlonger it will continue, whereas, if it be not dried down (as they\ncall it), but slackly handled, it will breed a kind of worm called a\nweevil, which groweth in the flour of the corn, and in process of time\nwill so eat out itself that nothing shall remain of the grain but even\nthe very rind or husk.\n\nThe best malt is tried by the hardness and colour; for, if it look\nfresh with a yellow hue, and thereto will write like a piece of chalk,\nafter you have bitten a kernel in sunder in the midst, then you may\nassure yourself that it is dried down. In some places it is dried at\nleisure with wood alone or straw alone, in others with wood and straw\ntogether; but, of all, the straw dried is the most excellent. For the\nwood-dried malt when it is brewed, beside that the drink is higher of\ncolour, it doth hurt and annoy the head of him that is not used\nthereto, because of the smoke. Such also as use both indifferently do\nbark, cleave, and dry their wood in an oven, thereby to remove all\nmoisture that should procure the fume; and this malt is in the second\nplace, and, with the same likewise, that which is made with dried\nfurze, broom, etc.: whereas, if they also be occupied green, they are\nin manner so prejudicial to the corn as is the moist wood. And thus\nmuch of our malts, in brewing whereof some grind the same somewhat\ngrossly, and, in seething well the liquor that shall be put into it,\nthey add to every nine quarters of malt one of headcorn (which\nconsisteth of sundry grain, as wheat and oats ground). But what have I\nto do with this matter, or rather so great a quantity, wherewith I am\nnot acquainted? Nevertheless, sith I have taken occasion to speak of\nbrewing, I will exemplify in such a proportion as I am best skilled\nin, because it is the usual rate for mine own family, and once in a\nmonth practised by my wife and her maid-servants, who proceed withal\nafter this manner, as she hath oft informed me.\n\nHaving therefore ground eight bushels of good malt upon our quern,\nwhere the toll is saved, she addeth unto it half a bushel of wheat\nmeal, and so much of oats small ground, and so tempereth or mixeth\nthem with the malt that you cannot easily discern the one from the\nother; otherwise these latter would clunter, fall into lumps, and\nthereby become unprofitable. The first liquor (which is full eighty\ngallons, according to the proportion of our furnace) she maketh\nboiling hot, and then poureth it softly into the malt, where it\nresteth (but without stirring) until her second liquor be almost ready\nto boil. This done, she letteth her mash run till the malt be left\nwithout liquor, or at the leastwise the greatest part of the moisture,\nwhich she perceiveth by the stay and soft issue thereof; and by this\ntime her second liquor in the furnace is ready to seethe, which is put\nalso to the malt, as the first woort also again into the furnace,\nwhereunto she addeth two pounds of the best English hops, and so\nletteth them seethe together by the space of two hours in summer or an\nhour and a half in winter, whereby it getteth an excellent colour, and\ncontinuance without impeachment or any superfluous tartness. But,\nbefore she putteth her first woort into the furnace, or mingleth it\nwith the hops, she taketh out a vessel full, of eight or nine gallons,\nwhich she shutteth up close, and suffereth no air to come into it till\nit become yellow, and this she reserveth by itself unto further use,\nas shall appear hereafter, calling it _brackwoort_ or _charwoort_,\nand, as she saith, it addeth also to the colour of the drink, whereby\nit yieldeth not unto amber or fine gold in hue unto the eye. By this\ntime also her second woort is let run; and, the first being taken out\nof the furnace, and placed to cool, she returneth the middle woort\nunto the furnace, where it is stricken over, or from whence it is\ntaken again, when it beginneth to boil, and mashed the second time,\nwhilst the third liquor is heat (for there are three liquors), and\nthis last put into the furnace, when the second is mashed again. When\nshe hath mashed also the last liquor (and set the second to cool by\nthe first), she letteth it run, and then seetheth it again with a\npound and a half of new hops, or peradventure two pounds, as she seeth\ncause by the goodness or baseness of the hops, and, when it hath\nsodden, in summer two hours, and in winter an hour and a half, she\nstriketh it also, and reserveth it unto mixture with the rest when\ntime doth serve therefore. Finally, when she setteth her drink\ntogether, she addeth to her brackwoort or charwoort half an ounce of\narras, and half a quarter of an ounce of bayberries, finely powdered,\nand then, putting the same into her woort, with a handful of wheat\nflour, she proceedeth in such usual order as common brewing requireth,\nSome, instead of arras and bays, add so much long pepper only, but, in\nher opinion and my liking, it is not so good as the first, and hereof\nwe make three hogsheads of good beer, such (I mean) as is meet for\npoor men as I am to live withal, whoso small maintenance (for what\ngreat thing is forty pounds a year, _computatis computandis_, able to\nperform?) may endure no deeper cut, the charges whereof groweth in\nthis manner. I value my malt at ten shillings, my wood at four\nshillings (which I buy), my hops at twenty pence, the spice at\ntwopence, servants' wages two shillings sixpence, with meat and drink,\nand the wearing of my vessel at twenty pence, so that for my twenty\nshillings I have ten score gallons of beer or more, notwithstanding\nthe loss in seething, which some, being loth to forego, do not observe\nthe time, and therefore speed thereafter in their success, and\nworthily. The continuance of the drink is always determined after the\nquantity of the hops, so that being well _hopt_ it lasteth longer. For\nit feedeth upon the hop, and holdeth out so long as the force of the\nsame continueth, which being extinguished, the drink must be spent, or\nelse it dieth and becometh of no value.\n\nIn this trade also our brewers observe very diligently the nature of\nthe water, which they daily occupy, and soil through which it passeth,\nfor all waters are not of like goodness, sith the fattest standing\nwater is always the best; for, although the waters that run by chalk\nor cledgy soils be good, and next unto the Thames water, which is the\nmost excellent, yet the water that standeth in either of these is the\nbest for us that dwell in the country, as whereon the sun lieth\nlongest, and fattest fish is bred. But, of all other, the fenny and\nmarsh is the worst, and the clearest spring water next unto it. In\nthis business therefore the skilful workman doth redeem the iniquity\nof that element, by changing of his proportions, which trouble in ale\n(sometime our only, but now taken with many for old and sick men's\ndrink) is never seen nor heard of. Howbeit, as the beer well sodden in\nthe brewing, and stale, is clear and well coloured as muscadel or\nmalvesey, or rather yellow as the gold noble, as our pot-knights call\nit, so our ale, which is not at all or very little sodden, and without\nhops, is more thick, fulsome, and of no such continuance, which are\nthree notable things to be considered in that liquor. But what for\nthat? Certes I know some ale-knights so much addicted thereunto that\nthey will not cease from morrow until even to visit the same,\ncleansing house after house, till they defile themselves, and either\nfall quite under the board, or else, not daring to stir from their\nstools, sit still pinking with their narrow eyes, as half sleeping,\ntill the fume of their adversary be digested that he may go to it\nafresh. Such slights also have the ale-wives for the utterance of this\ndrink that they will mix it with rosen and salt; but if you heat a\nknife red-hot, and quench it in the ale so near the bottom of the pot\nas you can put it, you shall see the rosen come forth hanging on the\nknife. As for the force of salt, it is well known by the effect, for\nthe more the drinker tippleth, the more he may, and so doth he carry\noff a dry drunken noll to bed with him, except his luck be the better.\nBut to my purpose.\n\nIn some places of England there is a kind of drink made of apples\nwhich they call cider or pomage, but that of pears is called perry,\nand both are ground and pressed in presses made for the nonce. Certes\nthese two are very common in Sussex, Kent, Worcester, and other steeds\nwhere these sorts of fruit do abound, howbeit they are not their only\ndrink at all times, but referred unto the delicate sorts of drink, as\nmetheglin is in Wales, whereof the Welshmen make no less account (and\nnot without cause, if it be well handled) than the Greeks did of their\nambrosia or nectar, which for the pleasantness thereof was supposed to\nbe such as the gods themselves did delight in. There is a kind of\nswish-swash made also in Essex, and divers other places, with\nhoneycombs and water, which the homely country wives, putting some\npepper and a little other spice among, call mead, very good in mine\nopinion for such as love to be loose bodied at large, or a little\neased of the cough. Otherwise it differeth so much from the true\nmetheglin as chalk from cheese. Truly it is nothing else but the\nwashing of the combs, when the honey is wrung out, and one of the best\nthings that I know belonging thereto is that they spend but little\nlabour, and less cost, in making of the same, and therefore no great\nloss if it were never occupied. Hitherto of the diet of my countrymen,\nand somewhat more at large peradventure than many men will like of,\nwherefore I think good now to finish this tractation, and so will I\nwhen I have added a few other things incident unto that which goeth\nbefore, whereby the whole process of the same shall fully be\ndelivered, and my promise to my friend[5] in this behalf performed.\n\n      [5] Holinshed. This occurs in the last of Harrison's prefatory\n      matter.--W.\n\nHeretofore there hath been much more time spent in eating and\ndrinking than commonly is in these days; for whereas of old we had\nbreakfast in the forenoon, beverages or nunchions[6] after dinner,\nand thereto rear suppers generally when it was time to go to rest (a\ntoy brought into England by hardy Canutus, and a custom whereof\nAthenaeus also speaketh, lib. 1, albeit Hippocrates speaks but of\ntwice at the most, lib. 2, _De rat vict. in feb ac_). Now, these odd\nrepasts--thanked be God!--are very well left, and each one in manner\n(except here and there some young, hungry stomach that cannot fast\ntill dinner-time) contenteth himself with dinner and supper only. The\nNormans, misliking the gormandise of Canutus, ordained after their\narrival that no table should be covered above once in the day, which\nHuntingdon imputeth to their avarice; but in the end, either waxing\nweary of their own frugality, or suffering the cockle of old custom\nto overgrow the good corn of their new constitution, they fell to\nsuch liberty that in often-feeding they surmounted Canutus surnamed\nthe Hardy. For, whereas he covered his table but three or four times\nin the day, these spread their cloths five or six times, and in such\nwise as I before rehearsed. They brought in also the custom of long\nand stately sitting at meat, whereby their feasts resembled those\nancient pontifical banquets whereof Macrobius speaketh (lib. 3, cap.\n13), and Pliny (lib. 10, cap. 10), and which for sumptuousness of\nfare, long sitting, and curiosity shewed in the same, exceeded all\nother men's feasting; which fondness is not yet left with us,\nnotwithstanding that it proveth very beneficial for the physicians,\nwho most abound where most excess and misgovernment of our bodies do\nappear, although it be a great expense of time, and worthy of\nreprehension. For the nobility, gentlemen, and merchantmen,\nespecially at great meetings, do sit commonly till two or three of\nthe clock at afternoon, so that with many it is a hard matter to rise\nfrom the table to go to evening prayer, and return from thence to\ncome time enough to supper.[7]...\n\n      [6] This word is not obsolete. South coast countrymen still\n      eat _nuntions_ and not _luncheons_.--W.\n\n      [7] Here follows a disquisition upon the table practices of\n      the ancients.--W.\n\nWith us the nobility, gentry, and students do ordinarily go to dinner\nat eleven before noon, and to supper at five, or between five and six\nat afternoon. The merchants dine and sup seldom before twelve at noon,\nand six at night, especially in London. The husbandmen dine also at\nhigh noon as they call it, and sup at seven or eight; but out of the\nterm in our universities the scholars dine at ten. As for the poorest\nsort they generally dine and sup when they may, so that to talk of\ntheir order of repast it were but a needless matter. I might here take\noccasion also to set down the variety used by antiquity in their\nbeginnings of their diets, wherein almost every nation had a several\nfashion, some beginning of custom (as we do in summer time) with\nsalads at supper, and some ending with lettuce, some making their\nentry with eggs, and shutting up their tables with mulberries, as we\ndo with fruit and conceits of all sorts. Divers (as the old Romans)\nbegan with a few crops of rue, as the Venetians did with the fish\ncalled gobius; the Belgres with butter, or (as we do yet also) with\nbutter and eggs upon fish days. But whereas we commonly begin with the\nmost gross food, and end with the most delicate, the Scot, thinking\nmuch to leave the best for his menial servants, maketh his entrance at\nthe best, so that he is sure thereby to leave the worst. We use also\nour wines by degrees, so that the hostess cometh last to the table:\nbut to stand upon such toys would spend much time, and turn to small\nprofit. Wherefore I will deal with other things more necessary for\nthis turn.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nOF OUR APPAREL AND ATTIRE\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapter 2; 1587, Book II., Chapter 7.]\n\n\nAn Englishman, endeavouring sometime to write of our attire, made\nsundry platforms for his purpose, supposing by some of them to find\nout one steadfast ground whereon to build the sum of his discourse.\nBut in the end (like an orator long without exercise), when he saw\nwhat a difficult piece of work he had taken in hand, he gave over his\ntravel, and only drew the picture of a naked man[1], unto whom he\ngave a pair of shears in the one hand and a piece of cloth in the\nother, to the end he should shape his apparel after such fashion as\nhimself liked, sith he could find no kind of garment that could\nplease him any while together; and this he called an Englishman.\nCertes this writer (otherwise being a lewd popish hypocrite and\nungracious priest) shewed himself herein not to be altogether void of\njudgment, sith the phantastical folly of our nation (even from the\ncourtier to the carter) is such that no form of apparel liketh us\nlonger than the first garment is in the wearing, if it continue so\nlong, and be not laid aside to receive some other trinket newly\ndevised by the fickle-headed tailors, who covet to have several\ntricks in cutting, thereby to draw fond customers to more expense of\nmoney. For my part, I can tell better how to inveigh against this\nenormity than describe any certainty of our attire; sithence such is\nour mutability that to-day there is none to the Spanish guise,\nto-morrow the French toys are most fine and delectable, ere long no\nsuch apparel as that which is after the high Almaine fashion,\nby-and-by the Turkish manner is generally best liked of, otherwise\nthe Morisco gowns, the Barbarian fleeces, the mandilion worn to\nColley-Weston ward, and the short French breeches make such a comely\nvesture that, except it were a dog in a doublet, you shall not see\nany so disguised as are my countrymen of England. And as these\nfashions are diverse, so likewise it is a world to see the costliness\nand the curiosity, the excess and the vanity, the pomp and the\nbravery, the change and the variety, and finally the fickleness and\nthe folly, that is in all degrees, insomuch that nothing is more\nconstant in England than inconstancy of attire. Oh, how much cost is\nbestowed nowadays upon our bodies, and how little upon our souls! How\nmany suits of apparel hath the one, and how little furniture hath the\nother! How long time is asked in decking up of the first, and how\nlittle space left wherein to feed the latter! How curious, how nice\nalso, are a number of men and women, and how hardly can the tailor\nplease them in making it fit for their bodies! How many times must it\nbe sent back again to him that made it! What chafing, what fretting,\nwhat reproachful language, doth the poor workman bear away! And many\ntimes when he doth nothing to it at all, yet when it is brought home\nagain it is very fit and handsome; then must we put it on, then must\nthe long seams of our hose be set by a plumb-line, then we puff, then\nwe blow, and finally sweat till we drop, that our clothes may stand\nwell upon us. I will say nothing of our heads, which sometimes are\npolled, sometimes curled, or suffered to grow at length like woman's\nlocks, many times cut off, above or under the ears, round as by a\nwooden dish. Neither will I meddle with our variety of beards, of\nwhich some are shaven from the chin like those of Turks, not a few\ncut short like to the beard of Marquess Otto, some made round like a\nrubbing brush, others with a _pique de vant_ (O! fine fashion!), or\nnow and then suffered to grow long, the barbers being grown to be so\ncunning in this behalf as the tailors. And therefore if a man have a\nlean and straight face, a Marquess Otton's cut will make it broad and\nlarge; if it be platter-like, a long, slender beard will make it seem\nthe narrower; if he be weasel-becked, then much hair left on the\ncheeks will make the owner look big like a bowdled hen, and as grim\nas a goose, if Cornells of Chelmersford say true. Many old men do\nwear no beards at all. Some lusty courtiers also and gentlemen of\ncourage do wear either rings of gold, stones, or pearl, in their ears,\nwhereby they imagine the workmanship of God not to be a little\namended. But herein they rather disgrace than adorn their persons, as\nby their niceness in apparel, for which I say most nations do not\nunjustly deride us, as also for that we do seem to imitate all nations\nround about us, wherein we be like to the polypus or chameleon; and\nthereunto bestow most cost upon our arses, and much more than upon all\nthe rest of our bodies, as women do likewise upon their heads and\nshoulders. In women also, it is most to be lamented, that they do now\nfar exceed the lightness of our men (who nevertheless are transformed\nfrom the cap even to the very shoe), and such staring attire as in\ntime past was supposed meet for none but light housewives only is now\nbecome a habit for chaste and sober matrons. What should I say of\ntheir doublets with pendant codpieces on the breast full of jags and\ncuts, and sleeves of sundry colours? Their galligascons to bear out\ntheir bums and make their attire to fit plum round (as they term it)\nabout them. Their fardingals, and diversely coloured nether stocks of\nsilk, jerdsey, and such like, whereby their bodies are rather deformed\nthan commended? I have met with some of these trulls in London so\ndisguised that it hath passed my skill to discern whether they were\nmen or women.\n\n      [1] (COS.)\n\n        \"I am an English man and naked I stand here,\n        Musying in my mynde what rayment I shall were;\n        For now I will were thys, and now I will were that;\n        Now I will were I cannot tell what.\n        All new fashyons be plesaunt in me;\n        I wyl haue them, whether I thryve or thee.\"\n\n      From Andrew Boorde's _Introduction_ (1541), and _Dyetary_ (1542),\n      edited by F.J.F. for Early English Text Society, 1870, p. 116. (A\n      most quaint and interesting volume, though I say so.)--Furnivall.\n\nThus it is now come to pass, that women are become men, and men\ntransformed into monsters; and those good gifts which Almighty God\nhath given unto us to relieve our necessities withal (as a nation\nturning altogether the grace of God into wantonness, for\n\n  \"Luxuriant animi rebus plerunque fecundis,\")\n\nnot otherwise bestowed than in all excess, as if we wist not\notherwise how to consume and waste them. I pray God that in this\nbehalf our sin be not like unto that of Sodom and Gomorrah, whose\nerrors were pride, excess of diet, and abuse of God's benefits\nabundantly bestowed upon them, beside want of charity towards the\npoor, and certain other points which the prophet shutteth up in\nsilence. Certes the commonwealth cannot be said to nourish where\nthese abuses reign, but is rather oppressed by unreasonable exactions\nmade upon rich farmers, and of poor tenants, wherewith to maintain\nthe same. Neither was it ever merrier with England than when an\nEnglishman was known abroad by his own cloth, and contented himself\nat home with his fine carsey hosen, and a mean slop; his coat, gown,\nand cloak of brown, blue, or puke, with some pretty furniture of\nvelvet or fur, and a doublet of sad tawny, or black velvet, or other\ncomely silk, without such cuts and garish colours as are worn in\nthese days, and never brought in but by the consent of the French,\nwho think themselves the gayest men when they have most diversities\nof jags and change of colours about them. Certes of all estates our\nmerchants do least alter their attire, and therefore are most to be\ncommended; for albeit that which they wear be very fine and costly,\nyet in form and colour it representeth a great piece of the ancient\ngravity appertaining to citizens and burgesses, albeit the younger\nsort of their wives, both in attire and costly housekeeping, cannot\ntell when and how to make an end, as being women indeed in whom all\nkind of curiosity is to be found and seen, and in far greater measure\nthan in women of higher calling. I might here name a sort of hues\ndevised for the nonce, wherewith to please fantastical heads, as\ngoose-turd green, peas-porridge tawny, popingay blue, lusty gallant,\nthe devil-in-the-head (I should say the hedge), and such like; but I\npass them over, thinking it sufficient to have said thus much of\napparel generally, when nothing can particularly be spoken of any\nconstancy thereof.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nOF THE MANNER OF BUILDING AND FURNITURE OF OUR HOUSES\n\n[1577, Book II., Chapter 10; 1587, Book II., Chapter 12.]\n\n\nThe greatest part of our building in the cities and good towns of\nEngland consisteth only of timber, for as yet few of the houses of\nthe communalty (except here and there in the West-country towns) are\nmade of stone, although they may (in my opinion) in divers other\nplaces be builded so good cheap of the one as of the other. In old\ntime the houses of the Britons were slightly set up with a few posts\nand many raddles, with stable and all offices under one roof, the\nlike whereof almost is to be seen in the fenny countries and northern\nparts unto this day, where for lack of wood they are enforced to\ncontinue this ancient manner of building. It is not in vain,\ntherefore, in speaking of building, to make a distinction between the\nplain and woody soils; for as in these, our houses are commonly\nstrong and well-timbered (so that in many places there are not above\nfour, six, or nine inches between stud and stud), so in the open\nchampaign countries they are forced, for want of stuff, to use no\nstuds at all, but only frankposts, raisins, beams, prickposts,\ngroundsels, summers (or dormants), transoms, and such principals,\nwith here and there a girding, whereunto they fasten their splints or\nraddles, and then cast it all over with thick clay to keep out the\nwind, which otherwise would annoy them. Certes this rude kind of\nbuilding made the Spaniards in Queen Mary's days to wonder, but\nchiefly when they saw what large diet was used in many of these so\nhomely cottages; insomuch that one of no small reputation amongst\nthem said after this manner--\"These English (quoth he) have their\nhouses made of sticks and dirt, but they fare commonly so well as the\nking.\" Whereby it appeareth that he liked better of our good fare in\nsuch coarse cabins than of their own thin diet in their prince-like\nhabitations and palaces. In like sort as every country house is thus\napparelled on the outside, so is it inwardly divided into sundry\nrooms above and beneath; and, where plenty of wood is, they cover\nthem with tiles, otherwise with straw, sedge, or reed, except some\nquarry of slate be near hand, from whence they have for their money\nmuch as may suffice them. The clay wherewith our houses are\nimpannelled is either white, red, or blue; and of these the first\ndoth participate very much of the nature of our chalk; the second is\ncalled loam; but the third eftsoons changeth colour as soon as it is\nwrought, notwithstanding that it looks blue when it is thrown out of\nthe pit. Of chalk also we have our excellent asbestos or white lime,\nmade in most places, wherewith being quenched, we strike over our\nclay works and stone walls, in cities, good towns, rich farmers' and\ngentlemen's houses: otherwise, instead of chalk (where it wanteth,\nfor it is so scant that in some places it is sold by the pound), they\nare compelled to burn a certain kind of red stone, as in Wales, and\nelsewhere other stones and shells of oysters and like fish found upon\nthe sea coast, which, being converted into lime, doth naturally (as\nthe other) abhor and eschew water, whereby it is dissolved, and\nnevertheless desire oil, wherewith it is easily mixed, as I have seen\nby experience. Within their doors also, such as are of ability do oft\nmake their floors and parget of fine alabaster burned, which they\ncall plaster of Paris, whereof in some places we have great plenty,\nand that very profitable against the rage of fire. In plastering\nlikewise of our fairest houses over our heads, we use to lay first a\nline or two of white mortar, tempered with hair, upon laths, which\nare nailed one by another (or sometimes upon reed of wickers more\ndangerous for fire, and make fast here and there saplaths for falling\ndown), and finally cover all with the aforesaid plaster, which,\nbeside the delectable whiteness of the stuff itself, is laid on so\neven and smoothly as nothing in my judgment can be done with more\nexactness. The walls of our houses on the inner sides in like sort be\neither hanged with tapestry, arras work, or painted cloths, wherein\neither divers histories, or herbs, beasts, knots, and such like are\nstained, or else they are ceiled with oak of our own, or wainscot\nbrought hither out of the east countries, whereby the rooms are not a\nlittle commended, made warm, and much more close than otherwise they\nwould be. As for stoves, we have not hitherto used them greatly, yet\ndo they now begin to be made in divers houses of the gentry and\nwealthy citizens, who build them not to work and feed in, as in\nGermany and elsewhere, but now and then to sweat in, as occasion and\nneed shall require it.\n\nThis also hath been common in England, contrary to the customs of all\nother nations, and yet to be seen (for example, in most streets of\nLondon), that many of our greatest houses have outwardly been very\nsimple and plain to sight, which inwardly have been able to receive a\nduke with his whole train, and lodge them at their ease. Hereby,\nmoreover, it is come to pass that the fronts of our streets have not\nbeen so uniform and orderly builded as those of foreign cities, where\n(to say truth) the outer side of their mansions and dwellings have\noft more cost bestowed upon them than all the rest of the house,\nwhich are often very simple and uneasy within, as experience doth\nconfirm. Of old time, our country houses, instead of glass, did use\nmuch lattice, and that made either of wicker or fine rifts of oak in\ncheckerwise. I read also that some of the better sort, in and before\nthe times of the Saxons (who notwithstanding used some glass also\nsince the time of Benedict Biscop, the monk that brought the feat of\nglazing first into this land), did make panels of horn instead of\nglass, and fix them in wooden calmes. But as horn in windows is now\nquite laid down in every place, so our lattices are also grown into\nless use, because glass is come to be so plentiful, and within a very\nlittle so good cheap, if not better than the other. I find obscure\nmention of the specular stone also to have been found and applied to\nthis use in England, but in such doubtful sort as I dare not affirm\nit for certain. Nevertheless certain it is that antiquity used it\nbefore glass was known, under the name of _selenites_. And how glass\nwas first found I care not greatly to remember, even at this present,\nalthough it be directly beside my purposed matter. In Syria Phenices,\nwhich bordereth upon Jewry, and near to the foot of Mount Carmel,\nthere is a moor or marsh whereout riseth a brook called sometime\nBelus, and falleth into the sea near to Ptolemais. This river was\nfondly ascribed unto Baal, and also honoured under that name by the\ninfidels long time before there was any king in Israel. It came to\npass also, as a certain merchant sailed that way, loaden with nitrum,\nthe passengers went to land for to repose themselves, and to take in\nsome store of fresh water into their vessel. Being also on the shore,\nthey kindled a fire and made provision for their dinner, but (because\nthey wanted trevets or stones whereon to set their kettles on) ran by\nchance into the ship, and brought great pieces of nitrum with them,\nwhich served their turn for that present. To be short, the said\nsubstance being hot, and beginning to melt, it mixed by chance with\nthe gravel that lay under it, and so brought forth that shining\nsubstance which now is called glass, and about the time of Semiramis.\nWhen the company saw this, they made no small accompt of their\nsuccess, and forthwith began to practise the like in other mixtures,\nwhereby great variety of the said stuff did also ensue. Certes for\nthe time this history may well be true, for I read of glass in Job;\nbut, for the rest, I refer me to the common opinion conceived by\nwriters. Now, to turn again to our windows. Heretofore also the\nhouses of our princes and noblemen were often glazed with beryl (an\nexample whereof is yet to be seen in Sudeley Castle) and in divers\nother places with fine crystal, but this especially in the time of\nthe Romans, whereof also some fragments have been taken up in old\nruins. But now these are not in use, so that only the clearest glass\nis most esteemed: for we have divers sorts, some brought out of\nBurgundy, some out of Normandy, much out of Flanders, beside that\nwhich is made in England, which would be so good as the best if we\nwere diligent and careful to bestow more cost upon it, and yet as it\nis each one that may will have it for his building. Moreover the\nmansion houses of our country towns and villages (which in champaign\nground stand altogether by streets, and joining one to another, but\nin woodland soils dispersed here and there, each one upon the several\ngrounds of their owners) are builded in such sort generally as that\nthey have neither dairy, stable, nor brew-house annexed unto them\nunder the same roof (as in many places beyond the sea and some of the\nnorth parts of our country), but all separate from the first, and one\nof them from another. And yet, for all this, they are not so far\ndistant in sunder but that the goodman lying in his bed may lightly\nhear what is done in each of them with ease, and call quickly unto\nhis many if any danger should attack him.\n\nThe ancient manors and houses of our gentlemen are yet and for the\nmost part of strong timber, in framing whereof our carpenters have\nbeen and are worthily preferred before those of like science among\nall other nations. Howbeit such as be lately builded are commonly\neither of brick or hard stone, or both, their rooms large and comely,\nand houses of office further distant from their lodgings. Those of\nthe nobility are likewise wrought with brick and hard stone, as\nprovision may best be made, but so magnificent and stately as the\nbasest house of a baron doth often match in our days with some\nhonours of a princes in old time. So that, if ever curious building\ndid flourish in England, it is in these our years wherein our workmen\nexcel and are in manner comparable in skill with old Vitruvius, Leo\nBaptista, and Serlo. Nevertheless their estimation, more than their\ngreedy and servile covetousness, joined with a lingering humour,\ncauseth them often to be rejected, and strangers preferred to greater\nbargains, who are more reasonable in their takings, and less wasters\nof time by a great deal than our own.\n\nThe furniture of our houses also exceedeth, and is grown in manner\neven to passing delicacy: and herein I do not speak of the nobility\nand gentry only, but likewise of the lowest sort in most places of\nour south country that have anything at all to take to. Certes in\nnoblemen's houses it is not rare to see abundance of arras, rich\nhangings of tapestry, silver vessels, and so much other plate as may\nfurnish sundry cupboards to the sum oftentimes of a thousand or two\nthousand pounds at the least, whereby the value of this and the rest\nof their stuff doth grow to be almost inestimable. Likewise in the\nhouses of knights, gentlemen, merchantmen, and some other wealthy\ncitizens, it is not geson to behold generally their great provision\nof tapestry, Turkey work, pewter, brass, fine linen, and thereto\ncostly cupboards of plate, worth five or six hundred or a thousand\npounds to be deemed by estimation. But, as herein all these sorts do\nfar exceed their elders and predecessors, and in neatness and\ncuriosity the merchant all other, so in times past the costly\nfurniture stayed there, whereas now it is descended yet lower even\nunto the inferior artificers and many farmers, who, by virtue of\ntheir old and not of their new leases, have, for the most part,\nlearned also to garnish their cupboards with plate, their joined beds\nwith tapestry and silk hangings, and their tables with carpets and\nfine napery, whereby the wealth of our country (God be praised\ntherefore, and give us grace to employ it well) doth infinitely\nappear. Neither do I speak this in reproach of any man, God is my\njudge, but to shew that I do rejoice rather to see how God hath\nblessed us with his good gifts; and whilst, I behold how (in a time\nwherein all things are grown to most excessive prices, and what\ncommodity so ever is to be had is daily plucked from the communalty\nby such as look into every trade) we do yet find the means to obtain\nand achieve such furniture as heretofore hath been unpossible.\n\nThere are old men yet dwelling in the village where I remain which\nhave noted three things to be marvellously altered in England within\ntheir sound remembrance, and other three things too too much\nincreased.\n\nOne is the multitude of chimneys lately erected, whereas in their\nyoung days there were not above two or three, if so many, in most\nuplandish towns of the realm (the religious houses and manor places\nof their lords always excepted, and peradventure some great\npersonages), but each one made his fire against a reredos in the\nhall, where he dined and dressed his meat.\n\nThe second is the great (although not general) amendment of lodging;\nfor, said they, our fathers, yea and we ourselves also, have lain\nfull oft upon straw pallets, on rough mats covered only with a sheet,\nunder coverlets made of dagswain or hopharlots (I use their own\nterms), and a good round log under their heads instead of a bolster\nor pillow. If it were so that our fathers--or the good man of the\nhouse had within seven years after his marriage purchased a mattress\nor flock bed, and thereto a stack of chaff to rest his head upon, he\nthought himself to be as well lodged as the lord of the town, that\nperadventure lay seldom in a bed of down or whole feathers, so well\nwere they content, and with such base kind of furniture: which also\nis not very much amended as yet in some parts of Bedfordshire, and\nelsewhere, further off from our southern parts. Pillows (said they)\nwere thought meet only for women in childbed. As for servants, if\nthey had any sheet above them, it was well, for seldom had they any\nunder their bodies to keep them from the pricking straws that ran oft\nthrough the canvas of the pallet and rased their hardened hides.\n\nThe third thing they tell of is the exchange of vessel, as of treen\nplatters into pewter, and wooden spoons into silver or tin. For so\ncommon were all sorts of treen stuff in old time that a man should\nhardly find four pieces of pewter (of which one was peradventure a\nsalt) in a good farmer's house, and yet for all this frugality (if it\nmay so be justly called) they were scarce able to live and pay their\nrents at their days without selling of a cow, or a horse or more,[1]\nalthough they paid but four pounds at the uttermost by the year. Such\nalso was their poverty that, if some one odd farmer or husbandman had\nbeen at the ale-house, a thing greatly used in those days, amongst six\nor seven of his neighbours, and there in a bravery, to shew what store\nhe had, did cast down his purse, and therein a noble or six shillings\nin silver, unto them (for few such men then cared for gold, because it\nwas not so ready payment, and they were oft enforced to give a penny\nfor the exchange of an angel), it was very likely that all the rest\ncould not lay down so much against it; whereas in my time, although\nperadventure four pounds of old rent be improved to forty, fifty, or a\nhundred pounds, yet will the farmer, as another palm of date tree,\nthink his gains very small toward the end of his term if he have not\nsix or seven years' rent lying by him, therewith to purchase a new\nlease, beside a fair garnish of pewter oft his cupboard, with so much\nmore in odd vessel going about the house, three or four feather beds,\nso many coverlids and carpets of tapestry, a silver salt, a bowl for\nwine (if not a whole neast), and a dozen of spoons to furnish up the\nsuit. This also he takes to be his own clear, for what stock of money\nsoever he gathereth and layeth up in all his years it is often seen\nthat the landlord will take such order with him for the same when he\nreneweth his lease, which is commonly eight or six years before the\nold be expired (sith it is now grown almost to a custom that if he\ncome not to his lord so long before another shall step in for a\nreversion, and so defeat him outright), that it shall never trouble\nhim more than the hair of his beard when the barber hath washed and\nshaved it from his chin.\n\n      [1] This was in the time of general idleness.--H.\n\nAnd as they commend these, so (beside the decay of housekeeping\nwhereby the poor have been relieved) they speak also of three things\nthat are grown to be very grevious unto them--to wit, the enhancing\nof rents, lately mentioned; the daily oppression of copyholders,\nwhose lords seek to bring their poor tenants almost into plain\nservitude and misery, daily devising new means, and seeking up all\nthe old, how to cut them shorter and shorter, doubling, trebling, and\nnow and then seven times increasing their fines, driving them also\nfor every trifle to lose and forfeit their tenures (by whom the\ngreatest part of the realm doth stand and is maintained), to the end\nthey may fleece them yet more, which is a lamentable hearing. The\nthird thing they talk of is usury, a trade brought in by the Jews,\nnow perfectly practised almost by every Christian, and so commonly\nthat he is accompted but for a fool that doth lend his money for\nnothing. In time past it was _sors pro sorte_--that is, the principal\nonly for the principal; but now, beside that which is above the\nprincipal properly called _Usura_, we challenge _Foenus_--that is,\ncommodity of soil and fruits of the earth, If not the ground itself.\nIn time past also one of the hundred was much; from thence it rose\nunto two, called in Latin _Usura, Ex sextante_; three, to wit _Ex\nquadrante_; then to four, to wit, _Ex triente_; then to five, which\nis _Ex quincunce_; then to six, called _Ex semisse_, etc. As the\naccompt of the _Assis_ ariseth, and coming at the last unto _Usura ex\nasse_, it amounteth to twelve in the hundred, and therefore the\nLatins call it _Centesima_, for that in the hundred month it doubleth\nthe principal; but more of this elsewhere. See Cicero against Verres,\nDemosthenes against Aphobus, and Athenaeus, lib. 13, in fine; and,\nwhen thou hast read them well, help I pray thee in lawful manner to\nhang up such as take _Centum pro cento_, for they are no better\nworthy as I do judge in conscience. Forget not also such landlords as\nused to value their leases at a secret estimation given of the wealth\nand credit of the taker, whereby they seem (as it were) to eat them\nup, and deal with bondmen, so that if the lessee be thought to be\nworth a hundred pounds he shall pay no less for his new term, or else\nanother to enter with hard and doubtful covenants. I am sorry to\nreport it, much more grieved to understand of the practice, but most\nsorrowful of all to understand that men of great port and countenance\nare so far from suffering their farmers to have any gain at all that\nthey themselves become graziers, butchers, tanners, sheepmasters,\nwoodmen, and _denique quid non_, thereby to enrich themselves, and\nbring all the wealth of the country into their own hands, leaving the\ncommunalty weak, or as an idol with broken or feeble arms, which may\nin a time of peace have a plausible shew, but when necessity shall\nenforce have a heavy and bitter sequel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nOF PROVISION MADE FOR THE POOR\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapter 5; 1587, Book II., Chapter 10.]\n\n\nThere is no commonwealth at this day in Europe wherein there is not\ngreat store of poor people, and those necessarily to be relieved by\nthe wealthier sort, which otherwise would starve and come to utter\nconfusion. With us the poor is commonly divided into three sorts, so\nthat some are poor by impotence, as the fatherless child, the aged,\nblind, and lame, and the diseased person that is judged to be\nincurable; the second are poor by casualty, as the wounded soldier,\nthe decayed householder, and the sick person visited with grievous\nand painful diseases; the third consisteth of thriftless poor, as the\nrioter that hath consumed all, the vagabond that will abide nowhere,\nbut runneth up and down from place to place (as it were seeking work\nand finding none), and finally the rogue and the strumpet, which are\nnot possible to be divided in sunder, but run to and fro over all the\nrealm, chiefly keeping the champaign soils in summer to avoid the\nscorching heat, and the woodland grounds in winter to eschew the\nblustering winds.\n\nFor the first two sorts (that is to say, the poor by impotence and\npoor by casualty, which are the true poor indeed, and for whom the\nWord doth bind us to make some daily provision), there is order taken\nthroughout every parish in the realm that weekly collection shall be\nmade for their help and sustentation--to the end they shall not\nscatter abroad, and, by begging here and there, annoy both town and\ncountry. Authority also is given unto the justices in every county\n(and great penalties appointed for such as make default) to see that\nthe intent of the statute in this behalf be truly executed according\nto the purpose and meaning of the same, so that these two sorts are\nsufficiently provided for; and such as can live within the limits of\ntheir allowance (as each one will do that is godly and well disposed)\nmay well forbear to roam and range about. But if they refuse to be\nsupported by this benefit of the law, and will rather endeavour by\ngoing to and fro to maintain their idle trades, then are they adjudged\nto be parcel of the third sort, and so, instead of courteous\nrefreshing at home, are often corrected with sharp execution and whip\nof justice abroad. Many there are which, notwithstanding the rigour of\nthe laws provided in that behalf, yield rather with this liberty (as\nthey call it) to be daily under the fear and terror of the whip than,\nby abiding where they were born or bred, to be provided for by the\ndevotion of the parishes. I found not long since a note of these\nlatter sort, the effect whereof ensueth. Idle beggars are such either\nthrough other men's occasion or through their own default--by other\nmen's occasion (as one way for example) when some covetous man (such,\nI mean, as have the cast or right vein daily to make beggars enough\nwhereby to pester the land, espying a further commodity in their\ncommons, holds, and tenures) doth find such means as thereby to wipe\nmany out of their occupyings and turn the same unto his private\ngains.[1] Hereupon it followeth that, although the wise and\nbetter-minded do either forsake the realm for altogether, and seek to\nlive in other countries, as France, Germany, Barbary, India, Muscovia,\nand very Calcutta, complaining of no room to be left for them at home,\ndo so behave themselves that they are worthily to be accounted among\nthe second sort, yet the greater part, commonly having nothing to stay\nupon, are wilful, and thereupon do either prove idle beggars or else\ncontinue stark thieves till the gallows do eat them up, which is a\nlamentable case. Certes in some men's judgment these things are but\ntrifles, and not worthy the regarding. Some also do grudge at the\ngreat increase of people in these days, thinking a necessary brood of\ncattle far better than a superfluous augmentation of mankind. But I\ncan liken such men best of all unto the pope and the devil, who\npractise the hindrance of the furniture of the number of the elect to\ntheir uttermost, to the end the authority of the one upon the earth,\nthe deferring of the locking up of the other in everlasting chains,\nand the great gains of the first, may continue and endure the longer.\nBut if it should come to pass that any foreign invasion should be\nmade--which the Lord God forbid for his mercies' sake!--then should\nthese men find that a wall of men is far better than stacks of corn\nand bags of money, and complain of the want when it is too late to\nseek remedy. The like occasion caused the Romans to devise their law\n_Agraria_: but the rich, not liking of it, and the covetous, utterly\ncondemning it as rigorous and unprofitable, never ceased to practise\ndisturbance till it was quite abolished. But to proceed with my\npurpose.\n\n      [1] At whose hands shall the blood of these men be required?--H.\n\n\nSuch as are idle beggars through their own default are of two sorts,\nand continue their estates either by casual or mere voluntary means:\nthose that are such by casual means are in the beginning justly to be\nreferred either to the first or second sort of poor aforementioned,\nbut, degenerating into the thriftless sort, they do what they can to\ncontinue their misery, and, with such impediments as they have, to\nstray and wander about, as creatures abhorring all labour and every\nhonest exercise. Certes I call these casual means, not in the respect\nof the original of all poverty, but of the continuance of the same,\nfrom whence they will not be delivered, such is their own ungracious\nlewdness and froward disposition. The voluntary means proceed from\noutward causes, as by making of corrosives, and applying the same to\nthe more fleshy parts of their bodies, and also laying of ratsbane,\nspearwort, crowfoot, and such like unto their whole members, thereby\nto raise pitiful and odious sores, and move the hearts of the\ngoers-by such places where they lie, to yearn at their misery, and\nthereupon bestow large alms upon them. How artificially they beg,\nwhat forcible speech, and how they select and choose out words of\nvehemence, whereby they do in manner conjure or adjure the goer-by to\npity their cases, I pass over to remember, as judging the name of God\nand Christ to be more conversant in the mouths of none and yet the\npresence of the Heavenly Majesty further off from no men than from\nthis ungracious company. Which maketh me to think that punishment is\nfar meeter for them than liberality or alms, and sith Christ willeth\nus chiefly to have a regard to Himself and his poor members.\n\nUnto this nest is another sort to be referred, more sturdy than the\nrest, which, having sound and perfect limbs, do yet notwithstanding\nsometime counterfeit the possession of all sorts of diseases. Divers\ntimes in their apparel also they will be like serving men or\nlabourers: oftentimes they can play the mariners, and seek for ships\nwhich they never lost. But in fine they are all thieves and\ncaterpillars in the commonwealth, and by the Word of God not\npermitted to eat, sith they do but lick the sweat from the true\nlabourers' brows, and bereave the godly poor of that which is due\nunto them, to maintain their excess, consuming the charity of\nwell-disposed people bestowed upon them, after a most wicked and\ndetestable manner.\n\nIt is not yet full threescore years since this trade began: but how\nit hath prospered since that time it is easy to judge, for they are\nnow supposed, of one sex and another, to amount unto above 10,000\npersons, as I have heard reported. Moreover, in counterfeiting the\nEgyptian rogues, they have devised a language among themselves, which\nthey name \"Canting,\" but others, \"pedler's French,\" a speech compact\nthirty years since, of English and a great number of odd words of\ntheir own devising, without all order or reason, and yet such is it\nas none but themselves are able to understand. The first deviser\nthereof was hanged by the neck--a just reward, no doubt, for his\ndeserts, and a common end to all of that profession.\n\nA gentleman also of late hath taken great pains to search out the\nsecret practices of this ungracious rabble. And among other things he\nsetteth down and describeth three and twenty sorts of them, whose\nnames it shall not be amiss to remember whereby each one may take\noccasion to read and know as also by his industry what wicked people\nthey are, and what villainy remaineth in them.\n\n_The several disorders and degrees amongst our idle vagabonds_.\n\n 1. Rufflers.\n 2. Uprightmen.\n 3. Hookers or anglers.\n 4. Rogues.\n 5. Wild rogues.\n 6. Priggers or pransers.\n 7. Palliards.\n 8. Fraters.\n 9. Abrams.\n10. Freshwater mariners or whipjacks.\n11. Drummerers.\n12. Drunken tinkers.\n13. Swadders or pedlers.\n14. Jarkemen or patricoes.\n\n_Of the women kind_.\n\n1. Demanders for glimmar or fire.\n2. Bawdy-baskets.\n3. Mortes.\n4. Autem mortem.\n5. Walking mortes.\n6. Doxies.\n7. Dells.\n8. Kinching mortes.\n9. Kinching cooes.\n\nThe punishment that is ordained for this kind of people is very sharp,\nand yet it cannot restrain them from their gadding: wherefore the end\nmust needs be martial law,[2] to be exercised upon them, as upon\nthieves, robbers, despisers of all laws, and enemies to the\ncommonwealth and welfare of the land. What notable robberies,\npilferies, murders, rapes, and stealings of young children, burning,\nbreaking, and disfiguring their limbs to make them pitiful in the\nsight of the people, I need not to rehearse; but for their idle\nrogueing about the country, the law ordaineth this manner of\ncorrection. The rogue being apprehended, committed to prison, and\ntried in the next assizes (whether they be of gaol delivery or\nsessions of the peace), if he happen to be convicted for a vagabond,\neither by inquest of office or the testimony of two honest and\ncredible witnesses upon their oaths, he is then immediately adjudged\nto be grievously whipped and burned through the gristle of the right\near with a hot iron of the compass of an inch about, as a\nmanifestation of his wicked life, and due punishment received for the\nsame. And this judgment is to be executed upon him except some honest\nperson worth five pounds in the queen's books in goods, or twenty\nshillings in land, or some rich householder to be allowed by the\njustices, will be bound in recognisance to retain him in his service\nfor one whole year. If he be taken the second time, and proved to have\nforsaken his said service, he shall then be whipped again, bored\nlikewise through the other ear, and set to service: from whence if he\ndepart before a year be expired, and happen afterwards to be attached\nagain, he is condemned to suffer pains of death as a felon (except\nbefore excepted) without benefit of clergy or sanctuary, as by the\nstatute doth appear. Among rogues and idle persons, finally, we find\nto be comprised all proctors that go up and down with counterfeit\nlicences, cozeners, and such as gad about the country, using unlawful\ngames, practisers of physiogonomy and palmestry, tellers of fortunes,\nfencers, players, minstrels, jugglers, pedlers, tinkers, pretended\nscholars, shipmen, prisoners gathering for fees, and others so oft as\nthey be taken without sufficient licence. From among which company our\nbearwards are not excepted, and just cause: for I have read that they\nhave, either voluntarily or for want of power to master their savage\nbeasts, been occasion of the death and devouration of many children in\nsundry countries by which they have passed, whose parents never knew\nwhat was become of them. And for that cause there is and have been\nmany sharp laws made for bearwards in Germany, whereof you may read in\nother. But to our rogues. Each one also that harboureth or aideth them\nwith meat or money is taxed and compelled to fine with the queen's\nmajesty for every time that he doth succour them as it shall please\nthe justices of peace to assign, so that the taxation exceed not\ntwenty, as I have been informed. And thus much of the poor and such\nprovision as is appointed for them within the realm of England.\n\n      [2] Law of the Marshal.--Furnivall.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nOF THE AIR AND SOIL AND COMMODITIES OF THIS ISLAND\n\n[1577, Book I., Chapter 13; 1587, Book I., Chapter 18.]\n\n\nThe air (for the most part) throughout the island is such as by\nreason in manner of continual clouds is reputed to be gross, and\nnothing so pleasant as that of the main. Howbeit, as they which\naffirm these things have only respect to the impediment or hindrance\nof the sunbeams by the interposition of the clouds and of ingrossed\nair, so experience teacheth us that it is no less pure, wholesome,\nand commodious than is that of other countries, and (as Caesar\nhimself hereto addeth) much more temperate in summer than that of the\nGauls, from whom he adventured hither. Neither is there any thing\nfound in the air of our region that is not usually seen amongst other\nnations lying beyond the seas. Wherefore we must needs confess that\nthe situation of our island (for benefit of the heavens) is nothing\ninferior to that of any country of the main, wheresoever it lie under\nthe open firmament. And this Plutarch knew full well, who affirmeth a\npart of the Elysian Fields to be found in Britain, and the isles that\nare situated about it in the ocean.\n\nThe soil of Britain is such as by the testimonies and reports both of\nthe old and new writers, and experience also of such as now inhabit\nthe same, is very fruitful, and such indeed as bringeth forth many\ncommodities, whereof other countries have need, and yet itself (if\nfond niceness were abolished) needless of those that are daily\nbrought from other places. Nevertheless it is more inclined to\nfeeding and grazing than profitable for tillage and bearing of corn,\nby reason whereof the country is wonderfully replenished with neat\nand all kind of cattle; and such store is there also of the same in\nevery place that the fourth part of the land is scarcely manured for\nthe provision and maintenance of grain. Certes this fruitfulness was\nnot unknown unto the Britons long before Caesar's time, which was the\ncause wherefore our predecessors living in those days in manner\nneglected tillage and lived by feeding and grazing only. The graziers\nthemselves also then dwelled in movable villages by companies, whose\ncustom was to divide the ground amongst them, and each one not to\ndepart from the place where his lot lay (a thing much like the Irish\nCriacht) till, by eating up of the country about him, he was enforced\nto remove further and seek for better pasture. And this was the\nBritish custom, as I learn, at first. It hath been commonly reported\nthat the ground of Wales is neither so fruitful as that of England,\nneither the soil of Scotland so bountiful as that of Wales, which is\ntrue for corn and for the most part; otherwise there is so good\nground in some parts of Wales as is in England, albeit the best of\nScotland be scarcely comparable to the mean of either of both.\nHowbeit, as the bounty of the Scotch doth fail in some respect, so\ndoth it surmount in other, God and nature having not appointed all\ncountries to yield forth like commodities.\n\nBut where our ground is not so good as we would wish, we have--if\nneed be--sufficient help to cherish our ground withal, and to make it\nmore fruitful. For, beside the compest that is carried out of the\nhusbandmen's yards, ditches, ponds, dung-houses, or cities and great\ntowns, we have with us a kind of white marl which is of so great\nforce that if it be cast over a piece of land but once in threescore\nyears it shall not need of any further compesting. Hereof also doth\nPliny speak (lib. 17, cap. 6, 7, 8), where he affirmeth that our marl\nendureth upon the earth by the space of fourscore years: insomuch\nthat it is laid upon the same but once in a man's life, whereby the\nowner shall not need to travel twice in procuring to commend and\nbetter his soil. He calleth it _marga_, and, making divers kinds\nthereof, he finally commendeth ours, and that of France, above all\nother, which lieth sometime a hundred foot deep, and far better than\nthe scattering of chalk upon the same, as the Hedui and Pictones did\nin his time, or as some of our days also do practise: albeit divers\ndo like better to cast on lime, but it will not so long endure, as I\nhave heard reported.\n\nThere are also in this island great plenty of fresh rivers and\nstreams, as you have heard already, and these thoroughly fraught with\nall kinds of delicate fish accustomed to be found in rivers. The\nwhole isle likewise is very full of hills, of which some (though not\nvery many) are of exceeding height, and divers extending themselves\nvery far from the beginning; as we may see by Shooter's Hill, which,\nrising east of London and not far from the Thames, runneth along the\nsouth side of the island westward until it come to Cornwall. Like\nunto these also are the Crowdon Hills, which, though under divers\nnames (as also the other from the Peak), do run into the borders of\nScotland. What should I speak of the Cheviot Hills, which reach\ntwenty miles in length? of the Black Mountains in Wales, which go\nfrom ([1]) to ([1]) miles at the least in length? of the Clee Hills\nin Shropshire, which come within four miles of Ludlow, and are\ndivided from some part of Worcester by the Leme? of the Crames in\nScotland, and of our Chiltern, which are eighteen miles at the least\nfrom one end of them, which reach from Henley in Oxfordshire to\nDunstable in Bedfordshire, and are very well replenished with wood\nand corn, notwithstanding that the most part yield a sweet short\ngrass, profitable for sheep? Wherein albeit they of Scotland do\nsomewhat come behind us, yet their outward defect is inwardly\nrecompensed, not only with plenty of quarries (and those of sundry\nkinds of marble, hard stone, and fine alabaster), but also rich mines\nof metal, as shall be shewed hereafter.\n\n      [1] Here lacks.--H.\n\nIn this island the winds are commonly more strong and fierce than in\nany other places of the main (which Cardane also espied): and that is\noften seen upon the naked hills not guarded with trees to bear and\nkeep it off. That grievous inconvenience also enforceth our nobility,\ngentry, and communality to build their houses in the valleys, leaving\nthe high grounds unto their corn and cattle, lest the cold and stormy\nblasts of winter should breed them greater annoyance; whereas in other\nregions each one desireth to set his house aloft on the hill, not only\nto be seen afar off, and cast forth his beams of stately and curious\nworkmanship into every quarter of the country, but also (in hot\nhabitations) for coldness sake of the air, sith the heat is never so\nvehement on the hill-top as in the valley, because the reverberation\nof the sun's beams either reacheth not so far as the highest, or else\nbecometh not so strong as when it is reflected upon the lower soil.\n\nBut to leave our buildings unto the purposed place (which\nnotwithstanding have very much increased, I mean for curiosity and\ncost, in England, Wales, and Scotland, within these few years) and to\nreturn to the soil again. Certainly it is even now in these our days\ngrown to be much more fruitful than it hath been in times past. The\ncause is for that our countrymen are grown to be more painful,\nskilful, and careful through recompense of gain, than heretofore they\nhave been: insomuch that my _synchroni_ or time fellows can reap at\nthis present great commodity in a little room; whereas of late years\na great compass hath yielded but small profit, and this only through\nthe idle and negligent occupation of such as daily manured and had\nthe same in occupying. I might set down examples of these things out\nof all the parts of this island--that is to say, many of England,\nmore out of Scotland, but most of all out of Wales; in which two last\nrehearsed, very other little food and livelihood was wont to be\nlooked for (beside flesh) more than the soil of itself and the cow\ngave, the people in the meantime living idly, dissolutely, and by\npicking and stealing one from another. All which vices are now (for\nthe most part) relinquished, so that each nation manureth her own\nwith triple commodity to that it was before time.\n\nThe pasture of this island is according to the nature and bounty of\nthe soil, whereby in most places it is plentiful, very fine, batable,\nand such as either fatteth our cattle with speed or yieldeth great\nabundance of milk and cream whereof the yellowest butter and finest\ncheese are made. But where the blue clay aboundeth (which hardly\ndrinketh up the winter's water in long season) there the grass is\nspeary, rough, and very apt for bushes: by which occasion it becometh\nnothing so profitable unto the owner as the other. The best pasture\nground of all England is in Wales, and of all the pasture in Wales\nthat of Cardigan is the chief. I speak of the same which is to be\nfound in the mountains there, where the hundredth part of the grass\ngrowing is not eaten, but suffered to rot on the ground, whereby the\nsoil becometh matted and divers bogs and quickmoors made withal in\nlong continuance: because all the cattle in the country are not able\nto eat it down. If it be accounted good soil on which a man may lay a\nwand over night and on the morrow find it hidden and overgrown with\ngrass, it is not hard to find plenty thereof in many places of this\nland. Nevertheless such is the fruitfulness of the aforesaid county\nthat it far surmounteth this proportion, whereby it may be compared\nfor batableness with Italy, which in my time is called the paradise\nof the world, although by reason of the wickedness of such as dwell\ntherein it may be called the sink and drain of hell; so that whereas\nthey were wont to say of us that our land is good but our people\nevil, they did but only speak it; whereas we know by experience that\nthe soil of Italy is a noble soil, but the dwellers therein far off\nany virtue or goodness.\n\nOur meadows are either bottoms (whereof we have great store, and\nthose very large, because our soil is hilly) or else such as we call\nland meads, and borrowed from the best and fattest pasturages. The\nfirst of them are yearly and often overflown by the rising of such\nstreams as pass through the same, or violent falls of land-waters,\nthat descend from the hills about them. The other are seldom or never\noverflown, and that is the cause wherefore their grass is shorter\nthan that of the bottoms, and yet is it far more fine, wholesome, and\nbatable, sith the hay of our low meadows is not only full of sandy\ncinder, which breedeth sundry diseases in our cattle, but also more\nrowty, foggy, and full of flags, and therefore not so profitable for\nstore and forrage as the higher meads be. The difference furthermore\nin their commodities is great; for, whereas in our land meadows we\nhave not often above one good load of hay, or peradventure a little\nmore in an acre of ground (I use the word _carrucata_, or _carruca_,\nwhich is a wain load, and, as I remember, used by Pliny, lib. 33,\ncap. 2), in low meadows we have sometimes three, but commonly two or\nupwards, as experience hath oft confirmed.\n\nOf such as are twice mowed I speak not, sith their later math is not\nso wholesome for cattle as the first; although in the mouth more\npleasant for the time: for thereby they become oftentimes to be\nrotten, or to increase so fast in blood, that the garget and other\ndiseases do consume many of them before the owners can seek out any\nremedy, by phlebotomy or otherwise. Some superstitious fools suppose\nthat they which die of the garget are ridden with the nightmare, and\ntherefore they hang up stones which naturally have holes in them, and\nmust be found unlooked for; as if such a stone were an apt cockshot\nfor the devil to run through and solace himself withal, while the\ncattle go scot-free and are not molested by him! But if I should set\ndown but half the toys that superstition hath brought into our\nhusbandmen's heads in this and other behalf, it would ask a greater\nvolume than is convenient for such a purpose, wherefore it shall\nsuffice to have said thus much of these things.\n\nThe yield of our corn-ground is also much after this rate following.\nThroughout the land (if you please to make an estimate thereof by the\nacre) in mean and indifferent years, wherein each acre of rye or\nwheat, well tilled and dressed, will yield commonly sixteen or twenty\nbushels, an acre of barley six-and-thirty bushels, of oats and such\nlike four or five quarters, which proportion is notwithstanding oft\nabated toward the north, as it is oftentimes surmounted in the south.\nOf mixed corn, as peas and beans, sown together, tares and oats\n(which they call bulmong), rye and wheat (named miscelin), here is no\nplace to speak, yet their yield is nevertheless much after this\nproportion, as I have often marked. And yet is not this our great\nfoison comparable to that of hotter countries of the main. But, of\nall that I ever read, the increase which Eldred Danus writeth of in\nhis _De imperie Judaeorum in Aethiopia_ surmounteth, where he saith\nthat in the field near to the Sabbatike river, called in old time\nGosan, the ground is so fertile that every grain of barley growing\ndoth yield an hundred kernels at the least unto the owner.\n\nOf late years also we have found and taken up a great trade in\nplanting of hops, whereof our moory hitherto and unprofitable grounds\ndo yield such plenty and increase that there are few farmers or\noccupiers in the country which have not gardens and hops growing of\ntheir own, and those far better than do come from Flanders unto us.\nCertes the corruptions used by the Flemings, and forgery daily\npractised in this kind of ware, gave us occasion to plant them here\nat home; so that now we may spare and send many over unto them. And\nthis I know by experience, that some one man by conversion of his\nmoory grounds into hopyards, whereof before he had no commodity, doth\nraise yearly by so little as twelve acres in compass two hundred\nmarks--all charges borne towards the maintenance of his family. Which\nindustry God continue! though some secret friends of Flemings let not\nto exclaim against this commodity, as a spoil of wood, by reason of\nthe poles, which nevertheless after three years do also come to the\nfire, and spare their other fuel.\n\nThe cattle which we breed are commonly such as for greatness of bone,\nsweetness of flesh, and other benefits to be reaped by the same, give\nplace unto none other; as may appear first by our oxen, whose\nlargeness, height, weight, tallow, hides, and horns are such as none\nof any other nation do commonly or may easily exceed them. Our sheep\nlikewise, for good taste of flesh, quantity of limbs, fineness of\nfleece, caused by their hardness of pasturage and abundance of\nincrease (for in many places they bring forth two or three at an\ncaning), give no place unto any, more than do our goats, who in like\nsort do follow the same order, and our deer come not behind. As for\nour conies, I have seen them so fat in some soils, especially about\nMeall and Disnege, that the grease of one being weighed hath peised\nvery near six or seven ounces. All which benefits we first refer to\nthe grace and goodness of God, and next of all unto the bounty of our\nsoil, which he hath endued with so notable and commodious\nfruitfulness.\n\nBut, as I mean to intreat of these things more largely hereafter, so\nwill I touch in this place one benefit which our nation wanteth, and\nthat is wine, the fault whereof is not in our soil, but the\nnegligence of our countrymen (especially of the south parts), who do\nnot inure the same to this commodity, and which by reason of long\ndiscontinuance is now become inapt to bear any grapes almost for\npleasure and shadow, much less then the plain fields or several\nvineyards for advantage and commodity. Yet of late time some have\nessayed to deal for wine (as to your lordship also is right well\nknown). But sith that liquor, when it cometh to the drinking, hath\nbeen found more hard than that which is brought from beyond the sea,\nand the cost of planting and keeping thereof so chargeable that they\nmay buy it far better cheap from other countries, they have given\nover their enterprises without any consideration that, as in all\nother things, so neither the ground itself in the beginning, nor\nsuccess of their travel, can answer their expectation at the first,\nuntil such time as the soil be brought as it were into acquaintance\nwith this commodity, and that provision may be made for the more\neasiness of charge to be employed upon the same.\n\nIf it be true that where wine doth last and endure well there it will\ngrow no worse, I muse not a little wherefore the planting of vines\nshould be neglected in England. That this liquor might have grown in\nthis island heretofore, first the charter that Probus the Emperor\ngave equally to us, the Gauls, and Spaniards, is one sufficient\ntestimony. And that it did grow here (beside the testimony of Beda,\nlib. 1., cap. 1) the old notes of tithes for wine that yet remain in\nthe accounts of some parsons and vicars in Kent, elsewhere, besides\nthe records of sundry suits, commenced in divers ecclesiastical\ncourts, both in Kent, Surrey, etc., also the enclosed parcels almost\nin every abbey yet called the vineyards, may be a notable witness, as\nalso the plot which we now call East Smithfield in London, given by\nCanutus, sometime king of this land, with other soil thereabout, unto\ncertain of his knights, with the liberty of a Guild which thereof was\ncalled Knighton Guild. The truth is (saith John Stow, our countryman\nand diligent traveller in the old estate of this my native city) that\nit is now named Portsoken Ward, and given in time past to the\nreligious house within Aldgate. Howbeit first Otwell, the archovel,\nOtto, and finally Geffrey Earl of Essex, constables of the of London,\nwithheld that portion from the said house until the reign of King\nStephen, and thereof made a vineyard to their great commodity and\nlucre. The Isle of Ely also was in the first times of the Normans\ncalled Le Ile des Vignes. And good record appeareth that the bishop\nthere had yearly three or four tun at the least given him _nomine\ndecim\u00e6_, beside whatsoever over-sum of the liquor did accrue to him\nby leases and other excheats whereof also I have seen mention.\nWherefore our soil is not to be blamed, as though our nights were so\nexceeding short that in August and September the moon, which is lady\nof moisture and chief ripener of this liquor, cannot in any wise\nshine long enough upon the same: a very mere toy and fable, right\nworthy to be suppressed, because experience convinceth the upholders\nthereof even in the Rhenish wines.\n\nThe time hath been also that woad, wherewith our countrymen dyed\ntheir faces (as C\u00e6sar saith), that they might seem terrible to their\nenemies in the field (and also women and their daughters-in-law did\nstain their bodies and go naked, in that pickle, to the sacrifices of\ntheir gods, coveting to resemble therein the Ethiopians, as Pliny\nsaith, [lib. 22, cap. 1]), and also madder have been (next unto our\ntin and wools) the chief commodities and merchandise of this realm, I\nfind also that rape oil hath been made within this land. But now our\nsoil either will not, or at the leastwise may not, bear either woad\nor madder. I say not that the ground is not able so to do, but that\nwe are negligent, afraid of the pilling of our grounds, and careless\nof our own profits, as men rather willing to buy the same of others\nthan take any pain to plant them here at home. The like I may say of\nflax, which by law ought to be sown in every country town in England,\nmore or less; but I see no success of that good and wholesome law;\nsith it is rather contemptuously rejected than otherwise dutifully\nkept in any place in England.\n\nSome say that our great number of laws do breed a general negligence\nand contempt of all good order, because we have so many that no\nsubject can live without the transgression of some of them, and that\nthe often alteration of our ordinances doth much harm in this\nrespect, which (after Aristotle) doth seem to carry some reason\nwithal, for (as Cornelius Gallus hath)--\n\n  _\"Eventus varios res nova semper habet.\"_[1]\n\n      [1] \"An innovation, has always mixed effects.\"\n\nBut very many let not to affirm that the greedy corruption of the\npromoters on the one side, facility in dispensing with good laws and\nfirst breach of the same in the lawmakers and superiors and private\nrespects of their establishment on the other, are the greatest causes\nwhy the inferiors regard no good order, being always so ready to\noffend without any faculty one way as they are otherwise to presume\nupon the examples of their betters when any hold is to be taken. But\nas in these things I have no skill, so I wish that fewer licences for\nthe private commodity but of a few were granted (not that thereby I\ndeny the maintenance of the prerogative royal, but rather would with\nall my heart that it might be yet more honourably increased), and\nthat every one which by fee'd friendship (or otherwise) doth attempt\nto procure ought from the prince that may profit but few and prove\nhurtful to many might be at open assizes and sessions denounced enemy\nto his country and commonwealth of the land.\n\nGlass also hath been made here in great plenty before, and in the\ntime of the Romans; and the said stuff also, beside fine scissors,\nshears, collars of gold and silver for women's necks, cruises and\ncups of amber, were a parcel of the tribute which Augustus in his\ndays laid upon this island. In like sort he charged the Britons with\ncertain implements and vessels of ivory (as Strabo saith); whereby it\nappeareth that in old time our countrymen were far more industrious\nand painful in the use and application of the benefits of their\ncountry than either after the coming of the Saxons or Normans, in\nwhich they gave themselves more to idleness and following of the\nwars.\n\nIf it were requisite that I should speak of the sundry kinds of mould,\nas the cledgy, or clay, whereof are divers sorts (red, blue, black,\nand white), also the red or white sandy, the loamy, roselly, gravelly,\nchalky, or black, I could say that there are so many divers veins in\nBritain as elsewhere in any quarter of like quantity in the world.\nHowbeit this I must need confess, that the sand and clay do bear great\nsway: but clay most of all, as hath been and yet is always seen and\nfelt through plenty and dearth of corn. For if this latter (I mean the\nclay) do yield her full increase (which it doth commonly in dry years\nfor wheat), then is there general plenty: whereas if it fail, then\nhave we scarcity, according to the old rude verse set down of England,\nbut to be understood of the whole island, as experience doth confirm--\n\n  \"_When the sand doth serve the clay,\n  Then may we sing well-away;\n  But when the clay doth serve the sand,\n  Then is it merry with England_.\"\n\nI might here intreat of the famous valleys in England, of which one\nis called the Vale of White Horse, another of Evesham (commonly taken\nfor the granary of Worcestershire), the third of Aylesbury, that\ngoeth by Thame, the roots of Chiltern Hills, to Dunstable, Newport\nPagnel, Stony Stratford, Buckingham, Birstane Park, etc. Likewise of\nthe fourth, of Whitehart or Blackmoor in Dorsetshire. The fifth, of\nRingdale or Renidale, corruptly called Kingtaile, that lieth (as mine\nauthor saith) upon the edge of Essex and Cambridgeshire, and also the\nMarshwood Vale: but, forsomuch as I know not well their several\nlimits, I give over to go any further in their description. In like\nsort it should not be amiss to speak of our fens, although our\ncountry be not so full of this kind of soil as the parts beyond the\nseas (to wit, Narbonne, etc.), and thereto of other pleasant bottoms,\nthe which are not only endued with excellent rivers and great store\nof corn and fine fodder for neat and horses in time of the year\n(whereby they are exceeding beneficial unto their owners), but also\nof no small compass and quantity in ground. For some of our fens are\nwell known to be either of ten, twelve, sixteen, twenty, or thirty\nmiles in length, that of the Girwies yet passing all the rest, which\nis full sixty (as I have often read). Wherein also Ely, the famous\nisle, standeth, which is seven miles every way, and whereunto there\nis no access but by three causies, whose inhabitants in like sort by\nan old privilege may take wood, sedge turf, etc., to burn, likewise\nhay for their cattle and thatch for their houses of custom, and each\noccupier in his appointed quantity throughout the isle; albeit that\ncovetousness hath now begun somewhat to abridge this large\nbenevolence and commodity, as well in the said isle as most other\nplaces of this land.\n\nFinally, I might discourse in like order of the large commons, laid\nout heretofore by the lords of the soil for the benefit of such poor\nas inhabit within the compass of their manors. But, as the true\nintent of the givers is now in most places defrauded, insomuch that\nnot the poor tenants inhabitating upon the same, but their landlords,\nhave all the commodity and gain. Wherefore I mean not at this present\nto deal withal, but reserve the same wholly unto the due place,\nwhilst I go forward with the rest, setting down nevertheless by the\nway a general commendation of the whole island, which I find in an\nancient monument, much unto this effect--\n\n  \"Illa quidem long\u00e8 celebris splendore, beata,\n  Glebis, lacte, favis, supereminet insula cunctis,\n  Quas regit ille Deus, spumanti cujus ab oro\n  Proffuit oceanus,\" etc.\n\nAnd a little after--\n\n  \"Testis Lundoniurntibus, Wintonia Baccho,\n  Herefordia grege, Worcestria frugeredundans,\n  Batha lacu, Salabyra feris, Cantuarin pisce,\n  Eboraca sylvis, Excestria clara metallis,\n  Norwicum Dacis hybernis, Cestria Gallis,\n  Cicestrum Norwagenis, Dunelmia pr\u00e6pinguia,\n  Testis Lincolnia gens infinita decore,\n  Testis Ell formosa situ, Doncastria visu,\" etc.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nOF SUNDRY MINERALS AND METALS\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapters 16 and 18; 1587, Book III., Chapters\n10 and 11.]\n\n\nWith how great benefits this island of ours hath been endued from the\nbeginning I hope there is no godly man but will readily confess, and\nyield unto the Lord God his due honour for the same. For we are\nblessed every way, and there is no temporal commodity necessary to be\nhad or craved by any nation at God's hand that he hath not in most\nabundant manner bestowed upon us Englishmen, if we could see to use\nit, and be thankful for the same. But alas! (as said in the chapter\nprecedent) we love to enrich them that care not for us, but for our\ngreat commodities: and one trifling toy not worth the carriage,\ncoming (as the proverb saith) in three ships from beyond the sea, is\nmore worth with us than a right good jewel easy to be had at home.\nThey have also the cast to teach us to neglect our own things; for,\nif they see that we begin to make any account of our commodities (if\nit be so that they have also the like in their own countries) they\nwill suddenly abase the same to so low a price that our gain not\nbeing worthy our travel, and the same commodity with less cost ready\nto be had at home from other countries (though but for a while), it\ncauseth us to give over our endeavours and as it were by-and-by to\nforget the matter whereabout we went before, to obtain them at their\nhands. And this is the only cause wherefore our commodities are oft\nso little esteemed of. Some of them can say, without any teacher,\nthat they will buy the case of a fox of an Englishman for a groat,\nand make him afterwards give twelve pence for the tail. Would to God\nwe might once wax wiser, and each one endeavour that the commonwealth\nof England may nourish again in her old rate, and that our\ncommodities may be fully wrought at home (as cloth if you will for an\nexample) and not carried out to be shorn and dressed abroad, while\nour clothworkers here do starve and beg their bread, and for lack of\ndaily practice utterly neglect to be skilful in this science! But to\nmy purpose.\n\nWe have in England great plenty of quicksilver, antimony, sulphur,\nblack lead, and orpiment red and yellow. We have also the finest alum\n(wherein the diligence of one of the greatest favourers of the\ncommonwealth of England of a subject[1] hath been of late egregriously\nabused, and even almost with barbarous incivility) and of no less\nforce against fire, if it were used in our parietings, than that of\nLipari, which only was in use sometime amongst the Asians and Romans\nand whereof Sylla had such trial that when he meant to have burned a\ntower of wood erected by Archelaus, the lieutenant of Mithridates, he\ncould by no means set it on fire in a long time, because it was washed\nover with alum, as were also the gates of the temple of Jerusalem with\nlike effect, and perceived when Titus commanded fire to be put unto\nthe same. Besides this, we have also the natural cinnabarum or\nvermillion, the sulphurous glebe called bitumen in old time, for\nmortar, and yet burned in lamps where oil is scant and geson; the\nchrysocolla, copperas, and mineral stone, whereof petriolum is made,\nand that which is most strange, the mineral pearl, which as they are\nfor greatness and colour most excellent of all other, so are they\ndigged out of the main land and in sundry places far distant from the\nshore. Certes the western part of the land hath in times past greatly\nabounded with these and many other rare and excellent commodities, but\nnow they are washed away by the violence of the sea, which hath\ndevoured the greatest part of Cornwall and Devonshire on either side;\nand it doth appear yet by good record that, whereas now there is a\ngreat distance between the Scilly Isles and the point of the Land's\nEnd, there was of late years to speak of scarcely a brook or drain of\none fathom water between them, if so much, as by those evidences\nappeareth, and are yet to be seen in the hands of the lord and chief\nowner of those isles. But to proceed.\n\n      [1] The Lord Mountjoy.--H.\n\nOf coal-mines we have such plenty in the north and western parts of\nour island as may suffice for all the realm of England; and so must\nthey do hereafter indeed, if wood be not better cherished than it is\nat this present. And so say the truth, notwithstanding that very many\nof them are carried into other countries of the main, yet their\ngreatest trade beginneth now to grow from the forge into the kitchen\nand hall, as may appear already in most cities and towns that lie\nabout the coast, where they have but little other fuel except it be\nturf and hassock. I marvel not a little that there is no trade of\nthese into Sussex and Southamptonshire, for want thereof the smiths\ndo work their iron with charcoal. I think that far carriage be the\nonly cause, which is but a slender excuse to enforce us to carry them\ninto the main from hence.\n\nBesides our coal-mines, we have pits in like sort of white plaster,\nand of fat and white and other coloured marble, wherewith in many\nplaces the inhabitors do compest their soil, and which doth benefit\ntheir land in ample manner for many years to come. We have saltpetre\nfor our ordinance and salt soda for our glass, and thereto in one\nplace a kind of earth (in Southery; as I ween, hard by Codington, and\nsometime in the tenure of one Croxton of London) which is so fine to\nmake moulds for goldsmiths and casters of metal, that a load of it\nwas worth five shillings thirty years ago; none such again they say\nin England. But whether there be or not, let us not be unthankful to\nGod, for these and other his benefits bestowed upon us, whereby he\nsheweth himself a loving and merciful father unto us, which\ncontrariwise return unto him in lieu of humility and obedience\nnothing but wickedness, avarice, mere contempt of his will, pride,\nexcess, atheism, and no less than Jewish ingratitude.[2]\n\n      [2] Here ends the chapter entitled \"Minerals,\" and the one\n      on \"Metals\" begins.--W.\n\nAll metals receive their beginning of quicksilver and sulphur, which\nare as mother and father to them. And such is the purpose of nature in\ntheir generations that she tendeth always to the procreation of gold;\nnevertheless she seldom reacheth unto that her end, because of the\nunequal mixture and proportion of these two in the substance\nengendered, whereby impediment and corruption is induced, which as it\nis more or less doth shew itself in the metal that is produced....\n\nAnd albeit that we have no such abundance of these (as some other\ncountries do yield), yet have my rich countrymen store enough of both\nin their purses, where in time past they were wont to have least,\nbecause the garnishing of our churches, tabernacles, images, shrines,\nand apparel of the priests consumed the greatest part, as experience\nhath confirmed.\n\nOf late my countrymen have found out I wot not what voyage into the\nWest Indies, from whence they have brought some gold, whereby our\ncountry is enriched; but of all that ever adventured into those\nparts, none have sped better than Sir Francis Drake, whose success\n(1582) hath far passed even his own expectation. One John Frobisher\nin like manner, attempting to seek out a shorter cut by the northerly\nregions into the peaceable sea and kingdom of Cathay, happened (1577)\nupon certain islands by the way, wherein great plenty of much gold\nappeared, and so much that some letted not to give out for certainty\nthat Solomon had his gold from thence, wherewith he builded the\ntemple. This golden shew made him so desirous also of like success\nthat he left off his former voyage and returned home to bring news of\nsuch things as he had seen. But, when after another voyage it was\nfound to be but dross, he gave over both the enterprises, and now\nkeepeth home without any desire at all to seek into far countries. In\ntruth, such was the plenty of ore there seen and to be had that, if\nit had holden perfect, might have furnished all the world with\nabundance of that metal; the journey also was short and performed in\nfour or five months, which was a notable encouragement. But to\nproceed.\n\nTin and lead, metals which Strabo noteth in his time to be carried\nunto Marsilis from hence, as Diodorus also confirmeth, are very\nplentiful with us, the one in Cornwall, Devonshire, and elsewhere in\nthe north, the other in Derbyshire, Weredale, and sundry places of\nthis island; whereby my countrymen do reap no small commodity, but\nespecially our pewterers, who in times past employed the use of\npewter only upon dishes, pots, and a few other trifles for service\nhere at home, whereas now they are grown unto such exquisite cunning\nthat they can in manner imitate by infusion any form or fashion of\ncup, dish, salt bowl, or goblet, which is made by goldsmiths' craft,\nthough they be never so curious, exquisite, and artificially forged.\nSuch furniture of household of this metal as we commonly call by the\nname of _vessel_ is sold usually by the garnish, which doth contain\ntwelve platters, twelve dishes, twelve saucers, and those are either\nof silver fashion or else with broad or narrow brims, and bought by\nthe pound, which is now valued at six or seven pence, or peradventure\nat eight pence. Of porringers, pots, and other like, I speak not,\nalbeit that in the making of all these things there is such exquisite\ndiligence used, I mean for the mixture of the metal and true making\nof this commodity (by reason of sharp laws provided in that behalf),\nas the like is not to be found in any other trade. I have been also\ninformed that it consisteth of a composition which hath thirty pounds\nof kettle brass to a thousand pounds of tin, whereunto they add three\nor four pounds of tin-glass; but as too much of this doth make the\nstuff brickle, so the more the brass be, the better is the pewter,\nand more profitable unto him that doth buy and purchase the same. But\nto proceed.\n\nIn some places beyond the sea a garnish of good flat English pewter\nof an ordinary making (I say flat, because dishes and platters in my\ntime begin to be made deep like basins, and are indeed more\nconvenient both for sauce, broth, and keeping the meat warm) is\nesteemed almost so precious as the like number of vessels that are\nmade of fine silver, and in manner no less desired amongst the great\nestates, whose workmen are nothing so skilful in that trade as ours,\nneither their metal so good, nor plenty so great, as we have here in\nEngland. The Romans made excellent looking-glasses of our English\ntin, howbeit our workmen were not then so exquisite in that feat as\nthe Brundusians, wherefore the wrought metal was carried over unto\nthem by way of merchandise, and very highly were those glasses\nesteemed of till silver came generally in place, which in the end\nbrought the tin into such contempt that in manner every dishwasher\nrefused to look in other than silver glasses for the attiring of her\nhead. Howbeit the making of silver glasses had been in use before\nBritain was known unto the Romans, for I read that one Praxiteles\ndevised them in the young time of Pompey, which was before the coming\nof Caesar into this island.\n\nThere were mines of lead sometimes also in Wales, which endured so\nlong till the people had consumed all their wood by melting of the\nsame (as they did also at Comeriswith, six miles from Stradfleur),\nand I suppose that in Pliny's time the abundance of lead (whereof he\nspeaketh) was to be found in those parts, in the seventeenth of his\nthirty-fourth book; also he affirmeth that it lay in the very sward\nof the earth, and daily gotten in such plenty that the Romans made a\nrestraint of the carriage thereof to Rome, limiting how much should\nyearly be wrought and transported over the sea.[3]\n\n      [3] Here follow two stories about crows and miners.--W.\n\nIron is found in many places, as in Sussex, Kent, Weredale, Mendip,\nWalshall, as also in Shropshire, but chiefly in the woods betwixt\nBelvos and Willock (or Wicberry) near Manchester, and elsewhere in\nWales. Of which mines divers do bring forth so fine and good stuff as\nany that cometh from beyond the sea, beside the infinite gains to the\nowners, if we would so accept it, or bestow a little more cost in the\nrefining of it. It is also of such toughness, that it yieldeth to the\nmaking of claricord wire in some places of the realm. Nevertheless, it\nwas better cheap with us when strangers only brought it hither; for it\nis our quality when we get any commodity to use it with extremity\ntowards our own nation, after we have once found the means to shut out\nforeigners from the bringing in of the like. It breedeth in like\nmanner great expense and waste of wood, as doth the making of our pots\nand table vessels of glass, wherein is much loss, sith it is so\nquickly broken; and yet (as I think) easy to be made tougher, if our\nalchemists could once find the true birth or production of the red\nman, whose mixture would induce a metallic toughness unto it, whereby\nit should abide the hammer.\n\nCopper is lately not found, but rather restored again to light. For I\nhave read of copper to have been heretofore gotten in our island;\nhowbeit as strangers have most commonly the governance of our mines,\nso they hitherto make small gains of this in hand in the north parts;\nfor (as I am informed) the profit doth very hardly countervail the\ncharges, whereat wise men do not a little marvel, considering the\nabundance which that mine doth seem to offer, and, as it were, at\nhand. Leland, our countryman, noteth sundry great likelihoods of\nnatural copper mines to be eastwards, as between Dudman and Trewardth,\nin the sea cliffs, beside other places, whereof divers are noted here\nand there in sundry places of this book already, and therefore it\nshall be but in vain to repeat them here again. As for that which is\ngotten out of the marchasite, I speak not of it, sith it is not\nincident to my purpose. In Dorsetshire also a copper mine lately found\nis brought to good perfection.\n\nAs for our steel, it is not so good for edge-tools as that of Cologne,\nand yet the one is often sold for the other, and like talc used in\nboth, that is to say, thirty gads to the sheaf, and twelve sheaves to\nthe burden.\n\nOur alchemy is artificial, and thereof our spoons and some salts are\ncommonly made and preferred before our pewter with some,[4] albeit in\ntruth it be much subject to corruption, putrefaction, more heavy and\nfoul to handle than our pewter; yet some ignorant persons affirm it to\nbe a metal more natural, and the very same which Encelius calleth\n_plumbum cincreum_, the Germans _wisemute, mithan_, and _counterfeie_,\nadding that where it groweth silver cannot be far off. Nevertheless it\nis known to be a mixture of brass, lead, and tin (of which this latter\noccupieth the one-half), but after another proportion than is used in\npewter. But alas, I am persuaded that neither the old Arabians nor new\nalchemists of our time did ever hear of it, albeit that the name\nthereof do seem to come out of their forge. For the common sort indeed\ndo call it alchemy, an unwholesome metal (God wot) and worthy to be\nbanished and driven out of the land. And thus I conclude with this\ndiscourse, as having no more to say of the metals of my country,\nexcept I should talk of brass, bell metal, and such as are brought\nover for merchandise from other countries; and yet I cannot but say\nthat there is some brass found also in England, but so small is the\nquantity that it is not greatly to be esteemed or accounted for.\n\n      [4] Some tell me that it is a mixture of brass, lead, and\n      tin.--H.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nOF CATTLE KEPT FOR PROFIT\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapter 8; 1587, Book III., Chapter 1.]\n\n\nThere is no kind of tame cattle usually to be seen in these parts of\nthe world whereof we have not some, and that great store, in England,\nas horses, oxen, sheep, goats, swine, and far surmounting the like in\nother countries, as may be proved with ease. For where are oxen\ncommonly made more large of bone, horses more decent and pleasant in\npace, kine more commodious for the pail, sheep more profitable for\nwool, swine more wholesome of flesh, and goats more gainful to their\nkeepers than here with us in England? But, to speak of them\npeculiarly, I suppose that our kine are so abundant in yield of milk,\nwhereof we make our butter and cheese, as the like any where else, and\nso apt for the plough in divers places as either our horses or oxen.\nAnd, albeit they now and then twin, yet herein they seem to come short\nof that commodity which is looked for in other countries, to wit, in\nthat they bring forth most commonly but one calf at once. The gains\nalso gotten by a cow (all charges borne) hath been valued at twenty\nshillings yearly; but now, as land is enhanced, this proportion of\ngain is much abated, and likely to decay more and more, if ground\narise to be yet dearer--which God forbid, if it be His will and\npleasure. I heard of late of a cow in Warwickshire, belonging to\nThomas Breuer of Studley, which in six years had sixteen calves, that\nis four at once in three calvings and twice twins, which unto many may\nseem a thing incredible. In like manner our oxen are such as the like\nare not to be found in any country of Europe, both for greatness of\nbody and sweetness of flesh or else would not the Roman writers have\npreferred them before those of Liguria. In most places our graziers\nare now grown to be so cunning that if they do but see an ox or\nbullock, and come to the feeling of him, they will give a guess at his\nweight, and how many score or stone of flesh and tallow he beareth,\nhow the butcher may live by the sale, and what he may have for the\nskin and tallow, which is a point of skill not commonly practised\nheretofore. Some such graziers also are reported to ride with velvet\ncoats and chains of gold about them and in their absence their wives\nwill not let to supply those turns with no less skill than their\nhusbands: which is a hard work for the poor butcher, sith he through\nthis means can seldom be rich or wealthy by his trade. In like sort\nthe flesh of our oxen and kine is sold both by hand and by weight as\nthe buyer will; but in young ware rather by weight especially for the\nsteer and heifer, sith the finer beef is the lightest, whereas the\nflesh of bulls and old kine, etc., is of sadder substance, and\ntherefore much heavier as it lieth in the scale. Their horns also are\nknown to be more fair and large in England than in any other places,\nexcept those which are to be seen among the Paeones, which quality,\nalbeit that it be given to our breed generally by nature, yet it is\nnow and then helped also by art. For, when they be very young, many\ngraziers will oftentimes anoint their budding horns or tender tips\nwith honey, which mollifieth the natural hardness of that substance,\nand thereby maketh them to grow unto a notable greatness. Certes it is\nnot strange in England to see oxen whose horns have the length of a\nyard or three feet between the tips, and they themselves thereto so\ntall as the height of a man of mean and indifferent stature is scarce\nequal unto them. Nevertheless it is much to be lamented that our\ngeneral breed of cattle is not better looked unto; for the greatest\noccupiers wean least store, because they can buy them (as they say)\nfar better cheap than to raise and bring them up. In my time a cow\nhath risen from four nobles to four marks by this means, which\nnotwithstanding were no great price if they did yearly bring forth\nmore than one calf a piece, as I hear they do in other countries.\n\nOur horses, moreover, are high, and, although not commonly of such\nhuge greatness as in other places of the main, yet, if you respect the\neasiness of their pace, it is hard to say where their like are to be\nhad. Our land doth yield no asses, and therefore we want the\ngeneration also of mules and somers, and therefore the most part of\nour carriages is made by these, which, remaining stoned, are either\nreserved for the cart or appointed to bear such burdens as are\nconvenient for them. Our cart or plough horses (for we use them\nindifferently) are commonly so strong that five or six of them (at the\nmost) will draw three thousand weight of the greatest tale with ease\nfor a long journey, although it be not a load of common usage, which\nconsisteth only of two thousand, or fifty foot of timber, forty\nbushels of white salt, or six-and-thirty of bay, of five quarters of\nwheat, experience daily teacheth, and I have elsewhere remembered.\nSuch as are kept also for burden will carry four hundredweight\ncommonly without any hurt or hindrance. This furthermore is to be\nnoted, that our princes and the nobility have their carriage commonly\nmade by carts, whereby it cometh to pass that when the queen's majesty\ndoth remove from any one place to another, there are usually 400\ncarewares, which amount to the sum of 2400 horses, appointed out of\nthe countries adjoining, whereby her carriage is conveyed safely unto\nthe appointed place. Hereby also the ancient use of somers and sumpter\nhorses is in manner utterly relinquished, which causeth the trains of\nour princes in their progresses to shew far less than those of the\nkings of other nations.\n\nSuch as serve for the saddle are commonly gelded, and now grew to be\nvery dear among us, especially if they be well coloured, justly\nlimbed, and have thereto an easy ambling pace. For our countrymen,\nseeking their ease in every corner where it is to be had, delight very\nmuch in those qualities, but chiefly in their excellent paces, which,\nbesides that it is in manner peculiar unto horses of our soil, and not\nhurtful to the rider or owner sitting on their backs, it is moreover\nvery pleasant and delectable in his ears, in that the noise of their\nwell-proportioned pace doth yield comfortable sound as he travelleth\nby the way. Yet is there no greater deceit used anywhere than among\nour horsekeepers, horsecoursers, and hostlers; for such is the subtle\nknavery of a great sort of them (without exception of any of them be\nit spoken which deal for private gain) that an honest-meaning man\nshall have very good luck among them if he be not deceived by some\nfalse trick or other.\n\nThere are certain notable markets wherein great plenty of horses and\ncolts is bought and sold, and whereunto such as have need resort\nyearly to buy and make their necessary provision of them, as Ripon,\nNewport Pond, Wolfpit, Harboro', and divers others. But, as most\ndrovers are very diligent to bring great store of these unto those\nplaces, so many of them are too too lewd in abusing such as buy them.\nFor they have a custom, to make them look fair to the eye, when they\ncome within two days' journey of the market to drive them till they\nsweat, and for the space of eight or twelve hours, which, being done,\nthey turn them all over the backs into some water, where they stand\nfor a season, and then go forward with them to the place appointed,\nwhere they make sale of their infected ware, and such as by this means\ndo fall into many diseases and maladies. Of such outlandish horses as\nare daily brought over unto us I speak not, as the jennet of Spain,\nthe courser of Naples, the hobby of Ireland, the Flemish roile and the\nScottish nag, because that further speech of them cometh not within\nthe compass of this treatise, and for whose breed and maintenance\n(especially of the greatest sort) King Henry the Eighth erected a\nnoble studdery, and for a time had very good success with them, till\nthe officers, waxing weary, procured a mixed brood of bastard races,\nwhereby his good purpose came to little effect. Sir Nicholas Arnold of\nlate hath bred the best horses in England, and written of the manner\nof their production: would to God his compass of ground were like to\nthat of Pella in Syria, wherein the king of that nation had usually a\nstuddery of 30,000 mares and 300 stallions, as Strabo doth remember,\nlib. 16. But to leave this, let us see what may be said of sheep.\n\nOur sheep are very excellent, sith for sweetness of flesh they pass\nall other. And so much are our wools to be preferred before those of\nMilesia and other places that if Jason had known the value of them\nthat are bred and to be had in Britain he would never have gone to\nColchis to look for any there. For, as Dionysius Alexandrinus saith in\nhis _De situ Orbis_, it may by spinning be made comparable to the\nspider's web. What fools then are our countrymen, in that they seek to\nbereave themselves of this commodity by practising daily how to\ntransfer the same to other nations, in carrying over their rams and\newes to breed and increase among them! The first example hereof was\ngiven under Edward the Fourth, who, not understanding the bottom of\nthe suit of sundry tra\u00edtorous merchants that sought a present gain\nwith the perpetual hindrance of their country licensed them to carry\nover certain numbers of them into Spain, who, having licence but for a\nfew, shipped very many: a thing practised in other commodities also,\nwhereby the prince and his land are not seldom times defrauded. But\nsuch is our nature, and so blind are we indeed, that we see no\ninconvenience before we feel it; and for a present gain we regard not\nwhat damage may ensue to our posterity. Hereto some other man would\nadd also the desire that we have to benefit other countries and to\nimpeach our own. And it is, so sure as God liveth, that every trifle\nwhich cometh from beyond the sea, though it be not worth threepence,\nis more esteemed than a continual commodity at home with us, which far\nexceedeth that value. In time past the use of this commodity\nconsisteth (for the most part) in cloth and woolsteds; but now, by\nmeans of strangers succoured here from domestic persecution, the same\nhath been employed unto sundry other uses, as mockados, bays,\nvellures, grograines, etc., whereby the makers have reaped no small\ncommodity. It is furthermore to be noted, for the low countries of\nBelgie know it, and daily experience (notwithstanding the sharpness of\nour laws to the contrary) doth yet confirm it, that, although our rams\nand wethers do go thither from us never so well headed according to\ntheir kind, yet after they have remained there a while they cast there\ntheir heads, and from thenceforth they remain polled without any horns\nat all. Certes this kind of cattle is more cherished in England than\nstandeth well with the commodity of the commons or prosperity of\ndivers towns, whereof some are wholly converted to their feeding; yet\nsuch a profitable sweetness is their fleece, such necessity in their\nflesh, and so great a benefit in the manuring of barren soil with\ntheir dung and piss, that their superfluous members are the better\nborn withal. And there is never a husbandman (for now I speak not of\nour great sheepmasters, of whom some one man hath 20,000) but hath\nmore or less of this cattle feeding on his fallows and short grounds,\nwhich yield the finer fleece.\n\nNevertheless the sheep of our country are often troubled with the rot\n(as are our swine with the measles, though never so generally), and\nmany men are now and then great losers by the same; but, after the\ncalamity is over, if they can recover and keep their new stock sound\nfor seven years together, the former loss will easily be recompensed\nwith double commodity. Cardan writeth that our waters are hurtful to\nour sheep; howbeit this is but his conjecture, for we know that our\nsheep are infected by going to the water, and take the same as a sure\nand certain token that a rot hath gotten hold of them, their livers\nand lights being already distempered through excessive heat, which\nenforceth them the rather to seek unto the water. Certes there is no\nparcel of the main wherein a man shall generally find more fine and\nwholesome water than in England; and therefore it is impossible that\nour sheep should decay by tasting of the same. Wherefore the hindrance\nby rot is rather to be ascribed to the unseasonableness and moisture\nof the weather in summer, also their licking in of mildews, gossamire,\nrowtie fogs, and rank grass, full of superfluous juice, but especially\n(I say) to over moist weather, whereby the continual rain piercing\ninto their hollow fells soaketh forthwith into their flesh, which\nbringeth them to their baines. Being also infected, their first shew\nof sickness is their desire to drink, so that our waters are not unto\nthem _causa aegritudinis_, but _signum morbi_, whatsoever Cardan do\nmaintain to the contrary. There are (and peradventure no small babes)\nwhich are grown to be such good husbands that they can make account of\nevery ten kine to be clearly worth twenty pounds in common and\nindifferent years, if the milk of five sheep be daily added to the\nsame. But, as I wot not how true this surmise is, because it is no\npart of my trade, so I am sure hereof that some housewives can and do\nadd daily a less portion of ewe's milk unto the cheese of so many\nkine, whereby their cheese doth the longer abide moist and eateth more\nbrickle and mellow than otherwise it would.\n\nGoats we have plenty, and of sundry colours, in the west parts of\nEngland, especially in and towards Wales and amongst the rocky hills,\nby whom the owners do reap so small advantage: some also are cherished\nelsewhere in divers steeds, for the benefit of such as are diseased\nwith sundry maladies, unto whom (as I hear) their milk, cheese, and\nbodies of their young kids are judged very profitable, and therefore\ninquired for of many far and near. Certes I find among the writers\nthat the milk of a goat is next in estimation to that of the woman,\nfor that it helpeth the stomach, removeth oppilations and stoppings of\nthe liver, and looseth the belly. Some place also next unto it the\nmilk of the ewe, and thirdly that of the cow. But hereof I can shew no\nreason; only this I know, that ewe's milk is fulsome, sweet, and such\nin taste as (except such as are used unto it) no man will gladly yield\nto live and feed withal.\n\nAs for swine, there is no place that hath greater store, nor more\nwholesome in eating, than are these here in England, which\nnevertheless do never any good till they come to the table. Of these\nsome we eat green for pork, and other dried up into bacon to have it\nin more continuance. Lard we make some, though very little, because it\nis chargeable: neither have we such use thereof as is to be seen in\nFrance and other countries, sith we do either bake our meat with sweet\nsuet of beef or mutton and baste all our meat with sweet or salt\nbutter or suffer the fattest to baste itself by leisure. In champaign\ncountries they are kept by herds, and a hogherd appointed to attend\nand wait upon them, who commonly gathereth them together by his noise\nand cry, and leadeth them forth to feed abroad in the fields. In some\nplaces also women do scour and wet their clothes with their dung, as\nother do with hemlocks and nettles; but such is the savour of the\nclothes touched withal that I cannot abide to wear them on my body,\nmore than such as are scoured with the refuse soap, than the which (in\nmine opinion) there is none more unkindly savour.\n\nOf our tame boars we make brawn, which is a kind of meat not usually\nknown to strangers (as I take it), otherwise would not the swart\nRutters and French cooks, at the loss of Calais (where they found\ngreat store of this provision almost in every house), have attempted\nwith ridiculous success to roast, bake, broil, and fry the same for\ntheir masters, till they were better informed. I have heard moreover\nhow a nobleman of England not long since did send over a hogshead of\nbrawn ready soused to a Catholic gentleman of France, who, supposing\nit to be fish, reserved it till Lent, at which time he did eat thereof\nwith great frugality. Thereto he so well liked the provision itself\nthat he wrote over very earnestly, and with offer of great recompense,\nfor more of the same fish against the year ensuing; whereas if he had\nknown it to have been flesh he would not have touched it (I dare say)\nfor a thousand crowns without the pope's dispensation. A friend of\nmine also dwelling some time in Spain, having certain Jews at his\ntable, did set brawn before them, whereof they did eat very earnestly,\nsupposing it to be a kind of fish not common in those parts; but when\nthe goodman of the house brought in the head in pastime among them, to\nshew what they had eaten, they rose from the table, hied them home in\nhaste, each of them procuring himself to vomit, some by oil and some\nby other means, till (as they supposed) they had cleansed their\nstomachs of that prohibited food. With us it is accounted a great\npiece of service at the table from November until February be ended,\nbut chiefly in the Christmas time. With the same also we begin our\ndinners each day after other; and, because it is somewhat hard of\ndigestion, a draught of malvesey, bastard, or muscadel, is usually\ndrank after it, where either of them are conveniently to be had;\notherwise the meaner sort content themselves with their own drink,\nwhich at that season is generally very strong, and stronger indeed\nthan it is all the year beside. It is made commonly of the fore part\nof a tame boar, set up for the purpose by the space of a whole year or\ntwo, especially in gentlemen's houses (for the husbandmen and farmers\nnever frank them for their own use above three or four months, or half\na year at the most), in which time he is dieted with oats and peason,\nand lodged on the bare planks of an uneasy coat, till his fat be\nhardened sufficiently for their purpose: afterward he is killed,\nscalded, and cut out, and then of his former parts is our brawn made.\nThe rest is nothing so fat, and therefore it beareth the name of sowse\nonly, and is commonly reserved for the serving-man and hind, except it\nplease the owner to have any part thereof baked, which are then\nhandled of custom after this manner: the hinder parts being cut off,\nthey are first drawn with lard, and then sodden; being sodden, they\nare soused in claret wine and vinegar a certain space, and afterward\nbaked in pasties, and eaten of many instead of the wild boar, and\ntruly it is very good meat: the pestles may be hanged up a while to\ndry before they be drawn with lard, if you will, and thereby prove the\nbetter. But hereof enough, and therefore to come again unto our brawn.\nThe neck pieces, being cut off round, are called collars of brawn, the\nshoulders are named shilds, only the ribs retain the former\ndenomination, so that these aforesaid pieces deserve the name of\nbrawn: the bowels of the beast are commonly cast away because of their\nrankness, and so were likewise his stones, till a foolish fantasy got\nhold of late amongst some delicate dames, who have now found the means\nto dress them also with great cost for a dainty dish, and bring them\nto the board as a service among other of like sort, though not without\nnote of their desire to the provocation of fleshly lust which by this\ntheir fond curiosity is not a little revealed. When the boar is thus\ncut out each piece is wrapped up, either with bulrushes, ozier, peels,\ntape inkle,[1] or such like, and then sodden in a lead or caldron\ntogether, till they be so tender that a man may thrust a bruised rush\nor straw clean through the fat: which being done, they take it up and\nlay it abroad to cool. Afterward, putting it into close vessels, they\npour either good small ale or beer mingled with verjuice and salt\nthereto till it be covered, and so let it lie (now and then altering\nand changing the sousing drink lest it should wax sour) till occasion\nserve to spend it out of the way. Some use to make brawn of great\nbarrow hogs, and seethe them, and souse the whole as they do that of\nthe boar; and in my judgment it is the better of both, and more easy\nof digestion. But of brawn thus much, and so much may seem sufficient.\n\n      [1] Tape.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nOF WILD AND TAME FOWLS\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapters 9 and 11; 1587, Book III., Chapters\n2 and 5.]\n\n\nOrder requireth that I speak somewhat of the fowls also of England,\nwhich I may easily divide into the wild and tame; but, alas! such is\nmy small skill in fowls that, to say the truth, I can neither recite\ntheir numbers nor well distinguish one kind of them from another. Yet\nthis I have by general knowledge, that there is no nation under the\nsun which hath already in the time of the year more plenty of wild\nfowl than we, for so many kinds as our island doth bring forth, and\nmuch more would have if those of the higher soil might be spared but\none year or two from the greedy engines of covetous fowlers which set\nonly for the pot and purse. Certes this enormity bred great troubles\nin King John's days, insomuch that, going in progress about the tenth\nof his reign, he found little or no game wherewith to solace himself\nor exercise his falcons. Wherefore, being at Bristow in the Christmas\nensuing, he restrained all manner of hawking or taking of wild fowl\nthroughout England for a season, whereby the land within few years was\nthoroughly replenished again. But what stand I upon this impertinent\ndiscourse? Of such therefore as are bred in our land, we have the\ncrane, the bitter,[1] the wild and tame swan, the bustard, the heron,\ncurlew, snite, wildgoose, wind or doterell, brant, lark, plover (of\nboth sorts), lapwing, teal, widgeon, mallard, sheldrake, shoveller,\npeewitt, seamew, barnacle, quail (who, only with man, are subject to\nthe falling sickness), the knot, the oliet or olive, the dunbird,\nwoodcock, partridge, and pheasant, besides divers others, whose names\nto me are utterly unknown, and much more the taste of their flesh,\nwherewith I was never acquainted. But as these serve not at all\nseasons, so in their several turns there is no plenty of them wanting\nwhereby the tables of the nobility and gentry should seem at any time\nfurnished. But of all these the production of none is more marvellous,\nin my mind, than that of the barnacle, whose place of generation we\nhave sought ofttimes as far as the Orchades, whereas peradventure we\nmight have found the same nearer home, and not only upon the coasts of\nIreland, but even in our own rivers. If I should say how either these\nor some such other fowl not much unlike unto them have bred of late\ntimes (for their place of generation is not perpetual, but as\nopportunity serveth and the circumstances do minister occasion) in the\nThames mouth, I do not think that many will believe me; yet such a\nthing hath there been seen where a kind of fowl had his beginning upon\na short tender shrub standing near unto the shore, from whence, when\ntheir time came, they fell down, either into the salt water and lived,\nor upon the dry land and perished, as Pena the French herbarian hath\nalso noted in the very end of his herbal. What I, for mine own part,\nhave seen here by experience, I have already so touched upon in the\nchapter of islands, that it should be but time spent in vain to repeat\nit here again. Look therefore in the description of Man (or Manaw) for\nmore of these barnacles, as also in the eleventh chapter of the\ndescription of Scotland, and I do not doubt but you shall in some\nrespect be satisfied in the generation of these fowls. As for egrets,\npawpers, and such like, they are daily brought unto us from beyond the\nsea, as if all the fowl of our country could not suffice to satisfy\nour delicate appetites.\n\n      [1] The proper English name of the bird which vulgar acceptance\n      forces us to now call _bittern_.--W.\n\nOur tame fowl are such (for the most part) as are common both to us\nand to other countries, as cocks, hens, geese, ducks, peacocks of Ind,\npigeons, now a hurtful fowl by reason of their multitudes, and number\nof houses daily erected for their increase (which the boors of the\ncountry call in scorn almshouses, and dens of thieves, and such like),\nwhereof there is great plenty in every farmer's yard. They are kept\nthere also to be sold either for ready money in the open markets, or\nelse to be spent at home in good company amongst their neighbours\nwithout reprehension or fines. Neither are we so miserable in England\n(a thing only granted unto us by the especial grace of God and liberty\nof our princes) as to dine or sup with a quarter of a hen, or to make\nas great a repast with a cock's comb as they do in some other\ncountries; but, if occasion serve, the whole carcases of many capons,\nhens, pigeons, and such like do oft go to wrack, beside beef, mutton,\nveal, and lamb, all of which at every feast are taken for necessary\ndishes amongst the communalty of England.\n\nThe gelding of cocks, whereby capons are made, Is an ancient practice\nbrought in old time by the Romans when they dwelt here in this land;\nbut the gelding of turkeys or Indian peacocks is a newer device, and\ncertainly not used amiss, sith the rankness of that bird is very much\nabated thereby and the strong taste of the flesh is sundry wise\namended. If I should say that ganders grow also to be gelded, I\nsuppose that some will laugh me to scorn, neither have I tasted at any\ntime of such a fowl so served, yet have I heard it more than once to\nbe used in the country, where their geese are driven to the field like\nherds of cattle by a gooseherd, a boy also no less to be marvelled at\nthan the other. For, as it is rare to hear of a gelded gander, so is\nit strange to me to see or hear of geese to be led to the field like\nsheep; yet so it is, and their gooseherd carrieth a rattle of paper or\nparchment with him when he goeth about in the morning to gather his\ngoslings together, the noise whereof cometh no sooner to their ears\nthan they fall to gaggling, and hasten to go with him. If it happen\nthat the gates be not yet open, or that none of the house be stirring,\nit is ridiculous to see how they will peep under the doors, and never\nleave creaking and gaggling till they be let out unto him to overtake\ntheir fellows. With us, where I dwell, they are not kept in this sort,\nnor in many other places, neither are they kept so much for their\nbodies as their feathers. Some hold furthermore an opinion that in\nover rank soils their dung doth so qualify the batableness of the soil\nthat their cattle is thereby kept from the garget, and sundry other\ndiseases, although some of them come to their ends now and then by\nlicking up of their feathers. I might here make mention of other fowls\nproduced by the industry of man, as between the pheasant cock and\ndunghill hen, or between the pheasant and the ringdove, the peacock\nand the turkey hen, the partridge and the pigeon; but, sith I have no\nmore knowledge of these than what I have gotten by mine ear, I will\nnot meddle with them. Yet Cardan, speaking of the second sort, doth\naffirm it to be a fowl of excellent beauty. I would likewise intreat\nof other fowls which we repute unclean, as ravens, crows, pies,\nchoughs, rooks, kites, jays, ringtails, starlings, woodspikes,\nwoodnaws, etc.; but, sith they abound in all countries, though\nperadventure most of all in England (by reason of our negligence), I\nshall not need to spend any time in the rehearsal of them. Neither are\nour crows and choughs cherished of purpose to catch up the worms that\nbreed in our soils (as Polydor supposeth), sith there are no uplandish\ntowns but have (or should have) nets of their own in store to catch\nthem withal. Sundry acts of Parliament are likewise made for their\nutter destruction, as also the spoil of other ravenous fowls hurtful\nto poultry, conies, lambs, and kids, whose valuation of reward to him\nthat killeth them is after the head: a device brought from the Goths,\nwho had the like ordinance for the destruction of their white crows,\nand tale made by the beck, which killed both lambs and pigs. The like\norder is taken with us for our vermin as with them also for the\nrootage out of their wild beasts, saving that they spared their\ngreatest bears, especially the white, whose skins are by custom and\nprivilege reserved to cover those planchers whereupon their priests do\nstand at mass, lest he should take some unkind cold in such a long\npiece of work: and happy is the man that may provide them for him, for\nhe shall have pardon enough for that so religious an act, to last if he\nwill till doomsday do approach, and many thousands after. Nothing\ntherefore can be more unlikely to be true than that these noisome\ncreatures are nourished amongst us to devour our worms, which do not\nabound much more in England than elsewhere in other countries of the\nmain. It may be that some look for a discourse also of our other fowls\nin this place at my hand, as nightingales, thrushes, blackbirds,\nmavises, ruddocks, redstarts or dunocks, larks, tivits, kingfishers,\nbuntings, turtles (white or grey), linnets, bullfinches, goldfinches,\nwashtails, cherrycrackers, yellowhammers, fieldfares, etc.; but I\nshould then spend more time upon them than is convenient. Neither will\nI speak of our costly and curious aviaries daily made for the better\nhearing of their melody, and observation of their natures; but I cease\nalso to go any further in these things, having (as I think) said\nenough already of these that I have named.[2]...\n\n      [2] Here ends the first chapter of \"fowls,\" that which follows\n      being restricted to \"hawks and ravenous fowls.\"--W.\n\nI cannot make as yet any just report how many sorts of hawks are bred\nwithin this realm. Howbeit which of those that are usually had among\nus are disclosed within this land, I think it more easy and less\ndifficult to set down. First of all, therefore, that we have the eagle\ncommon experience doth evidently confirm, and divers of our rocks\nwhereon they breed, if speech did serve, could well declare the same.\nBut the most excellent eyrie of all is not much from Chester, at a\ncastle called Dinas Bren, sometime builded by Brennus, as our writers\ndo remember. Certes this castle is no great thing, but yet a pile\nsometime very strong and inaccessible for enemies, though now all\nruinous as many others are. It standeth upon a hard rock, in the side\nwhereof an eagle breedeth every year. This also is notable in the\noverthrow of her nest (a thing oft attempted), that he which goeth\nthither must be sure of two large baskets, and so provide to be let\ndown thereto, that he may sit in the one and be covered with the\nother: for otherwise the eagle would kill him and tear the flesh from\nhis bones with her sharp talons, though his apparel were never so\ngood. The common people call this fowl an erne; but, as I am ignorant\nwhether the word eagle and erne do shew any difference of sex, I mean\nbetween the male and the female, so we have great store of them. And,\nnear to the places where they breed, the commons complain of great\nharm to be done by them in their fields; for they are able to bear a\nyoung lamb or kid unto their nests, therewith to feed their young and\ncome again for more. I was once of the opinion that there was a\ndiversity of kind between the eagle and the erne, till I perceived\nthat our nation used the word erne in most places for the eagle. We\nhave also the lanner and the lanneret, the tersel and the goshawk, the\nmusket and the sparhawk, the jack and the hobby, and finally some\n(though very few) marleons. And these are all the hawks that I do hear\nas yet to be bred within this island. Howbeit, as these are not\nwanting with us, so are they not very plentiful: wherefore such as\ndelight in hawking do make their chief purveyance and provision for\nthe same out of Danske, Germany, and the eastern countries, from\nwhence we have them in great abundance and at excellent prices,\nwhereas at home and where they be bred they are sold for almost right\nnought, and usually brought to the markets as chickens, pullets, and\npigeons are with us, and there bought up to be eaten (as we do the\naforesaid fowl) almost of every man. It is said that the sparhawk\npryeth not upon the fowl in the morning, that she taketh over even,\nbut as loath to have double benefit by one seelie fowl doth let it go\nto make some shift for itself. But hereof as I stand in some doubt. So\nthis I find among the writers worthy the noting: that the sparhawk is\nenemy to young children, as is also the ape, but of the peacock she is\nmarvellously afraid, and so appalled that all courage and stomach for\na time is taken from her upon the sight thereof. But to proceed with\nthe rest. Of other ravenous birds we have also very great plenty, as\nthe buzzard, the kite, the ringtail, dunkite, and such as often annoy\nour country dames by spoiling of their young breeds of chickens,\nducks, and goslings, whereunto our very ravens and crows have learned\nalso the way: and so much are ravens given to this kind of spoil that\nsome idle and curious heads of set purpose have manned, reclaimed, and\nused them instead of hawks, when other could not be had. Some do\nimagine that the raven should be the vulture, and I was almost\npersuaded in times past to believe the same; but, finding of late, a\ndescription of the vulture, which better agreeth with the form of a\nsecond kind of eagle, I freely surcease to be longer of that opinion:\nfor, as it hath, after a sort, the shape, colour, and quantity of an\neagle, so are the legs and feet more hairy and rough, their sides\nunder their wings better covered with thick down (wherewith also their\ngorge or a part of their breast under their throats is armed, and not\nwith feathers) than are the like parts of the eagle, and unto which\nportraiture there is no member of the raven (who is almost black of\ncolour) that can have any resemblance: we have none of them in England\nto my knowledge; if we have, they go generally under the name of eagle\nor erne. Neither have we the pygargus or grip, wherefore I have no\noccasion to treat further. I have seen the carrion crows so cunning\nalso by their own industry of late that they have used to soar over\ngreat rivers (as the Thames for example) and, suddenly coming down,\nhave caught a small fish in their feet and gone away withal without\nwetting of their wings. And even at this present the aforesaid river\nis not without some of them, a thing (in my opinion) not a little to\nbe wondered at. We have also osprays, which breed with us in parks and\nwoods, whereby the keepers of the same do reap in breeding time no\nsmall commodity; for, so soon almost as the young are hatched, they\ntie them to the butt ends or ground ends of sundry trees, where the\nold ones, finding them, do never cease to bring fish unto them, which\nthe keepers take and eat from them, and commonly is such as is well\nfed or not of the worst sort. It hath not been my hap hitherto to see\nany of these fowl, and partly through mine own negligence; but I hear\nthat it hath one foot like a hawk, to catch hold withal, and another\nresembling a goose, wherewith to swim; but, whether it be so or not\nso, I refer the further search and trial thereof unto some other. This\nnevertheless is certain, that both alive and dead, yea even her very\noil, is a deadly terror to such fish as come within the wind of it.\nThere is no cause whereof I should describe the cormorant amongst\nhawks, of which some be black and many pied, chiefly about the Isle of\nEly, where they are taken for the night raven, except I should call\nhim a water hawk. But, sith such dealing is not convenient, let us now\nsee what may be said of our venomous worms, and how many kinds we have\nof them within our realm and country.[3]\n\n      [3] This on \"venomous beasts\" will be found included in the\n      \"savage beasts\" of the following.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nOF SAVAGE BEASTS AND VERMIN\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapters 7 and 12; 1587, Book III., Chapters\n4 and 6.]\n\n\nIt is none of the least blessings wherewith God hath endued this\nisland that it is void of noisome beasts, as lions, bears, tigers,\npardes, wolves, and such like, by means whereof our countrymen may\ntravel in safety, and our herds and flocks remain for the most part\nabroad in the field without any herdman or keeper.\n\nThis is chiefly spoken of the south and south-west parts of the\nisland. For, whereas we that dwell on this side of the Tweed may\nsafely boast of our security in this behalf, yet cannot the Scots do\nthe like in every point wherein their kingdom, sith they have grievous\nwolves and cruel foxes, beside some others of like disposition\ncontinually conversant among them, to the general hindrance of their\nhusbandmen, and no small damage unto the inhabitants of those\nquarters. The happy and fortunate want of these beasts in England is\nuniversally ascribed to the politic government of King Edgar.[1]...\n\n      [1] Here follows an account of the extermination of wolves,\n      and a reference to lions and wild bulls rampant in Scotland of\n      old.--W.\n\nOf foxes we have some, but no great store, and also badgers in our\nsandy and light grounds, where woods, furze, broom, and plenty of\nshrubs are to shroud them in when they be from their burrows, and\nthereunto warrens of conies at hand to feed upon at will. Otherwise in\nclay, which we call the cledgy mould, we seldom hear of any, because\nthe moisture and the toughness of the soil is such as will not suffer\nthem to draw and make their burrows deep. Certes, if I may freely say\nwhat I think, I suppose that these two kinds (I mean foxes and\nbadgers) are rather preserved by gentlemen to hunt and have pastime\nwithal at their own pleasures than otherwise suffered to live as not\nable to be destroyed because of their great numbers. For such is the\nscarcity of them here in England, in comparison of the plenty that is\nto be seen in other countries, and so earnestly are the inhabitants\nbent to root them out, that, except it had been to bear thus with the\nrecreations of their superiors in this behalf, it could not otherwise\nhave been chosen but that they should have been utterly destroyed by\nmany years agone.\n\nI might here intreat largely of other vermin, as the polecat, the\nminiver, the weasel, stote, fulmart, squirrel, fitchew, and such like,\nwhich Cardan includeth under the word _Mustela_: also of the otter,\nand likewise of the beaver, whose hinder feet and tail only are\nsupposed to be fish. Certes the tail of this beast is like unto a thin\nwhetstone, as the body unto a monstrous rat: as the beast also itself\nis of such force in the teeth that it will gnaw a hole through a thick\nplank, or shere through a double billet in a night; it loveth also the\nstillest rivers, and it is given to them by nature to go by flocks\nunto the woods at hand, where they gather sticks wherewith to build\ntheir nests, wherein their bodies lie dry above the water, although\nthey so provide most commonly that their tails may hang within the\nsame. It is also reported that their said tails are a delicate dish,\nand their stones of such medicinal force that (as Vertomannus saith)\nfour men smelling unto them each after other did bleed at the nose\nthrough their attractive force, proceeding from a vehement savour\nwherewith they are endued. There is greatest plenty of them in Persia,\nchiefly about Balascham, from whence they and their dried cods are\nbrought into all quarters of the world, though not without some\nforgery by such as provide them. And of all these here remembered, as\nthe first sorts are plentiful in every wood and hedgerow, so these\nlatter, especially the otter (for, to say the truth, we have not many\nbeavers, but only in the Teisie in Wales) is not wanting or to seek in\nmany, but most, streams and rivers of this isle; but it shall suffice\nin this sort to have named them, as I do finally the martern, a beast\nof the chase, although for number I worthily doubt whether that of our\nbeavers or marterns may be thought to be the less.\n\nOther pernicious beasts we have not, except you repute the great\nplenty of red and fallow deer whose colours are oft garled white and\nblack, all white or all black, and store of conies amongst the hurtful\nsort. Which although that of themselves they are not offensive at all,\nyet their great numbers are thought to be very prejudicial, and\ntherefore justly reproved of many, as are in like sort our huge flocks\nof sheep, whereon the greatest part of our soil is employed almost in\nevery place, and yet our mutton, wool, and felles never the better\ncheap. The young males which our fallow deer do bring forth are\ncommonly named according to their several ages: for the first year it\nis a fawn, the second a pricket, the third a sorel, the fourth a\nsoare, the fifth a buck of the first head, not bearing the name of a\nbuck till he be five years old: and from henceforth his age is\ncommonly known by his head or horns. Howbeit this notice of his years\nis not so certain but that the best woodman may now and then be\ndeceived in that account: for in some grounds a buck of the first head\nwill be as well headed as another in a high rowtie soil will be in the\nfourth. It is also much to be marvelled at that, whereas they do\nyearly mew and cast their horns, yet in fighting they never break off\nwhere they do grife or mew. Furthermore, in examining the condition of\nour red deer, I find that the young male is called in the first year a\ncalf, in the second a broket, the third a spay, the fourth a staggon\nor stag, the fifth a great stag, the sixth a hart, and so forth unto\nhis death. And with him in degree of venerie are accounted the hare,\nboar, and wolf. The fallow deer, as bucks and does, are nourished in\nparks, and conies in warrens and burrows. As for hares, they run at\ntheir own adventure, except some gentleman or other (for his pleasure)\ndo make an enclosure for them. Of these also the stag is accounted for\nthe most noble game, the fallow deer is the next, then the roe,\nwhereof we have indifferent store, and last of all the hare, not the\nleast in estimation, because the hunting of that seely beast is mother\nto all the terms, blasts, and artificial devices that hunters do use.\nAll which (notwithstanding our custom) are pastimes more meet for\nladies and gentlewomen to exercise (whatsoever Franciscus Patritius\nsaith to the contrary in his _Institution of a Prince_) than for men\nof courage to follow, whose hunting should practise their arms in\ntasting of their manhood, and dealing with such beasts as eftsoons\nwill turn again and offer them the hardest, rather than their horses'\nfeet which many times may carry them with dishonour from the\nfield.[2]...\n\n      [2] Here follows a discourse on ancient boar hunting, exalting\n      it above the degenerate sports of the day. This ends the\n      chapter on \"savage beasts.\"--W.\n\nIf I should go about to make any long discourse of venomous beasts or\nworms bred in England, I should attempt more than occasion itself\nwould readily offer, sith we have very few worms, but no beasts at\nall, that are thought by their natural qualities to be either venomous\nor hurtful. First of all, therefore, we have the adder (in our old\nSaxon tongue called an atter), which some men do not rashly take to be\nthe viper. Certes, if it be so, then is not the viper author of the\ndeath of her[3] parents, as some histories affirm, and thereto\nEncelius, a late writer, in his _De re Metallica_, lib. 3, cap. 38,\nwhere he maketh mention of a she adder which he saw in Sala, whose\nwomb (as he saith) was eaten out after a like fashion, her young ones\nlying by her in the sunshine, as if they had been earthworms.\nNevertheless, as he nameth them _viperas_, so he calleth the male\n_echis_. and the female _echidna_, concluding in the end that _echis_\nis the same serpent which his countrymen to this day call _ein atter_,\nas I have also noted before out of a Saxon dictionary. For my part I\nam persuaded that the slaughter of their parents is either not true at\nall, or not always (although I doubt not but that nature hath right\nwell provided to inhibit their superfluous increase by some means or\nother), and so much the rather am I led hereunto for that I gather by\nNicander that of all venomous worms the viper only bringeth out her\nyoung alive, and therefore is called in Latin _vipera quasivivipara_,\nbut of her own death he doth not (to my remembrance) say anything. It\nis testified also by other in other words, and to the like sense, that\n\"_Echis id est vipera sola ex serpentibus non ova sed animalia\nparit_.\"[4] And it may well be, for I remember that I have read in\nPhilostratus, _De vita Appollonii_, how he saw a viper licking her\nyoung. I did see an adder once myself that lay (as I thought) sleeping\non a molehill, out of whose mouth came eleven young adders of twelve\nor thirteen inches in length apiece, which played to and fro in the\ngrass one with another, till some of them espied me. So soon therefore\nas they saw my face they ran again into the mouth of their dam, whom I\nkilled, and then found each of them shrouded in a distinct cell or\npannicle in her belly, much like unto a soft white jelly, which maketh\nme to be of the opinion that our adder is the viper indeed. The colour\nof their skin is for the most part like rusty iron or iron grey, but\nsuch as be very old resemble a ruddy blue; and as once in the year (to\nwit, in April or about the beginning of May) they cast their old skins\n(whereby as it is thought their age reneweth), so their stinging\nbringeth death without present remedy be at hand, the wounded never\nceasing to swell, neither the venom to work till the skin of the one\nbreak, and the other ascend upward to the heart, where it finisheth\nthe natural effect, except the juice of dragons (in Latin called\n_dracunculus minor_) be speedily ministered and drunk in strong ale,\nor else some other medicine taken of like force that may countervail\nand overcome the venom of the same. The length of them is most\ncommonly two feet, and somewhat more, but seldom doth it extend into\ntwo feet six inches, except it be in some rare and monstrous one,\nwhereas our snakes are much longer, and seen sometimes to surmount a\nyard, or three feet, although their poison be nothing so grievous and\ndeadly as the others. Our adders lie in winter under stones, as\nAristotle also saith of the viper (lib. 8, cap. 15), and in holes of\nthe earth, rotten stubs of trees, and amongst the dead leaves; but in\nthe heat of the summer they come abroad, and lie either round in heaps\nor at length upon some hillock, or elsewhere in the grass. They are\nfound only in our woodland countries and highest grounds, where\nsometimes (though seldom) a speckled stone called _echites_, in Dutch\n_ein atter stein_, is gotten out of their dried carcases, which divers\nreport to be good against their poison.[5] As for our snakes, which in\nLatin are properly named _angues_, they commonly are seen in moors,\nfens, loam, walls, and low bottoms.\n\n      [3] Galenus, _De Theriaca ad Pisonem_; Pliny, lib. 10, cap.\n      62.--H.\n\n      [4] \"The adder or viper alone among serpents brings forth not\n      eggs but living creatures.\"\n\n      [5] Sallust, cap. 40, Pliny, lib. 37, cap. 2.--H.\n\nAs we have great store of toads where adders commonly are found, so do\nfrogs abound where snakes do keep their residence. We have also the\nslow-worm, which is black and greyish of colour, and somewhat shorter\nthan an adder. I was at the killing once of one of them, and thereby\nperceived that she was not so called of any want of nimble motion, but\nrather of the contrary. Nevertheless we have a blind-worm, to be found\nunder logs, in woods and timber that hath lain long in a place, which\nsome also do call (and upon better ground) by the name of slow-worms,\nand they are known easily by their more or less variety of striped\ncolours, drawn long-ways from their heads, their whole bodies little\nexceeding a foot in length, and yet is their venom deadly. This also\nis not to be omitted; and now and then in our fenny countries other\nkinds of serpents are found of greater quantity than either our adder\nor our snake, but, as these are not ordinary and oft to be seen, so I\nmean not to intreat of them among our common annoyances. Neither have\nwe the scorpion, a plague of God sent not long since into Italy, and\nwhose poison (as Apollodorus saith) is white, neither the tarantula or\nNeapolitan spider, whose poison bringeth death, except music be at\nhand. Wherefore I suppose our country to be the more happy (I mean in\npart) for that it is void of these two grievous annoyances wherewith\nother nations are plagued.\n\nWe have also efts both of the land and water, and likewise the noisome\nswifts, whereof to say any more it would be but loss of time, sith\nthey are all well known, and no region to my knowledge found to be\nvoid of many of them. As for flies (sith it shall not be amiss a\nlittle to touch them also), we have none that can do hurt or hindrance\nnaturally unto any: for whether they be cut-waisted or whole-bodied,\nthey are void of poison and all venomous inclination. The cut or girt\nwaisted (for so I English the word _insecta_) are the hornets, wasps,\nbees, and such like, whereof we have great store, and of which an\nopinion is conceived that the first do breed of the corruption of dead\nhorses, the second of pears and apples corrupted, and the last of kine\nand oxen: which may be true, especially the first and latter in some\nparts of the beast, and not their whole substances, as also in the\nsecond, sith we have never wasps but when our fruit beginneth to wax\nripe. Indeed Virgil and others speak of a generation of bees by\nkilling or smothering a bruised bullock or calf and laying his bowels\nor his flesh wrapped up in his hide in a close house for a certain\nseason; but how true it is, hitherto I have not tried. Yet sure I am\nof this, that no one living creature corrupteth without the production\nof another, as we may see by ourselves, whose flesh doth alter into\nlice, and also in sheep for excessive numbers of flesh flies, if they\nbe suffered to lie unburied or uneaten by the dogs and swine, who\noften and happily present such needless generations.\n\nAs concerning bees, I think it good to remember that, whereas some\nancient writers affirm it to be a commodity wanting in our island, it\nis now found to be nothing so. In old times peradventure we had none\nindeed; but in my days there is such plenty of them in manner\neverywhere that in some uplandish towns there are one hundred or two\nhundred hives of them, although the said hives are not so huge as\nthose of the east country, but far less, and not able to contain above\none bushel of corn or five pecks at the most. Pliny (a man that of set\npurpose delighteth to write of wonders), speaking of honey, noteth\nthat in the north regions the hives in his time were of such quantity\nthat some one comb contained eight foot in length, and yet (as it\nshould seem) he speaketh not of the greatest. For in Podolia, which is\nnow subject to the King of Poland, their hives are so great, and combs\nso abundant, that huge boars, overturning and falling into them, are\ndrowned in the honey before they can recover and find the means to\ncome out.\n\nOur honey also is taken and reputed to be the best, because it is\nharder, better wrought, and cleanlier vesselled up, than that which\ncometh from beyond the sea, where they stamp and strain their combs,\nbees, and young blowings altogether into the stuff, as I have been\ninformed. In use also of medicine our physicians and apothecaries\neschew the foreign, especially that of Spain and Pontus, by reason of\na venomous quality naturally planted in the same, as some write, and\nchoose the home-made: not only by reason of our soil (which hath no\nless plenty of wild thyme growing therein than in Sicilia and about\nAthens, and maketh the best stuff) as also for that it breedeth (being\ngotten in harvest time) less choler, and which is oftentimes (as I\nhave seen by experience) so white as sugar, and corned as if it were\nsalt. Our hives are made commonly of rye straw and wattled about with\nbramble quarters; but some make the same of wicker, and cast them over\nwith clay. We cherish none in trees, but set our hives somewhere on\nthe warmest side of the house, providing that they may stand dry and\nwithout danger both of the mouse and the moth. This furthermore is to\nbe noted, that whereas in vessels of oil that which is nearest the top\nis counted the finest and of wine that in the middest, so of honey the\nbest which is heaviest and moistest is always next the bottom, and\nevermore casteth and driveth his dregs upward toward the very top,\ncontrary to the nature of other liquid substances, whose grounds and\nleeze do generally settle downwards. And thus much as by the way of\nour bees and English honey.\n\nAs for the whole-bodied, as the _cantharides_, and such venomous\ncreatures of the same kind, to be abundantly found in other countries,\nwe hear not of them: yet have we beetles, horseflies, turdbugs or dors\n(called in Latin _scarabei_), the locust or the grasshopper (which to\nme do seem to be one thing, as I will anon declare), and such like,\nwhereof let other intreat that make an exercise in catching of flies,\nbut a far greater sport in offering them to spiders, as did Domitian\nsometime, and another prince yet living who delighted so much to see\nthe jolly combats betwixt a stout fly and an old spider that divers\nmen have had great rewards given them for their painful provision of\nflies made only for this purpose. Some parasites also, in the time of\nthe aforesaid emperor (when they were disposed to laugh at his folly,\nand yet would seem in appearance to gratify his fantastical head with\nsome shew of dutiful demeanour), could devise to set their lord on\nwork by letting a flesh fly privily into his chamber, which he\nforthwith would eagerly have hunted (all other business set apart) and\nnever ceased till he had caught her into his fingers, wherewith arose\nthe proverb, \"_Ne musca quidem_\" uttered first by Vibius Priscus, who\nbeing asked whether anybody was with Domitian, answered \"_Ne musca\nquidem_\" whereby he noted his folly. There are some cockscombs here\nand there in England, learning it abroad as men transregionate, which\nmake account also of this pastime, as of a notable matter, telling\nwhat a sight is seen between them, if either of them be lusty and\ncourageous in his kind. One also hath made a book of the spider and\nthe fly, wherein he dealeth so profoundly, and beyond all measure of\nskill that neither he himself that made it nor any one that readeth it\ncan reach unto the meaning thereof. But if those jolly fellows,\ninstead of the straw that they must thrust into the fly's tail (a\ngreat injury no doubt to such a noble champion), would bestow the cost\nto set a fool's cap upon their own heads, then might they with more\nsecurity and less reprehension behold these notable battles.\n\nNow, as concerning the locust, I am led by divers of my country, who\n(as they say) were either in Germany, Italy, or Pannonia, 1542, when\nthose nations were greatly annoyed with that kind of fly, and affirm\nvery constantly that they saw none other creature than the grasshopper\nduring the time of that annoyance, which was said to come to them from\nthe Meotides. In most of our translations also of the Bible the word\n_locusta_ is Englished a grasshopper, and thereunto (Leviticus xi.) it\nis reputed among the clean food, otherwise John the Baptist would\nnever have lived with them in the wilderness. In Barbary, Numidia, and\nsundry other places of Africa, as they have been,[6] so are they eaten\nto this day powdered in barrels, and therefore the people of those\nparts are called _Acedophagi_: nevertheless they shorten the life of\nthe eaters, by the production at the last of an irksome and filthy\ndisease. In India they are three foot long, in Ethiopia much shorter,\nbut in England seldom above an inch. As for the cricket, called in\nLatin _cicada_, he hath some likelihood, but not very great, with the\ngrasshopper, and therefore he is not to be brought in as an umpire in\nthis case. Finally, Matthiolus and so many as describe the locust do\nset down none other form than that of our grasshopper, which maketh me\nso much the more to rest upon my former imagination, which is that the\nlocust and the grasshopper are one.\n\n      [6] See Diodorus Siculus.--H.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nOF OUR ENGLISH DOGS AND THEIR QUALITIES\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapter 13; 1587, Book III., Chapter 7.]\n\n\nThere is no country that may (as I take it) compare with ours in\nnumber, excellency, and diversity of dogs.\n\nThe first sort therefore he divideth either into such as rouse the\nbeast, and continue the chase, or springeth the bird, and bewrayeth\nher flight by pursuit. And as these are commonly called spaniels, so\nthe other are named hounds, whereof he maketh eight sorts, of which\nthe foremost excelleth in perfect smelling, the second in quick\nespying, the third in swiftness and quickness, the fourth in smelling\nand nimbleness, etc., and the last in subtlety and deceitfulness.\nThese (saith Strabo) are most apt for game, and called Sagaces by a\ngeneral name, not only because of their skill in hunting, but also for\nthat they know their own and the names of their fellows most exactly.\nFor if the hunter see any one to follow skilfully, and with likelihood\nof good success, he biddeth the rest to hark and follow such a dog,\nand they eftsoones obey so soon as they hear his name. The first kind\nof these are often called harriers, whose game is the fox, the hare,\nthe wolf (if we had any), hart, buck, badger, otter, polecat,\nlopstart, weasel, conie, etc.: the second height a terrier and it\nhunteth the badger and grey only: the third a bloodhound, whose office\nis to follow the fierce, and now and then to pursue a thief or beast\nby his dry foot: the fourth height a gazehound, who hunteth by the\neye: the fifth a greyhound, cherished for his strength and swiftness\nand stature, commended by Bratius in his _De Venatione_, and not\nunremembered by Hercules Stroza in a like treatise, and above all\nother those of Britain, where he saith: \"Magna spectandi mole\nBritanni;\" also by Nemesianus, libro Cynegetic\u00f3n, where he saith:\n\"Divisa Britannia mittit Veloces nostrique orbis venatibus aptos,\" of\nwhich sort also some be smooth, of sundry colours, and some\nshake-haired: the sixth a liemer, that excelleth in smelling and\nswift-running: the seventh a tumbler: and the eighth a thief whose\noffices (I mean of the latter two) incline only to deceit, wherein\nthey are oft so skilful that few men would think so mischievous a wit\nto remain in such silly creatures. Having made this enumeration of\ndogs which are apt for the chase and hunting, he cometh next to such\nas serve the falcons in their time, whereof he maketh also two sorts.\nOne that findeth his game on the land, another that putteth up such\nfowl as keepeth in the water: and of these this is commonly most usual\nfor the net or train, the other for the hawk, as he doth shew at\nlarge. Of the first he saith that they have no peculiar names assigned\nto them severally, but each of them is called after the bird which by\nnatural appointment he is alloted to hunt or serve, for which\nconsideration some be named dogs for the pheasant, some for the\nfalcon, and some for the partridge. Howbeit the common name for all is\nspaniel (saith he), and thereupon alluded as if these kinds of dogs\nhad been brought hither out of Spain. In like sort we have of water\nspaniels in their kind. The third sort of dogs of the gentle kind is\nthe spaniel gentle, or comforter, or (as the common term is) the\nfistinghound, and those are called Melitei, of the Island Malta, from\nwhence they were brought hither. These are little and pretty, proper\nand fine, and sought out far and near to falsify the nice delicacy of\ndainty dames, and wanton women's wills, instruments of folly to play\nand dally withal, in trifling away the treasure of time, to withdraw\ntheir minds from more commendable exercises, and to content their\ncorrupt concupiscences with vain disport--a silly poor shift to shun\ntheir irksome idleness. The Sybaritical puppies the smaller they be\n(and thereto if they have a hole in the fore parts of their heads) the\nbetter they are accepted, the more pleasure also they provoke, as meet\nplayfellows for mincing mistresses to bear in their bosoms, to keep\ncompany withal in their chambers, to succour with sleep in bed, and\nnourish with meat at board, to lie in their laps, and lick their lips\nas they lie (like young Dianas) in their waggons and coaches. And good\nreason it should be so, for coarseness with fineness hath no\nfellowship, but featness with neatness hath neighbourhood enough. That\nplausible proverb therefore versified sometime upon a tyrant--namely,\nthat he loved his sow better than his son--may well be applied to some\nof this kind of people, who delight more in their dogs, that are\ndeprived of all possibility of reason, than they do in children that\nare capable of wisdom and judgment. Yea, they oft feed them of the\nbest where the poor man's child at their doors can hardly come by the\nworst. But the former abuse peradventure reigneth where there hath\nbeen long want of issue, else where barrenness is the best blossom of\nbeauty: or, finally, where poor men's children for want of their own\nissue are not ready to be had. It is thought of some that it is very\nwholesome for a weak stomach to bear such a dog in the bosom, as it is\nfor him that hath the palsy to feel the daily smell and savour of a\nfox. But how truly this is affirmed let the learned judge: only it\nshall suffice for Doctor Caius to have said thus much of spaniels and\ndogs of the gentle kind.\n\nDogs of the homely kind are either shepherd's curs or mastiffs. The\nfirst are so common that it needeth me not to speak of them. Their use\nalso is so well known in keeping the herd together (either when they\ngrass or go before the shepherd) that it should be but in vain to\nspend any time about them. Wherefore I will leave this cur unto his\nown kind, and go in hand with the mastiff, tie dog, or band dog, so\ncalled because many of them are tied up in chains and strong bonds in\nthe daytime, for doing hurt abroad, which is a huge dog, stubborn,\nugly, eager, burthenous of body (and therefore of but little\nswiftness), terrible and fearful to behold, and oftentimes more fierce\nand fell than any Archadian or Corsican cur. Our Englishmen, to the\nextent that these dogs may be more cruel and fierce, assist nature\nwith some art, use, and custom. For although this kind of dog be\ncapable of courage, violent, valiant, stout, and bold: yet will they\nincrease these their stomachs by teaching them to bait the bear, the\nbull, the lion, and other such like cruel and bloody beasts (either\nbrought over or kept up at home for the same purpose), without any\ncollar to defend their throats, and oftentimes there too they train\nthem up in fighting and wrestling with a man (having for the safeguard\nof his life either a pikestaff, club, sword, privy coat), whereby they\nbecome the more fierce and cruel unto strangers. The Caspians make so\nmuch account sometimes of such great dogs that every able man would\nnourish sundry of them in his house of set purpose, to the end they\nshould devour their carcases after their deaths thinking the dog's\nbellies to be the most honourable sepulchres. The common people also\nfollowed the same rate, and therefore there were tie dogs kept up by\npublic ordinance, to devour them after their deaths: by means whereof\nthese beasts became the more eager, and with great difficulty after a\nwhile restrained from falling upon the living. But whither am I\ndigressed? In returning therefore to our own, I say that of mastiffs,\nsome bark only with fierce and open mouth but will not bite; but the\ncruelest do either not bark at all or bite before they bark, and\ntherefore are more to be feared than any of the other. They take also\ntheir name of the word \"mase\" and \"thief\" (or \"master-thief\" if you\nwill), because they often stound and put such persons to their shifts\nin towns and villages, and are the principal causes of their\napprehension and taking. The force which is in them surmounteth all\nbelief, and the fast hold which they take with their teeth exceedeth\nall credit: for three of them against a bear, four against a lion, are\nsufficient to try mastries with them. King Henry the Seventh, as the\nreport goeth, commanded all such curs to be hanged, because they durst\npresume to fight against the lion, who is their king and sovereign.\nThe like he did with an excellent falcon, as some say, because he\nfeared not hand-to-hand match with an eagle, willing his falconers in\nhis own presence to pluck off his head after he was taken down, saying\nthat it was not meet for any subject to offer such wrong unto his lord\nand superior, wherein he had a further meaning. But if King Henry the\nSeventh had lived in our time what would he have done to our English\nmastiff, which alone and without any help at all pulled down first a\nhuge bear, then a pard, and last of all a lion, each after other\nbefore the French king in one day, when the Lord Buckhurst was\nambassador unto him, and whereof if I should write the circumstances,\nthat is, how he took his advantage being let loose unto them, and\nfinally drave them into such exceeding fear, that they were all glad\nto run away when he was taken from them, I should take much pains, and\nyet reap but small credit: wherefore it shall suffice to have said\nthus much thereof. Some of our mastiffs will rage only in the night,\nsome are to be tied up both day and night. Such also as are suffered\nto go loose about the house and yard are so gentle in the daytime that\nchildren may ride on their backs and play with them at their\npleasures. Divers of them likewise are of such jealousy over their\nmaster and whosoever of his household, that if a stranger do embrace\nor touch any of them, they will fall fiercely upon them, unto their\nextreme mischief if their fury be not prevented. Such a one was the\ndog of Nichomedes, king sometime of Bithynia, who seeing Consigne the\nqueen to embrace and kiss her husband as they walked together in a\ngarden, did tear her all to pieces, maugre his resistance and the\npresent aid of such as attended on them. Some of them moreover will\nsuffer a stranger to come in and walk about the house or yard where he\nlisteth, without giving over to follow him: but if he put forth his\nhand to touch anything, then will they fly upon them and kill them if\nthey may. I had one myself once, which would not suffer any man to\nbring in his weapon further than my gate: neither those that were of\nmy house to be touched in his presence. Or if I had beaten any of my\nchildren, he would gently have essayed to catch the rod in his teeth\nand take it out of my hand or else pluck down their clothes to save\nthem from the stripes: which in my opinion is not unworthy to be\nnoted.\n\nThe last sort of dogs consisteth of the currish kind meet for many\ntoys, of which the whappet or prick-eared cur is one. Some men call\nthem warners, because they are good for nothing else but to bark and\ngive warning when anybody doth stir or lie in wait about the house in\nthe night season. Certes it is impossible to describe these curs in\nany order, because they have no one kind proper unto themselves, but\nare a confused company mixed of all the rest. The second sort of them\nare called turnspits, whose office is not unknown to any. And as these\nare only reserved for this purpose, so in many places our mastiffs\n(beside the use which tinkers have of them in carrying their heavy\nbudgets) are made to draw water in great wheels out of deep wells,\ngoing much like unto those which are framed for our turnspits, as is\nto be seen at Roiston, where this feat is often practised. Besides\nthese also we have sholts or curs daily brought out of Ireland, and\nmade much of among us, because of their sauciness and quarrelling.\nMoreover they bite very sore, and love candles exceedingly, as do the\nmen and women of their country; but I may say no more of them, because\nthey are not bred with us. Yet this will I make report of by the way,\nfor pastime's sake, that when a great man of those parts came of late\ninto one of our ships which went thither for fish, to see the form and\nfashion of the same, his wife apparelled in fine sables, abiding on\nthe deck whilst her husband was under the hatches with the mariners,\nespied a pound or two of candles hanging on the mast, and being loath\nto stand there idle alone, she fell to and eat them up every one,\nsupposing herself to have been at a jolly banquet, and shewing very\npleasant gesture when her husband came up again unto her.\n\nThe last kind of toyish curs are named dancers, and those being of a\nmongrel sort also, are taught and exercised to dance in measure at the\nmusical sound of an instrument, as at the just stroke of a drum, sweet\naccent of the citharne, and pleasant harmony of the harp, shewing many\ntricks by the gesture of their bodies: as to stand bolt upright, to\nlie flat on the ground, to turn round as a ring holding their tails in\ntheir teeth, to saw and beg for meat, to take a man's cap from his\nhead, and sundry such properties, which they learn of their idle\nroguish masters, whose instruments they are to gather gain, as old\napes clothed in motley and coloured short-waisted jackets are for the\nlike vagabonds, who seek no better living than that which they may get\nby fond pastime and idleness. I might here intreat of other dogs, as\nof those which are bred between a bitch and a wolf, also between a\nbitch and a fox, or a bear and a mastiff. But as we utterly want the\nfirst sort, except they be brought unto us: so it happeneth sometimes\nthat the other two are engendered and seen at home amongst us. But all\nthe rest heretofore remembered in this chapter there is none more ugly\nand odious in sight, cruel and fierce in deed, nor untractable in\nhand, than that which is begotten between the bear and the bandog. For\nwhatsoever he catcheth hold of he taketh it so fast that a man may\nsooner tear and rend his body in sunder than get open his mouth to\nseparate his chaps. Certes he regardeth neither wolf, bear, nor lion,\nand therefore may well be compared with those two dogs which were sent\nto Alexander out of India (and procreated as it is thought between a\nmastiff and a male tiger, as be those also of Hircania), or to them\nthat are bred in Archadia, where copulation is oft seen between lions\nand bitches, as the lion is in France (as I said) between she wolves\nand dogs, whereof let this suffice, sith the further tractation of\nthem doth not concern my purpose, more than the confutation of\nCardan's talk, _De subt._, lib. 10, who saith that after many\ngenerations dogs do become wolves, and contrariwise, which if it were\ntrue, then could not England be without many wolves: but nature hath\nset a difference between them, not only in outward form, but also\ninward disposition of their bones, whereof it is impossible that his\nassertion can be sound.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nOF THE NAVY OF ENGLAND\n\n[1577, Book II., Chapter 13; 1587, Book II., Chapter 17.]\n\n\nThere is nothing that hath brought me into more admiration of the\npower and force of antiquity than their diligence and care had of\ntheir navies: wherein, whether I consider their speedy building, or\ngreat number of ships which some one kingdom or region possessed at\none instant, it giveth me still occasion either to suspect the\nhistory, or to think that in our times we come very far behind\nthem.[1]...\n\n      [1] Here follows an account of Roman and Carthaginian galleys\n      which \"did not only match, but far exceed\" in capacity our ships\n      and galleys of 1587.--W.\n\nI must needs confess therefore that the ancient vessels far exceeded\nours for capacity, nevertheless if you regard the form, and the\nassurance from peril of the sea, and therewithal the strength and\nnimbleness of such as are made in our time, you shall easily find that\nours are of more value than theirs: for as the greatest vessel is not\nalways the fastest, so that of most huge capacity is not always the\naptest to shift and brook the seas: as might be seen by the _Great\nHenry_, the hugest vessel that ever England framed in our times.\nNeither were the ships of old like unto ours in mould and manner of\nbuilding above the water (for of low galleys in our seas we make small\naccount) nor so full of ease within, since time hath engendered more\nskill in the wrights, and brought all things to more perfection than\nthey had in the beginning. And now to come unto our purpose at the\nfirst intended.\n\nThe navy of England may be divided into three sorts, of which the one\nserveth for the wars, the other for burden, and the third for\nfishermen which get their living by fishing on the sea. How many of\nthe first order are maintained within the realm it passeth my cunning\nto express; yet, since it may be parted into the navy royal and common\nfleet, I think good to speak of those that belong unto the prince, and\nso much the rather, for that their number is certain and well known to\nvery many. Certainly there is no prince in Europe that hath a more\nbeautiful or gallant sort of ships than the queen's majesty of England\nat this present, and those generally are of such exceeding force that\ntwo of them, being well appointed and furnished as they ought, will\nnot let to encounter with three or four of those of other countries,\nand either bowge them or put them to flight, if they may not bring\nthem home.\n\nNeither are the moulds of any foreign barks so conveniently made, to\nbrook so well one sea as another lying upon the shore of any part of\nthe continent, as those of England. And therefore the common report\nthat strangers make of our ships amongst themselves is daily confirmed\nto be true, which is, that for strength, assurance, nimbleness, and\nswiftness of sailing, there are no vessels in the world to be compared\nwith ours. And all these are committed to the regiment and safe\ncustody of the admiral, who is so called (as some imagine) of the\nGreek word _almiros_, a captain on the sea; for so saith Zonaras in\n_Basilio Macedone_ and _Basilio Porphyriogenito_, though others fetch\nit from _ad mare_, the Latin words, another sort from _Amyras_, the\nSaracen magistrate, or from some French derivation: but these things\nare not for this place, and therefore I pass them over. The queen's\nhighness hath at this present (which is the four-and-twentieth of her\nreign) already made and furnished, to the number of four or\nfive-and-twenty great ships, which lie for the most part in Gillingham\nRoad, beside three galleys, of whose particular names and furniture\n(so far forth as I can come by them) it shall not be amiss to make\nreport at this time.\n\n_The names of so many ships belonging to her majesty as I could come\nby at this present_.\n\nThe Bonadventure.      White Bear.\nElizabeth Jonas.[2]    Philip and Mary.\nTriumph.               Aid.\nBull.                  Handmaid.\nTiger.[3]              Dreadnought.\nAntelope.              Swallow.\nHope.                  Genet.\nLion.                  Bark of Bullen.\nVictory.               Achates.\nMary Rose.             Falcon.\nForesight.             George.\nSwiftsure.             Revenge.\n\n      [2] A name devised by her grace in remembrance of her own\n      deliverance from the fury of her enemies, from which in one\n      respect she was no less miraculously preserved than was the\n      prophet Jonas from the belly of the whale.--H.\n\n      [3] So called of her exceeding nimbleness in sailing and\n      swiftness of course.--H.\n\nIt is said that as kings and princes have in the young days of the\nworld, and long since, framed themselves to erect every year a city in\nsome one place or other of their kingdom (and no small wonder that\nSardanapalus should begin and finish two, to wit, Anchialus and\nTarsus, in one day), so her grace doth yearly build one ship or other\nto the better defence of her frontiers from the enemy. But, as of this\nreport I have no assured certainty, so it shall suffice to have said\nso much of these things; yet this I think worthy further to be added,\nthat if they should all be driven to service at one instance (which\nGod forbid) she should have a power by sea of about nine or ten\nthousand men, which were a notable company, beside the supply of other\nvessels appertaining to her subjects to furnish up her voyage.\n\nBeside these, her grace hath other in hand also, of whom hereafter, as\ntheir turns do come about, I will not let to leave some further\nremembrance. She hath likewise three notable galleys: the Speedwell,\nthe Try Right, and the Black Galley, with the sight whereof, and the\nrest of the navy royal, it is incredible to say how greatly her grace\nis delighted: and not without great cause (I say) since by their means\nher coasts are kept in quiet, and sundry foreign enemies put back,\nwhich otherwise would invade us. The number of those that serve for\nburden with the other, whereof I have made mention already and whose\nuse is daily seen, as occasion serveth in time of the wars, is to me\nutterly unknown. Yet if the report of one record be anything at all to\nbe credited, there are one hundred and thirty-five ships that exceed\nfive hundred ton; topmen, under one hundred and above forty, six\nhundred and fifty-six; hoys, one hundred; but of hulks, catches,\nfisherboats, and crayers, it lieth not in me to deliver the just\naccount, since they are hard to come by. Of these also there are some\nof the queen's majesty's subjects that have two or three; some, four\nor six; and (as I heard of late) one man, whose name I suppress for\nmodesty's sake, hath been known not long since to have had sixteen or\nseventeen, and employed them wholly to the wafting in and out of our\nmerchants, whereby he hath reaped no small commodity and gain. I might\ntake occasion to tell of the notable and difficult voyages made into\nstrange countries by Englishmen, and of their daily success there; but\nas these things are nothing incident to my purpose, so I surcease to\nspeak of them. Only this will I add, to the end all men shall\nunderstand somewhat of the great masses of treasure daily employed\nupon our navy, how there are few of those ships, of the first and\nsecond sort, that, being apparelled and made ready to sail, are not\nworth one thousand pounds, or three thousand ducats at the least, if\nthey should presently be sold. What shall we think then of the\ngreater, but especially of the navy royal, of which some one vessel is\nworth two of the other, as the shipwrights have often told me? It is\npossible that some covetous person, hearing this report, will either\nnot credit it at all, or suppose money so employed to be nothing\nprofitable to the queen's coffers: as a good husband said once when he\nheard there should be a provision made for armour, wishing the queen's\nmoney to be rather laid out to some speedier return of gain unto her\ngrace, \"because the realm (saith he) is in case good enough,\" and so\nperadventure he thought. But if, as by store of armour for the defence\nof the country, he had likewise understanded that the good keeping of\nthe sea is the safeguard of our land, he would have altered his\ncensure, and soon given over his judgment. For in times past, when our\nnation made small account of navigation, how soon did the Romans, then\nthe Saxons, and last of all the Danes, invade this island? whose\ncruelty in the end enforced our countrymen, as it were even against\ntheir wills, to provide for ships from other places, and build at home\nof their own whereby their enemies were oftentimes distressed. But\nmost of all were the Normans therein to be commended. For, in a short\nprocess of time after the conquest of this island, and good\nconsideration had for the well-keeping of the same, they supposed\nnothing more commodious for the defence of the country than the\nmaintenance of a strong navy, which they speedily provided,\nmaintained, and thereby reaped in the end their wished security,\nwherewith before their times this island was never acquainted. Before\nthe coming of the Romans I do not read that we had any ships at all,\nexcept a few made of wicker and covered with buffalo hides, like unto\nwhich there are some to be seen at this present in Scotland (as I\nhear), although there be a little (I wot not well what) difference\nbetween them. Of the same also Solinus speaketh, so far as I remember:\nnevertheless it may be gathered from his words how the upper parts of\nthem above the water only were framed of the said wickers, and that\nthe Britons did use to fast all the whiles they went to the sea in\nthem; but whether it were done for policy or superstition, as yet I do\nnot read.\n\nIn the beginning of the Saxons' regiment we had some ships also; but\nas their number and mould was little, and nothing to the purpose, so\nEgbert was the first prince that ever thoroughly began to know this\nnecessity of a navy and use the service thereof in the defence of his\ncountry. After him also other princes, as Alfred, Edgar, Ethelred,\netc., endeavoured more and more to store themselves at the full with\nships of all quantities, but chiefly Edgar, for he provided a navy of\n1600 _ali\u00e0s_ 3600 sail, which he divided into four parts, and sent\nthem to abide upon four sundry coasts of the land, to keep the same\nfrom pirates. Next unto him (and worthy to be remembered) is Ethelred,\nwho made a law that every man that hold 310 hidelands should find a\nship furnished to serve him in the wars. Howbeit, as I said before,\nwhen all their navy was at the greatest, it was not comparable for\nforce and sure building to that which afterward the Normans provided,\nneither that of the Normans anything like to the same that is to be\nseen now in these our days. For the journeys also of our ships, you\nshall understand that a well-builded vessel will run or sail commonly\nthree hundred leagues or nine hundred miles in a week, or peradventure\nsome will go 2200 leagues in six weeks and a half. And surely, if\ntheir lading be ready against they come thither, there be of them that\nwill be here, at the West Indies, and home again in twelve or thirteen\nweeks from Colchester, although the said Indies be eight hundred\nleagues from the cape or point of Cornwall, as I have been informed.\nThis also I understand by report of some travellers, that, if any of\nour vessels happen to make a voyage to Hispaniola or New Spain (called\nin time past Quinquegia and Haiti), which lieth between the north\ntropic and the Equator, after they have once touched at the Canaries\n(which are eight days' sailing or two hundred and fifty leagues from\nSt. Lucas de Barameda, in Spain) they will be there in thirty or forty\ndays, and home again in Cornwall in other eight weeks, which is a\ngoodly matter, beside the safety and quietness in the passage, but\nmore of this elsewhere.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nOF SUNDRY KINDS OF PUNISHMENT APPOINTED FOR OFFENDERS\n\n[1577, Book III., Chapter 6; 1587, Book II., Chapter 11.]\n\n\nIn cases of felony, manslaughter, robbery, murder, rape, piracy, and\nsuch capital crimes as are not reputed for treason or hurt of the\nestate, our sentence pronounced upon the offender is, to hang till he\nbe dead. For of other punishments used in other countries we have no\nknowledge or use; and yet so few grievous crimes committed with us as\nelsewhere in the world. To use torment also or question by pain and\ntorture in these common cases with us is greatly abhorred, since we\nare found always to be such as despise death, and yet abhor to be\ntormented, choosing rather frankly to open our minds than to yield our\nbodies unto such servile haulings and tearings as are used in other\ncountries. And this is one cause wherefore our condemned persons do go\nso cheerfully to their deaths; for our nation is free, stout, haughty,\nprodigal of life and blood, as Sir Thomas Smith saith, lib. 2, cap.\n25, _De Republica_, and therefore cannot in any wise digest to be used\nas villains and slaves, in suffering continually beating, servitude,\nand servile torments. No, our gaolers are guilty of felony, by an old\nlaw of the land, if they torment any prisoner committed to their\ncustody for the revealing of his accomplices.\n\nThe greatest and most grievous punishment used in England for such as\noffend against the State is drawing from the prison to the place of\nexecution upon an hurdle or sled, where they are hanged till they be\nhalf dead, and then taken down, and quartered alive; after that, their\nmembers and bowels are cut from their bodies, and thrown into a fire,\nprovided near hand and within their own sight, even for the same\npurpose.\n\nSometimes, if the trespass be not the more heinous, they are suffered\nto hang till they be quite dead. And whensoever any of the nobility\nare convicted of high treason by their peers, that is to say, equals\n(for an inquest of yeomen passeth not upon them, but only of the lords\nof parliament), this manner of their death is converted into the loss\nof their heads only, notwithstanding that the sentence do run after\nthe former order. In trial of cases concerning treason, felony, or any\nother grievous crime not confessed, the party accused doth yield, if\nhe be a noble man, to be tried by an inquest (as I have said) and his\npeers; if a gentleman, by gentlemen; and an inferior, by God and by\nthe country, to wit, the yeomanry (for combat or battle is not greatly\nin use), and, being condemned of felony, manslaughter, etc., he is\neftsoons hanged by the neck till he be dead, and then cut down and\nburied. But if he be convicted of wilful murder, done either upon\npretended malice or in any notable robbery, he is either hanged alive\nin chains near the place where the fact was committed (or else upon\ncompassion taken, first strangled with a rope), and so continueth till\nhis bones consume to nothing. We have use neither of the wheel nor of\nthe bar, as in other countries; but, when wilful manslaughter is\nperpetrated, beside hanging, the offender hath his right hand commonly\nstricken off before or near unto the place where the act was done,\nafter which he is led forth to the place of execution, and there put\nto death according to the law.\n\nThe word felon is derived of the Saxon words _fell_ and _one_, that is\nto say, an evil and wicked one, a one of untameable nature and\nlewdness not to be suffered for fear of evil example and the\ncorruption of others. In like sort in the word _felony_ are many\ngrievous crimes contained, as breach of prison (Ann. I of Edward the\nSecond), disfigurers of the prince's liege people (Ann. 5 of Henry the\nFourth), hunting by night with painted faces and visors (Ann. I of\nHenry the Seventh), rape, or stealing of women and maidens (Ann. 3 of\nHenry Eight), conspiracies against the person of the prince (Ann. 3 of\nHenry the Seventh), embezzling of goods committed by the master to the\nservant above the value of forty shillings (Ann. 17 of Henry the\nEighth), carrying of horses or mares into Scotland (Ann. 23 of Henry\nEight), sodomy and buggery (Ann. 25 of Henry the Eighth), conjuring,\nforgery, witchcraft, and digging up of crosses (Ann. 33 of Henry\nEight), prophesying upon arms, cognisances, names, and badges (Ann. 33\nof Henry Eight), casting of slanderous bills (Ann. 37, Henry Eight),\nwilful killing by poison (Ann. 1 of Edward the Sixth), departure of a\nsoldier from the field (Ann. 2 of Edward the Sixth), diminution of\ncoin, all offences within case of premunire, embezzling of records,\ngoods taken from dead men by their servants, stealing of whatsoever\ncattle, robbing by the high way, upon the sea, or of dwelling houses,\nletting out of ponds, cutting of purses, stealing of deer by night,\ncounterfeits of coin, evidences charters, and writings, and divers\nother needless to be remembered. If a woman poison her husband, she is\nburned alive; if the servant kill his master, he is to be executed for\npetty treason; he that poisoneth a man is to be boiled to death in\nwater or lead, although the party die not of the practice; in cases of\nmurder, all the accessories are to suffer pains of death accordingly.\nPerjury is punished by the pillory, burning in the forehead with the\nletter P, the rewalting of the trees growing upon the grounds of the\noffenders, and loss of all his movables. Many trespasses also are\npunished by the cutting off of one or both ears from the head of the\noffender, as the utterance of seditious words against the magistrates,\nfraymakers, petty robbers, etc. Rogues are burned through the ears;\ncarriers of sheep out of the land, by the loss of their hands; such as\nkill by poison are either boiled or scalded to death in lead or\nseething water. Heretics are burned quick; harlots and their mates, by\ncarting, ducking, and doing of open penance in sheets in churches and\nmarket steeds, are often put to rebuke. Howbeit, as this is counted\nwith some either as no punishment at all to speak of, or but little\nregarded of the offenders, so I would with adultery and fornication to\nhave some sharper law. For what great smart is it to be turned out of\nhot sheet into a cold, or after a little washing in the water to be\nlet loose again unto their former trades? Howbeit the dragging of some\nof them over the Thames between Lambeth and Westminster at the tail of\na boat is a punishment that most terrifieth them which are condemned\nthereto; but this is inflicted upon them by none other than the knight\nmarshall, and that within the compass of his jurisdiction and limits\nonly. Canutus was the first that gave authority to the clergy to\npunish whoredom, who at that time found fault with the former laws as\nbeing too severe in this behalf. For, before the time of the said\nCanutus, the adulterer forfeited all his goods to the king and his\nbody to be at his pleasure; and the adulteress was to lose her eyes or\nnose, or both if the case were more than common: whereby it appears of\nwhat estimation marriage was amongst them, since the breakers of that\nholy estate were so grievously rewarded. But afterward the clergy\ndealt more favourably with them, shooting rather at the punishments of\nsuch priests and clerks as were married than the reformation of\nadultery and fornication, wherein you shall find no example that any\nseverity was shewed except upon such lay men as had defiled their\nnuns. As in theft therefore, so in adultery and whoredom, I would wish\nthe parties trespassing to be made bond or slaves unto those that\nreceived the injury, to sell and give where they listed, or to be\ncondemned to the galleys: for that punishment would prove more bitter\nto them than half-an-hour's hanging, or than standing in a sheet,\nthough the weather be never so cold.\n\nManslaughter in time past was punished by the purse, wherein the\nquantity or quality of the punishment was rated after the state and\ncalling of the party killed: so that one was valued sometime at 1200,\nanother at 600, or 200 shillings. And by a statute made under Henry\nthe First, a citizen of London at 100, whereof elsewhere I have spoken\nmore at large. Such as kill themselves are buried in the field with a\nstake driven through their bodies.\n\nWitches are hanged, or sometimes burned; but thieves are hanged (as I\nsaid before) generally on the gibbet or gallows, saving in Halifax,\nwhere they are beheaded after a strange manner, and whereof I find\nthis report. There is and has been of ancient time a law, or rather a\ncustom, at Halifax, that whosoever does commit any felony, and is taken\nwith the same, or confesses the fact upon examination, if it be valued\nby four constables to amount to the sum of thirteenpence-halfpenny, he\nis forthwith beheaded upon one of the next market days (which fall\nusually upon the Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays), or else upon the\nsame day that he is so convicted, if market be then holden. The engine\nwherewith the execution is done is a square block of wood of the\nlength of four feet and a half, which does ride up and down in a slot,\nrabbet, or regall, between two pieces of timber, that are framed and\nset upright, of five yards in height. In the nether end of the sliding\nblock is an axe, keyed or fastened with an iron into the wood, which\nbeing drawn up to the top of the frame is there fastened by a wooden\npin (with a notch made into the same, after the manner of a Samson's\npost), unto the midst of which pin also there is a long rope fastened\nthat cometh down among the people, so that, when the offender hath\nmade his confession and hath laid his neck over the nethermost block,\nevery man there present doth either take hold of the rope (or putteth\nforth his arm so near to the same as he can get, in token that he is\nwilling to see true justice executed), and, pulling out the pin in\nthis manner, the head-block wherein the axe is fastened doth fall down\nwith such a violence that, if the neck of the transgressor were as big\nas that of a bull, it should be cut in sunder at a stroke and roll\nfrom the body by a huge distance. If it be so that the offender be\napprehended for an ox, oxen, sheep, kine, horse, or any such cattle,\nthe self beast or other of the same kind shall have the end of the\nrope tied somewhere unto them, so that they, being driven, do draw out\nthe pin, whereby the offender is executed. Thus much of Halifax law,\nwhich I set down only to shew the custom of that country in this\nbehalf.\n\nRogues and vagabonds are often stocked and whipped; scolds are ducked\nupon cucking-stools in the water. Such felons as stand mute, and speak\nnot at their arraignment, are pressed to death by huge weights laid\nupon a board, that lieth over their breast, and a sharp stone under\ntheir backs; and these commonly held their peace, thereby to save\ntheir goods unto their wives and children, which, if they were\ncondemned, should be confiscated to the prince. Thieves that are saved\nby their books and clergy, for the first offence, if they have stolen\nnothing else but oxen, sheep, money, or such like, which be no open\nrobberies, as by the highway side, or assailing of any man's house in\nthe night, without putting him in fear of his life, or breaking up his\nwalls or doors, are burned in the left hand, upon the brawn of the\nthumb, with a hot iron, so that, if they be apprehended again, that\nmark betrayeth them to have been arraigned of felony before, whereby\nthey are sure at that time to have no mercy. I do not read that this\ncustom of saving by the book is used anywhere else than in England;\nneither do I find (after much diligent enquiry) what Saxon prince\nordained that law. Howbeit this I generally gather thereof, that it\nwas devised to train the inhabitants of this land to the love of\nlearning, which before contemned letters and all good knowledge, as\nmen only giving themselves to husbandry and the wars: the like whereof\nI read to have been amongst the Goths and Vandals, who for a time\nwould not suffer even their princes to be learned, for weakening of\ntheir courage, nor any learned men to remain in the council house, but\nby open proclamation would command them to avoid whensoever anything\ntouching the state of the land was to be consulted upon. Pirates and\nrobbers by sea are condemned in the Court of the Admiralty, and hanged\non the shore at low-water mark, where they are left till three tides\nhave overwashed them. Finally, such as having walls and banks near\nunto the sea, and do suffer the same to decay (after convenient\nadmonition), whereby the water entereth and drowneth up the country,\nare by a certain ancient custom apprehended, condemned, and staked in\nthe breach, where they remain for ever as parcel of the foundation of\nthe new wall that is to be made upon them, as I have heard reported.\n\nAnd thus much in part of the administration of justice used in our\ncountry, wherein, notwithstanding that we do not often hear of\nhorrible, merciless, and wilful murders (such I mean as are not seldom\nseen in the countries of the main), yet now and then some manslaughter\nand bloody robberies are perpetrated and committed, contrary to the\nlaws, which be severely punished, and in such wise as I have before\nreported. Certes there is no greater mischief done in England than by\nrobberies, the first by young shifting gentlemen, which oftentimes do\nbear more port than they are able to maintain. Secondly by\nserving-men, whose wages cannot suffice so much as to find them\nbreeches; wherefore they are now and then constrained either to keep\nhighways, and break into the wealthy men's houses with the first sort,\nor else to walk up and down in gentlemen's and rich farmers' pastures,\nthere to see and view which horses feed best, whereby they many times\nget something, although with hard adventure: it hath been known by\ntheir confession at the gallows that some one such chapman hath had\nforty, fifty, or sixty stolen horses at pasture here and there abroad\nin the country at a time, which they have sold at fairs and markets\nfar off, they themselves in the mean season being taken about home for\nhonest yeomen, and very wealthy drovers, till their dealings have been\nbetrayed. It is not long since one of this company was apprehended,\nwho was before time reputed for a very honest and wealthy townsman; he\nuttered also more horses than any of his trade, because he sold a\nreasonable pennyworth and was a fairspoken man. It was his custom\nlikewise to say, if any man hucked hard with him about the price of a\ngelding, \"So God help me, gentlemen (or sir), either he did cost me so\nmuch, or else, by Jesus, I stole him!\" Which talk was plain enough;\nand yet such was his estimation that each believed the first part of\nhis tale, and made no account of the latter, which was truer indeed.\n\nOur third annoyers of the commonwealth are rogues, which do very great\nmischief in all places where they become. For, whereas the rich only\nsuffer injury by the first two, these spare neither rich nor poor;\nbut, whether it be great gain or small, all is fish that cometh to net\nwith them. And yet, I say, both they and the rest are trussed up\napace. For there is not one year commonly wherein three hundred or\nfour hundred of them are not devoured and eaten up by the gallows in\none place and other. It appeareth by Cardan (who writeth it upon the\nreport of the bishop of Lexovia), in the geniture of King Edward the\nSixth, how Henry the Eighth, executing his laws very severely against\nsuch idle persons, I mean great thieves, petty thieves, and rogues,\ndid hang up threescore and twelve thousand of them in his time. He\nseemed for a while greatly to have terrified the rest; but since his\ndeath the number of them is so increased, yea, although we have had no\nwars, which are a great occasion of their breed (for it is the custom\nof the more idle sort, having once served, or but seen the other side\nof the sea under colour of service, to shake hand with labour for\never, thinking it a disgrace for himself to return unto his former\ntrade), that, except some better order be taken, or the laws already\nmade be better executed, such as dwell in uplandish towns and little\nvillages shall live but in small safety and rest. For the better\napprehension also of thieves and mankillers, there is an old law in\nEngland very well provided whereby it is ordered that, if he that is\nrobbed (or any man) complain and give warning of slaughter or murder\ncommitted, the constable of the village whereunto he cometh and crieth\nfor succour is to raise the parish about him, and to search woods,\ngroves, and all suspected houses and places, where the trespasser may\nbe, or is supposed to lurk; and not finding him there, he is to give\nwarning unto the next constable, and so one constable, after search\nmade, to advertise another from parish to parish, till they come to\nthe same where the offender is harboured and found. It is also\nprovided that, if any parish in this business do not her duty, but\nsuffereth the thief (for the avoiding of trouble sake) in carrying him\nto the gaol, if he should be apprehended, or other letting of their\nwork to escape, the same parish is not only to make fine to the king,\nbut also the same, with the whole hundred wherein it standeth, to\nrepay the party robbed his damages, and leave his estate harmless.\nCertainly this is a good law; howbeit I have known by my own\nexperience felons being taken to have escaped out of the stocks, being\nrescued by other for want of watch and guard, that thieves have been\nlet pass, because the covetous and greedy parishioners would neither\ntake the pains nor be at the charge, to carry them to prison, if it\nwere far off; that when hue and cry have been made even to the faces\nof some constables, they have said: \"God restore your loss! I have\nother business at this time.\" And by such means the meaning of many a\ngood law is left unexecuted, malefactors emboldened, and many a poor\nman turned out of that which he hath sweat and taken great pains\ntoward the maintenance of himself and his poor children and family.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nOF UNIVERSITIES\n\n[1577, Book II., Chapter 6; 1587, Book II., Chapter 3.]\n\n\nThere have been heretofore, and at sundry times, divers famous\nuniversities in this island, and those even in my days not altogether\nforgotten, as one at Bangor, erected by Lucius, and afterward\nconverted into a monastery, not by Congellus (as some write), but by\nPelagius the monk. The second at Caerleon-upon-Usk, near to the place\nwhere the river doth fall into the Severn, founded by King Arthur. The\nthird at Thetford, wherein were six hundred students, in the time of\none Rond, sometime king of that region. The fourth at Stamford,\nsuppressed by Augustine the monk. And likewise other in other places,\nas Salisbury, Eridon or Cricklade, Lachlade, Reading, and Northampton;\nalbeit that the two last rehearsed were not authorised, but only arose\nto that name by the departure of the students from Oxford in time of\ncivil dissension unto the said towns, where also they continued but\nfor a little season. When that of Salisbury began I cannot tell; but\nthat it flourished most under Henry the Third and Edward the First I\nfind good testimony by the writers, as also by the discord which fell,\n1278, between the chancellor for the scholars there on the one part\nand William the archdeacon on the other, whereof you shall see more in\nthe chronology here following. In my time there are three noble\nuniversities in England--to wit, one at Oxford, the second at\nCambridge, and the third in London; of which the first two are the\nmost famous, I mean Cambridge and Oxford, for that in them the use of\nthe tongues, philosophy, and the liberal sciences, besides the\nprofound studies of the civil law, physic, and theology, are daily\ntaught and had: whereas in the latter the laws of the realm are only\nread and learned by such as give their minds unto the knowledge of the\nsame. In the first there are not only divers goodly houses builded\nfour square for the most part of hard freestone or brick, with great\nnumbers of lodgings and chambers in the same for students, after a\nsumptuous sort, through the exceeding liberality of kings, queens,\nbishops, noblemen and ladies of the land; but also large livings and\ngreat revenues bestowed upon them (the like whereof is not to be seen\nin any other region, as Peter Martyr did oft affirm) to the\nmaintenance only of such convenient numbers of poor men's sons as the\nseveral stipends bestowed upon the said houses are able to\nsupport.[1]...\n\n      [1] Here follows a paragraph about the legendary foundation\n      of the universities.--W.\n\nOf these two, that of Oxford (which lieth west and by north from\nLondon) standeth most pleasantly, being environed in manner round\nabout with woods on the hills aloft, and goodly rivers in the bottoms\nand valleys beneath, whose courses would breed no small commodity to\nthat city and country about if such impediments were removed as\ngreatly annoy the same and hinder the carriage which might be made\nthither also from London. That of Cambridge is distant from London\nabout forty and six miles north and by east, and standeth very well,\nsaving that it is somewhat near unto the fens, whereby the\nwholesomeness of the air is not a little corrupted. It is excellently\nwell served with all kinds of provisions, but especially of fresh\nwater fish and wild fowl, by reason of the river that passeth thereby;\nand thereto the Isle of Ely, which is so near at hand. Only wood is\nthe chief want to such as study there, wherefore this kind of\nprovision is brought them either from Essex and other places\nthereabouts, as is also their coal, or otherwise the necessity thereof\nis supplied with gall (a bastard kind of mirtus as I take it) and\nseacoal, whereof they have great plenty led thither by the Grant.\nMoreover it hath not such store of meadow ground as may suffice for\nthe ordinary expenses of the town and university, wherefore the\ninhabitants are enforced in like sort to provide their hay from other\nvillages about, which minister the same unto them in very great\nabundance.\n\nOxford is supposed to contain in longitude eighteen degrees and eight\nand twenty minutes, and in latitude one and fifty degrees and fifty\nminutes: whereas that of Cambridge standing more northerly, hath\ntwenty degrees and twenty minutes in longitude, and thereunto fifty\nand two degrees and fifteen minutes in latitude, as by exact\nsupputation is easy to be found.\n\nThe colleges of Oxford, for curious workmanship and private\ncommodities, are much more stately, magnificent, and commodious than\nthose of Cambridge: and thereunto the streets of the town for the most\npart are more large and comely. But for uniformity of building,\norderly compaction, and politic regiment, the town of Cambridge, as\nthe newer workmanship,[2] exceeds that of Oxford (which otherwise is,\nand hath been, the greater of the two) by many a fold (as I guess),\nalthough I know divers that are of the contrary opinion. This also is\ncertain, that whatsoever the difference be in building of the town\nstreets, the townsmen of both are glad when they may match and annoy\nthe students, by encroaching upon their liberties, and keep them bare\nby extreme sale of their wares, whereby many of them become rich for a\ntime, but afterward fall again into poverty, because that goods evil\ngotten do seldom long endure.[3]...\n\n      [2] Cambridge burned not long since.--H.\n\n      [3] Here follows an account of Oxford and Cambridge castles, and\n      the legend of the building of Osney Abbey by Robert and Edith\n      D'Oyley.--W.\n\nIn each of these universities also is likewise a church dedicated to\nthe Virgin Mary, wherein once in the year--to wit, in July--the\nscholars are holden, and in which such as have been called to any\ndegree in the year precedent do there receive the accomplishment of\nthe same, in solemn and sumptuous manner. In Oxford this solemnity is\ncalled an Act, but in Cambridge they use the French word\n_Commencement_; and such resort is made yearly unto the same from all\nparts of the land by the friends of those who do proceed that all the\ntown is hardly able to receive and lodge those guests. When and by\nwhom the churches aforesaid were built I have elsewhere made relation.\nThat of Oxford also was repaired in the time of Edward the Fourth and\nHenry the Seventh, when Doctor Fitz James, a great helper in that\nwork, was warden of Merton College; but ere long, after it was\nfinished, one tempest in a night so defaced the same that it left few\npinnacles standing about the church and steeple, which since that time\nhave never been repaired. There were sometime four and twenty parish\nchurches in the town and suburbs; but now there are scarcely sixteen.\nThere have been also 1200 burgesses, of which 400 dwelt in the\nsuburbs; and so many students were there in the time of Henry the\nThird that he allowed them twenty miles compass about the town for\ntheir provision of victuals.\n\nThe common schools of Cambridge also are far more beautiful than those\nof Oxford, only the Divinity School of Oxford excepted, which for fine\nand excellent workmanship cometh next the mould of the King's Chapel\nin Cambridge, than the which two, with the Chapel that King Henry the\nSeventh did build at Westminster, there are not (in my opinion) made\nof lime and stone three more notable piles within the compass of\nEurope.\n\nIn all the other things there is so great equality between these two\nuniversities as no man can imagine how to set down any greater, so\nthat they seem to be the body of one well-ordered commonwealth, only\ndivided by distance of place and not in friendly consent and orders.\nIn speaking therefore of the one I cannot but describe the other; and\nin commendation of the first I cannot but extol the latter; and, so\nmuch the rather, for that they are both so dear unto me as that I\ncannot readily tell unto whether of them I owe the most good-will.\nWould to God my knowledge were such as that neither of them might have\ncause to be ashamed of their pupil, or my power so great that I might\nworthily requite them both for those manifold kindnesses that I have\nreceived of them! But to leave these things, and proceed with other\nmore convenient to my purpose.\n\nThe manner to live in these universities is not as in some other of\nforeign countries we see daily to happen, where the students are\nenforced for want of such houses to dwell in common inns, and taverns,\nwithout all order or discipline. But in these our colleges we live in\nsuch exact order, and under so precise rules of government, as that\nthe famous learned man Erasmus of Rotterdam, being here among us fifty\nyears passed, did not let to compare the trades in living of students\nin these two places, even with the very rules and orders of the\nancient monks, affirming moreover, in flat words, our orders to be\nsuch as not only came near unto, but rather far exceeded, all the\nmonastical institutions that ever were devised.\n\nIn most of our colleges there are also great numbers of students, of\nwhich many are found by the revenues of the houses and other by the\npurveyances and help of their rich friends, whereby in some one\ncollege you shall have two hundred scholars, in others an hundred and\nfifty, in divers a hundred and forty, and in the rest less numbers, as\nthe capacity of the said houses is able to receive: so that at this\npresent, of one sort and other, there are about three thousand\nstudents nourished in them both (as by a late survey it manifestly\nappeared). They were erected by their founders at the first only for\npoor men's sons, whose parents were not able to bring them up unto\nlearning; but now they have the least benefit of them, by reason the\nrich do so encroach upon them. And so far has this inconvenience\nspread itself that it is in my time a hard matter for a poor man's\nchild to come by a fellowship (though he be never so good a scholar\nand worthy of that room). Such packing also is used at elections that\nnot he which best deserveth, but he that has most friends, though he\nbe the worst scholar, is always surest to speed, which will turn in\nthe end to the overthrow of learning. That some gentlemen also whose\nfriends have been in times past benefactors to certain of those houses\ndo intrude into the disposition of their estates without all respect\nof order or statutes devised by the founders, only thereby to place\nwhom they think good (and not without some hope of gain), the case is\ntoo too evident: and their attempt would soon take place if their\nsuperiors did not provide to bridle their endeavours. In some grammar\nschools likewise which send scholars to these universities, it is\nlamentable to see what bribery is used; for, ere the scholar can be\npreferred, such bribage is made that poor men's children are commonly\nshut out, and the richer sort received (who in time past thought it\ndishonour to live as it were upon alms), and yet, being placed, most\nof them study little other than histories, tables, dice, and trifles,\nas men that make not the living by their study the end of their\npurposes, which is a lamentable hearing. Beside this, being for the\nmost part either gentlemen or rich men's sons, they often bring the\nuniversities into much slander. For, standing upon their reputation\nand liberty, they ruffle and roist it out, exceeding in apparel, and\nbanting riotous company (which draweth them from their books unto\nanother trade), and for excuse, when they are charged with breach of\nall good order, think it sufficient to say that they be gentlemen,\nwhich grieveth many not a little. But to proceed with the rest.\n\nEvery one of these colleges have in like manner their professors or\nreaders of the tongues and several sciences, as they call them, which\ndaily trade up the youth there abiding privately in their halls, to\nthe end they may be able afterward (when their turn cometh about,\nwhich is after twelve terms) to shew themselves abroad, by going from\nthence into the common schools and public disputations (as it were\n\"_In aream_\") there to try their skill, and declare how they have\nprofited since their coming thither.\n\nMoreover, in the public schools of both the universities, there are\nfound at the prince's charge (and that very largely) fine professors\nand readers, that is to say, of divinity, of the civil law, physic,\nthe Hebrew and the Greek tongues. And for the other lectures, as of\nphilosophy, logic, rhetoric, and the quadrivials (although the latter,\nI mean arithmetic, music, geometry, and astronomy, and with them all\nskill in the perspectives, are now smally regarded in either of them),\nthe universities themselves do allow competent stipends to such as\nread the same, whereby they are sufficiently provided for, touching\nthe maintenance of their estates, and no less encouraged to be\ndiligent in their functions.\n\nThese professors in like sort have all the rule of disputations and\nother school exercises which are daily used in common schools\nseverally assigned to each of them, and such of their hearers as by\ntheir skill shewed in the said disputations are thought to have\nattained to any convenient ripeness of knowledge according to the\ncustom of other universities (although not in like order) are\npermitted solemnly to take their deserved degrees of school in the\nsame science and faculty wherein they have spent their travel. From\nthat time forward also they use such difference in apparel as becometh\ntheir callings, tendeth unto gravity, and maketh them known to be\ncalled to some countenance.\n\nThe first degree is that of the general sophisters, from whence, when\nthey have learned more sufficiently the rules of logic, rhetoric, and\nobtained thereto competent skill in philosophy, and in the\nmathematicals, they ascend higher unto the estate of bachelors of art,\nafter four years of their entrance into their sophistry. From thence\nalso, giving their minds to more perfect knowledge in some or all the\nother liberal sciences and the tongues, they rise at the last (to wit,\nafter other three or four years) to be called masters of art, each of\nthem being at that time reputed for a doctor in his faculty, if he\nprofess but one of the said sciences (besides philosophy), or for his\ngeneral skill, if he be exercised in them all. After this they are\npermitted to choose what other of the higher studies them liketh to\nfollow, whether it be divinity, law, or physic, so that, being once\nmasters of art, the next degree, if they follow physic, is the\ndoctorship belonging to that profession; and likewise in the study of\nthe law, if they bend their minds to the knowledge of the same. But,\nif they mean to go forward with divinity, this is the order used in\nthat profession. First, after they have necessarily proceeded masters\nof art, they preach one sermon to the people in English, and another\nto the university in Latin. They answer all comers also in their own\npersons unto two several questions of divinity in the open schools at\none time for the space of two hours, and afterward reply twice against\nsome other man upon a like number and on two several dates in the same\nplace, which being done with commendation, he receiveth the fourth\ndegree, that is, bachelor of divinity, but not before he has been\nmaster of arts by the space of seven years, according to their\nstatutes.\n\nThe next, and last degree of all, is the doctorship, after other three\nyears, for the which he must once again perform all such exercises and\nacts as are before remembered; and then is he reputed able to govern\nand teach others, and likewise taken for a doctor. I have read that\nJohn of Beverley was the first doctor that ever was in Oxford, as Beda\nwas in Cambridge. But I suppose herein that the word \"doctor\" is not\nso strictly to be taken in this report as it is now used, since every\nteacher is in Latin called by that name, as also such in the primitive\nchurch as kept schools of catechists, wherein they were trained up in\nthe rudiments and principles of religion, either before they were\nadmitted unto baptism or any office in the Church.\n\nThus we see that from our entrance into the university unto the last\ndegree received is commonly eighteen or twenty years, in which time,\nif a student has not obtained sufficient learning thereby to serve his\nown turn and benefit his commonwealth, let him never look by tarrying\nlonger to come by any more. For after this time, and forty years of\nage, the most part of students do commonly give over their wonted\ndiligence, and live like drone bees on the fat of colleges,\nwithholding better wits from the possession of their places, and yet\ndoing little good in their own vocation and calling. I could rehearse\na number (if I listed) of this sort, as well in one university as the\nother. But this shall suffice instead of a large report, that long\ncontinuance in those places is either a sign of lack of friends, or of\nlearning, or of good and upright life, as Bishop Fox[4] sometime\nnoted, who thought it sacrilege for a man to tarry any longer at\nOxford than he had a desire to profit.\n\n      [4] This Fox builded Corpus Christi College, in Oxford.--H.\n\nA man may (if he will) begin his study with the law, or physic (of\nwhich this giveth wealth, the other honour), so soon as he cometh to\nthe university, if his knowledge in the tongues and ripeness of\njudgment serve therefor: which if he do, then his first degree is\nbachelor of law, or physic; and for the same he must perform such acts\nin his own science as the bachelors or doctors of divinity do for\ntheir parts, the only sermons except, which belong not to his calling.\nFinally, this will I say, that the professors of either of those\nfaculties come to such perfection in both universities as the best\nstudents beyond the sea do in their own or elsewhere. One thing only I\nmislike in them, and that is their usual going into Italy, from whence\nvery few without special grace do return good men whatsoever they\npretend of conference or practice, chiefly the physicians[5] who under\npretence of seeking of foreign simples do oftentimes learn the framing\nof such compositions as were better unknown than practised, as I have\nheard often alleged, and therefore it is most true that Doctor Turner\nsaid: \"Italy is not to be seen without a guide, that is, without\nspecial grace given from God, because of the licentious and corrupt\nbehaviour of the people.\"\n\n      [5] So much also may be inferred of lawyers.--H.\n\nThere is moreover in every house a master or provost, who has under\nhim a president and certain censors or deans, appointed to look to the\nbehaviour and manners of the students there, whom they punish very\nseverely if they make any default, according to the quantity and\nquality of their trespass. And these are the usual names of governors\nin Cambridge. Howbeit in Oxford the heads of houses are now and then\ncalled presidents in respect of such bishops as are their visitors and\nfounders. In each of these also they have one or more treasurers, whom\nthey call _bursarios_ or bursars, beside other officers whose charge\nis to see unto the welfare and maintenance of these houses. Over each\nuniversity also there is a several chancellor, whose offices are\nperpetual, howbeit their substitutes, whom we call vice-chancellors,\nare changed every year, as are also the proctors, taskers, masters of\nthe streets, and other officers, for the better maintenance of their\npolicy and estate.\n\nAnd thus much at this time of our two universities, in each of which I\nhave received such degree as they have vouchsafed--rather of their\nfavour than my desert--to yield and bestow upon me, and unto whose\nstudents I wish one thing, the execution whereof cannot be prejudicial\nto any that meaneth well, as I am resolutely persuaded, and the case\nnow standeth in these our days. When any benefice therefor becometh\nvoid it were good that the patron did signify the vacation thereof to\nthe bishop, and the bishop the act of the patron to one of the\nuniversities, with request that the vice-chancellor with his\nassistants might provide some such able man to succeed in the place as\nshould by their judgment be meet to take the charge upon him.\nCertainly if this order were taken, then should the church be provided\nof good pastors, by whom God should be glorified, the universities\nbetter stored, the simoniacal practices of a number of patrons utterly\nabolished, and the people better trained to live in obedience toward\nGod and their prince, which were a happier estate.\n\nTo these two also we may in like sort add the third, which is at\nLondon (serving only for such as study the laws of the realm) where\nthere are sundry famous houses, of which three are called by the name\nof Inns of the Court, the rest of the Chancery, and all built before\ntime for the furtherance and commodity of such as apply their minds to\nour common laws. Out of these also come many scholars of great fame,\nwhereof the most part have heretofore been brought up in one of the\naforesaid universities, and prove such commonly as in process of time\nrise up (only through their profound skill) to great honour in the\ncommonwealth of England. They have also degrees of learning among\nthemselves, and rules of discipline, under which they live most\ncivilly in their houses, albeit that the younger of them abroad in the\nstreets are scarcely able to be bridled by any good order at all.\nCertainly this error was wont also greatly to reign in Cambridge and\nOxford, between the students and the burgesses; but, as it is well\nleft in these two places, so in foreign countries it cannot yet be\nsuppressed.\n\nBesides these universities, also there are great number of grammar\nschools throughout the realm, and those very liberally endowed, for\nthe better relief of poor scholars, so that there are not many\ncorporate towns now under the Queen's dominion that have not one\ngrammar school at the least, with a sufficient living for a master and\nusher appointed to the same.\n\nThere are in like manner divers collegiate churches, as Windsor,\nWinchester, Eton, Westminster (in which I was some time an\nunprofitable grammarian under the reverend father Master Nowell, now\ndean of Paul's), and in those a great number of poor scholars, daily\nmaintained by the liberality of the founders, with meat, books, and\napparel, from whence, after they have been well entered in the\nknowledge of the Latin and Greek tongues, and rules of versifying (the\ntrial whereof is made by certain apposers yearly appointed to examine\nthem), they are sent to certain special houses in each university,\nwhere they are received and trained up in the points of higher\nknowledge in their private halls, till they be adjudged meet to shew\ntheir face's in the schools as I have said already.\n\nAnd thus much have I thought good to note of our universities, and\nlikewise of colleges in the same, whose names I will also set down\nhere, with those of their founders, to the end the zeal which they\nbare unto learning may appear, and their remembrance never perish from\namong the wise and learned.\n\nOF THE COLLEGES OF CAMBRIDGE WITH THEIR FOUNDERS\n\nYears of the\nFoundation     Colleges        Founders\n\n1546   1 Trinity College       King Henry 8.\n\n1441   2 The King's College    King Henry 6, Edward 4, Henry 7,\n                               and Henry 8.\n\n1511   3 St. John's            Lady Margaret, grandmother to Henry 8.\n\n1505   4 Christ's College      King Henry 6 and the Lady Margaret\n                               aforesaid.\n\n1446   5 The Queen's College   Lady Margaret, wife to King Henry 6.\n\n1496   6 Jesus College         John Alcock, bishop of Ely.\n\n1342   7 Bennet College        The brethren of a Popish guild\n                               called _Corporis Christi_.\n\n1343   8 Pembroke Hall         Maria de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke.\n\n1256   9 Peter College         Hugh Balsham, bishop of Ely.\n\n1348  10 Gundewill and Caius   Edmund Gundevill, parson of\n1557        College            Terrington, and John Caius,\n                               doctor of physic.\n\n1354  11 Trinity Hall          William Bateman, bishop of Norwich.\n\n1326  12 Clare Hall            Richard Badow, chancellor of Cambridge.\n\n1459  13 Catherine Hall        Robert Woodlark, doctor of divinity.\n\n1519  14 Magdalen College      Edward, Duke of Buckingham, and\n                               Thomas, lord Audley.\n\n1585  15 Emanuel College       Sir Walter Mildmay, etc.\n\n\nOF THE COLLEGES AT OXFORD\n\nYears of the\nFoundation     Colleges        Founders\n\n1539   1 Christ's Church       King Henry 8.\n\n1459   2 Magdalen College      William Wainfleet, first fellow of\n                               Merton College, then scholar at\n                               Winchester, and afterwards bishop\n                               there.[6]\n\n1375   3 New College           William Wickham, bishop of Winchester.\n\n1276   4 Merton College        Walter Merton, bishop of Rochester.\n\n1437   5 All Souls' College    Henry Chicheley, archbishop of\n                               Canterbury.\n\n1516   6 Corpus Christi College  Richard Fox, bishop of Winchester.\n\n1430   7 Lincoln College       Richard Fleming, bishop of Lincoln.\n\n1323   8 Auriel College        Adam Broune, almoner to Edward 2.\n\n1340   9 The Queen's College   R. Eglesfeld, chaplain to Philip,\n                               queen of England, wife to Edward 3.\n\n1263  10 Balliol College       John Balliol, king of Scotland.\n\n1557  11 St. John's            Sir Thomas White, knight.\n\n1556  12 Trinity College       Sir Thomas Pope, knight.\n\n1316  13 Excester College      Walter Stapleten, bishop of Excester.\n\n1513  14 Brasen Nose           William Smith, bishop of Lincoln.\n\n1873  15 University College    William, archdeacon of Duresine.\n\n      16 Gloucester College    John Crifford, who made it a cell\n                               for thirteen monks.\n\n      17 St. Mary's College\n\n      18 Jesus College, now    Hugh ap Rice, doctor of the civil\n         in hand               law.\n\n      [6] He founded also a good part of Eton College, and a free\n      school at Wainfleet, where he was born.\n\nThere are also in Oxford certain hotels or halls which may right well\nbe called by the names of colleges, if it were not that there is more\nliberty in them than is to be seen in the other. In my opinion the\nlivers in these are very like to those that are of the inns in the\nchancery, their names also are these so far as I now remember:\n\nBrodegates.            St. Mary Hall.\nHart Hall.             White Hall.\nMagdalen Hall.         New Inn.\nAlburne Hall.          Edmond Hall.\nPostminster Hall.\n\nThe students also that remain in them are called hostlers or halliers.\nHereof it came of late to pass that the right Reverend Father in God,\nThomas, late archbishop of Canterbury, being brought up in such an\nhouse at Cambridge, was of the ignorant sort of Londoners called an\n\"Hostler,\" supposing that he had served with some inn-holder in the\nstable, and therefore, in despite, divers hung up bottles of hay at\nhis gate when he began to preach the gospel, whereas indeed he was a\ngentleman born of an ancient house, and in the end a faithful witness\nof Jesus Christ, in whose quarrel he refused not to shed his blood,\nand yield up his life, unto the fury of his adversaries.\n\nBesides these there is mention and record of divers other halls or\nhostels that have been there in times past, as Beef Hall, Mutton Hall,\netc., whose ruins yet appear: so that if antiquity be to be judged by\nthe shew of ancient buildings which is very plentiful in Oxford to be\nseen, it should be an easy matter to conclude that Oxford is the elder\nuniversity. Therein are also many dwelling-houses of stone yet\nstanding that have been halls for students, of very antique\nworkmanship, besides the old walls of sundry others, whose plots have\nbeen converted into gardens since colleges were erected.\n\nIn London also the houses of students at the Common Law are these:\n\nSergeant's Inn.        Furnival's Inn.\nGray's Inn.            Clifford's Inn.\nThe Temple.            Clement's Inn.\nLincoln's Inn.         Lion's Inn.\nDavid's Inn.           Barnard's Inn.\nStaple Inn.            Newmann.\n\nAnd thus much in general of our noble universities, whose lands some\ngreedy gripers do gape wide for, and of late have (as I hear)\npropounded sundry reasons whereby they supposed to have prevailed in\ntheir purposes. But who are those that have attempted this suit, other\nthan such as either hate learning, piety, and wisdom, or else have\nspent all their own, and know not otherwise than by encroaching upon\nother men how to maintain themselves? When such a motion was made by\nsome unto King Henry the Eighth, he could answer them in this manner:\n\"Ah, sirra! I perceive the Abbey lands have fleshed you, and set your\nteeth on edge, to ask also those colleges. And, whereas we had a\nregard only to pull down sin by defacing the monasteries, you have a\ndesire also to overthrow all goodness, by subversion of colleges. I\ntell you, sirs, that I judge no land in England better bestowed than\nthat which is given to our universities; for by their maintenance our\nrealm shall be well governed when we be dead and rotten. As you love\nyour welfares therefore, follow no more this vein, but content\nyourselves with that you have already, or else seek honest means\nwhereby to increase your livelihoods; for I love not learning so ill\nthat I will impair the revenues of any one house by a penny, whereby\nit may be upholden.\" In King Edward's days likewise the same suit was\nonce again attempted (as I have heard), but in vain; for, saith the\nDuke of Somerset, among other speeches tending to that end--who also\nmade answer thereunto in the king's presence by his assignation: \"If\nlearning decay, which of wild men maketh civil; of blockish and rash\npersons, wise and goodly counsellors; of obstinate rebels, obedient\nsubjects; and of evil men, good and godly Christians; what shall we\nlook for else but barbarism and tumult? For when the lands of colleges\nbe gone, it shall be hard to say whose staff shall stand next the\ndoor; for then I doubt not but the state of bishops, rich farmers,\nmerchants, and the nobility, shall be assailed, by such as live to\nspend all, and think that whatsoever another man hath is more meet for\nthem and to be at their commandment than for the proper owner that has\nsweat and laboured for it.\" In Queen Mary's days the weather was too\nwarm for any such course to be taken in hand; but in the time of our\ngracious Queen Elizabeth I hear that it was after a sort in talk the\nthird time, but without success, as moved also out of season; and so I\nhope it shall continue for ever. For what comfort should it be for any\ngood man to see his country brought into the estate of the old Goths\nand Vandals, who made laws against learning, and would not suffer any\nskilful man to come into their council-house: by means whereof those\npeople became savage tyrants and merciless hell-hounds, till they\nrestored learning again and thereby fell to civility.\n\n_Planned and Designed at The Collier Press\nBy William Patten_","title":"Chronicle and Romance: Froissart, Malory, Holinshed: (The Harvard Classics Series)","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":157258}