Author unknown; written in Northeast Midlands English around 1285 AD.

Translated by Ken Eckert 

Middle English text from Herzman, Drake & Salisbury's Four Romances of England (1999), Kalamazoo, MI

For educational use only.

Revised June 2010



Havelock Stone, Grimsby

Listen to a sample of Havelock, lines 1-16. I could not find an
existing recording and so this is my voice doing my best to
reproduce the sound of English circa 1285.
This text will be replaced

 

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 Herkneth to me, gode men -
Wives, maydnes, and alle men -
Of a tale that ich you wile telle,
Wo so it wile here and therto dwelle.
The tale is of Havelok imaked:
Whil he was litel, he yede ful naked.
Havelok was a ful god gome -
He was ful god in everi trome;
He was the wicteste man at nede
That thurte riden on ani stede.
That ye mowen now yhere,
And the tale you mowen ylere,
At the biginnig of ure tale,
Fil me a cuppe of ful god ale;
And wile drinken, her I spelle,
That Crist us shilde alle fro helle.
Krist late us hevere so for to do
That we moten comen Him to;
And, witthat it mote ben so,
Benedicamus Domino!
Here I schal biginnen a rym;
Krist us yeve wel god fyn!
The rym is maked of Havelok -
A stalworthi man in a flok.
He was the stalwortheste man at nede
That may riden on ani stede.
 It was a king bi are dawes,
That in his time were gode lawes
He dede maken and ful wel holden;
Hym lovede yung, him lovede holde -
Erl and barun, dreng and thayn,
Knict, bondeman, and swain,
Wydues, maydnes, prestes and clerkes,
And al for hise gode werkes.
He lovede God with al his micth,
And Holy Kirke, and soth ant ricth.
Ricthwise men he lovede alle,
And overal made hem for to calle.
Wreieres and wrobberes made he falle
And hated hem so man doth galle;
Utlawes and theves made he bynde,
Alle that he micte fynde,
And heye hengen on galwe-tre -
For hem ne yede gold ne fee!
In that time a man that bore
Wel fifty pund, I wot, or more,
Of red gold upon hiis bac,
In a male with or blac,
Ne funde he non that him misseyde,
Ne with ivele on hond leyde.
Thanne micthe chapmen fare
Thuruth Englond wit here ware,
And baldelike beye and sellen,
Overal ther he wilen dwellen -
In gode burwes and therfram
Ne funden he non that dede hem sham,
That he ne weren sone to sorwe brouth,
And pouere maked and browt to nouth.
Thanne was Engelond at hayse -
Michel was swich a king to preyse
That held so Englond in grith!
Krist of hevene was him with -
He was Engelondes blome.
Was non so bold louerd to Rome
That durste upon his bringhe
Hunger ne here - wicke thinghe.
Hwan he fellede hise foos,
He made hem lurken and crepen in wros -
The hidden hem alle and helden hem stille,
And diden al his herte wille.
Ricth he lovede of alle thinge -
To wronge micht him noman bringe,
Ne for silver ne for gold,
So was he his soule hold.
To the faderles was he rath -
Wo so dede hem wrong or lath,
Were it clerc or were it knicth,
He dede hem sone to haven ricth;
And wo dide widuen wrong,
Were he nevre knicth so strong,
That he ne made him sone kesten
In feteres and ful faste festen;
And wo so dide maydne shame
Of hire bodi or brouth in blame,
Bute it were bi hire wille,
He made him sone of limes spille.
He was the beste knith at nede
That hevere micthe riden on stede,
Or wepne wagge or folc ut lede;
Of knith ne havede he nevere drede,
That he ne sprong forth so sparke of glede,
And lete him knawe of hise hand dede,
Hu he couthe with wepne spede;
And other he refte him hors or wede,
Or made him sone handes sprede
And "Louerd, merci!" loude grede.
He was large and no wicth gnede.
Havede he non so god brede
Ne on his bord non so god shrede,
That he ne wolde thorwit fede
Poure that on fote yede,
Forto haven of Him the mede
That for us wolde on Rode blede -
Crist, that al kan wisse and rede
That evere woneth in any thede.
 The king was hoten Athelwold.
Of word, of wepne, he was bold.
In Engeland was nevre knicth
That betere held the lond to ricth.
Of his bodi ne havede he eyr
Bute a mayden swithe fayr,
That was so yung that sho ne couthee
Gon on fote ne speke wit mouthe.
Than him tok an ivel strong,
That he wel wiste and underfong
That his deth was comen him on
And saide, "Crist, wat shal I don?
Louerd, wat shal me to rede?
I wot ful wel ich have mi mede.
Hw shal now my douhter fare?
Of hire have ich michel kare;
Sho is mikel in my thouth -
Of meself is me rith nowt.
No selcouth is thou me be wo:
Sho ne can speke ne sho kan go.
Yif scho couthe on horse ride,
And a thousande men bi hire syde,
And sho were comen intil helde
And Engelond sho couthe welde,
And don hem of thar hire were queme,
And hire bodi couthe yeme,
Ne wolde me nevere ivele like,
Ne though ich were in heveneriche."
Quanne he havede this pleinte maked,
Therafter stronglike quaked.
He sende writes sone onon
After his erles evereichon;
And after hise baruns, riche and poure,
Fro Rokesburw al into Dovere,
That he shulden comen swithe
Til him, that was ful unblithe,
To that stede ther he lay
In harde bondes nicth and day.
He was so faste wit yvel fest
That he ne mouthe haven no rest,
He ne mouthe no mete hete,
Ne he ne mouchte no lythe gete,
Ne non of his ivel that couthe red -
Of him ne was nouth buten ded.
 Alle that the writes herden
Sorful and sori til him ferden;
He wrungen hondes and wepen sore
And yerne preyden Cristes hore -
That He wolde turnen him
Ut of that yvel that was so grim.
Thanne he weren comen alle
Bifor the king into the halle,
At Winchestre ther he lay,
"Welcome," he sayde, "be ye ay!
Ful michel thank kan I you
That ye aren comen to me now."
Quanne he weren alle set,
And the king aveden igret,
He greten and gouleden and gouven hem ille,
And he bad hem alle been stille
And seyde that greting helpeth nouth,
"For al to dede am ich brouth.
Bute now ye sen that I shal deye,
Now ich wille you alle preye
Of mi douther, that shal be
Yure levedi after me,
Wo may yemen hire so longe,
Bothen hire and Engelonde,
Til that she be wman of helde
And that she mowe hir yemen and welde?"
He answereden and seyden anon,
Bi Crist and bi Seint Jon,
That th erl Godrigh of Cornwayle
Was trewe man wituten faile,
Wis man of red, wis man of dede,
And men haveden of him mikel drede -
"He may hire altherbest yeme,
Til that she mowe wel ben quene."
 The king was payed of that rede.
A wol fair cloth bringen he dede,
And thereon leyde the messebok,
The caliz, and the pateyn ok,
The corporaus, the messe-gere.
Theron he garte the erl swere
That he sholde yemen hire wel,
Withuten lac, wituten tel,
Til that she were twelf winter hold
And of speche were bold,
And that she couthe of curteysye,
Gon and speken of lovedrurye,
And til that she loven muthe
Wom so hire to gode thoucte;
And that he shulde hire yeve
The beste man that micthe live -
The beste, fayreste, the strangest ok;
That dede he him sweren on the bok,
And thanne shulde he Engelond
Al bitechen into hire hond.
 Quanne that was sworn on his wise,
The king dede the mayden arise,
And the erl hire bitaucte
And al the lond he evere awcte -
Engelonde, everi del -
And preide he shulde yeme hire wel.
 The king ne moucte don no more,
But yerne preyede Godes ore,
And dede him hoslen wel and shrive,
I wot fif hundred sithes and five,
And ofte dede him sore swinge
And wit hondes smerte dinge
So that the blod ran of his fleys,
That tendre was and swithe neys.
He made his quiste swithe wel
And sone gaf it everil del.
Wan it was goven, ne micte men finde
So mikel men micte him in winde,
Of his in arke ne in chiste,
In Engelond, that noman wiste;
For al was yoven, faire and wel,
That him was leved no catel.
 Thanne he havede been ofte swngen,
Ofte shriven and ofte dungen,
"In manus tuas, Louerde," he seyde,
Her that he the speche leyde,
To Jesu Crist bigan to calle
And deyede biforn his heymen alle.
Than he was ded, there micte men se
The meste sorwe that micte be:
Ther was sobbing, siking, and sor,
Handes wringing and drawing bi hor.
Alle greten swithe sore,
Riche and poure that there wore,
And mikel sorwe haveden alle -
Levedyes in boure, knictes in halle.
Quan that sorwe was somdel laten
And he haveden longe graten,
Belles deden he sone ringen,
Monkes and prestes messe singen;
And sauteres deden he manie reden,
That God self shulde his soule leden
Into hevene biforn his Sone,
And ther wituten hende wone.
Than he was to the erthe brouth,
The riche erl ne foryat nouth
That he ne dede al Engelond
Sone sayse intil his hond,
And in the castels leth he do
The knictes he mighte tristen to,
And alle the Englis dede he swere
That he shulden him ghod fey beren:
He yaf alle men that god thoucte,
Liven and deyen til that him moucte,
Til that the kinges dowter wore
Twenti winter hold and more.
 Thanne he havede taken this oth
Of erles, baruns, lef and loth,
Of knictes, cherles, fre and thewe,
Justises dede he maken newe
Al Engelond to faren thorw
Fro Dovere into Rokesborw.
Schireves he sette, bedels, and greyves,
Grith sergeans with longe gleyves,
To yemen wilde wodes and pathes
Fro wicke men that wolde don scathes,
And forto haven alle at his cri,
At his wille, at hise merci,
That non durste ben him ageyn -
Erl ne barun, knict ne sweyn.
Wislike for soth was him wel
Of folc, of wepne, of catel:
Sothlike, in a lite thrawe
Al Engelond of him stod awe -
Al Engelond was of him adrad,
So his the beste fro the gad.
 The kinges douther bigan thrive
And wex the fairest wman on live.
Of alle thewes was she wis
That gode weren and of pris.
The mayden Goldeboru was hoten;
For hire was mani a ter igroten.
 Quanne the Erl Godrich him herde
Of that mayden - hw wel she ferde,
Hw wis sho was, hw chaste, hw fayr,
And that sho was the rithe eyr
Of Engelond, of al the rike;
Tho bigan Godrich to sike,
And seyde, "Wether she sholde be
Quen and levedi over me?
Hwether sho sholde al Engelond
And me and mine haven in hire hond?
Datheit hwo it hire thave!
Shal sho it nevere more have.
Sholde ic yeve a fol, a therne,
Engelond, thou sho it yerne?
Datheit hwo it hire yeve
Evere more hwil I live!
She is waxen al to prud,
For gode metes and noble shrud,
That hic have yoven hire to offte;
Hic have yemed hire to softe.
Shal it nouth ben als sho thenkes:
Hope maketh fol man ofte blenkes.
Ich have a sone, a ful fayr knave;
He shal Engelond al have!
He shal king, he shal ben sire,
So brouke I evere mi blake swire!"
Hwan this trayson was al thouth,
Of his oth ne was him nouth.
He let his oth al overga.
Therof he yaf he nouth a stra,
Bute sone dede hire fete,
Er he wolde heten ani mete,
Fro Winchestre ther sho was,
Also a wicke traytur Judas,
And dede leden hire to Dovre,
That standeth on the seis oure,
And therhinne dede hire fede
Pourelike in feble wede.
The castel dede he yemen so
That non ne micte comen hire to
Of hire frend, with to speken,
That hevere micte hire bale wreken.
 Of Goldeboru shul we now laten,
That nouth ne blinneth forto graten
Ther sho liggeth in prisoun.
Jesu Crist, that Lazarun
To live broucte fro dede bondes,
He lese hire wit Hise hondes!
And leve sho mote him yse
Heye hangen on galwe tre
That hire haved in sorwe brouth,
So as sho ne misdede nouth.
 Say we now forth in hure spelle!
In that time, so it bifelle,
Was in the lond of Denemark
A riche king and swythe stark.
The name of him was Birkabeyn;
He havede mani knict and sweyn;
He was fayr man and wict,
Of bodi he was the beste knicth
That evere micte leden uth here,
Or stede on ride or handlen spere.
Thre children he havede bi his wif -
He hem lovede so his lif.
He havede a sone, douhtres two,
Swithe fayre, as fel it so.
He that wile non forbere,
Riche ne poure, king ne kaysere,
Deth him tok than he best wolde
Liven, but hyse dayes were fulde,
That he ne moucte no more live,
For gold ne silver ne for no gyve.
 Hwan he that wiste, rathe he sende
After prestes, fer an hende -
Chanounes gode and monkes bothe,
Him for to wisse and to rede,
Him for to hoslen an for to shrive,
Hwil his bodi were on live.
 Hwan he was hosled and shriven,
His quiste maked and for him gyven,
Hise knictes dede he alle site,
For thoru hem he wolde wite
Hwo micte yeme his children yunge
Til that he kouthen speken wit tunge,
Speken and gangen, on horse riden,
Knictes and sweynes by here siden.
He spoken theroffe and chosen sone
A riche man that under mone,
Was the trewest, that he wende -
Godard, the kinges owne frende -
And seyden he moucthe hem best loke
Yif that he hem undertoke,
Til hise sone mouthe bere
Helm on heved and leden ut here,
In his hand a spere stark,
And king been maked of Denemark.
He wel trowede that he seyde,
And on Godard handes leyde;
And seyde, "Here biteche I thee
Mine children alle thre,
Al Denemark and al mi fe,
Til that mi sone of helde be,
But that ich wille that thou swere
On auter and on messe gere,
On the belles that men ringes,
On messe bok the prest on singes,
That thou mine children shalt wel yeme,
That hire kin be ful wel queme,
Til mi sone mowe ben knicth.
Thanne biteche him tho his ricth:
Denemark and that ther til longes -
Casteles and tunes, wodes and wonges."
 Godard stirt up and swor al that
The king him bad, and sithen sat
Bi the knictes that ther ware,
That wepen alle swithe sare
For the king that deide sone.
Jesu Crist, that makede mone
On the mirke nith to shine,
Wite his soule fro helle pine;
And leve that it mote wone
In heveneriche with Godes Sone!
 Hwan Birkabeyn was leyd in grave,
The erl dede sone take the knave,
Havelok, that was the eir,
Swanborow, his sister, Helfled, the tother,
And in the castel dede he hem do,
Ther non ne micte hem comen to
Of here kyn, ther thei sperd were.
Ther he greten ofte sore
Bothe for hunger and for kold,
Or he weren thre winter hold.
Feblelike he gaf hem clothes;
He ne yaf a note of hise othes -
He hem clothede rith ne fedde,
Ne hem ne dede richelike bebedde.
Thanne Godard was sikerlike
Under God the moste swike
That evre in erthe shaped was.
Withuten on, the wike Judas.
Have he the malisun today
Of alle that evre speken may -
Of patriark and of pope,
And of prest with loken kope,
Of monekes and hermites bothe,
And of the leve Holi Rode
That God himselve ran on blode!
Crist warie him with His mouth!
Waried wrthe he of north and suth,
Offe alle men that speken kunne,
Of Crist that made mone and sunne!
Thanne he havede of al the lond
Al the folk tilled intil his hond,
And alle haveden sworen him oth,
Riche and poure, lef and loth,
That he sholden hise wille freme
And that he shulde him nouth greme,
He thouthe a ful strong trechery,
A trayson and a felony,
Of the children for to make -
The devel of helle him sone take! 
Hwan that was thouth, onon he ferde
To the tour ther he woren sperde,
Ther he greten for hunger and cold.
The knave, that was sumdel bold,
Kam him ageyn, on knes him sette,
And Godard ful feyre he ther grette.
And Godard seyde, "Wat is yw?
Hwi grete ye and goulen now?"
"For us hungreth swithe sore" -
Seyden he, "we wolden more:
We ne have to hete, ne we ne have
Her inne neyther knith ne knave
That yeveth us drinke ne no mete,
Halvendel that we moun ete -
Wo is us that we weren born!
Weilawei! nis it no korn
That men micte maken of bred?
Us hungreth - we aren ney ded!"
Godard herde here wa,
Ther-offe yaf he nouth a stra,
But tok the maydnes bothe samen,
Al so it were up on hiis gamen,
Al so he wolde with hem leyke
That weren for hunger grene and bleike.
Of bothen he karf on two here throtes,
And sithen hem al to grotes.
Ther was sorwe, wo-so it sawe,
Hwan the children by the wawe
Leyen and sprawleden in the blod.
Havelok it saw and therbi stod -
Ful sori was that sely knave.
Mikel dred he mouthe have,
For at hise herte he saw a knif
For to reven him hise lyf.
But the knave, that litel was,
He knelede bifor that Judas,
And seyde, "Louerd, mercy now!
Manrede, louerd, biddi you:
Al Denemark I wile you yeve,
To that forward thu late me live.
Here hi wile on boke swere
That nevremore ne shal I bere
Ayen thee, louerd, sheld ne spere,
Ne other wepne that may you dere.
Louerd, have merci of me!
Today I wile fro Denemark fle,
Ne neveremore comen agheyn!
Sweren I wole that Bircabein
Nevere yete me ne gat."
Hwan the devel herde that,
Sumdel bigan him for to rewe;
Withdrow the knif, that was lewe
Of the seli children blod.
Ther was miracle fair and god
That he the knave nouth ne slou,
But for rewnesse him witdrow -
Of Avelok rewede him ful sore,
And thoucte he wolde that he ded wore,
But on that he nouth wit his hend
Ne drepe him nouth, that fule fend!
Thoucte he als he him bi stod,
Starinde als he were wod,
"Yif I late him lives go,
He micte me wirchen michel wo -
Grith ne get I neveremo;
He may me waiten for to slo.
And if he were brouct of live,
And mine children wolden thrive,
Louerdinges after me
Of al Denemark micten he be.
God it wite, he shal ben ded -
Wile I taken non other red!
I shal do casten him in the she,
Ther I wile that he drench be,
Abouten his hals an anker god,
Thad he ne flete in the flod."
Ther anon he dede sende
After a fishere that he wende
That wolde al his wille do,
And sone anon he seyde him to:
"Grim, thou wost thu art my thral;
Wilte don my wille al
That I wile bidden thee?
Tomorwen shal maken thee fre,
And aucte thee yeven and riche make,
Withthan thu wilt this child take
And leden him with thee tonicht,
Than thou sest the monelith,
Into the se and don him therinne.
Al wile I taken on me the sinne."
Grim tok the child and bond him faste,
Hwil the bondes micte laste,
That weren of ful strong line.
Tho was Havelok in ful strong pine -
Wiste he nevere her wat was wo!
Jhesu Crist, that makede go
The halte and the doumbe speken,
Havelok, thee of Godard wreke!
Hwan Grim him havede faste bounden,
And sithen in an eld cloth wnden,
He thriste in his muth wel faste
A kevel of clutes ful unwraste,
That he mouthe speke ne fnaste,
Hwere he wolde him bere or lede.
Hwan he havede don that dede,
Hwat the swike him havede he yede
That he shulde him forth lede
And him drinchen in the se -
That forwarde makeden he -
In a poke, ful and blac,
Sone he caste him on his bac,
Ant bar him hom to hise cleve,
And bitaucte him Dame Leve
And seyde, "Wite thou this knave,
Al so thou wit mi lif save!
I shal dreinchen him in the se;
For him shole we ben maked fre,
Gold haven ynow and other fe:
That havet mi louerd bihoten me."
 Hwan Dame Leve herde that,
Up she stirte and nouth ne sat,
And caste the knave so harde adoun
That he crakede ther his croune
Ageyn a gret ston ther it lay.
Tho Havelok micte sei, "Weilawei,
That evere was I kinges bern -
That him ne havede grip or ern,
Leoun or wlf, wlvine or bere,
Or other best that wolde him dere!"
So lay that child to middel nicth,
That Grim bad Leve bringen lict,
For to don on his clothes:
"Ne thenkestu nowt of mine othes
That ich have mi louerd sworen?
Ne wile I nouth be forloren.
I shal beren him to the se -
Thou wost that hoves me -
And I shal drenchen him therinne;
Ris up swithe an go thu binne,
And blow the fir and lith a kandel."
Als she shulde hise clothes handel
On for to don and blawe the fir,
She saw therinne a lith ful shir,
Al so brith so it were day,
Aboute the knave ther he lay.
Of hise mouth it stod a stem
Als it were a sunnebem;
Al so lith was it therinne
So ther brenden cerges inne.
"Jesu Crist!" wat Dame Leve,
"Hwat is that lith in ure cleve?
Ris up, Grim, and loke wat it menes!
Hwat is the lith, as thou wenes?"
He stirten bothe up to the knave
For man shal god wille have,
Unkeveleden him and swithe unbounden,
And sone anon him funden,
Als he tirveden of his serk,
On hise rith shuldre a kynmerk,
A swithe brith, a swithe fair.
"Goddot!" quath Grim, "this ure eir,
That shal louerd of Denemark!
He shal ben king, strong and stark;
He shal haven in his hand
Al Denemark and Engeland.
He shal do Godard ful wo;
He shal him hangen or quik flo,
Or he shal him al quic grave.
Of him shal he no merci have."
Thus seide Grim and sore gret,
And sone fel him to the fet,
And seide, "Louerd, have mercy
Of me and Leve, that is me bi!
Louerd, we aren bothe thine -
Thine cherles, thine hine.
Louerd, we sholen thee wel fede
Til that thu cone riden on stede,
Til that thu cone ful wel bere
Helm on heved, sheld and spere.
He ne shall nevere wite, sikerlike,
Godard, that fule swike.
Thoru other man, louerd, than thoru thee
Shal I nevere freman be.
Thou shalt me, louerd, fre maken,
For I shal yemen thee and waken -
Thoru thee wile I fredom have."
Tho was Haveloc a blithe knave!
He sat him up and cravede bred,
And seide, "Ich am ney ded,
Hwat for hunger, wat for bondes
That thu leidest on min hondes,
And for kevel at the laste,
That in my mouth was thrist faste.
I was ther with so harde prangled
That I was ther with ney strangled!"
"Wel is me that thou mayth hete!
Goddoth!" quath Leve, "I shal thee fete
Bred an chese, butere and milk,
Pastees and flaunes - al with swilk
Shole we sone thee wel fede,
Louerd, in this mikel nede.
Soth it is that men seyt and swereth:
'Ther God wile helpen, nouth ne dereth.'"
 Thanne sho havede brouth the mete,
Haveloc anon bigan to ete
Grundlike, and was ful blithe.
Couthe he nouth his hunger mithe.
A lof he het, I woth, and more,
For him hungrede swithe sore.
Thre dayes ther biforn, I wene,
Et he no mete - that was wel sene!
Hwan he havede eten and was fed,
Grim dede maken a ful fayr bed,
Unclothede him and dede him therinne,
And seyde, "Slep, sone, with muchel winne!
Slep wel faste and dred thee nouth -
Fro sorwe to joie art thu brouth."
Sone so it was lith of day,
Grim it undertok the wey
To the wicke traitour Godard
That was of Denemark a stiward
And saide, "Louerd, don ich have
That thou me bede of the knave:
He is drenched in the flod,
Abouten his hals an anker god -
He is witerlike ded.
Eteth he nevremore bred:
He lith drenched in the se.
Yif me gold and other fe,
That I mowe riche be,
And with thi chartre make fre;
For thu ful wel bihetet me
Thanne I last spak with thee."
Godard stod and lokede on him
Thoruthlike, with eyne grim,
And seyde, "Wiltu ben erl?
Go hom swithe, fule drit-cherl;
Go hethen and be everemore
Thral and cherl als thou er wore -
Shaltu have non other mede;
For litel I do thee lede
To the galwes, so God me rede!
For thou haves don a wicke dede.
Thou mait stonden her to longe,
Bute thou swithe hethen gonge!"
 Grim thoucte to late that he ran
Fro that traytour, that wicke man,
And thoucte, "Wat shal me to rede?
Wite he him on live he wile bethe
Heye hangen on galwe tre.
Betere us is of londe to fle,
And berwen bothen ure lives,
And mine children and mine wives."
Grim solde sone al his corn,
Shep with wolle, neth with horn,
Hors and swin, geet with berd,
The gees, the hennes of the yerd -
Al he solde that outh douthe,
That he evre selle moucte;
And al he to the peni drou.
Hise ship he greythede wel inow;
He dede it tere an ful wel pike
That it ne doutede sond ne krike;
Therinne dide a ful god mast,
Stronge kables and ful fast,
Ores gode an ful god seyl -
Therinne wantede nouth a nayl,
That evere he sholde therinne do.
Hwan he havedet greythed so,
Havelok the yunge he dede therinne,
Him and his wif, hise sones thrinne,
And hise two doutres that faire wore.
And sone dede he leyn in an ore,
And drou him to the heye see,
There he mith altherbeste fle.
Fro londe woren he bote a mile,
Ne were it nevere but ane hwile
That it ne bigan a wind to rise
Out of the north men calleth "bise,"
And drof hem intil Engelond,
That al was sithen in his hond,
His, that Havelok was the name;
But or he havede michel shame,
Michel sorwe and michel tene,
And yete he gat it al bidene;
Als ye shulen now forthward lere,
Yf that ye wilen therto here.
 In Humber Grim bigan to lende,
In Lindeseye, rith at the north ende.
Ther sat his ship upon the sond;
But Grim it drou up to the lond;
And there he made a litel cote
To him and to hise flote.
Bigan he there for to erthe,
A litel hus to maken of erthe,
So that he wel thore were
Of here herboru herborwed there.
And for that Grim that place aute,
The stede of Grim the name laute,
So that Grimesbi it calleth alle
That theroffe speken alle;
And so shulen men callen it ay,
Bitwene this and Domesday.
 Grim was fishere swithe god,
And mikel couthe on the flod -
Mani god fish therinne he tok,
Bothe with neth and with hok.
He tok the sturgiun and the qual,
And the turbut and lax withal;
He tok the sele and the hwel -
He spedde ofte swithe wel.
Keling he tok and tumberel,
Hering and the makerel,
The butte, the schulle, the thornebake.
Gode paniers dede he make,
On til him and other thrinne
Til hise sones to beren fishe inne,
Up o londe to selle and fonge -
Forbar he neyther tun ne gronge
That he ne to yede with his ware.
Kam he nevere hom hand-bare,
That he ne broucte bred and sowel
In his shirte or in his cowel,
In his poke benes and korn -
Hise swink he havede he nowt forlorn.
And hwan he took the grete lamprey,
Ful wel he couthe the rithe wei
To Lincolne, the gode boru;
Ofte he yede it thoru and thoru,
Til he havede wol wel sold
And therfore the penies told.
Thanne he com thenne he were blithe,
For hom he brouthe fele sithe
Wastels, simenels with the horn,
His pokes fulle of mele and korn,
Netes flesh, shepes and swines;
And hemp to maken of gode lines,
And stronge ropes to hise netes,
In the se weren he ofte setes.
 Thusgate Grim him fayre ledde:
Him and his genge wel he fedde
Wel twelf winter other more.
Havelok was war that Grim swank sore
For his mete, and he lay at hom -
Thouthe, "Ich am now no grom!
Ich am wel waxen and wel may eten
More than evere Grim may geten.
Ich ete more, bi God on live,
Than Grim an hise children five!
It ne may nouth ben thus longe.
Goddot! I wile with hem gange
For to leren sum god to gete.
Swinken ich wolde for my mete -
It is no shame for to swinken!
The man that may wel eten and drinken
Thar nouth ne have but on swink long -
To liggen at hom it is ful strong.
God yelde him, ther I ne may,
That haveth me fed to this day!
Gladlike I wile the paniers bere -
Ich woth ne shal it me nouth dere,
They ther be inne a birthene gret
Al so hevi als a neth.
Shal ich nevere lengere dwelle -
Tomorwen shal ich forth pelle."
On the morwen, hwan it was day,
He stirt up sone and nouth ne lay,
And cast a panier on his bac,
With fish giveled als a stac.
Al so michel he bar him one,
So he foure, bi mine mone!
Wel he it bar and solde it wel;
The silver he brouthe hom ilk del,
Al that he therfore tok -
Withheld he nouth a ferthinges nok.
So yede he forth ilke day
That he nevere at home lay -
So wolde he his mester lere.
Bifel it so a strong dere
Bigan to rise of korn of bred,
That Grim ne couthe no god red,
Hw he sholde his meiné fede;
Of Havelok havede he michel drede,
For he was strong and wel mouthe ete
More thanne evere mouthe be gete;
Ne he ne mouthe on the se take
Neyther lenge ne thornbake,
Ne non other fish that douthe
His meyné feden with he mouthe.
Of Havelok he havede kare,
Hwilgat that he micthe fare.
Of his children was him nouth;
On Havelok was al hise thouth,
And seyde, "Havelok, dere sone,
I wene that we deye mone
For hunger, this dere is so strong,
And hure mete is uten long.
Betere is that thu henne gonge
Than thu here dwelle longe -
Hethen thou mayt gangen to late;
Thou canst ful wel the ricthe gate
To Lincolne, the gode boru -
Thou havest it gon ful ofte thoru.
Of me ne is me nouth a slo.
Betere is that thu thider go,
For ther is mani god man inne;
Ther thou mayt thi mete winne.
But wo is me thou art so naked,
Of mi seyl I wolde thee were maked
A cloth thou mithest inne gongen,
Sone, no cold that thu ne fonge."
 He tok the sheres of the nayl
And made him a covel of the sayl,
And Havelok dide it sone on.
Havede he neyther hosen ne shon,
Ne none kines other wede:
To Lincolne barfot he yede.
Hwan he cam ther, he was ful wil -
Ne havede he no frend to gangen til.
Two dayes ther fastinde he yede,
That non for his werk wolde him fede.
The thridde day herde he calle:
"Bermen, bermen, hider forth alle!"
Poure that on fote yede
Sprongen forth so sparke on glede,
Havelok shof dun nyne or ten
Rith amidewarde the fen,
And stirte forth to the kok,
Ther the erles mete he tok
That he bouthe at the brigge:
The bermen let he alle ligge,
And bar the mete to the castel,
And gat him there a ferthing wastel.
Thet other day kepte he ok
Swithe yerne the erles kok,
Til that he say him on the brigge,
And bi him many fishes ligge.
The herles mete havede he bouth
Of Cornwalie and kalde oft:
"Bermen, bermen, hider swithe!"
Havelok it herde and was ful blithe
That he herde "bermen" calle.
Alle made he hem dun falle
That in his gate yeden and stode -
Wel sixtene laddes gode.
Als he lep the kok til,
He shof hem alle upon an hyl -
Astirte til him with his rippe
And bigan the fish to kippe.
He bar up wel a carte lode
Of segges, laxes, of playces brode,
Of grete laumprees and of eles.
Sparede he neyther tos ne heles
Til that he to the castel cam,
That men fro him his birthene nam.
Than men haveden holpen him doun
With the birthene of his croun,
The kok stod and on him low,
And thoute him stalworthe man ynow,
And seyde, "Wiltu ben wit me?
Gladlike wile ich feden thee:
Wel is set the mete thu etes,
And the hire that thu getes!"
 "Goddot!" quoth he, "leve sire,
Bidde ich you non other hire,
But yeveth me inow to ete -
Fir and water I wile you fete,
The fir blowe and ful wele maken;
Stickes kan ich breken and kraken,
And kindlen ful wel a fyr,
And maken it to brennen shir.
Ful wel kan ich cleven shides,
Eles to turven of here hides;
Ful wel kan ich dishes swilen,
And don al that ye evere wilen."
Quoth the kok, "Wile I no more!
Go thu yunder and sit thore,
And I shal yeve the ful fair bred,
And made the broys in the led.
Sit now doun and et ful yerne -
Datheit hwo the mete werne!"
Havelok sette him dun anon
Al so stille als a ston,
Til he havede ful wel eten;
Tho havede Havelok fayre geten.
Hwan he havede eten inow,
He kam to the wele, water up drow,
And filde ther a michel so -
Bad he non ageyn him go,
But bitwen his hondes he bar it in,
Al him one, to the kichin.
Bad he non him water to fett,
Ne fro brigge to bere the mete.
He bar the turves, he bar the star,
The wode fro the brigge he bar,
Al that evere shulden he nytte,
Al he drow and al he citte -
Wolde he nevere haven rest
More than he were a best.
Of alle men was he mest meke,
Lauhwinde ay and blithe of speke;
Evere he was glad and blithe -
His sorwe he couthe ful wel mithe.
It ne was non so litel knave
For to leyken ne for to plawe,
That he ne wolde with him pleye.
The children that yeden in the weie
Of him he deden al here wille,
And with him leykeden here fille.
Him loveden alle, stille and bolde,
Knictes, children, yunge and holde -
Alle him loveden that him sowen,
Bothen heye men and lowe.
Of him ful wide the word sprong,
Hw he was mikel, hw he was strong,
Hw fayr man God him havede maked,
But on that he was almest naked:
For he ne havede nouth to shride
But a kovel ful unride,
That was ful and swithe wicke;
Was it nouth worth a fir-sticke.
The cok bigan of him to rewe
And bouthe him clothes al spannewe:
He bouthe him bothe hosen and shon,
And sone dide him dones on.
Hwan he was clothed, osed, and shod,
Was non so fayr under God,
That evere yete in erthe were,
Non that evere moder bere;
It was nevere man that yemede
In kinneriche that so wel semede
King or cayser for to be,
Than he was shrid, so semede he;
For thanne he weren alle samen
At Lincolne at the gamen,
And the erles men woren al thore,
Than was Havelok bi the shuldren more
Than the meste that ther kam:
In armes him noman nam
That he doune sone ne caste.
Havelok stod over hem als a mast;
Als he was heie, als he was long,
He was bothe stark and strong -
In Engelond non hise per
Of strengthe that evere kam him ner.
Als he was strong, so was he softe;
They a man him misdede ofte,
Neveremore he him misseyde,
Ne hond on him with yvele leyde.
Of bodi was he mayden clene;
Nevere yete in game, ne in grene,
With hire ne wolde he leyke ne lye,
No more than it were a strie.		 Pay attention to me, good men,
Wives, maidens, and everyone else
To a tale that I will tell you
For whoever wants to stay and hear it.
The story is about Havelock,
Who when he was little went half-naked.
Havelock was a good man,
The best in every company.
He was the bravest man in need
Who might ride on any steed!
So that you may hear me,
And so that you might know the tale,
At the beginning of our story,
Fill me a cup of your best ale.
And let's drink, while I tell it,
That Christ might shield us all from Hell!
May Christ protect us forever
So that we might come to Him,
And, so that it may be so,
Let us praise the Lord!
Here I'll begin the rhyme,
And may Christ give us a good end!
The rhyme is about Havelock,
A steady man to have in a group.
He was the hardiest man in need
Who might ride on any steed.
There was a king in days of old,
Who in his time made good laws
And observed them well.
He was loved by young, loved by old,
By earl and baron, vassal and retainer,
Knight, bondsman, and servant,
Widows, maidens, priests, and clerks,
And all for his good works.
He loved God with all his might,
And the holy church, and truth and justice.
He loved all righteous men,
And everywhere had them at his call.
He made traitors and robbers fail,
And hated them like men hate bitter drink.
Outlaws and thieves were bound,
Any that he might find,
And hung high on the gallows tree.
He took neither gold nor any bribe from them.
In that time a man who bore
Upwards of fifty pounds, I guess, or more,
Of red gold on his back,
In a pouch, white or black,
Would not meet anyone who would mistreat him,
Or lay hands on him with evil intent.
Back then merchants could travel
Throughout England with their wares,
And boldly buy and sell,
Anywhere they wanted to stay.
In fine towns and in the countryside
They would not meet anyone to cause them harm
Who would not soon be brought to ruin,
Made poor, and reduced to nothing for it.
England was at ease then.
There was much to praise about such a king
Who held England in such peace.
Christ in Heaven was with him;
He was England's bloom!
There was no lord as far as Rome
Who dared to bring to his people
Hunger, invasion, or wicked causes.
When the king defeated his enemies,
He made them lurk and creep in corners.
They all hid themselves and kept quiet,
And did all his heart's will.
But he loved justice above all things.
No man could corrupt him into wrong,
Not for silver or for gold,
So faithful was he to his soul.
To the orphaned he was their protector;
Whoever did them wrong or harm,
No matter if they were a cleric or knight,
Was soon brought to justice by him.
And as for anyone who did widows wrong,
There was no knight so strong
That he wouldn't soon have him thrown
Into fetters and fasten them tightly.
And as for whoever shamed a maiden
By her body, or brought her into blame,
Unless it was by her consent,
He made him lose some of his limbs.
The king was the best knight in need
Who might ever ride on a steed,
Or hold a weapon, or lead out an army.
He was never so afraid of any knights
That he would not spring forth like sparks from fire
And let them know by the deeds of his hand
How he could be victorious with a weapon.
With others he took their horses or fine clothes,
Or made them quickly spread their hands,
And cry loudly, "Mercy, Lord!"
He was generous and by no means stingy.
He never had bread so good
On his table or a morsel so fine
That he would not give it to feed
The poor who went on foot,
In order to receive from Him the reward
That He bled on the Cross for us to have—
Christ, who can guide and protect all
Who ever live in any land.
The king was called Athelwold.
With speech and weapons he was bold.
In England there was never a knight
Who better held the land in justice.
But he had fathered no heir
Except for a very fair maiden
Who was so young that she could not
Walk or speak with her mouth.
Then he was taken by a violent illness,
So that he knew well and understood
That his death was coming.
And he said, "Christ, what should I do?
Lord, how should I be advised?
I know full well I will have my reward,
But how will my daughter fare?
I have great concerns about her
And she is much in my thoughts;
I have no worries about myself.
It is no wonder for You that I am anxious.
She cannot speak, nor can she walk.
If she knew how to ride a horse,
With a thousand men by her side,
And she came to age,
She could rule England
And do to others as she pleased
And would know how to rule her body.
I would otherwise never be at ease,
Even if I were in Heaven's realm."
When he had made this plea,
He shivered strongly after.
At once he sent out writs
To his earls, each one of them,
And to his barons, rich and poor,
From Roxburgh through to Dover,
That they should come quickly
To him, as he was very ill,
To the place where he lay
In hard bonds, night and day.
He was so trapped in death's grip
That he could have no rest.
He could take no food,
Nor might he have any comfort.
No one could advise him in his gloom,
For he was little more than dead.
All who obeyed the writs
Traveled to him in sorrow and grief.
They wrung their hands and wept bitterly,
And earnestly prayed for Christ's grace,
That He would release him
From his illness which was so grim.
When they had all come
Before the king in the hall
Where he lay at Winchester,
"You are forever welcome!" he said.
"I give you great thanks
That you have come to me now."
When they were all seated
And the king had greeted them,
They wept and wailed and mourned,
Until the king asked that they all be quiet,
And said, "Crying does nothing to help,
For I am brought to death.
But now that you see that I am dying,
I will ask you all now
About my daughter, who will be
Your sovereign lady after me.
Who will guard her for a time,
Both her and England,
Until she is a woman of age,
And can take care of and guide herself?"
They answered and said at once,
By Christ and by Saint John,
That Earl Godrich of Cornwall
Was a faithful man, without doubt,
A wise man in counsel, a wise man in deed,
And men had great deference for him.
"He can best take care of her,
Until she may be queen in full."
The king was pleased with that advice.
He had a beautiful woolen cloth brought,
And laid the mass-book on it,
The chalice, and the Eucharist plate as well,
And the communion cloth and vestments.
Then he made the earl swear
That he would protect her well,
Without fail, without reproach,
Until she was twelve years old
And she was confident in speech
And could understand court etiquette
And the manners and speech of courtship,
And until she might love
Whoever she felt seemed best to her;
And that he would give to her
The highest man who might live,
The best, fairest, and the strongest as well.
All this the king had him swear on the book.
And then he would bestow
All of England into her hand.
When that was sworn in this way,
The king had the maiden rise,
And committed her to the earl
Along with all the land he ever owned,
Every part of England,
And prayed that he would keep her well.
The king could do no more,
But earnestly prayed for God's grace
And took communion and confession,
Five hundred and five times, I know,
And repeatedly scourged himself severely,
And beat himself painfully with his own hands
So that the blood ran from his flesh,
Which had been so tender and soft.
He made his will out carefully,
And soon after had every part affirmed.
When it was executed, no man could find
So much as a burial sheet to wrap him in
Of his in any coffer or chest
That anyone knew of in England.
For everything was disposed of, fair and clear,
So that no possessions were left to him.
When he had been continually scourged,
Confessed, and beaten,
He said, "Into your hands, Lord,"
And set aside his words then.
He began to call on Jesus Christ,
And died before all of his noblemen.
When he was dead, men could see
The greatest sorrow that might be.
There was sobbing, sighing, and grief,
Hands wringing, and clutching of hair.
Everyone there wept bitterly,
All the rich and poor that were there,
And all had great sorrow,
Ladies in chambers, and knights in the hall.
When the mourning had subsided somewhat,
And they had wept a long time,
They soon after rang bells,
Monks and priests sang mass,
And they read out many psalm books,
Praying that God Himself would lead his soul
Into Heaven before His Son
To live with Them there without end.
After the king was delivered to the earth,
The powerful earl overlooked nothing
Until he soon had all of England
Seized into his hand.
He placed in the castles
The knights which he could trust,
And he forced all the English to swear
That they would act in good faith to him.
He gave men what seemed right to him,
To live and die as he saw fit
Until the king's daughter was
Twenty years old or more.
When the earl had received this oath
From earls and barons, fair and foul,
From knights and laborers, free and bound,
He had new justices appointed
To travel through all England
From Dover into Roxburgh.
He ordained sheriffs, church officers, and reeves,
And peace sergeants with long lances,
To guard the wild woods and paths
From wicked men who would commit harm,
And to have all at his beck and call,
At his will, and at his mercy,
So that no one would dare be against him,
Not earl, baron, knight, or peasant.
To be sure, in truth, he had an abundance
Of people, weapons, and possessions.
Truly, in a short while,
All of England stood in awe of him;
All of England was afraid of him,
Like the cattle fears the prod.
The king's daughter began to flower
And grew into the fairest woman alive.
She was wise in all manners
That were good and were cherished.
The maiden was called Goldeboro,
And for her many a tear would be wept.
When Earl Godrich heard about the maiden,
How well she was faring,
How wise she was, how chaste, how fair,
And how she was the rightful heir
Of England, of all the kingdom,
Then Godrich began to complain,
And griped, "Why should she be
Queen and lady over me?
Why should she have all England,
And me and what's mine, in her hand?
Damn whoever lets her have it!
She will never see it happen.
Should I give a fool, a serving wench,
England, just because she wants it?
Damn whoever hands it to her
While I'm alive!
She has grown too proud
With the good food and royal clothes
That I have too often given her.
I have pampered her too well!
It is not going to end as she thinks.
Hope often makes a foolish man blind.
I have a son, a handsome boy;
He shall have all England!
He shall be king! He will be sire,
So long as I have a head on these shoulders!"
When this treason was all thought out,
His oath no longer meant anything to him.
He let his promise go entirely,
And after then did not care a straw for it.
But before he would eat another thing,
He ordered for her to be fetched
From where she was at Winchester,
And just like a wicked traitor Judas,
He had her sent to Dover,
Which stands on the seashore,
And had her kept there
In poverty and in wretched clothes.
He had the castle guarded
So that none of her friends
Might come to speak with her,
Anyone who might ever avenge her wrong.
We will now leave Goldboro for a while,
Who laments without ceasing,
Where she lies in prison.
May Jesus Christ, who brought Lazarus
To life from the bonds of death,
Release her with His hands!
And grant that she might see him
Hanging high on the gallows tree,
The man who brought her into sorrow,
Even though she had done no wrong.
Let us continue forth in our story.
In that time, as it so happened,
In the land of Denmark there was
A rich and very powerful king.
His name was Birkabeyn.
He had many knights and attendants;
He was a handsome and valiant man.
He was the best knight in body
Who ever might command an army,
Or ride a horse, or handle a spear.
He had three children by his wife,
And he loved them as much as his life.
He had a son and two daughters
Who were, as it happened, very beautiful.
But death, who spares no one,
Neither rich nor poor, king nor emperor,
Took him when he would rather live;
But his days were complete,
So that he could no longer remain,
Not for gold, silver, or any gift.
When the king realized this he quickly sent
For priests from near and far,
Canon priests and monks as well,
To counsel and advise him,
And to confess and absolve him
While his body was still alive.
When he was given the sacraments,
With his will made and given for him,
He had all his knights seated,
For through them he would know
Who might take care of his young children
Until they could speak with their tongues,
Walk and talk, and rise horses
With knights and attendants by their sides.
He spoke of this matter and soon chose
A powerful man who was the truest
Under the moon that he knew—
Godard, the king's own friend—
And said he might care for them best
If he committed himself to them,
Until his son could bear
A helmet on his head and lead an army,
With a strong spear in his hand,
And be made king of Denmark.
The king believed what Godard said
And laid hands on him
And said, "I here entrust to you
Each of my three children,
All Denmark, and all my properties,
Until my son is of age.
But I want you to swear
On the altar and the church vestments,
On the bells that men ring,
And on the hymnal from which the priests sing,
That you will protect my children well,
So that their family will be satisfied,
Until my son can be a knight.
Then endow him with his right:
Denmark and all that belongs to it,
Castles, towns, woods, and fields."
Godard rose and swore everything
That the king asked him, and afterward sat
With the knights who were there,
Who were all weeping very bitterly
For the king, who soon died.
May Jesus Christ, who makes the moon
Shine on the darkest night,
Protect his soul from Hell's pains,
And grant that it may dwell
In Heaven with God's Son!
When Birkabeyn was laid in his grave,
The earl immediately took the boy,
Havelock, who was the heir,
Swanboro, his sister, and Hefled, the other,
And he had them put in the castle,
Where none might come to them
From their relatives; there they were kept.
They cried there miserably,
Both from hunger and the cold,
Before they were even three years old.
He gave them clothes grudgingly;
He didn't care a nut about his oaths!
He didn't clothe or feed them properly,
Or provide them with a royal bedroom.
In that time Godard was surely
The worst traitor under God
Who was ever created on earth,
Except for one, the wicked Judas.
May he have the curse today
Of all who might ever pronounce them,
Of patriarchs and popes,
And of priests with buttoned cloaks,
Of both monks and hermits,
And by the beloved Holy Cross
That God Himself bled upon.
May Christ condemn him with His mouth!
May he be reviled from north to south,
By all men who can speak,
By Christ, who made the moon and sun.
For after then he had all the land,
And all the folk, tilled into his hand,
And all had to swear him oaths,
Rich and poor, fair and foul,
That they would perform his will,
And that they would not oppose him.
He worked up a villainous treachery,
A treason and a felony,
To carry out on the children.
May the devil soon take him to Hell!
When that was planned, he went on
To the tower where they were kept,
Where they wept for hunger and cold.
The boy, who had more courage,
Came to him and set himself on his knees,
And greeted Godard courteously.
Godard said, "What's the matter with you?
Why are you all bawling and yowling?"
"Because we are bitterly hungry," he said.
"We need more to eat.
We have no heat, nor do we have
Either a knight or a servant in here
Who gives us half the amount of food
Or drink that we could eat.
Woe is us that we were born!
Alas! Is there not even grain
That someone could make bread from?
We are hungry and we are nearly dead!"
Godard heard their plea,
And did not care a straw about it,
But lifted up both of the girls together,
Who were green and pale from hunger,
As if it were a game,
As if he were playing with them.
He slashed both of their throats in two,
And then cut them to pieces.
There was sorrow in whoever saw it
When the children lay by the wall,
Sprawled in the blood.
Havelock saw it and stood there.
The innocent boy was full of grief.
He must have been frozen in terror,
For he saw a knife pointed at his heart
To rob him of his life.
But the boy, who was so small,
Kneeled before that Judas,
And said, "Lord, have mercy now!
Lord, I offer you homage.
I will give you all of Denmark,
On the promise that you let me live.
I will swear on the Bible right here
That I will never bear against you
Shield or spear, Lord,
Nor any other weapon that might harm you.
Lord, have mercy on me!
Today I will flee from Denmark
And never come back again.
I will swear that Birkabeyn
Never fathered me."
When the devil Godard heard that,
He felt a slight twinge of guilt.
He drew back the knife, which was warm
From the innocent children's blood.
It was a miracle, fair and bright,
That he did not slay the boy,
But out of pity he held back.
He felt strong regret for Havelock,
And though he wished that he were dead,
Godard not could bring himself
To kill him with his own hand, the foul fiend!
Godard thought as he stood by him,
Staring out as if he were crazy,
"If I let him go alive,
He might cause me great trouble.
I will never have peace,
For he may bide his time to kill me.
And if his life were taken away,
And my children were to thrive,
After my time they might be
Lords of all Denmark!
God knows, he shall be killed.
I will take no other course!
I will have him thrown into the sea,
And there I'll have him drowned,
With a solid anchor about his neck,
So that he can't float in the water."
From there he immediately sent for
A fisherman that he believed
Would do all his will,
And he said to him at once,
"Grim, you know you are my servant;
Will you do all my will
That I order you to?
Tomorrow I will free you
And give you property, and make you rich,
Provided that you take this child
And bring him with you tonight.
When you see the moonlight,
Go into the sea and throw him in it.
I will take on myself all the sin."
Grim took the boy and tied him up tightly,
While the bonds might last,
Which were made of strong rope.
Then Havelock was in great pain;
He never knew before what torment was!
May Jesus Christ, who makes the lame walk
And the dumb speak,
Wreak revenge on Godard for Havelock!
When Grim had tied him up fast,
And then bound him in an old cloth,
He tightly shoved in his mouth
A gag of filthy rags,
So that he could not speak or snort out
Wherever he might carry or lead him.
When he had done that deed
And obeyed the traitor's orders,
That he should take him out
And soak him in the sea
In a bag, big and black,
Which was the agreement they made,
He immediately threw him on his back
And took him home to his hut.
Grim entrusted him to his wife Leve,
And said, "Watch this boy
As if you were saving my life!
I will drown him in the sea.
Because of him we will be made free,
And have plenty of gold and other goods;
My lord has promised me this."
When Dame Leve heard this,
She did not sit but jumped up,
And dropped the boy down so hard
That he banged his head
Against a great rock laying there.
Then Havelock might have been heard saying
"Alas that I was ever a king's son!
If only he had fathered a vulture or eagle,
A lion or wolf, a she-wolf or bear,
Or some other beast to harm Godard back!"
So the child lay there until midnight,
When Grim asked Leve to bring a light
In order to put on his clothes:
"Don't you think anything of my oaths
That I have sworn to my lord?
I will not be ruined!
I will take him to the sea—
You know that's what I have to do—
And I will drown him there in the water.
Get up quickly now and go in,
And stoke the fire and light a candle!"
But as she was about to handle his clothes
To put them on him and kindle the fire,
She saw inside a shining light,
As bright as if it were day,
Around the boy where he lay.
From his mouth a gleam stood out
As if it were a sunbeam.
It was as light inside the hut
As if candles were burning there.
"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Dame Leve,
"What is that light in our hut?
Get up, Grim, and see what it means!
What do you think the light is?"
They both hurried up to the boy,
For people are naturally good-willed,
Ungagged him, and quickly untied him,
And then immediately found on him,
As they pulled off the boy's shirt,
A royal birthmark on his right shoulder,
A mark so bright and so fair.
Grim said, "God knows, this is our heir
Who will be lord of Denmark!
He will be king, strong and mighty,
And he will have in his hand
All of Denmark and England!
He will bring Godard great grief;
He will have him hanged or flayed alive,
Or he will have him buried alive.
He will get no mercy from him."
Grim said this and cried bitterly,
And then fell at Havelock's feet
And said, "My lord, have mercy
On me and Leve, who is beside me!
Lord, we are both yours—
Your peasants, your servants.
Lord, we will raise you well
Until you know how to ride a steed,
Until you know well how to bear
A helmet on your head with shield and spear.
Godard, that foul traitor,
Will never know, for sure.
I will never be a free man, Lord,
Except through you.
You, my lord, will release me,
For I will protect and watch over you.
Through you I will have freedom."
Then Havelock was a happy lad.
He sat up and asked for bread,
And said, "I am nearly dead,
What with hunger, what with the ropes
That you laid on my hands,
And at last because of the gag
That was stuck fast in my mouth.
With all that I was so tightly pressed
That I was nearly strangled!"
Leve said, "God knows, I'm just pleased
That you can eat. I will fetch you
Bread and cheese, butter and milk,
And meat pies and desserts.
We'll soon feed you well with these things,
My lord, in your great need.
It's true what people say and swear;
'No one can harm whom God wishes to help.'"
When she had brought some food,
At once Havelock began to eat
Ravenously, and was very pleased;
He could not hide his hunger.
He ate a loaf, I know, and more,
For he was half-starved.
For three days before then, I guess,
He had eaten nothing—that was clear to see!
When he had eaten and was content,
Grim made him a comfortable bed,
Took his clothes off, and tucked him in,
And said, "Sleep, son, in great peace.
Sleep fast and do not be afraid of anything.
You have been brought from sorrow to joy."
Soon it was the light of day.
Grim made his way
To the wicked traitor Godard,
Who was the steward of Denmark,
And said, "My lord, I have done
What you ordered me to do with the boy.
He is drowned in the water,
With a firm anchor around his neck.
He is surely dead.
He will never eat any more bread!
He lies drowned in the sea.
Give me gold and other goods
So that I may be rich,
And make me free with your signature.
You promised me these things in full
When I last spoke with you."
Godard stood and looked at him
Thoroughly with stern eyes
And said, "So you want to be an earl?
Get home quick, foul dirt-serf!
Get out of here and be forever
A slave and peasant as you were before!
You will get no other reward.
So help me God, it would take little
For me to send you to the gallows.
You have done a wicked thing.
You stay here too long for your own good
Unless you get out of here fast!"
Grim thought, too late, as he ran
From that traitor, that wicked man
And pondered, "What will I do?
If he knows he's alive, both of us will be
Hanged high on the gallows tree.
It would be better for us to flee the land
And save both of our lives,
And my children's and my wife's."
Soon after Grim sold all of his grain,
Sheep with wool, cattle with horns,
Horses and pigs, goats with beards,
The geese, and the hens of the yard.
He sold all that could be sold,
Everything that had value,
And he converted it all to money.
He outfitted his ship well enough.
He gave it tar and a full coat of pitch
So that it would never fear inlet or creek.
He installed a fine mast in it,
Fastened firmly with strong cables,
Good oars, and a rugged sail.
Nothing inside lacked even a nail
That he should have put into it.
When he had equipped it so,
He put young Havelock in it,
Himself and his wife, his three sons,
And his two daughters, who were pretty girls.
And then he laid in the oars
And drew them out to the high sea
Where he might best flee.
He was only a mile from land,
And it was no more than a short while
When a breeze which men call
The North Wind began to rise
And drove them on to England,
Which would later all be in one hand,
And that man's name would be Havelock.
But before then he would endure
Much shame, sorrow, and hardship.
And yet he got it all completely,
As you will all soon learn
If you wish to hear about it.
Grim came to land in the Humber,
In Lindsay, right at the north end.
There his fishing boat sat on the sand.
But Grim drew it up onto the land,
And built a little cottage there
For him and his company.
He began to live and work there,
In a little house made of earth,
So that in their harbor there
They were well-sheltered.
And because Grim owned that place,
It took the name of Grim's stead,
So that everyone calls it Grimsby
Who speaks about the town.
And so men will always call it
Between now and Judgment Day.
Grim was a skillful fisherman
And knew the waters well.
He took plenty of good fish in,
Both with a net and with a hook.
He took sturgeons and whales,
And turbot and salmon as well.
He caught seals and eels,
And was often very successful.
He took cod and porpoise,
Herring and mackerel,
Flounder, plaice, and skate.
He made fine bread baskets,
One for him and another three
For his sons to carry fish in
To sell and collect money for upland.
He missed neither town nor farm
Wherever he went with his wares.
He never came home empty-handed
Without bringing bread and sauce
In his shirt or in his hood,
And beans and grain in his bag.
He never wasted his efforts.
And when he caught a great lamprey,
He knew the road very well
To Lincoln, the fine town.
He often crossed it through and through,
Until he sold everything as he wished
And had counted his pennies for it.
When he returned from there he was glad,
For many times he brought home
Cakes and horn-shaped breads,
With his bags full of flour and grain,
Ox-meat, lamb, and pork,
And hemp to make fishing lines,
And strong rope for his nets
Where he set them in the sea.
Thus Grim lived comfortably,
And he fed himself and his household well
For a good twelve winters or more.
Havelock knew that Grim worked hard
For his dinner while he lay at home.
He thought, "I am no longer a boy.
I am fully grown and can eat
More than Grim could ever get.
I eat more, by the living God,
Than Grim and his five children.
God knows, it can't go on like this.
I will go with them
To learn some useful skill,
And I will labor for my dinner.
It is no shame to work!
It is a foul thing for a man who eats
And drinks his fill who has not
Worked hard for it to lie at home.
God reward him more than I can
For having fed me to this day!
I will gladly carry the breadbaskets.
I know it won't do me any harm,
Even if they are a great burden,
As heavy as an ox.
I will no longer linger here.
Tomorrow I will hustle forth!"
In the morning when it was day
He got up at once and did not lie down,
And he threw a basket on his back
With fish heaped up like a stack.
He carried as much by himself
As four men, by my word.
He carried it firmly and sold it well,
And he brought home every bit of silver,
All that he got for it.
He did not hold back a penny's edge.
He went out this way each day
And was so eager to learn his trade
That he never idled at home again.
But it so happened that a bad harvest
Brought a shortage of grain for bread,
So that Grim could find no good solution
To how he should feed his household.
He was very anxious about Havelock,
For he was strong and could eat
More than every mouth there could get.
Nor could Grim catch on the sea
Either cod or skate,
Nor any other fish that would serve
To feed his family.
He was very worried about Havelock
And how he might fare.
He did not think of his other children;
All of his thoughts were on Havelock,
And he said, "Havelock, dear son,
I fear that we must all die from hunger,
For this famine is so bad
And our food is long gone.
It would be better if you go on
Than to stay here for long.
You might leave here too late.
You know very well the right way
To Lincoln, the fine town,
For you have been there often enough.
As for me, my efforts aren't worth a bean.
It's better that you go there,
For there are many good men in town
And you might be able to earn your dinner there.
But woe is me! You are so poorly dressed,
I would rather take my sail and make
Some clothing you can go in, son,
So that you need not face the cold."
He took the scissors off the nail,
And made him a cloak from the sail,
And then put it on Havelock.
He had neither hose nor shoes,
Nor any other kind of clothing.
He walked barefoot to Lincoln.
When he arrived there, he was at a loss.
He had no friend to go to.
For two days he wandered there fasting,
For no one would feed him for his work.
The third day he heard a call,
"Porters, porters, come here, all!"
The poor who went on foot
Sprang forth like sparks from coals.
Havelock shoved aside nine or ten,
Right into the muddy swamp,
And started forward to the cook.
There he took charge of the earl's food
Which he was given at the bridge.
He left the other porters lying
And delivered the food to the castle,
Where he was given a penny cake.
The next day again he eagerly kept
A lookout for the earl's cook,
Until he saw him on the bridge
Where many fish lay beside him.
He had bought the earl's provisions
From Cornwall, and continually called,
"Porters, porters, come quickly!"
Havelock heard it and was glad
That he heard 'porters' called.
He made everyone fall down
Who walked or stood in his way,
A good sixteen strong lads.
As he leaped up to the cook,
He shoved them down the hillside,
Hurrying to him with his basket,
And began to scoop up the fish.
He bore up a good cartload
Of squid, salmon, and broad flatfish,
Of great lampreys, and of eels.
He did not spare heel or toe
Until he came to the castle,
Where men took his burden from him.
When men had helped take down
The load off his shoulders,
The cook stood and smiled on him
And decided he was a sturdy enough man
And said, "Will you stay with me?
I will be glad to keep you.
The food you eat is well earned,
As well as the wages you get!"
Havelock said, "God knows, dear sir,
I will ask you for no other pay
But that you give me enough to eat.
I will fetch you firewood and water,
Raise the fire, and make it blaze.
I can break and crack sticks,
And kindle a fire expertly,
And make it burn brightly.
I know well how to split kindling
And how to skin eels from their hides.
I can wash dishes well,
And do all that you ever want."
The cook said, "I can't ask for more!
Go over there and sit,
And I will bring you some good bread,
And make you soup in the kettle.
Sit down now and eat your fill.
Damn whoever begrudges you food!"
Havelock sat down at once,
As still as a stone,
Until he had fully eaten.
Havelock had done well then!
When he had eaten enough,
He came to the well, drew up the water,
And filled a large tub there.
He asked no one to go with him,
But he carried it in between his hands,
All by himself, to the kitchen.
He asked no one to fetch water for him,
Nor to bring provisions from the bridge.
He bore turf for fuel, and grass for kindling.
He carried wood from the bridge;
All that they might ever need,
He hauled and he cut.
He would never have any more rest
Than if he were a beast.
Of all men he was the most modest,
Always laughing and friendly in speech.
He was forever glad and pleasant;
He could fully hide his sorrows.
There was no boy so little
Who wanted to sport or have fun
That he would not play with him.
For all the children who came his way,
He did everything they wanted,
And played with them to their fill.
He was loved by all, meek and bold,
Knights, children, young, and old.
All took to him who saw him,
Both high and low men.
Word spread far and wide of him,
How he was great, how he was strong,
How handsome a man God had made him,
Except that he was almost naked.
For he had nothing to wear
Except a rough cloak,
Which was so dirty and foul
That it was not worth a stick of firewood.
The cook began to feel sorry for him
And brought him brand new clothes.
He bought him both hose and shoes,
And soon made him put them on.
When he was clothed, hosed, and in shoes
There was no one so handsome under God
Who was ever yet on earth,
No one that any mother ever bore.
There was never a man who ruled
A kingdom who looked so much
Like a king or emperor
As he appeared when he was clothed.
For when they were all together
In Lincoln at the games,
And the earl's men were all there,
Havelock was taller by a head
Than the greatest who were there.
In wrestling no man grappled him
Whom he didn't soon throw down.
Havelock stood over them like a mast.
As high as he was, as long as he was,
He was just as hardy and strong.
In England he had no equal in strength
Among whoever came near him.
As much as he was strong, he was gentle.
Though other men often mistreated him,
He never insulted them
Or laid a hand on them in malice.
His body was pure of maidens;
Never in fun or in lust would he
Flirt or lie with a loose woman,
No more than if she were an old witch.
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 In that time al Hengelond
Th’erl Godrich havede in his hond,
And he gart komen into the tun
Mani erl and mani barun,
And alle that lives were
In Englond thanne wer there,
That they haveden after sent
To ben ther at the parlement.
With hem com mani chambioun,
Mani with ladde, blac and brown,
And fel it so that yungemen,
Wel abouten nine or ten,
Bigunnen the for to layke.
Thider komen bothe stronge and wayke,
Thider komen lesse and more
That in the boru thanne weren thore -
Chaunpiouns and starke laddes,
Bondemen with here gaddes,
Als he comen fro the plow.
There was sembling inow;
For it ne was non horse-knave,
Tho thei sholden in honde have,
That he ne kam thider, the leyk to se.
Biforn here fet thanne lay a tre,
And pulten with a mikel ston
The starke laddes, ful god won.
The ston was mikel and ek gret,
And al so hevi so a neth;
Grundstalwyrthe man he sholde be
That mouthe liften it to his kne;
Was ther neyther clerc ne prest,
That mithe liften it to his brest.
Therwit putten the chaumpiouns
That thider comen with the barouns.
Hwo so mithe putten thore
Biforn another an inch or more,
Wore he yung, wore he hold,
He was for a kempe told.
Al so the stoden and ofte stareden,
The chaumpiouns and ek the ladden,
And he maden mikel strout
Abouten the altherbeste but,
Havelok stod and lokede thertil,
And of puttingge he was ful wil,
For nevere yete ne saw he or
Putten the stone or thanne thor.
Hise mayster bad him gon therto -
Als he couthe therwith do.
Tho hise mayster it him bad,
He was of him sore adrad.
Therto he stirte sone anon,
And kipte up that hevi ston
That he sholde putten withe;
He putte at the firste sithe,
Over alle that ther wore
Twelve fote and sumdel more.
The chaumpiouns that put sowen;
Shuldreden he ilc other and lowen.
Wolden he nomore to putting gange,
But seyde, "Thee dwellen her to longe!"
This selkouth mithe nouth ben hyd:
Ful sone it was ful loude kid
Of Havelok, hw he warp the ston
Over the laddes everilkon,
Hw he was fayr, hw he was long,
Hw he was with, hw he was strong;
Thoruth England yede the speche,
Hw he was strong and ek meke;
In the castel, up in the halle,
The knithes speken therof alle,
So that Godrich it herde wel:
The speken of Havelok, everi del -
Hw he was strong man and hey,
Hw he was strong, and ek fri,
And thouthte Godrich, "Thoru this knave
Shal ich Engelond al have,
And mi sone after me;
For so I wile that it be.
The King Athelwald me dide swere
Upon al the messe gere
That I shude his douther yeve
The hexte that mithe live,
The beste, the fairest, the strangest ok -
That gart he me sweren on the bok.
Hwere mithe I finden ani so hey,
So Havelok is, or so sley?
Thou I southe hethen into Inde,
So fayr, so strong, ne mithe I finde.
Havelok is that ilke knave
That shal Goldeboru have!"
This thouthe with trechery,
With traysoun, and wit felony;
For he wende that Havelok wore
Sum cherles sone and no more;
Ne shulde he haven of Engellond
Onlepi foru in his hond
With hire that was therof eyr,
That bothe was god and swithe fair.
He wende that Havelok wer a thral,
Therthoru he wende haven al
In Engelond, that hire rith was.
He was werse than Sathanas
That Jhesu Crist in erthe stoc.
Hanged worthe he on an hok!
 After Goldeboru sone he sende,
That was bothe fayr and hende,
And dide hire to Lincolne bringe.
Belles dede he ageyn hire ringen,
And joie he made hire swithe mikel;
But netheless he was ful swikel.
He saide that he sholde hire yeve
The fayreste man that mithe live.
She answerede and saide anon,
By Crist and bi Seint Johan,
That hire sholde noman wedde
Ne noman bringen hire to bedde
But he were king or kinges eyr,
Were he nevere man so fayr.
 Godrich the erl was swithe wroth
That she swor swilk an oth,
And saide, "Whether thou wilt be
Quen and levedi over me?
Thou shalt haven a gadeling -
Ne shalt thou haven non other king!
Thee shal spusen mi cokes knave -
Ne shalt thou non other louered have.
Datheit that thee other yeve
Everemore hwil I live!
Tomorwe ye sholen ben weddeth,
And maugre thin togidere beddeth.
Goldeboru gret and yaf hire ille;
She wolde ben ded bi hire wille.
On the morwen hwan day was sprungen
And day-belle at kirke rungen,
After Havelok sente that Judas
That werse was thanne Sathanas,
And saide, "Maister, wilte wif?"
"Nay," quoth Havelok, "bi my lif!
Hwat sholde ich with wif do?
I ne may hire fede ne clothe ne sho.
Wider sholde ich wimman bringe?
I ne have none kines thinge -
I ne have hws, I ne have cote,
Ne I ne have stikke, I ne have sprote,
I ne have neyther bred ne sowel,
Ne cloth but of an hold whit covel.
This clothes that ich onne have
Aren the kokes and ich his knave!"
Godrich stirt up and on him dong,
With dintes swithe hard and strong,
And seyde, "But thou hire take
That I wole yeven thee to make,
I shal hangen thee ful heye,
Or I shal thristen uth thin heie."
Havelok was one and was odrat,
And grauntede him al that he bad.
Tho sende he after hire sone,
The fayrest wymman under mone,
And seyde til hire, fals and slike,
That wicke thrall that foule swike:
"But thu this man understonde,
I shall flemen thee of londe;
Or thou shal to the galwes renne,
And ther thou shalt in a fir brenne."
Sho was adrad for he so thrette,
And durste nouth the spusing lette;
But they hire likede swithe ille,
Sho thouthe it was Godes wille -
God that makes to growen the korn,
Formede hire wimman to be born.
Hwan he havede don him, for drede,
That he sholde hire spusen and fede,
And that she sholde til him holde,
Ther weren penies thicke tolde
Mikel plenté, upon the bok -
He ys hire yaf and she is tok.
He weren spused fayre and well,
The messe he dede, everi del
That fel to spusing, an god clek -
The erchebishop uth of Yerk,
That kam to the parlement,
Als God him havede thider sent.
Hwan he weren togidere in Godes lawe,
That the folc ful wel it sawe,
He ne wisten what he mouthen,
Ne he ne wisten what hem douthe,
Ther to dwellen, or thenne to gonge.
Ther ne wolden he dwellen longe,
For he wisten and ful wel sawe
That Godrich hem hatede - the devel him hawe!
And if he dwelleden ther outh -
That fel Havelok ful wel on thouth -
Men sholde don his leman shame,
Or elles bringen in wicke blame,
That were him levere to ben ded.
Forthi he token another red:
That thei sholden thenne fle
Til Grim and til hise sone thre -
Ther wenden he altherbest to spede,
Hem forto clothe and for to fede.
The lond he token under fote -
Ne wisten he non other bote -
And helden ay the rith sti
Til he komen to Grimesby.
Thanne he komen there thanne was Grim ded -
Of him ne haveden he no red.
But hise children alle fyve,
Alle weren yet on live,
That ful fayre ayen hem neme
Hwan he wisten that he keme,
And maden joie swithe mikel -
Ne weren he nevere ayen hem fikel.
On knes ful fayre he hem setten
And Havelok swithe fayre gretten,
And seyden, "Welkome, louered dere!
And welkome be thi fayre fere!
Blessed be that ilke thrawe
That thou hire toke in Godes lawe!
Wel is hus we sen thee on live.
Thou mithe us bothe selle and yeve;
Thou mayt us bothe yeve and selle,
With that thou wilt here dwelle.
We haven, louerd, alle gode -
Hors, and neth, and ship on flode,
Gold and silver and michel auchte,
That Grim ure fader us bitauchte.
Gold and silver and other fe
Bad he us bitaken thee.
We haven sheep, we haven swin;
Bileve her, louerd, and al be thin!
Tho shalt ben louerd, thou shalt ben syre,
And we sholen serven thee and hire;
And hure sistres sholen do
Al that evere biddes sho:
He sholen hire clothes washen and wringen,
And to hondes water bringen;
He sholen bedden hire and thee,
For levedi wile we that she be."
Hwan he this joie haveden maked,
Sithen stikes broken and kraked,
And the fir brouth on brenne;
Ne was ther spared gos ne henne,
Ne the hende ne the drake:
Mete he deden plenté make;
Ne wantede there no god mete,
Wyn and ale deden he fete,
And hem made glade and blithe;
Wesseyl ledden he fele sithe.
On the nith als Goldeboru lay,
Sory and sorwful was she ay,
For she wende she were biswike,
That she were yeven unkyndelike.
O nith saw she therinne a lith,
A swithe fayr, a swithe bryth -
Al so brith, all so shir
So it were a blase of fir.
She lokede noth and ek south,
And saw it comen ut of his mouth
That lay bi hire in the bed.
No ferlike thou she were adred!
Thouthe she, "What may this bimene?
He beth heyman yet, als I wene:
He beth heyman er he be ded!"
On hise shuldre, of gold red
She saw a swithe noble croiz;
Of an angel she herde a voyz:
 "Goldeboru, lat thi sorwe be!
For Havelok, that haveth spuset thee,
He, kinges sone and kinges eyr,
That bikenneth that croiz so fayr
It bikenneth more - that he shal
Denemark haven and Englond al.
He shal ben king strong and stark,
Of Engelond and Denemark -
That shal thu wit thin eyne seen,
And tho shalt quen and levedi ben!"
 Thanne she havede herd the stevene
Of the angel uth of hevene,
She was so fele sithes blithe
That she ne mithe hire joie mythe,
But Havelok sone anon she kiste,
And he slep and nouth ne wiste
Hwat that aungel havede seyd.
Of his slep anon he brayd,
And seide, "Lemman, slepes thou?
A selkuth drem dremede me now -
 Herkne now what me haveth met.
Me thouthe I was in Denemark set,
But on on the moste hil
That evere yete cam I til.
It was so hey that I wel mouthe
Al the werd se, als me thouthe.
Als I sat upon that lowe
I bigan Denemark for to awe,
The borwes and the castles stronge;
And mine armes weren so longe
That I fadmede al at ones,
Denemark with mine longe bones;
And thanne I wolde mine armes drawe
Til me and hom for to have,
Al that evere in Denemark liveden
On mine armes faste clyveden;
And the stronge castles alle
On knes bigunnen for to falle -
The keyes fellen at mine fet.
Another drem dremede me ek:
That ich fley over the salte se
Til Engeland, and al with me
That evere was in Denemark lyves
But bondemen and here wives;
And that ich com til Engelond -
Al closede it intil min hond,
And, Goldeborw, I gaf thee.
Deus! lemman, what may this be?"
Sho answerede and seyde sone:
"Jesu Crist, that made mone,
Thine dremes turne to joye
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
That wite thu that sittes in trone!
Ne non strong, king ne caysere
So thou shalt be, fo thou shalt bere
In Engelond corune yet.
Denemark shal knele to thi fet;
Alle the castles that aren therinne
Shaltou, lemman, ful wel winne.
I woth so wel so ich it sowe,
To thee shole comen heye and lowe,
And alle that in Denemark wone -
Em and brother, fader and sone,
Erl and baroun, dreng and thayn,
Knightes and burgeys and sweyn -
And mad king heyelike and wel.
Denemark shal be thin evere ilc del -
Have thou nouth theroffe douthe,
Nouth the worth of one nouthe;
Theroffe withinne the firste yer
Shalt thou ben king of evere il del.
But do now als I wile rathe:
Nim in wit lithe to Denemark bathe,
And do thou nouth on frest this fare -
Lith and selthe felawes are.
For shal ich nevere blithe be
Til I with eyen Denemark se,
For ich woth that al the lond
Shalt thou haven in thin hond.
Prey Grimes sones alle thre,
That he wenden forth with the;
I wot he wilen the nouth werne -
With the wende shulen he yerne,
For he loven thee hertelike.
Thou maght til he aren quike,
Hwore-so he o worde aren;
There ship thou do hem swithe yaren,
And loke that thou dwelle nouth -
Dwelling haveth ofte scathe wrouth."
 Hwan Havelok herde that she radde,
Sone it was day, sone he him cladde,
And sone to the kirke yede
Or he dide any other dede,
And bifor the Rode bigan falle,
"Croiz" and "Crist" bi to kalle,
And seyde, "Louerd, that all weldes -
Wind and water, wodes and feldes -
For the holy milce of you,
Have merci of me, Louerd, now!
And wreke me yet on mi fo
That ich saw biforn min eyne slo
Mine sistres with a knif,
And sithen wolde me mi lyf
Have reft, for in the se
Bad he Grim have drenched me.
He hath mi lond with mikel unrith,
With michel wrong, with mikel plith,
For I ne misdede him nevere nouth,
And haved me to sorwe brouth.
He haveth me do mi mete to thigge,
And ofte in sorwe and pine ligge.
Louerd, have merci of me,
And late me wel passe the se -
Though ihc have theroffe douthe and kare,
Withuten stormes overfare,
That I ne drenched therine
Ne forfaren for no sinne,
And bringe me wel to the lond
That Godard haldes in his hond,
That is mi rith, everi del -
Jesu Crist, thou wost it wel!"
 Thanne he havede his bede seyd,
His offrende on the auter leyd,
His leve at Jhesu Crist he tok,
And at his swete moder ok,
And at the Croiz that he biforn lay;
Sithen yede sore grotinde awey.
 Hwan he com hom, he wore yare,
Grimes sones, for to fare
Into the se, fishes to gete,
That Havelok mithe wel of ete.
But Avelok thoughte al another:
First he kalde the heldeste brother,
Roberd the Rede, bi his name,
Wiliam Wenduth and Huwe Raven,
Grimes sones alle thre -
And seyde, "Lithes now alle to me;
Louerdinges, ich wile you shewe
A thing of me that ye wel knewe.
Mi fader was king of Denshe lond -
Denemark was al in his hond
The day that he was quik and ded.
But thanne havede he wicke red,
That he me and Denemark al
And mine sistres bitawte a thral;
A develes lime he hus bitawhte,
And al his lond and al hise authe,
For I saw that fule fend
Mine sistres slo with hise hend:
First he shar a two here throtes,
And sithen hem al to grotes,
And sithen bad in the se
Grim, youre fader, drenchen me.
Deplike dede he him swere
On bok that he sholde me bere
Unto the se and drenchen ine,
And wolde taken on him the sinne.
But Grim was wis and swithe hende -
Wolde he nouth his soule shende;
Levere was him to be forsworen
Than drenchen me and ben forlorn.
But sone bigan he forto fle
Fro Denemark for to berthen me.
For yif ich havede ther ben funden,
Havede he ben slayn or harde bunden,
And heye ben hanged on a tre -
Havede go for him gold ne fe.
Forthi fro Denemark hider he fledde,
And me ful fayre and ful wel fedde,
So that unto this day
Have ich ben fed and fostred ay.
But now ich am up to that helde
Cumen that ich may wepne welde,
And I may grete dintes yeve,
Shal I nevere hwil ich lyve
Ben glad til that ich Denemark se!
I preie you that ye wende with me,
And ich may mak you riche men;
Ilk of you shal have castles ten,
And the lond that thor til longes -
Borwes, tunes, wodes, and wonges.
  
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· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

"With swilk als ich byen shal.
Ther of biseche you now leve
Wile ich speke with non other reve
But with thee, that justise are,
That I mithe seken mi ware
In gode borwes up and doun,
And faren ich wile fro tun to tun."
A gold ring drow he forth anon -
An hundred pund was worth the ston -
And yaf it Ubbe for to spede.
He was ful wis that first yaf mede;
And so was Havelok ful wis here:
He solde his gold ring ful dere -
Was nevere non so dere sold
Fro chapmen, neyther yung ne old.
That sholen ye forthward ful wel heren,
Yif that ye wile the storie heren.
 Hwan Ubbe havede the gold ring,
Havede he yovenet for no thing,
Nouth for the borw evere ilk del.
Havelok bihel he swithe wel,
Hw he was wel of bones maked,
Brod in the sholdres, ful wel schaped,
Thicke in the brest, of bodi long -
He semede wel to ben wel strong.
"Deus!" hwat Ubbe, "Qui ne were he knith?
I woth that he is swithe with!
Betere semede him to bere
Helm on heved, sheld and spere,
Thanne to beye and selle ware -
Allas, that he shal therwith fare!
Goddot! Wile he trowe me,
Chaffare shal he late be."
Netheles he seyde sone:
"Havelok, have thi bone!
And I ful wel rede thee
That thou come and ete with me
Today, thou and thi fayre wif
That thou lovest al so thi lif.
And have thou of hire no drede -
Shal hire no man shame bede.
Bi the fey that I owe to thee,
Ther of shal I me self borw be."
 Havelok herde that he bad,
And thow was he ful sore drad
With him to ete, for hise wif;
For him wore levere that his lif
Him wore reft, than she in blame
Felle or lauthe ani shame.
Hwanne he havede his wille yat,
The stede that he onne sat
Smot Ubbe with spures faste,
And forth awey, but at the laste,
Or he fro him ferde,
Seyde he, that his folk herde:
"Loke that ye comen bethe,
For ich it wile and ich it rede."
Havelok ne durste, the he were adrad,
Nouth withsitten that Ubbe bad.
His wif he dide with him lede -
Unto the heye curt he yede.
Roberd hire ledde, that was red,
That havede tholed for hire the ded
Or ani havede hire misseyd,
Or hand with ivele onne leyd.
Willam Wendut was that other
That hire ledde, Roberdes brother,
That was with at alle nedes.
Wel is him that god man fedes!
Than he weren comen to the halle,
Biforen Ubbe and hise men alle,
Ubbe stirte hem ageyn,
And mani a knith and mani a sweyn,
Hem for to se and for to shewe.
Tho stod Havelok als a lowe
Aboven that ther inne wore,
Rith al bi the heved more
Thanne ani that ther inne stod.
Tho was Ubbe blithe of mod
That he saw him so fayr and hende;
Fro him ne mithe his herte wende,
Ne fro him, ne fro his wif -
He lovede hem sone so his lif.
Weren non in Denemark that him thouthe
That he so mikel love mouthe.
More he lovede Havelok one
Than al Denemark, bi mine wone.
Loke now, hw God helpen kan
O mani wise wif and man!
 Hwan it was comen time to ete,
Hise wif dede Ubbe sone in fete,
And til hire seyde al on gamen,
"Dame, thou and Havelok shulen ete samen,
And Goldeboru shal ete wit me,
That is so fayr so flour on tre.
In al Denemark is wimman non
So fayr so sche, by Seint Johan."
Thanne were set and bord leyd,
And the beneysun was seyd,
Biforn hem com the beste mete
That king or cayser wolde ete:
Kranes, swannes, veneysun,
Lax, lampreys, and god sturgun,
Pyment to drinke and god claré,
Win hwit and red, ful god plenté -
Was ther inne no page so lite
That evere wolde ale bite.
Of the mete forto telle
Ne of the win bidde I nout dwelle;
That is the storie for to lenge -
It wolde anuye this fayre genge.
But hwan he haveden the kilthing deyled
And fele sithe haveden wosseyled,
With gode drinkes seten longe,
And it was time for to gonge,
Ilk man to ther he cam fro,
Thouthe Ubbe, "If I late hem go,
Thus one foure, withuten mo,
So mote ich brouke finger or to,
For this wimman bes mikel wo!
For hire shal men hire louerd slo."
He tok sone knithes ten,
And wel sixti other men
Wit gode bowes and with gleives,
And sende hem unto the greyves,
The beste man of al the toun,
That was named Bernard Brun -
And bad him als he lovede his lif,
Havelok wel yemen and his wif,
And wel do wayten al the nith
Til the other day that it were lith.
Bernard was trewe and swithe with,
In al the borw ne was no knith
That betere couthe on stede riden,
Helm on heved ne swerd bi side.
Havelok he gladlike understod
With mikel love and herte god,
And dide greythe a super riche
Al so he was no with chinche
To his bihove everil del,
That he mithe supe swithe wel.
Al so he seten and sholde soupe,
So comes a ladde in a joupe,
And with him sixti other stronge
With swerdes drawen and knives longe,
Ilkan in hande a ful god gleive,
And seyde, "Undo, Bernard the greyve!
Undo swithe and lat us in,
Or thu art ded, bi Seint Austin!"
Bernard stirt up, that was ful big,
And caste a brinie upon his rig,
And grop an ax that was ful god -
Lep to the dore so he wore wod,
And seyde, "Hwat are ye, that ar ther-oute,
That thus biginnen for to stroute?
Goth henne swithe, fule theves,
For, bi the Louerd that man on leves,
Shol ich casten the dore open,
Summe of you shal ich drepen,
And the othre shal ich kesten
In feteres and ful faste festen!
"Hwat have ye seid?" quoth a ladde,
"Wenestu that we ben adradde?
We shole at this dore gonge
Maugre thin, carl, or outh longe."
He gripen sone a bulder ston
And let it fleye, ful god won,
Agen the dore, that it to-rof.
Avelok it saw, and thider drof
And the barre sone ut drow,
That was unride and gret ynow,
And caste the dore open wide
And seide, "Her shal I now abide!
Comes swithe unto me -
Datheyt hwo you henne fle!"
"No," quodh on, "that shaltou coupe;"
And bigan til him to loupe,
In his hond his swerd ut drawe,
Havelok he wende thore have slawe,
And with him comen other two
That him wolde of live have do.
Havelok lifte up the dore tre
And at a dint he slow hem thre.
Was non of hem that hise hernes
Ne lay ther ute ageyn the sternes.
The ferthe that he sithen mette
Wit the barre so he him grette
Bifor the heved that the rith eye
Ut of the hole made he fleye,
And sithe clapte him on the crune
So that he stan ded fel thor dune.
The fifte that he overtok
Gaf he a ful sor dint ok,
Bitween the sholdres ther he stod,
That he spen his herte blod.
The sixte wende for to fle,
And he clapte him with the tre
Rith in the fule necke so
That he smot hise necke on to.
Thanne the sixe weren doun feld,
The seventhe brayd ut his swerd
And wolde Havelok riht in the eye;
And Havelok let the barre fleye
And smot him sone agheyn the brest,
That havede he nevere schrifte of prest
For he was ded on lesse hwile
Than men mouthe renne a mile.
Alle the othere weren ful kene;
A red they taken hem bitwene
That he sholde him bihalve,
And brisen so that wit no salve
Ne sholde him helen leche non.
They drowen ut swerdes, ful god won,
And shoten on him so don on bere
Dogges that wolden him to-tere,
Thanne men doth the bere beyte.
The laddes were kaske and teyte
And umbiyeden him ilkon.
Sum smot with tre and sum wit ston,
Summe putten with gleyve in bac and side
And yeven wundes longe and wide
In twenti stedes and wel mo,
Fro the croune til the to.
Hwan he saw that, he was wod
And was it ferlik hw he stod!
For the blod ran of his sides
So water that fro the welle glides.
But thanne bigan he for to mowe
With the barre, and let hem shewe
Hw he couthe sore smite;
For was ther non, long ne lite,
That he mouthe overtake,
That he ne garte his croune krake,
So that on a litel stund,
Felde he twenti to the grund.
 Tho bigan gret dine to rise,
For the laddes on ilke wise
Him asayleden with grete dintes,
Fro fer he sto[n]den him with flintes,
And gleyves schoten him fro ferne,
For drepen him he wolden yerne;
But dursten he newhen him nomore
Thanne he bor or leun wore.
 Huwe Raven that dine herde,
And thowthe wel that men misferde
With his louerd for his wif
And grop an ore and a long knif,
And thider drof al so an hert,
And cham ther on a litel stert
And saw how the laddes wode
Havelok his louerd umbistode,
And beten on him so doth the smith
With the hamer on the stith.
"Allas!" hwat Hwe, "that I was boren!
That evere et ich bred of koren!
That ich here this sorwe se!
Roberd! Willam! Hware ar ye?
Gripeth ether unker a god tre
And late we nouth thise doges fle
Til ure louerd wreke be.
Cometh swithe, and folwes me:
Ich have in honde a ful god ore -
Datheit wo ne smite sore!"
"Ya! leve, ya!" quod Roberd sone,
"We haven ful god lith of the mone."
Roberd grop a staf strong and gret,
That mouthe ful wel bere a net,
And Willam Wendut grop a tre
Mikel grettere than his the,
And Bernard held his ax ful faste
I seye was he nouthe the laste!
And lopen forth so he weren wode
To the laddes ther he stode,
And yaf hem wundes swithe grete;
Ther mithe men wel se boyes bete,
And ribbes in here sides breke
And Havelok on hem wel wreke.
He broken armes, he broken knes,
He broken shankes, he broken thes.
He dide the blod there renne dune
To the fet rith fro the crune,
For was ther spared heved non.
He leyden on hevedes ful god won,
And made croune breke and crake
Of the broune and of the blake.
He maden here backes al so bloute
Als here wombes and made hem rowte
Als he weren kradelbarnes -
So dos the child that moder tharnes.
 Datheit the recke! For he it servede.
Hwat dide he thore? Weren he werewed.
So longe haveden he but and bet
With neves under hernes set
That of tho sixti men and on
Ne wente ther awey lives non.
 On the morwen, hwan it was day,
Ilc on other wirwed lay
Als it were dogges that weren henged;
And summe leye in dikes slenget,
And summe in gripes bi the her
Drawen ware and laten ther.
Sket cam tiding intil Ubbe
That Havelok havede with a clubbe
Of hise slawen sixti and on
Sergaunz, the beste that mihten gon.
"Deus," quoth Ubbe, "Hwat may this be?
Betere is I nime miself and se
That this baret on hwat is wold
Thanne I sende yunge or old;
For yif I sende him unto,
I wene men sholde him shame do,
And that ne wolde ich for no thing.
I love him wel, bi Heveneking -
Me wore levere I wore lame
Thanne men dide him ani shame
Or tok or onne handes leyde
Unornelike or shame seyde."
He lep up on a stede lith,
And with him mani a noble knith,
And ferde forth unto the tun,
And dide calle Bernard Brun
Ut of his hus wan he ther cam;
And Bernard sone ageyn nam,
Al to-tused and al to-torn,
Ner al so naked so he was born
And al to-brised, bac and the.
Quoth Ubbe, "Bernard, hwat is thee?
Hwo haves thee thus ille maked,
Thus to-riven and al mad naked?"
"Louerd, merci," quot he sone,
"Tonicht, al so ros the mone,
Comen her mo than sixti theves
With lokene copes and wide sleves,
Me for to robben and to pine,
And for to drepe me and mine.
Mi dore he broken up ful sket,
And wolde me binden hond and fet.
Wan the godemen that sawe,
Havelok and he that bi the wowe
Leye, he stirten up sone onon
And summe grop tre and sum grop ston
And drive hem ut, thei he weren crus,
So dogges ut of milne-hous.
Havelok grop the dore-tre,
And a dint he slow hem thre.
He is the beste man at nede
That everemar shal ride stede -
Als helpe God, bi mine wone
A thousend men his he worth one!
Yif he ne were, ich were now ded -
So have ich don mi soule red!
But it is of him mikel sinne:
He maden him swilke woundes thrinne
That of the altherleste wounde
Were a stede brouht to grunde.
He haves a wunde in the side
With a gleyve ful unride;
And he haves on thoru his arum
Ther of is full mikel harum;
And he haves on thoru his the -
The unrideste that men may se.
And othe wundes haves he stronge,
Mo than twenti, swithe longe.
But sithen he havede lauth the sor
Of the wundes, was nevere bor
That so fauth, so he fauth thanne!
Was non that havede the hernepanne
So hard that he ne dede al to-cruhsse
And al to-shivere and al to-frusshe.
He folwede hem so hund dos hare -
Datheyt on he wolde spare,
That ne made hem everilkon
Ligge stille so doth the ston.
And ther nis he nouth to frie
For other sholde he make hem lye
 In that time Earl Godrich
Had all of England in his hand,
And he ordered into the town
Many earls and many barons,
And all who were alive
In England then were there,
For they had been sent for
To be present at the parliament.
With them came many champions,
Many with servants of all sorts,
And so it happened that young men,
Well around nine or ten,
Began to play sports there.
Both the strong and weak came there.
Both the lesser and greater came
Who were there in the town then:
Heroes and rugged lads,
And bondsmen with their cattle prods
Who had just come from the plow.
The assembly was large enough,
For there was no stable boy
Who did not come to see the games,
Even if he should have been on duty.
Before their feet they laid a tree,
Where the strong lads, a good number,
Shot-put with a giant stone.
The stone was solid and huge as well,
And as heavy as an ox.
It would have to be a very hardy man
Who might lift it to his knees.
There was neither cleric nor priest
Who might bring it to his chest.
With it the athletes shot-put,
Those who had come with the barons.
Whoever there who could throw it
Further than an inch or more,
Whether he was young or old,
Was considered a hero.
And so they stood and watched intently,
The athletes and the lads as well,
And they made a heated argument
About who had made the greatest shot.
Havelock stood and looked at it
But he knew nothing about putting,
For he had never seen
Or thrown the stone before then.
His master told him to go try
As he was best able to do.
Though his master asked him,
He was sorely doubtful of himself.
With that, he got up quickly
And plucked up that heavy stone
Which he was supposed to put.
On the first try he threw it
Farther than anyone who was there,
Twelve feet and somewhat more.
When the champions saw that shot,
They jostled each other and laughed.
They would not put any more, only saying
"We've hung around here too long!"
This marvel could not be hidden for long.
Very soon the news was loudly told
About Havelock, how he threw the stone
Farther than each of the lads;
How he was handsome, how he was tall,
How he was manly, how he was strong.
Throughout England the news spread,
How he was mighty and gentle as well.
In the castle, up in the hall,
The knights talked about it all
So that Godrich heard it well.
They spoke of Havelock, every detail—
How he was a strong man, and high,
How he was strong and generous too,
And Godrich thought, "Through this peasant
I will have all England
For myself and for my son after,
For it's my wish to have it happen.
King Athelwald made me swear
Upon all the mass finery
That I would give his daughter
The highest that might live,
The best, the fairest, and the strongest as well.
He made me swear that on the Bible.
Where could I find anyone so 'high'
As Havelock is, or so able?
If I searched from here to India,
I would not find someone so fair, so mighty.
Havelock is the very boy
That Goldeboro will have!"
He schemed this out with treachery,
With treason, and with felony,
For he surmised that Havelock was
Some peasant's son and no more.
Nor would he get one furrow
Of England into his hand
With Godeboro, who was the rightful heir,
Who was both good and fair,
For he assumed that Havelock was a serf.
For this reason he planned to keep all
Of England, which was her right.
He was worse than Satan,
Who Jesus Christ locked in the earth.
He deserves to be hanged on an oak!
Soon after he sent for Goldeboro,
Who was both beautiful and courteous,
And had her brought to Lincoln.
He had bells for her rung alongside,
And made great celebration over her,
But nonetheless he was full of deceit.
He said that he would give her
The fairest man that might live.
She answered at once and said,
By Christ and by Saint John,
That she would wed no man,
Nor would any man bring her to bed
Unless he were a king or king's heir,
No matter how fair he was.
Godrich the earl was furious
That she had sworn such an vow
And said, "Do you think you will be
Queen and lady over me?
You will have a beggar.
You will not have any other king!
You will marry my cook's servant.
You will not have any other lord!
Damn whoever who gives you someone else
While I am alive!
Tomorrow you will be married
And bedded together, in spite of you!"
Goldeboro cried and was in distress.
She would have died if she had her will.
In the morning, when day had sprung
And the early bells at the church were rung,
That Judas, who was worse than Satan,
Sent for Havelock and said,
"Mister, would you like a wife?"
"No," cried Havelock, "not by my life!
What could I do with a wife?
I cannot give her food, clothes, or shoes.
Where would I bring a woman?
I have nothing for a home.
I have no house, I have no cottage,
I have no sticks, I have no twigs for a fire,
I have neither bread nor sauce,
No clothing except an old white cloak.
These clothes that I have on
Are the cook's, and I am his servant."
Godrich jumped up and struck him
With hard and strong blows
And said, "Unless you take
Who I give you as a mate,
I will hang you very high,
Or I will gouge out your eyes!"
Havelock was alone and was afraid,
And agreed to all that he ordered.
Then Godrich sent for Goldeboro at once,
The fairest woman under the moon,
And said to her, false and slick,
That wicked oaf, that foul traitor:
"Unless you accept this man,
I will banish you from the land,
Or you will be rushed to the gallows,
And there you will burn in a fire."
She was terrified, for he threatened her so,
And she dared not obstruct the marriage.
Though she was very unhappy,
She thought it was God's will,
God, who makes the grain grow
And who created her to be born a woman.
When he had compelled them by fear
That he should marry and keep her,
And that she should hold to him,
There were thick piles of pennies counted,
A great plenty, upon the mass book.
He gave her tokens and she accepted his.
They were wedded fair and clear.
The mass was performed, every part
Related to marriage, by a good cleric—
The archbishop of York,
Who came to the assembly
As God had sent him there.
When they were joined under God's law,
So that the people saw it fully,
Havelock did not know what to do,
Nor did he know where to turn for help,
Where to live, or where to go.
They could not stay there long,
For he understood and saw clearly
That Godrich hated them –the Devil take him!
And if they stayed there unprotected,
Havelock worried about foul play.
Men might shame his beloved,
Or else disgrace her reputation.
To him it would be better to be dead.
For this reason he took another course,
That they should flee from there
To Grim and his three sons.
He thought it best to hurry there
In order to clothe and feed themselves.
They took to the land on foot,
For he knew no other solution,
And they kept the right route
Until they came to Grimsby.
When they arrived Grim was dead.
Havelock had had no word about him.
But of his five children,
All were still alive
And took them in very courteously
When they learned that he had come,
And they made a great celebration.
They were never fickle to them!
They set themselves on their knees
And greeted Havelock elegantly,
And said, "Welcome, dear lord!
And welcome to your fair companion!
Blessed be that very moment
When you took her in God's law!
It is good for us to see you alive.
We are yours to sell or give away.
You may both give us or trade us,
So long as you will stay here.
We have, lord, every good thing:
Horses and oxen, and a ship on the sea,
Gold and silver, and many things
That Grim our father left to us.
He told us to pass on to you
Gold and silver and all other goods.
We have sheep, we have pigs;
Remain here, lord, and all will be yours.
You will be lord, you will be sire,
And we will serve you and her.
And our sisters will do
All that she ever bids.
They will wash and dry her clothes,
And bring water to her hands.
They will make a bed for you and her,
If that is our lady's will."
When they had begun the celebration,
Kindling was cracked and split,
And the fire was stoked into flames.
There was no goose or hen spared,
Neither duck nor drake.
They prepared plenty of meat
And did not lack for any good food.
They fetched wine and ale,
And made the couple glad and at ease,
And drank to their health many times.
Yet during the night as Goldeboro lay in bed,
She continually felt sorry and sad,
For she thought she had been mistreated,
That she was married out of her kind.
But one night she saw in there a light,
So fair, and so clear—
As bright, as shining,
As if it were a blaze of fire.
She looked north and south as well
And saw it coming out of his mouth
As he lay by her in the bed.
It is no wonder that she was afraid!
She thought, "What does this mean?
He will be a nobleman yet, I believe.
He will be a nobleman before he is dead!"
On his shoulder, in red gold,
She saw a majestic cross.
From an angel she heard a voice:
"Goldeboro, let your sorrows pass!
For Havelock, who has married you,
Is a king's son and a king's heir.
That is the meaning of his fair cross.
It means more: that he shall
Have Denmark and all England.
He will be a king, strong and bold,
Of England and Denmark.
You will see this with your eyes,
And you will be a queen and lady!"
When she had heard the voice
Of the angel from Heaven,
She was glad so many times over
That she could not contain her joy,
But at once kissed Havelock,
Who slept and knew nothing
Of what the angel had said.
In a while he started out of his sleep
And said, "Dear, are you asleep?
I just dreamed an amazing dream;
Listen now to what happened.
It seemed as though I was in Denmark,
But on one of the highest hills
That I ever came to yet.
It was so high that it seemed to me
I could see all the world.
As I sat upon that summit,
I began to embrace Denmark,
The towns and the strong castles,
And my arms were so long
That I held everything in Denmark
At once with my long limbs!
And then I drew my arms back
Toward myself and to lift up
Everyone who ever lived in Denmark,
Holding them fast within my arms.
And all the strong castles
Began to fall to their knees,
And the keys fell at my feet.
I dreamed another dream too,
That I flew over the salty sea to England,
And everyone came with me
Who was alive in Denmark,
Except for bondsmen and their wives.
And when I came to England
I enclosed it all in my hand,
And Goldeboro, I gave it to you.
My God! Dear, what does this mean?"
She answered and soon explained,
"Jesus Christ, who made the moon,
Will turn your dreams to joy.
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
He who sits on the throne will lead you.
There are none so mighty, king or emperor,
As you will be, for you will wear
A crown in England yet.
Denmark shall kneel at your feet,
And you will, dear, win in full
All the castles that are in it.
I know it as well as if I had seen it.
High and low shall come to you,
And all who live in Denmark:
Uncle and brother, father and son,
Earl and baron, vassal and retainer,
Knights and townspeople and servants,
And you will be made king with great honor.
Denmark will be yours, every bit.
Do not have any doubt about it,
Not the value of a nut!
For within one year
You will be ruler of every part.
But now do as I will advise you:
Let's both go to Denmark together
And don't put off this task.
Ambition and success go together!
For I will never be at peace
Until I see Denmark with my own eyes,
Because I know that all the land
Will be yours in your hand.
Insist to all three of Grim's sons
That they journey forth with you;
I know they will not refuse.
They will go eagerly with the wind,
For they love you with all their hearts.
You can tell that they are quick to act,
Wherever in the world they might be.
Have them prepare the ship quickly,
And see that you don't delay.
Procrastinating often brings harm."
When Havelock had heard what she counseled,
Soon it was day, soon he dressed himself,
And soon he went to the church
Before he did any other thing.
He fell before the Cross and began to
Call upon Cross and Christ,
And said, "Lord, who rules all,
Wind and water, woods and fields,
For the sake of Your holy kindness,
Have mercy on me now, Lord!
And avenge me yet on my foe
Whom I saw slaying my sisters
With a knife, before my own eyes,
And then would have taken my life,
For he ordered Grim
To drown me in the sea.
He holds my land with great wrong,
With great injustice, and with great harm,
For I never wronged him in any way
And he has brought me to sorrow!
He drove me to beg for my food
And to lie in constant sorrow and pain.
Lord, have mercy on me,
And though I have fears and worries,
Let me cross the sea safely
And pass over without storms
So that I will not be drowned in the water,
Nor shipwrecked because of any sin,
And bring me sound to the land
That Godard grips in his hand,
Which is my right, every bit.
Jesus Christ, You know it well!"
When he had said his prayer
And laid his offering on the altar,
He took his leave of Jesus Christ
And His sweet mother Mary also,
And of the Cross that he lay before.
Then he went away, weeping bitterly.
When he came home they were ready,
All of Grim's sons, to set out
Into the sea to get fish
So that Havelock might eat well.
But Havelock had something else in mind.
First he called the eldest brother,
Robert the Red, by his name,
And then William Wende and Hugh Raven,
All three of Grim's sons,
And said, "Listen now to me all!
Lordings, I will recount to you
Something about me you know well.
My father was king of Danish lands.
All of Denmark was in his hand
The day that he was alive and dead.
But then he followed wicked counsel,
So that I and all of Denmark
And my sisters were entrusted to a servant.
He trusted an instrument of the devil with us
And all his land and all that he owned,
For I saw that foul fiend
Slay my sisters with his hand!
First he cut their throats in two,
And then hacked them into bits,
And then ordered Grim, your father,
To drown me in the sea.
He had him solemnly swear
On the Bible that he would take me
Into the water and sink me in it,
And he would take on himself the sin.
But Grim was wise and kindly,
And he would not stain his own soul.
He would rather be falsely sworn
Than drown me and be damned himself.
At once he prepared to flee
From Denmark in order to protect me,
For if I had been found there,
He would have been slain or tightly bound,
And hanged high on a tree!
Neither gold nor money would have helped him.
For this he fled away from Denmark
And he kept me well and kindly,
So that unto this day
I have always felt protected and fathered.
But now I have come to the age
Where I may wield weapons,
And I may give great strokes.
I will never be glad
While I am alive until I see Denmark!
I ask you that you will go with me
And I will make you rich men.
Each of you will have ten castles,
And the land that belongs to it,
Boroughs, towns, fields, and villages!"

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

[Havelock and his stepbrothers sell their
possessions and fit out their fishing boat to sail
to Denmark. There they buy horses and carts and
disguise themselves as merchants. Havelock
meets a Danish earl, Ubbe, a friend of the late king
who opposes Godard's tyranny. Havelock offers
him an expensive gold ring as a gift to gain
permission to trade there.]

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

Havelock said, "I will trade such things as this,
And so I ask your permission now.
I will deal with no lower official
But you, as you are a justice,
So that I might search for my wares
In good boroughs up and down,
As I travel from town to town."
He then drew out a gold ring—
The stone was worth a hundred pounds—
And gave it to Ubbe for good luck.
He is a wise man who gives a gift first,
And so Havelock was shrewd here.
He gave his gold ring very dearly;
There was never anything so precious given
By a merchant, neither young nor old.
That you will hear more about,
If you wish to listen to the story.
When Ubbe had the gold ring,
He wouldn't have given it up for anything,
Not for every part of the county.
He looked over Havelock well,
How he was powerfully built,
Broad in the shoulders, well-shaped,
With a thick chest and a tall body;
He appeared to be very strong.
"God!" marveled Ubbe, "Why isn't he a knight?
I can tell that he is very manly!
It would be more fitting for him to wear
A helmet on his head with a shield and spear,
Rather than buying and selling wares.
A shame that he should succeed at that!
God knows if he trusted my advice
He would let go of trading."
Nevertheless, he soon replied,
"Havelock, you have your request,
And I strongly advise you
That you come and dine with me
Today, you and your lovely wife
That you love as much as your life.
And have no fear for her.
No man will attempt to shame her.
By the faith that I owe to you,
I will myself be your guarantor."
Havelock heard what Ubbe offered,
Though he was sorely afraid
To eat with him because of his wife,
For he would have rather had his life
Taken away than see her name ruined
Or have her experience any shame.
When Havelock had given his consent,
Ubbe urged the steed that he sat on
With taut spurs and he departed.
But at the last moment,
Before he had traveled far
He called so that Havelock's family heard,
"See that you both come,
For it's both my desire and my advice!"
Though he was anxious, Havelock did not
Dare oppose what Ubbe asked.
He had his wife follow with him,
And they went into the high court.
Robert led her, who was well-advised
And would have suffered death for her
Before anyone shamed her
Or laid a hand on her in evil.
William Wendut, Robert's brother,
Was the other who accompanied her,
Who was bold in all times of need.
Fortunate is he who keeps good men!
When they had come to the hall
Before Ubbe and all his men,
Ubbe went up to them,
Along with many a knight and servant,
In order to see and to inspect them.
Havelock stood like a hill then
Above those who were present,
A good head above
Any others who stood inside there.
Then Ubbe was in a glad mood
When he saw him so handsome and noble.
He could not turn his heart away,
Not from him, nor from his wife;
He loved him as much as his life.
There was no one in Denmark he thought
He might have loved more.
He had more affection for Havelock alone
Than for all Denmark, by my word.
See now how God can help
Many a prudent woman and man!
When the time to eat had come,
Ubbe fetched his own wife inside,
And said to her in joking,
"My lady, you and Havelock will eat together,
And I will dine with Goldeboro,
Who is as beautiful as a flower on a tree.
In all of Denmark there's no woman
As pretty as her, by Saint John!"
When the table was laid and set,
And the blessing was said,
Before them came the best dinner
That a king or emperor could eat—
Cranes, swans, venison,
Salmon, lamprey, and fine sturgeon,
Spiced wine, and wine with honey,
And white and red wine in plenty.
There was no page there so low
That he had to bite down ale once.
But as for the food served,
Or the wine offered, I won't dwell on it;
That will make the story far too long
And it would annoy this fine gathering.
But when they had shared every thing,
And had made toasts many times,
Sitting a long time with fine drinks,
It was time for each man
To go back where he came from.
Ubbe thought, "If I let these four go
On their own, with no more,
As sure as I have fingers and toes
This woman will cause great trouble!
For her, men will slay her lords."
At once he gathered ten knights,
And a good sixty other men
With strong bows and with spears,
And sent them to the watchman's place
With the best man of all the town,
Who was named Bernard Brown.
And he ordered him, as he loved his life,
To guard Havelock and his wife well,
And to keep watch all the night
Until the next day when it was light.
Bernard was loyal and powerfully strong.
In all the area there was no knight
Who could better ride a steed,
Helmet on head, with a sword by his side.
He gladly took charge of Havelock
With great love and kind heart,
And prepared a lavish supper,
As he was in no way stingy
In taking care of Havelock's every need
So that they might dine finely.
As they were sitting and eating,
Along came a youth in an outlaw's jacket,
And with him sixty others strong,
With swords drawn and long knives,
Each one with a firm lance in hand.
And he said, "Open up, watchman Bernard!
Open up quick and let us in,
Or by Saint Augustine, you're dead!"
Bernard, who was very big, started up
And threw a coat of mail on his back
And grabbed a good, strong ax.
He leaped to the door as if he were mad,
And shouted, "Who are you
Who are out there making such a noise?
Get out of here fast, dirty thieves!
By the Lord who men believe in,
If I have to throw the door open,
Some of you I will drop dead,
And the rest I will throw
In fetters and bind up tightly!"
"What did you say?" said one lad.
"Do you think that we're afraid?
We will go through this door
Before long, you oaf, in spite of you!"
At once he gripped a giant stone
And let it fly with great force
Against the door, breaking it apart.
Havelock saw that, and ran up
And soon drew out the door bar,
Which was huge and rough enough,
And flung the door open wide
And said, "Here I stand waiting now!
Come to me fast!
Damn any of you who runs away!"
"No!" said one. "You will pay for that!"
And he began to run toward Havelock,
And drew out his sword in his hand,
Thinking to slay him there.
And with him came two others
Who would have ended his life.
Havelock lifted up the door bar,
And with one blow he killed all three.
There were none of them whose brains
Did not lie there under the stars.
The fourth one that he met next
He greeted with the bar against his head,
So that he made the right eye
Fly out of the socket,
And then clapped him on the head
So that he fell down stone dead.
The fifth that he overtook
He gave a painful blow as well,
Between the shoulders where he stood,
So that his heart's blood was spent.
The sixth turned to run away,
And he slapped him with the bar
Right on the full shoulder,
So that he broke his neck in two.
When the sixth was brought down,
The seventh whipped out his sword,
Wanting to strike Havelock right in the eye,
And Havelock sent the bar flying
And hit him at once against the chest.
He had no time for a priest's rites,
For he was dead in less time
Than men might run a mile.
All the others were very determined.
They made a plan among themselves
That they would surround him
And batter him, so that no salve
Of a doctor's would heal him.
They drew out swords, a large number,
And rushed on him just like dogs
That intend to tear apart a bear
When men watch bear-baiting.
The thugs were keen and quick,
And each one surrounded him.
Some struck with branches and some with stones.
Some put knives in his back and sides
And inflicted wounds long and wide
In twenty places and many more,
From the head to the toe.
When Havelock saw that, he was made mad,
And it was a miracle how he stood!
For the blood ran down his sides
Like water flowing from the well.
But then he began to mow them down
With the bar, and to show them
How he could strike painfully.
For there were none, tall or short,
That he might overtake
Who did not have their heads cracked,
So that within a little while
He dropped twenty to the ground.
Then a great din began to rise,
For the lads attacked him
In every way with great blows.
From a distance they stood and flung
Flintstones and knives at him,
For they were eager to kill him,
But they dared not get any nearer him
Than if he were a boar or a lion.
Hugh Raven heard that clamor
And knew full well that men were
Acting wrongly against his lord for his wife.
He grabbed an oar and a long knife,
And rushed out like a stag deer
And arrived there in a short moment,
And saw how the crazed outlaws
Surrounded his lord Havelock
And beat on him like the smith
Does with the hammer on the anvil.
"Alas," cried Hugh, "that I was ever born
And ever ate bread from grain,
To see this sorrow here!
Robert, William, where are you?
Both of you, grab a good club
And we will not let these dogs escape
Until our lord is avenged!
Come quickly, and follow me.
I have a good strong oar in my hand;
Damn anyone who isn't hit hard!"
"Here! Brother, here!" said Robert quickly,
"We have a good light from the moon."
Robert seized a staff, strong and huge,
Which might well have carried a cow,
And William Wendut grabbed a club
Much thicker than his own thigh,
And Bernard held his ax firmly.
I say he wasn't the last out!
And they leaped forth, as if they were berserk,
Toward the attackers where they stood,
And gave them harsh wounds.
There one could see the thieves beaten,
And the ribs in their sides broken,
And Havelock avenged on them well.
They broke arms, they broke knees,
They broke legs, they broke thighs;
They made the blood run down
Right from their foreheads to their feet,
For not one head was spared.
They laid on a great number of men,
And made skulls break and crack
On every kind of fighter.
They beat their backs as soft
As their insides and made them roar
Like they were babies in cradles,
Like the child that loses its mother.
Damn whoever cares! They deserved it!
What business had they there? They were mauled!
They battered and beat them,
With fists set on their brains,
For so long that of the sixty-one men,
None went their way alive.
In the morning, when it was day
Each lay mangled on the other
As if they were dogs that were hanged.
And some lay slung in ditches,
And some in trenches,
Dragged by their hair and left there.
The news came fast to Ubbe
That Havelock had, with a club,
Slain sixty-one of his retinue—
Sergeants, the best that might serve.
"My God," said Ubbe, "what is this about?
It would be better to go myself, and see
What this trouble is about,
Than to send someone, young or old.
For if I send him to Havelock,
I expect men would take revenge,
And I would not have that for anything.
I love him well, by Heaven's king!
I would rather be crippled
Than have men do him any shame,
Or seize or lay hands on him rudely,
Or speak abuse to him."
He leaped upon a nimble horse,
Along with many a noble knight,
And journeyed forth into the town.
He called Bernard Brown
Out of his house when he came there,
And Bernard soon appeared.
He was all cut up and torn to pieces,
Nearly as naked as when he was born,
And all bruised on the back and thighs.
Ubbe said, "Bernard, what's wrong with you?
Who has hurt you so foully,
To be ripped apart and almost naked?"
"Mercy, my lord!" he answered at once.
"Last night, as the moon rose,
More than sixty thieves showed up here,
With fastened cloaks and wide sleeves,
To rob and torment me,
And to slay me and my family!
They broke apart my door in a rush,
And would have bound me hand and foot.
When those gentlemen saw that,
Havelock, and those lying by the wall,
They got up right away,
And some grabbed trees, and some took stones,
And though they were fierce, they drove them out
Like dogs out of a mill-house.
Havelock gripped the door bar,
And with one blow he killed three of them.
He is the best man in need
Who will ever ride a steed!
So help me God, by my word,
He is worth a thousand men!
If not for him I would be dead now,
As sure as I trust my own soul.
But as for him, it is a great sin.
They gave him three wounds so harsh
That the very least of them
Would bring a horse to the ground.
He has an ugly gash in his side
From a lance,
And he has a wound through the arm
Which has caused him great harm,
And he has one through his thigh,
The most horrible that men might see.
And he has other serious injuries,
More than twenty, just as severe.
But after he felt the pain of the wounds,
There was never a wild boar
That fought as he fought then!
There was none who heaved on skulls
So hard as he completely crushed,
Shattered, and smashed them.
To Hell with anyone he might spare!
He chased them like a hound does a hare,
So that he made each one of them
Lie still like a stone.
And there is nothing to blame him for,
For they either had to lie dead by his hand
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3002		 Ded, or thei him havede slawen,
Or al to-hewen or al to-drawen.
 "Louerd, havi nomore plith
Of that ich was grethed tonith.
Thus wolde the theves me have reft;
But, God thank, he havenet sure keft!
But it is of him mikel scathe -
I woth that he bes ded ful rathe."
 Quoth Ubbe, "Bernard, seyst thou soth?"
"Ya, sire, that I ne leye o tooth!
Yif I, louerd, a word leye,
Tomorwen do me hengen heye."
The burgeys that ther bi stode thore
Grundlike and grete othes swore,
Litle and mikle, yunge and holde,
That was soth that Bernard tolde -
Soth was that he wolden him bynde,
And trusse al that he mithen fynde
Of hise in arke or in kiste
That he mouthe in seckes thriste.
"Louerd, he haveden al awey born
His thing, and himself al to-torn,
But als God self barw him wel,
That he ne tinte no catel.
Hwo mithe so mani stonde ageyn
Bi nither-tale, knith or swein?
He weren bi tale sixti and ten -
Starke laddes, stalworthi men,
And on the mayster of hem alle,
That was the name Griffin Galle.
Hwo mouthe ageyn so mani stonde,
But als this man of ferne londe
Haveth hem slawen with a tre?
Mikel joie have he!
God yeve him mikel god to welde,
Bothe in tun and ek in felde:
Wel is set the mete he etes."
Quoth Ubbe, "Doth him swithe fete,
That I mouthe his woundes se,
If that he mouthen holed be;
For if he mouthe covere yet
And gangen wel upon hise fet,
Miself shal dubben him to knith,
Forthi that he is so with.
And yif he livede, tho foule theves,
That weren of Kaym kin and Eves,
He sholden hange bi the necke -
Of here ded datheit wo recke,
Hwan he yeden thus on nithes
Tobinde bothe burgmen and knithes!
For bynderes love ich neveremo -
Of hem ne yeve ich nouht a slo."
 Havelok was bifore Ubbe browth,
That havede for him ful mikel thouth
And mikel sorwe in his herte
For hise wundes, that we so smerte.
 But hwan his wundes weren shewed,
And a leche havede knawed
That he hem mouthe ful wel hele,
Wel make him gange and ful wel mele,
And wel a palefrey bistride,
And wel upon a stede ride,
Tho let Ubbe al his care
And al his sorwe over fare,
And seyde, "Cum now forth with me,
And Goldeboru, thi wif, with thee,
And thine serjaunz alle thre,
For now wile I youre warant be:
Wile I non of here frend
That thu slowe with thin hend
Moucte wayte thee to slo
Also thou gange to and fro.
I shal lene thee a bowr
That is up in the heye tour,
Til thou mowe ful wel go
And wel ben hol of al thi wo.
It ne shal nothing ben bitwene
Thi bowr and min, al so I wene,
But a fayr firrene wowe -
Speke I loude or spek I lowe,
Thou shalt ful wel heren me,
And than thu wilt thou shalt me se.
A rof shal hile us bothe o nith,
That none of mine, clerk ne knith,
No sholen thi wif no shame bede
No more than min, so God me rede!"
 He dide unto the borw bringe
Sone anon, al with joiinge,
His wif and his sergaunz thre,
The beste men that mouthe be.
The first nith he lay ther inne,
Hise wif and his serganz thrinne,
Aboute the middel of the nith
Wok Ubbe and saw a mikel lith
In the bowr thar Havelok lay
Al so brith so it were day.
 "Deus!" quoth Ubbe, "Hwat may this be?
Betere is I go miself and se
Hwether he sitten now and wesseylen,
Or ani sotshipe to deyle,
This tid nithes also foles;
Than birthe men casten hem in poles
Or in a grip, or in the fen -
Now ne sitten none but wicke men,
Glotuns, revres, or wicke theves,
Bi Crist that alle folk onne leves!"
 He stod and totede in at a bord
Her he spak anilepi word
And saw hem slepen faste ilkon
And lye stille so the ston;
And saw al that mikel lith
Fro Havelok cam that was so brith.
Of his mouth it com il del -
That was he war ful swithe wel.
"Deus," quoth he, "Hwat may this mene!"
He calde bothe arwe men and kene,
Knithes and serganz swithe sleie,
Mo than an hundred, withuten leye,
And bad hem alle comen and se
Hwat that selcuth mithe be.
Als the knithes were comen alle,
Ther Havelok lay ut of the halle,
So stod ut of his mouth a glem,
Rith al swilk so the sunne-bem,
That al so lith was thare, bi hevene,
So ther brenden serges sevene
And an hundred serges ok
That durste I sweren on a book!
He slepen faste, alle five,
So he weren brouth of live;
And Havelok lay on his lift side,
In his armes his brithe bride:
Bi the pappes he leyen naked -
So faire two weren nevere maked
In a bed to lyen samen.
The knithes thouth of hem god gamen,
Hem for to shewe and loken to.
Rith al so he stoden alle so,
And his bac was toward hem wend,
So weren he war of a croiz ful gent
On his right shuldre swithe brith,
Brithter than gold ageyn the lith,
So that he wiste, heye and lowe,
That it was kunrik that he sawe.
It sparkede and ful brith shon
So doth the gode charbuncle ston
That men see mouthe se by the lith
A peni chesen, so was it brith.
Thanne bihelden he him faste,
So that he knewen at the laste
That he was Birkabeynes sone,
That was here king, that was hem wone
Wel to yeme and wel were
Ageynes uten-laddes here -
"For it was nevere yet a brother
In al Denemark so lich another,
So this man, that is so fayr,
Als Birkabeyn; he is hise eyr."
 He fellen sone at hise fet.
Was non of hem that he ne gret -
Of joye he weren alle so fawen
So he him haveden of erthe drawen.
Hise fet he kisten an hundred sythes -
The tos, the nayles, and the lithes -
So that he bigan to wakne
And wit hem ful sore to blakne,
For he wende he wolden him slo,
Or elles binde him and do wo.
 Quoth Ubbe, "Louerd, ne dred thee nowth,
Me thinkes that I se thi thouth.
Dere sone, wel is me
That I thee with eyn se.
Manred, louerd, bede I thee -
Thi man auht I ful wel to be;
For thu art comen of Birkabeyn,
That havede mani knith and sweyn,
And so shalt thou, louerd, have:
Thou thou be yet a ful yung knave
Thou shalt be King of al Denemark -
Was ther inne never non so stark.
Tomorwen shaltu manrede take
Of the brune and of the blake,
Of alle that aren in this tun,
Bothe of erl and of barun,
And of dreng and of thayn
And of knith and of sweyn.
And so shaltu ben mad knith
Wit blisse, for thou art so with."
 Tho was Havelok swithe blithe,
And thankede God ful fele sithe.
On the morwen, wan it was lith,
And gon was thisternesse of the nith,
Ubbe dide upon a stede
A ladde lepe, and thider bede
Erles, barouns, drenges, theynes,
Klerkes, knithes, burgeys, sweynes,
That he sholden comen anon
Biforen him sone everilkon,
Al so he loven here lives
And here children and here wives.
His bode ne durste he non atsitte
That he ne neme for to wite,
Sone hwat wolde the justise;
And bigan anon to rise
And seyde sone, "Lithes me,
Alle samen, theu and fre,
A thing ich wile you here shauwe
That ye alle ful wel knawe.
Ye witen wel that al this lond
Was in Birkabeynes hond
The day that he was quic and ded,
And how that he, bi youre red
Bitauhte hise children thre
Godard to yeme, and al his fe.
Havelok his sone he him tauhte
And hise two douhters and al his auhte.
Alle herden ye him swere
On bok and on messe gere
That he shulde yemen hem wel,
Withuten lac, withuten tel.
 He let his oth all overgo -
Evere wurthe him yvel and wo!
For the maydnes here lif
Refte he bothen with a knif,
And him shulde ok have slawen -
The knif was at his herte drawen.
But God him wolde wel have save:
He havede rewnesse of the knave
So that he with his hend
Ne drop him nouth, that sori fend!
But sone dide he a fishere
Swithe grete othes swere,
That he sholde drenchen him
In the se, that was ful brim.
Hwan Grim saw that he was so fayr,
And wiste he was the rith eir,
Fro Denemark ful sone he fledde
Intil Englond and ther him fedde
Mani winter that til this day
Haves he ben fed and fostred ay.
Lokes hware he stondes her!
In al this werd ne haves he per -
Non so fayr, ne non so long,
Ne non so mikel, ne non so strong.
In this middelerd nis no knith
Half so strong ne half so with.
Bes of him ful glad and blithe,
And cometh alle hider swithe,
Manrede youre louerd for to make,
Bothe brune and the blake -
I shal miself do first the gamen
And ye sithen alle samen."
 O knes ful fayre he him sette -
Mouthe nothing him ther fro lette,
And bicam is man rith thare,
That alle sawen that there ware.
 After him stirt up laddes ten
And bicomen hise men,
And sithen everilk a baroun
That evere weren in al that toun,
And sithen drenges, and sithen thaynes
And sithen knithes, and sithen sweynes;
So that, or that day was gon,
In al the tun ne was nouth on
That it ne was his man bicomen -
Manrede of alle havede he nomen.
 Hwan he havede of hem alle
Manrede taken in the halle,
Grundlike dide he hem swere
That he sholden him god feyth bere
Ageynes alle that woren on live;
Ther-yen ne wolde never on strive,
That he ne maden sone that oth -
Riche and poure, lef and loth.
Hwan that was maked, sone he sende
Ubbe writes fer and hende,
After alle that castel yemede,
Burwes, tunes, sibbe an fremde
That thider sholden comen swithe
Til him and heren tithandes blithe
That he hem alle shulde telle.
Of hem ne wolde nevere on dwelle,
That he ne come sone plattinde;
Hwo hors ne havede, com gangande.
So that withinne a fourtenith
In al Denemark ne was no knith,
Ne conestable, ne shireve,
That com of Adam and of Eve,
That he ne com biforn sire Ubbe -
He dredden him so thef doth clubbe.
Hwan he haveden alle the king gret
And he weren alle dun-set,
Tho seyde Ubbe, "Lokes here
Ure louerd swithe dere,
That shal ben king of al the lond
And have us alle under hond,
For he is Birkabeynes sone,
The king that was umbe stonde wone
Us for to yemen and wel were
With sharp swerd and longe spere.
Lokes now, hw he is fayr:
Sikerlike he is hise eyr.
Falles alle to his fet -
Bicomes hise men ful sket."
He weren for Ubbe swithe adrad
And dide sone al that he bad.
And yet he deden sumdel more:
O bok ful grundlike he swore
That he sholde with him halde,
Bothe ageynes stille and bolde
That evere wolde his bodi dere.
That dide he hem o boke swere.
 Hwan he havede manrede and oth
Taken of lef and of loth,
Ubbe dubbede him to knith
With a swerd ful swithe brith,
And the folk of al the lond
Bitauhte him al in his hond,
The cunnriche everil del
And made him king heylike and wel.
Hwan he was king, ther mouthe men se
The moste joye that mouhte be -
Buttinge with sharpe speres,
Skirming with talevaces that men beres,
Wrastling with laddes, putting of ston,
Harping and piping, ful god won,
Leyk of mine, of hasard ok,
Romanz reding on the bok.
Ther mouthe men here the gestes singe,
The glewmen on the tabour dinge.
Ther moutthe men se the boles beyte,
And the bores, with hundes teyte.
Tho mouhte men se everil glew;
Ther mouthe men se hw grim grew -
Was nevere yete joye more
In al this werd than tho was thore.
Ther was so mikel yeft of clothes
That, thou I swore you grete othes,
I ne wore nouth ther of trod.
That may I ful wel swere, bi God!
There was swithe gode metes
And of wyn that men fer fetes,
Rith al so mik and gret plenté
So it were water of the se.
The feste fourti dawes sat -
So riche was nevere non so that.
The king made Roberd there knith,
That was ful strong and ful with,
And Willam Wendut hec, his brother,
And Huwe Raven, that was that other,
And made hem barouns alle thre,
And yaf hem lond and other fe,
So mikel that ilker twenti knihtes
Havede of genge, dayes and nithes.
 Hwan that feste was al don,
A thusand knihtes ful wel o bon
Withheld the king with him to lede,
That ilkan havede ful god stede,
Helm and sheld, and brinie brith,
And al the wepne that fel to knith.
With hem ek five thusand gode
Sergaunz that weren to fyht wode
Withheld he al of his genge -
Wile I namore the storie lenge.
Yet hwan he havede of al the lond
The casteles alle in his hond,
And conestables don therinne,
He swor he ne sholde never blinne
Til that he were of Godard wreken,
That ich have of ofte speken.
Half hundred knithes dede he calle,
And hise fif thusand sergaunz alle,
And dide sweren on the bok
Sone, and on the auter ok,
That he ne sholde nevere blinne,
Ne for love ne for sinne,
Til that he haveden Godard funde
And brouth biforn him faste bunde.
 Thanne he haveden swor this oth,
Ne leten he nouth, for lef ne loth,
That he foren swithe rathe
Ther he was, unto the pathe
Ther he yet on hunting for,
With mikel genge and swithe stor.
Robert, that was of all the ferd
Mayster, girt was wit a swerd,
And sat upon a ful god stede,
That under him rith wolde wede.
He was the firste that with Godard
Spak, and seyde, "Hede, cavenard!
Wat dos thu here at this pathe?
Cum to the king swithe and rathe!
That sendes he thee word and bedes,
That thu thenke what thou him dedes
Whan thu reftes with a knif
Hise sistres here lif
And sithen bede thou in the se
Drenchen him - that herde he!
He is to thee swithe grim;
Cum nu swithe unto him
That king is of this kunerike,
Thou fule man, thou wicke swike!
And he shal yelde thee thy mede,
Bi Crist that wolde on Rode blede!"
 Hwan Godard herde that he ther thrette,
With the neve he Robert sette
Biforn the teth a dint ful strong.
And Robert kipt ut a knif long
And smot him thoru the rith arum -
Ther of was ful litel harum!
 Hwan his folk that saw and herde,
Hwou Robert with here louerd ferde,
He haveden him wel ner browt of live,
Ne weren his two brethren and othre five
Slowen of here laddes ten,
Of Godardes altherbeste men.
Hwan the othre sawen that, he fledden,
And Godard swithe loude gredde:
"Mine knithes, hwat do ye?
Sule ye thusgate fro me fle?
Ich have you fed and yet shal fede -
Helpe me nw in this nede
And late ye nouth mi bodi spille,
Ne Havelok don of me hise wille!
Yif ye it do, ye do you shame
And bringeth youself in mikel blame!"
Hwan he that herden, he wenten ageyn,
And slowen a knit and a sweyn
Of the kinges oune men,
And woundeden abuten ten.
The kinges men, hwan he that sawe,
Scuten on hem, heye and lowe,
And everilk fot of hem he slowe,
But Godard one, that he flowe,
So the thef men dos henge,
Or hund men shole in dike slenge.
He bunden him ful swithe faste,
Hwil the bondes wolden laste,
That he rorede als a bole
That wore parred in an hole
With dogges forto bite and beite.
Were the bondes nouth to leite -
He bounden him so fele sore
That he gan crien Godes ore,
That he sholde of his hend plette;
Wolden he nouht ther fore lette
That he ne bounden hond and fet.
Datheit that on that ther fore let!
But dunten him so man doth bere
And keste him on a scabbed mere,
Hise nese went unto the crice.
So ledden he that ful swike
Til he biforn Havelok was brouth,
That he havede ful wo wrowht,
Bothe with hungre and with cold
Or he were twel winter old,
And with mani hevi swink,
With poure mete and feble drink,
And swithe wikke clothes,
For al hise manie grete othes.
Nu beyes he his holde blame:
Old sinne makes newe shame!
Wan he was so shamelike
Brouth biforn the king, the fule swike!
The king dede Ubbe swithe calle
Hise erles and hise barouns alle,
Dreng and thein, burgeis and knith,
And bad he sholden demen him rith,
For he knew the swike dam;
Everil del God was him gram!
He setten hem dun bi the wawe,
Riche and pouere, heye and lowe,
The helde men and ek the grom,
And made ther the rithe dom
And seyden unto the king anon,
That stille sat so the ston:
"We deme that he be al quic flawen
And sithen to the galwes drawe
At this foule mere tayl,
Thoru his fet a ful strong nayl,
And thore ben henged wit two feteres
And thare be writen thise leteres:
‘This is the swike that wende wel
The king have reft the lond ilk del,
And hise sistres with a knif
Bothe refte here lif.’
This writ shal henge bi him thare.
The dom is demd - seye we namore."
Hwan the dom was demd and give,
And he was wit the prestes shrive,
And it ne mouhte ben non other,
Ne for fader ne for brother,
But that he sholde tharne lif,
Sket cam a ladde with a knif
And bigan rith at the to
For to ritte and for to flo;
And he bigan tho for to rore
So it were grim or gore,
That men mithe thethen a mile
Here him rore, that fule file!
The ladde ne let nowith forthi,
They he criede, "Merci! Merci!"
That ne flow him everil del
With knif mad of grunden stel.
Thei garte bringe the mere sone,
Skabbed and ful ivele o bone,
And bunden him rith at hire tayl
With a rop of an old seyl
And drowen him unto the galwes,
Nouth bi the gate but over the falwes,
And henge him thore bi the hals -
Datheit hwo recke: he was fals!
Thanne he was ded, that Sathanas,
Sket was seysed al that his was
In the kinges hand ilk del -
Lond and lith and other catel -
And the king ful sone it yaf
Ubbe in the hond, wit a fayr staf,
And seyde, "Her ich sayse thee
In al the lond, in al the fe."
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
Quant Haueloc est rois pussanz,
Le regne tint plus de .iiii. anz;
Merueillos tresor i auna.
Argentille li commanda
Qu’il passast en Engleterre
Pur son heritage conquerre,
Dont son oncle l’out engettée,
[Et] A grant tort desheritée.
Li rois li dist qu’il fera
Ceo qu’ele li comandera.
Sa nauie fet a-turner,
Ses genz & ses ostz mander.
En mier se met quant orré a,
Et la reyne od lui mena.
Quatre vinz & quatre cenz
Out Haueloc, pleines de genz.
Tant out nagé & siglé,
Q’en Carleflure est ariué.
Sur le hauene se herbergerent,
Par le pais viande quierent.
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
Tho swor Havelok he sholde make,
Al for Grim, of monekes blake
A priorie to serven in ay
Jhesu Crist, til Domesday,
For the god he havede him don
Hwil he was pouere and ivel o bon.
And ther of held he wel his oth,
For he it made, God it woth,
In the tun ther Grim was graven,
That of Grim yet haves the name.
Of Grim bidde ich namore spelle.
But wan Godrich herde telle,
Of Cornwayle that was erl,
That fule traytour, that mixed cherl!
That Havelok King was of Denemark,
And ferde with him, strong and stark
Comen Engelond withinne,
Engelond al for to winne;
And that she that was so fayr,
That was of Engelond rith eir,
Was comen up at Grimesbi,
He was ful sorful and sori,
And seyde, "Hwat shal me to rathe?
Goddoth, I shal do slon hem bathe!
I shal don hengen hem ful heye
So mote ich brouke my rith eie,
But yif he of mi londe fle.
Hwat! Wenden he deserite me?"
He dide sone ferd ut bidde,
That al that evere mouhte o stede
Ride or helm on heved bere,
Brini on bac, and sheld and spere,
Or ani other wepne bere,
Hand-ax, sythe, gisarm, or spere,
Or aunlaz and god long knif,
That als he lovede leme or lif,
That they sholden comen him to,
With ful god wepne yboren, so
To Lincolne, ther he lay,
Of Marz the sevententhe day,
So that he couthe hem god thank;
And yif that ani were so rank
That he thanne ne come anon,
He swor bi Crist and by Seint Johan,
That he sholde maken him thral,
And al his ofspring forth withal.
The Englishe that herde that,
Was non that evere his bode sat;
For he him dredde swithe sore,
So runcy spore, and mikle more.
At the day he come sone
That he hem sette, ful wel o bone,
To Lincolne with gode stedes,
And al the wepne that knith ledes.
Hwan he wore come, sket was the erl yare
Ageynes Denshe men to fare,
And seyde, "Lythes nw alle samen!
Have ich gadred you for no gamen,
But ich wile seyen you forthi.
Lokes hware here at Grimesbi
Hise uten laddes here comen,
And haves nu the priorie numen -
Al that evere mithen he finde,
He brenne kirkes and prestes binde;
He strangleth monkes and nunnes bothe -
Wat wile ye, frend, her-offe rede?
Yif he regne thusgate longe,
He moun us alle overgange,
He moun us alle quic henge or slo,
Or thral maken and do ful wo
Or elles reve us ure lives
And ure children and ure wives.
But dos nw als ich wile you lere,
Als ye wile be with me dere.
Nimes nu swithe forth and rathe
And helpes me and yuself bathe,
And slos upo the dogges swithe.
For shal I nevere more be blithe,
Ne hoseled ben ne of prest shriven
Til that he ben of londe driven.
Nime we swithe and do hem fle
And folwes alle faste me!
For ich am he of al the ferd
That first shal slo with drawen swerd.
Datheyt hwo ne stonde faste
Bi me hwil hise armes laste!"
"Ye! lef, ye!" quoth the erl Gunter;
"Ya!" quoth the Erl of Cestre, Reyner.
And so dide alle that ther stode
And stirte forth so he were wode.
Tho mouthe men se the brinies brihte
On backes keste and lace rithe,
The helmes heye on heved sette.
To armes al so swithe plette
That thei wore on a litel stunde
Grethet als men mithe telle a pund,
And lopen on stedes sone anon;
And toward Grimesbi, ful god won,
He foren softe bi the sti
Til he come ney at Grimesbi.
 Havelok, that havede spired wel
Of here fare, everil del,
With all his ferd cam hem ageyn.
Forbar he nother knith ne sweyn:
The firste knith that he ther mette
With the swerd so he him grette,
For his heved of he plette -
Wolde he nouth for sinne lette.
Roberd saw that dint so hende -
Wolde he nevere thethen wende,
Til that he havede another slawen
With the swerd he held ut drawen.
Willam Wendut his swerd ut drow,
And the thredde so sore he slow
That he made upon the feld
His lift arm fleye with the swerd.
 Huwe Raven ne forgat nouth
The swerd he havede thider brouth.
He kipte it up, and smot ful sore
An erl that he saw priken thore
Ful noblelike upon a stede,
That with him wolde al quic wede.
He smot him on the heved so
That he the heved clef a two.
And that bi the shudre blade
The sharpe swerd let wade
Thoru the brest unto the herte;
The dint bigan ful sore to smerte,
That the erl fel dun anon
Al so ded so ani ston.
Quoth Ubbe, "Nu dwelle ich to longe!"
And let his stede sone gonge
To Godrich, with a god spere,
That he saw another bere;
And smot Godrich and Godrich him,
Hetelike with herte grim,
So that he bothe felle dune
To the erthe, first the croune.
Thanne he woren fallen dun bothen,
Grundlike here swerdes he ut drowen,
That weren swithe sharp and gode,
And fouhten so thei woren wode
That the swot ran fro the crune
To the fet right there adune.
Ther mouthe men se to knicthes bete
Ayther on other dintes grete,
So that with the altherleste dint
Were al to-shivered a flint.
So was bitwenen hem a fiht
Fro the morwen ner to the niht,
So that thei nouth ne blunne
Til that to sette bigan the sunne.
Tho yaf Godrich thorw the side
Ubbe a wunde ful unride,
So that thorw that ilke wounde
Havede ben brouth to grunde
And his heved al of slawen,
Yif God ne were and Huwe Raven,
That drow him fro Godrich awey
And barw him so that ilke day.
But er he were fro Godrich drawen,
Ther were a thousind knihtes slawen
Bi bothe halve and mo ynowe,
Ther the ferdes togidere slowe,
Ther was swilk dreping of the folk
That on the feld was nevere a polk
That it ne stod of blod so ful
That the strem ran intil the hul.
Tho tarst bigan Godrich to go
Upon the Danshe and faste to slo
And forthrith, also leun fares
That nevere kines best ne spares,
Thanne his gon, for he garte alle
The Denshe men biforn him falle.
He felde browne, he felde blake,
That he mouthe overtake.
Was nevere non that mouhte thave
Hise dintes, noyther knith ne knave,
That he felde so dos the gres
Biforn the sythe that ful sharp es.
Hwan Havelok saw his folk so brittene
And his ferd so swithe littene,
He cam drivende upon a stede,
And bigan til him to grede,
And seyde, "Godrich, wat is thee,
That thou fare thus with me
And mine gode knihtes slos?
Sikerlike, thou misgos!
Thou wost ful wel, yif thu wilt wite,
That Athelwold thee dide site
On knes and sweren on messe bok,
On caliz and on pateyn ok,
That thou hise douhter sholdest yelde,
Than she were wimman of elde,
Engelond everil del.
Godrich the erl, thou wost it wel!
Do nu wel withuten fiht
Yeld hire the lond, for that is rith.
Wile ich forgive thee the lathe,
Al mi dede and al mi wrathe,
For I se thu art so with
And of thi bodi so god knith."
"That ne wile ich neveremo,"
Quoth erl Godrich, "for ich shal slo
Thee, and hire forhenge heye.
I shal thrist ut thy rith eye
That thou lokes with on me,
But thu swithe hethen fle!"
He grop the swerd ut sone anon,
And hew on Havelok ful god won,
So that he clef his sheld on two.
Hwan Havelok saw that shame do
His bodi ther biforn his ferd,
He drow ut sone his gode swerd,
And smote him so upon the crune
That Godrich fel to the erthe adune.
But Godrich stirt up swithe sket -
Lay ne nowth longe at hise fet -
And smot him on the sholdre so
That he dide thare undo
Of his brinie ringes mo
Than that ich kan tellen fro,
And woundede him rith in the flesh,
That tendre was and swithe nesh,
So that the blod ran til his to.
Tho was Havelok swithe wo,
That he havede of him drawen
Blod and so sore him slawen.
Hertelike til him he wente
And Godrich ther fulike shente,
For his swerd he hof up heye,
And the hand he dide of fleye
That he smot him with so sore -
Hw mithe he don him shame more?
 Hwan he havede him so shamed,
His hand of plat and ivele lamed,
He tok him sone bi the necke
Als a traitour, datheit who recke!
And dide him binde and fetere wel
With gode feteres al of stel,
And to the quen he sende him,
That birde wel to him ben grim,
And bad she sholde don him gete
And that non ne sholde him bete,
Ne shame do, for he was knith,
Til knithes haveden demd him rith.
Than the Englishe men that sawe,
That thei wisten, heye and lawe,
That Goldeboru that was so fayr
Was of Engelond rith eyr,
And that the king hire havede wedded,
And haveden been samen bedded,
He comen alle to crie "Merci,"
Unto the king at one cri,
And beden him sone manrede and oth
That he ne sholden, for lef ne loth,
Neveremore ageyn him go,
Ne ride, for wel ne for wo.
 The king ne wolde nouth forsake
That he ne shulde of hem take
Manrede that he beden and ok
Hold othes sweren on the bok.
But or bad he that thider were brouth
The quen for hem swilk was his thouth
For to se and forto shawe,
Yif that he hire wolde knawe -
Thoruth hem witen wolde he
Yif that she aucte quen to be.
 Sixe erles weren sone yare
After hire for to fare.
He nomen onon and comen sone,
And brouthen hire, that under mone
In al the werd ne havede per
Of hendeleik, fer ne ner.
Hwan she was come thider, alle
The Englishe men bigunne falle
O knes, and greten swithe sore,
And seyden, "Levedi, Kristes ore
And youres! We haven misdo mikel
That we ayen you have be fikel,
For Englond auhte for to ben
Youres and we youre men.
Is non of us, yung ne old,
That he ne wot that Athelwold
Was king of this kunerike
And ye his eyr, and that the swike
Haves it halden with mikel wronge -
God leve him sone to honge!"
Quot Havelok, "Hwan that ye it wite,
Nu wile ich that ye doune site;
And after Godrich haves wrouht,
That haves in sorwe himself brouth,
Lokes that ye demen him rith,
For dom ne spareth clerk ne knith,
And sithen shal ich understonde
Of you, after lawe of londe,
Manrede and holde othes bothe,
Yif ye it wilen and ek rothe."
Anon ther dune he hem sette,
For non the dom ne durste lette
And demden him to binden faste
Upon an asse swithe unwraste,
Andelong, nouht overthwert,
His nose went unto the stert
And so to Lincolne lede,
Shamelike in wicke wede,
And, hwan he come unto the borw,
Shamelike ben led ther thoru,
Bi southe the borw unto a grene,
That thare is yet, als I wene,
And there be bunden til a stake,
Abouten him ful gret fir make,
And al to dust be brend rith there.
And yet demden he ther more,
Other swikes for to warne:
That hise children sulde tharne
Everemore that eritage
That his was, for hise utrage.
Hwan the dom was demd and seyd,
Sket was the swike on the asse leyd,
And led him til that ilke grene
And brend til asken al bidene.
Tho was Goldeboru ful blithe -
She thanked God fele sythe
That the fule swike was brend
That wende wel hire bodi have shend;
And seyde, "Nu is time to take
Manrede of brune and of blake,
That ich se ride and go,
Nu ich am wreke of mi fo."
Havelok anon manrede tok
Of alle Englishe on the bok
And dide hem grete othes swere
That he sholden him god feyth bere
Ageyn hem alle that woren lives
And that sholde ben born of wives.
Thanne he haveden sikernesse
Taken of more and of lesse,
Al at hise wille, so dide he calle
The Erl of Cestre and hise men alle,
That was yung knith withuten wif,
And seyde, "Sire erl, bi mi lif,
And thou wile mi conseyl tro,
Ful wel shal ich with thee do;
For ich shal yeve thee to wive
The fairest thing that is o live.
That is Gunnild of Grimesby,
Grimes douther, bi Seint Davy,
That me forth broute and wel fedde,
And ut of Denemark with me fledde
Me for to burwe fro mi ded.
Sikerlike, thoru his red,
Have ich lived into this day -
Blissed worthe his soule ay!
I rede that thu hire take
And spuse and curteyse make,
For she is fayr and she is fre,
And al so hende so she may be.
Ther tekene, she is wel with me;
That shal ich ful wel shewe thee.
For ich wile give thee a give
That everemore, hwil ich live,
For hire shaltu be with me dere,
That wile ich that this folc al here."
The erl ne wolde nouth ageyn
The king be, for knith ne sweyn
Ne of the spusing seyen nay,
But spusede that ilke day.
That spusinge was in god time maked,
For it ne were nevere, clad ne naked,
In a thede samened two
That cam togidere, livede so
So they diden al here live:
He geten samen sones five,
That were the beste men at nede
That mouthe riden on ani stede.
Hwan Gunnild was to Cestre brouth,
Havelok the gode ne forgat nouth
Bertram, that was the erles kok,
That he ne dide callen ok,
And seyde, "Frend, so God me rede,
Nu shaltu have riche mede,
For wissing and thi gode dede
That tu me dides in ful gret nede.
For thanne I yede in mi cuvel
And ich ne havede bred ne sowel.
Ne I ne havede no catel,
Thou feddes and claddes me ful wel.
Have nu forthi of Cornwayle
The erldom ilk del, withuten fayle,
And al the lond that Godrich held,
Bothe in towne and ek in feld;
And ther-to wile ich that thu spuse,
And fayre bring hire until huse,
Grimes douther, Levive the hende,
For thider shal she with thee wende.
Hire semes curteys for to be,
For she is fayr so flour on tre;
The hew is swilk in hire ler
So the rose in roser,
Hwan it is fayre sprad ut newe,
Ageyn the sunne brith and lewe."
And girde him sone with the swerd
Of the erldom, biforn his ferd,
And with his hond he made him knith,
And yaf him armes, for that was rith,
And dide him there sone wedde
Hire that was ful swete in bedde.
After that he spused wore,
Wolde the Erl nouth dwelle thore,
But sone nam until his lond
And seysed it al in his hond
And livede ther inne, he and his wif,
An hundred winter in god lif,
And gaten mani children samen
And liveden ay in blisse and gamen.
Hwan the maidens were spused bothe,
Havelok anon bigan ful rathe
His Denshe men to feste wel
Wit riche landes and catel,
So that he weren alle riche,
For he was large and nouth chiche.
Ther after sone, with his here,
For he to Lundone for to bere
Corune, so that it sawe
Henglishe ant Denshe, heye and lowe,
Hwou he it bar with mikel pride,
For his barnage that was unride.
The feste of his coruning
Lastede with gret joying
Fourti dawes and sumdel mo.
Tho bigunnen the Denshe to go
Unto the king to aske leve;
And he ne wolde hem nouth greve,
For he saw that he woren yare
Into Denemark for to fare;
But gaf hem leve sone anon
And bitauhte hem Seint Johan,
And bad Ubbe, his justise,
That he sholde on ilke wise
Denemark yeme and gete so
That no pleynte come him to.
Hwan he wore parted alle samen,
Havelok bilefte wit joye and gamen
In Engelond and was ther-inne
Sixti winter king with winne,
And Goldeboru Quen, that I wene
So mikel love was hem bitwene
That al the werd spak of hem two;
He lovede hir and she him so
That neyther owe mithe be
Fro other, ne no joye se
But if he were togidere bothe.
Nevere yete no weren he wrothe
For here love was ay newe -
Nevere yete wordes ne grewe
Bitwene hem hwar of ne lathe
Mithe rise ne no wrathe.
He geten children hem bitwene
Sones and doughtres rith fivetene,
Hwar-of the sones were kinges alle,
So wolde God it sholde bifalle,
And the douhtres alle quenes:
Him stondes wel that god child strenes!
Nu have ye herd the gest al thoru
Of Havelok and of Goldeboru -
Hw he weren boren and hw fedde,
And hwou he woren with wronge ledde
In here youthe with trecherie,
With tresoun, and with felounye;
And hwou the swikes haveden tiht
Reven hem that was here rith,
And hwou he weren wreken wel,
Have ich seyd you everil del.
Forthi ich wolde biseken you
That haven herd the rim nu,
That ilke of you, with gode wille,
Saye a Pater Noster stille
For him that haveth the rym maked,
And ther-fore fele nihtes waked,
That Jesu Crist his soule bringe
Biforn his Fader at his endinge.

Amen		 Or they would have slain him,
Or totally hacked or ripped him apart!
My lord, I have no more trouble
From what threatened me last night.
The thieves would have robbed me,
But, thank God, they surely paid for it!
But it is a great pity about Havelock.
I believe that he will soon be dead."
Ubbe said, "Bernard, is this the truth?"
"Yes, sire, I do not make false oaths!
If I lie one word, my lord,
Tomorrow have me hanged high!"
The townspeople who stood nearby,
Low and great, young and old,
Swore great and solemn oaths
That it was true what Bernard said.
It was true that they wanted to tie him up
And carry off all they might find of his
In coffers or in chests
That they would jam into sacks.
"My lord, they would have taken
All he had, with himself torn apart,
But God Himself has preserved him well
So that he has not lost any goods.
Who could stand against so many men
In the night-time, knight or peasant?
They were seventy in count,
Strong men, rugged men,
And one was the master of them all,
Who had the name Griffin Galle.
Who could stand against so many,
Except this man from faraway lands,
Who has killed them with a door bar?
May he have great joy!
May God give him wealth to wield,
Both in town and in the fields as well.
The food he eats is well spent!"
Ubbe said, "Have him brought quickly,
So that I may see his wounds,
If he may be healed.
For if he might still recover,
And walk firm on his feet,
I myself will dub him a knight
Because of his bravery.
And if any are alive, those foul thieves
Who come from Cain and Eve's kin,
They will hang by the neck!
Curse whoever cares about their death,
Since they ran about at night
To tie up both townsmen and knights.
I have no love for outlaws;
I don't give a berry about them!"
Havelock was brought before Ubbe,
Who had great concern for him
And much sorrow in his heart
For his wounds, which were so painful.
But when his injuries were examined
And a doctor had determined
That he would be able to heal them,
To make him walk and talk with vigor,
And sit on a saddle-horse
And then ride a steed confidently,
Then Ubbe let his worries go
And his sorrow passed away.
He said, "Come back with me now,
With Goldeboro, your wife,
And your men-at-arms, all three.
For I will be your guarantor now.
I want none of the friends
Of those you killed with your hand
To be able to wait for you in ambush
As you go to and fro.
I will lend you a chamber
Which is up in the high tower
Until you can get around
And be fully healed from all your woes.
There will be nothing between
Your room and mine, I know,
But a fine fir-wood wall.
If I speak loudly or speak quietly,
You will hear me well.
And whenever you want, you will see me.
A roof will cover us both at night,
So that none of mine, priest or knight,
Will try to cause shame to your wife
Any more than mine, so God help me!"
He had Havelock brought into the chamber
Soon after, with his wife and his
Three officers, the best men
That might be, all rejoicing.
The first night that he lay in there,
With his wife and three brothers in arms,
About the middle of the night
Ubbe woke up and saw a great light
From the room where Havelock lay,
As bright as if it were day.
"Good lord!" said Ubbe, "What is this?
I had better go myself and see
Whether he is up now and drinking toasts,
Or taking part in some debauchery
Like fools do this time of night.
Men ought to throw them in pools,
Or in a ditch, or in the muddy swamp.
No one is up now but wicked men,
Gluttons, criminals, or foul thieves,
By Christ who all people believe in!"
He stood up and peered through a board
Before he spoke another word,
And saw each one of them fast asleep
And lying as still as a stone.
He saw all that great light
Coming from Havelock, which was so bright.
Every bit of it came out of his mouth;
He could see that clearly.
"My God," he said, "what can this mean?"
He called for men, both timid and bold,
His wisest knights and officers,
More than a hundred, without a lie,
And he ordered them all to come and see
What that marvel might be.
As the knights were all arriving,
There Havelock lay outside the hall.
Out of his mouth streamed a gleam,
Exactly like a sunbeam.
The light there, by Heaven,
Was as if seven tapers were burning
And a hundred more candles with it.
I would dare to swear it on a Bible!
They were fast asleep, all five,
As if they had departed from life,
And Havelock lay on his left side,
With his shining bride in his arms.
He lay naked down to the chest;
So fair a two were never created
To lie together in a bed.
The knights thought it was good fun
To look at them and examine them.
But just as they all stood there
And his back shifted toward them,
They were aware of a majestic cross
On his right shoulder, so clear,
Brighter than gold against the light,
That they realized, high and low,
It was a royal mark that they saw.
It sparkled and shone brightly
Just as a good carbuncle stone does,
So that men can pick out a penny
By its light, it was so brilliant.
Then they beheld him closely,
So that they finally understood
That he was the son of Birkabeyn,
The man who was their king, who used
To govern and protect them well
Against foreign armies:
"For there has never been a brother
In all Denmark so like another
As this man, who is so noble,
Is like Birkabeyn. He is his heir."
At once they fell at his feet;
There were none who did not hail him.
They were all as full of joy
As if he had risen from the grave.
They kissed his feet a hundred times,
The toes, the nails, and the tips,
So that he began to wake up.
On seeing them he blanched painfully,
For he thought they would slay him,
Or else tie him up and do woe.
Ubbe said, "My lord, have no fear!
I think that I know your thoughts.
Dear son, how fortunate I am
To see you with my own eyes.
Lord, I offer you homage;
I fully ought to be your man.
For you are born from Birkabeyn,
Who had many knights and servants,
And you, lord, shall have the same.
Though you are still a young man,
You will be king of all Denmark.
There was never anyone so strong here.
Tomorrow you will receive pledges
From every type of man,
From all who are in this town,
Both from earl and from baron,
And from vassal and retainer,
And from knight and bondsman.
And so you will be made a knight
With gladness, for you are so valiant."
Then Havelock was very pleased,
And thanked God many times.
In the morning, when it was light,
And the gloom of the night was gone,
Ubbe had a young messenger
Leap on a steed, and go to summon
Earls, barons, retainers, vassals,
Priests, knights, townspeople, and peasants,
That they should come quickly
Before him soon, each of them,
As much as they loved their lives
And their children and their wives.
No one dared ignore his command,
So that all came at once
To find out what the justice wanted.
Ubbe soon rose
And said, "Listen to me,
All together, bound and free!
I will relate to you a matter here
That you all know clearly.
You know well that all this land
Was in Birkabeyn's hand
The day that he was alive and dead,
And how he, by your counsel,
Entrusted his three children, and all
His property, to Godard to steward.
He committed his son Havelock to him,
And his two daughters and his holdings.
All of you heard him swear
On the Bible and on the mass garments
That he would protect them well,
Without fault, without reproach.
He forget all about his oath!
He deserves evil and woe forever!
For he deprived both of the maidens
Of their lives with a knife,
And he would have killed the boy also.
The knife was drawn at his heart,
But God wished to save him.
Godard felt regret for the boy
So that he could not kill him
With his own hand, that miserable fiend!
But he soon after forced a fisherman
To swear solemn oaths
That he would drown him
In the sea that was so wild.
When Grim saw that he was so fair,
And realized he was the rightful heir,
They quickly fled from Denmark
Into England and kept him there.
Many years until this day
He has been fed and brought up well.
Look where he stands here!
In all this world he has no peer,
None so handsome, none so tall,
Nor any so great, nor none so strong.
On this earth there is no knight
Half so mighty, nor half so valiant.
Be joyful and glad because of him,
And come forward quickly
To pledge loyalty to your lord,
Every rank of person.
I shall first do the honors myself,
And you will all follow together after."
Ubbe set himself courteously on his knees;
Nothing might prevent him from it.
And he became Havelock's man right there,
So that all who were there saw it.
After him ten lads started up
And became his men,
And after then each baron
Who was ever in that town,
And then servants, and then vassals,
And then knights, and then peasants,
So that before the day was gone,
In all the town there was no one
Who had not become his man.
They had all taken oaths of loyalty.
When he had accepted homage
From all of them in the hall,
He had them solemnly swear
That they would act in good faith
Toward all who were alive for him.
No one would ever strive against him
Who made that oath,
Rich or poor, fair or foul.
When that was done, at once he sent
Ubbe's summons far and wide
To all who ruled a castle,
City, or town, friend or stranger,
That they should come to him quickly
And hear the good news
That he would tell them.
Of them, not a one delayed
So that he did not come hurrying.
Whoever had no horse came on foot,
So that within a fortnight
In all of Denmark, there was no knight,
Constable, or sheriff
Who came from Adam and Eve
Who did not appear before Sir Ubbe;
They feared him as the thief does the club.
When they had all greeted the king
And they were all seated,
Then Ubbe said, "Behold
Our lord so dear,
Who will be king of all the land
And have us all in his hand!
For he is Birkabeyn's son,
The king who once used
To rule and protect us well
With a sharp sword and long spear.
Look now, how noble he is;
Surely he is his heir!
Everyone fall to his feet in haste
And become his man."
They were so in awe of Ubbe
That they did all he ordered at once,
And yet they did something more:
They gravely swore on the scriptures
That they would stand with him
Against both timid and bold,
Against whoever wished to harm his body.
He had them swear it on the Bible.
When he had taken homage and oaths
From fair and foul,
Ubbe dubbed him a knight
With a sword shining bright,
And the people of all the land
Entrusted everything into his hand,
Every part of the kingdom,
And made him king, fully and majestically.
When he was king, men might see
The greatest joy that could be.
There was jousting with sharp spears,
Fencing with shields that men bear,
Wrestling with the lads, shot-putting,
Harping and piping, an abundant amount,
Games of backgammon and dice as well,
And readings from books of romances.
There men could hear tales sung,
With minstrels beating on a drum.
Men could see bulls baited,
And the boars with lively dogs.
Men could see every kind of sport
And enjoy the growing excitement.
There was never more joy
In all this world than there was there.
There were so many gifts of clothes
That even if I swore you great oaths
It would never be believed.
That I may swear in full, by God!
There were costly foods and wines
That men bring from distant lands,
Just as much and in such abundance
As if it were water from the sea.
The feast lasted forty days;
There was never one so lavish as that.
The king made Robert a knight there,
Who was strong and valiant,
And William Wendut as well, his brother,
And Hugh Raven, who was the other.
He made all three of them barons,
And gave them land and other properties,
So much that each had in his retinue
Twenty knights by day and night.
When the feast was all over,
A thousand knights, fully equipped,
Escorted the king with him leading them.
Each had a strong steed,
Helmet and shield, and bright mailcoat,
And all the weapons fitting for knights.
With them were also five thousand
Good men, raring to fight,
Who filled out his company.
I will not make the story any longer.
And yet when he had, from all the land,
All the castles in his command,
And had placed officers in them,
He swore he would never rest
Until he had revenge on Godard,
Whom I have spoken often enough about.
He summoned half a hundred knights,
And all his five thousand strongmen,
And had them swear at once
On the Bible and on the altar as well,
That they would never give up,
Neither for love nor for sin,
Until they had found Godard
And brought him before him bound fast.
When they had sworn this oath,
They would not be delayed for love or hate,
So that they went forth in a rush
To where Godard was, on the path
Where he went hunting,
With a retinue that was large and proud.
Robert, who was master of the militia,
Was equipped with a sword
And sat upon a mighty steed
That would gallop mightily under him.
He was the first to speak to Godard,
And shouted, "Stop right there, rogue!
What are you doing on this path?
Come to the king quickly in haste!
He sends you word and commands
You to think on what you did to him
When you took the lives of
His sisters with a knife
And then ordered him to be drowned
In the sea—he heard all about that!
He is very displeased with you.
Now come to him immediately,
The sovereign of this kingdom,
You foul man, you wicked traitor!
And he will give you your reward,
By Christ who bled on the Cross!"
When Godard heard what he threatened,
With his fist he struck Robert
In the teeth with a good strong blow,
And Robert pulled out a long knife
And stuck him through the right arm.
There was little harm done in that!
When his company saw and heard
How Robert had acted with their lord,
They nearly would have taken his life
If not for his two brothers and five others
Who killed ten men
Of Godard's very best troops.
When the others saw that, they fled,
And Godard shouted loudly,
"My knights, what are you doing?
Will you abandon me this way?
I have kept you and will still keep you!
Help me now in this need
And do not let my blood be spilled,
Or let Havelock do his will with me!
If you do so, you shame yourselves
And bring yourselves into dishonor!"
When they heard that, they came back,
And killed a knight and a servant
Of the king's own men,
And wounded about ten others.
The king's men, when they saw this,
Rushed on them, high and low,
And slaughtered every foot of them
Except for Godard alone, whom they would flay
Like the thief that men hang,
Or a dog that men hurl into a ditch.
They tied him up tightly
While the bonds would last,
So that he roared like a bull
That was trapped in a pit
With dogs biting and goading.
The bonds were not light in weight.
They held him so painfully tight
That he began to cry for God's mercy,
That they would cut off his hands.
They did not stop for that,
Until he was bound hand and foot.
Cursed be the man who would prevent it!
They beat him like men do a bear
And threw him on a mangy mare
With his nose turned back into its behind.
They led that foul traitor in this way
Until he was brought before Havelock,
To whom he had caused so much woe,
Both with hunger and with cold
Before he was twelve years old,
And with much heavy labor,
With poor food and little drink,
And with ragged clothing,
For all his many fine oaths.
Now he paid for his earlier crime;
Old sin makes new shame!
When the foul traitor was so
Disgracefully brought before the king,
The king had Ubbe quickly call
His earls and all his barons,
Vassal and retainer, citizen and knight,
And ordered that they should judge him,
For they knew the criminal well.
God was angry with him in every way!
They seated themselves by the wall,
Rich and poor, high and low,
The old men and the young as well,
And made their judgment there.
Soon they said to the king,
Who sat as still as a stone,
"We order that he be flayed alive,
And then taken to the gallows,
Facing this foul mare's tail,
With a good strong nail through his feet,
And be hanged there on two chains,
With these letters written there:
'This is the traitor who fully intended
To rob the king of every acre of land,
And took the lives of both
His sisters with a knife.'
This writ will hang by him there.
The verdict is given. We have no more to say."
When the judgment was given and approved,
And he received rites from the priests,
There was no other course,
Not for father nor for brother,
But that he should lose his life.
A lad came swiftly with a knife
And began right at the toe
To cut and to slice,
As if it were a gown or dress,
And Godard began to roar then
So that men a mile away
Might hear him yell, that foul wretch!
The youth did not stop at all for that,
Even though he cried, "Mercy! Mercy!",
To skin every bit of him
With a knife made of ground steel.
Soon they had the mare brought,
Scabbed and sick to the bone,
And bound him right to the tail
With a rope from an old sail.
They took him to the gallows,
Not by the road but over the fields,
And hanged him there by the neck.
Damn whoever cares! He was false!
When he was dead, that devil,
All that was his was quickly seized
Into the king's hand, every bit,
Lands and tenants and other goods.
And the king immediately placed it
Into Ubbe's hand with a fine staff
And said, "I hereby invest you
With all the land, and all the properties."
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
Havelock was a mighty king then,
And he reigned more than four years
And amassed marvelous treasures.
But Goldeboro urged him
To journey back to England
To conquer her heritage,
For which her uncle had exiled
And very unjustly disinherited her.
The king told her he would do
As she had asked him.
He had his fleet prepared
And sent for his men and his host.
After praying, he put to sea
And took the queen with him.
Havelock had four hundred
And eighty ships, full of men.
They sailed and steered
Until they arrived at Saltfleet.
They anchored near the harbor
And looked for provisions on land.
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
Then Havelock swore that
He would establish a priory for Grim
Of Benedictine monks to serve
Jesus Christ forever, until Judgment Day,
For the kindness he had shown him
When he was poor and weak.
And he would keep his promise in full,
For he had it built, God knows,
In the town where Grim was buried,
Which still has his name.
I have no more to say about Grim.
But when Godrich,
Who was earl of Cornwall—
That foul traitor, that filthy slave—
Heard that Havelock was king of Denmark,
And that an army, strong and bold,
Had come into England,
To win all of England,
And that the beautiful Goldeboro,
Who was England's rightful heir,
Had arrived at Grimsby,
He was distraught and miserable
And said, "What shall I do?
God knows, I will have them both executed!
I will have them hanged high,
As sure as I see with my right eye,
Unless they flee my land!
What, do they think they will disinherit me?"
At once he ordered his army out,
All who could ever ride a horse
Or bear a helmet on their head,
A mailcoat on their back, shield and spear,
Or carry any other weapon,
Battle-ax, scythe, halberd, or spear,
Or dagger or a good long knife,
So that if they loved life or limb,
They should report to him,
Bearing their finest weapons,
To Lincoln, where he waited,
On the seventeenth day of March,
So that he might thank them properly.
And if any were so headstrong
That they did not come speedily,
He swore by Christ and by Saint John,
That he would make him a slave,
And all his offspring after the same.
Of the English who heard that,
There were none who refused his orders,
For they dreaded him so sorely
Like the nag fears the spur, and much more.
On the day that Godard set for them,
They promptly came, fully equipped,
To Lincoln with good warhorses
And all the weapons that knights carry.
When they had arrived, the earl was eager
To face against Danish men,
And he said, "Listen now, all together!
I have not gathered you for fun and games,
But for what I will tell you now:
Look where, there at Grimsby,
These foreigners have come,
And have now seized the priory
And all that they can find.
They burn churches and tie up priests;
They strangle both monks and nuns!
What do you, friends, advise to be done?
If they run free in this way for long,
They may overcome us all.
They may hang or slay us all alive,
Or make us slaves and do us great woe,
Or else rob us of our lives,
Along with our children and our wives!
But now do as I will instruct you,
If you wish to be faithful to me.
Let us go forth now, and in haste,
And save both me and yourselves
And strike at the dogs quickly!
For I will never be at peace,
Nor be confessed or absolved by a priest,
Until they are driven from our land.
Let's get going and make them flee,
And everyone follow me closely!
For in all the army, it is me
Who will first kill with his sword drawn.
Damn anyone who doesn't stand fast
By me while his arms last!"
"Yes, my dear lord, yes!" said Earl Gunter.
"Yes!" said the earl of Chester, Reyner.
And who stood there said the same,
And they rushed forth as if they were mad.
Then men could see bright mailcoats
Thrown on backs and laced firmly,
And helmets set high on heads.
All hurried so quickly to arms
That they were ready in the time
It takes to count out a pound.
Straightaway they leaped on steeds,
And towards Grimsby, with full force,
They lumbered along the road
Until they came near to Grimsby.
Havelock, who had inquired closely
Into their movements, every detail,
Came against them with all his forces.
He spared neither knight nor peasant.
The first knight that he met there
He charged so hard with his sword
That he sheared off his head.
He did not hesitate to inflict harm.
When Robert saw that skillful blow,
He would not turn away
Until he had slain another
With the sword he held drawn out.
William Wendut drew out his sword,
And he struck a third so hard
That he made his left arm fly off
Onto the field with his sword.
Hugh Raven did not forget to use
The sword he had brought there.
He swung it up, and struck hard
On an earl that he saw spurring there
Nobly upon a steed,
Who galloped quickly toward him.
He struck him on the head so forcefully
That he cleft the skull in two,
And near the shoulder-blade
He let the sharp sword pass
Through the breast into the heart.
The blow began to hurt so painfully
That the earl fell down at once,
As dead as any stone.
Ubbe said, "I hold back too long!",
And immediately charged his horse
Toward Godrich, with a good spear
That he saw another bear,
And the two struck at each other
Hotly with fierce hearts,
So that they both fell headfirst
Down to the earth.
When they were both fallen,
They drew out their swords violently,
Which were so sharp and hard,
And fought like they were berserk,
So that the sweat and blood ran
From their heads down to their feet.
There men could see two knights
Beat on each other with great blows
So that the least strike
Would have shattered a stone to pieces.
There was a fight between them
From the morning nearly to night,
So that they did not let up
Until the sun began to set.
Godrich had given Ubbe
An ugly wound through the side,
So that with that same injury
He would have been brought to the earth
And his head hacked off
If God and Hugh Raven were not there,
Who drew him away from Godrich
And saved him that very day.
But before he was taken from Godrich
There were a thousand knights killed
And more enough on both sides.
Where the armies clashed together
There was such slaughter of the warriors
That on the field there was no puddle
That was not so full of blood
That the stream didn't run downhill.
Then Godrich began to strike quickly
Upon the Danish again, killing swiftly
And relentlessly, as a lion pounces
Who spares no kind of prey
And then is gone, for he made all
The Danish men fall before him.
He dropped every type of warrior,
Any that he might overtake.
There was no one who might survive
His blows, neither knight nor serf,
That he cut down like the grass
Before a sharpened scythe.
When Havelock saw his men so shaken
And his forces so reduced,
He came driving up on a steed
And began to parley with him,
And said, "Godrich, why do you do this
That you act this way with me
And slay my good knights?
Surely, you do evil!
You know full well, if you recall,
That Athelwold had you swear
On your knees and on the missal,
On chalice and sacramental cloth as well,
That you would yield to his daughter,
When she was a woman of age,
Every bit of England.
Earl Godrich, you know it well!
Do it now without struggle.
Give her the land, for it is her right.
I will forgive you for your hate,
For all my dead, and all my wrath,
For I see you are valiant
And in body a good knight."
"That I will never do,"
Answered Earl Godrich, "for I will
Slay you, and hang her high!
I will thrust out your right eye
That you look at me with,
Unless you flee from here quickly!"
He straightaway gripped his sword out,
And cut down on Havelock forcefully,
So that he split his shield in two.
When Havelock saw that shame done
To his own body in front of his host,
At once he drew out his best sword
And smashed him so hard upon the head
That Godrich fell to the earth.
But Godrich got up very quickly.
He did not lay long at his feet,
And struck Havelock on the shoulder
So that he took off more
Of his mailcoat rings
Than I can count,
And wounded him right in the flesh,
Which was so tender and soft,
So that the blood ran down to his toe.
Havelock was distressed then
That Godrich had drawn blood
From him and wounded him so sorely.
With furious heart he went at him
And brought great shame to Godrich there,
For he heaved his sword up high
And struck him so harshly
That he made Godrich's hand fly off.
How could he dishonor him more?
When Havelock had disgraced him,
His hand cut off, and badly lame,
He immediately seized him by the neck
As a traitor—damn whoever cares!—
And had him bound and fettered fast
With strong chains, all of steel,
And he sent him to the queen.
That lady had cause to be stern with him,
And she ordered that he be guarded,
But that no one should beat him
Or abuse him, for he was a knight,
Until other knights had rightfully judged him.
When the English men saw that,
When they realized, high and low,
That Goldeboro, who was so fair,
Was the rightful heir of England,
And that the king had married her,
And they had bedded together,
They all came to cry, "Mercy!"
Unto the king with one voice.
At once they offered him homage and vows
That they would never,
For love or hate, oppose him again,
Or rebel, for better or for worse.
The king did not reject them
So that he should not accept
The homage that they offered, as well as
Other oaths of loyalty sworn on the Bible.
But before doing so he ordered the queen
To be brought, for such were his thoughts
To watch and to see
If they would recognize her.
Through them he would know
If she ought to be queen.
Six earls were soon ready
To set out after her.
They went at once and soon returned
Bringing her, she who had no peer
Under the moon in all the world
In gentility, near or far.
When she was coming near,
All the English men began to fall
On their knees and cried out bitterly
And said, "Our lady, Christ's mercy
And yours! We have done great evil
To be disloyal to you,
For England ought to be yours,
And we your men.
There is none of us, young or old,
Who does not know that Athelwold
Was sovereign of this kingdom
And you his heir, and that the traitor
Has held it with great injustice.
May God soon grant for him to hang!"
Havelock said, "Since you understand,
I would like you now to all sit down.
And in regard to what Godrich has caused,
Who has brought himself to calamity,
See that you judge him rightly,
For justice spares neither priest nor knight.
And after then I will accept from you,
Under the law of the land,
Both your homage and oaths of loyalty,
If you want it and recommend it as well."
They seated themselves at once,
For no one dared obstruct the verdict,
And they ordered the traitor bound tight
Upon a filthy donkey,
End to end, not across,
His nose set toward the tail,
And led to Lincoln in this manner,
Shamefully in wretched rags;
And, when he arrived in the borough,
To be dishonorably paraded through,
To south of the town onto a green field—
Which is still there, as far as I know—
And to be tied to a stake
With a great fire set around him,
And all to be burned to dust right there.
And yet they ordered more,
In order to warn other traitors:
That his children should forever lose
Their heritage of what was his
For his outrageous crime.
When the verdict was given and approved,
The traitor was quickly laid on the donkey
And he was led to that same green
And burned to ashes right away.
Then Goldeboro was at ease.
She thanked God many times
That the foul traitor who had intended
To disgrace her body was burned,
And she said, "Now is the time to take
Homage from all kinds of people
That I see riding and walking,
Now that I am avenged on my foe."
Havelock had soon received pledges
On the Bible from all the English,
And had them swear solemn oaths
That they would hold him in good faith
Toward all who were alive
And who were born of women.
When he had taken guarantees
From the great and the lesser,
With all at his will, he summoned
The earl of Chester with all his men,
Who was a young knight without a wife,
And said, "Sir Earl, by my life,
If you will trust my counsel,
I will deal with you fairly.
For I will give you as a wife
The fairest thing that is alive,
Gunnild of Grimsby,
The daughter of Grim, by Saint David,
Who brought me up and kept me well,
And fled with me out of Denmark
To rescue me from death.
Surely, through his good judgment
I have lived to this day.
May his soul be blessed forever!
I advise that you take her
And wed her, and do her courtesy,
For she is beautiful and she is noble,
And as gracious as she could be.
I will prove it to you in full that
I am well pleased with her by a token,
For I will give you a promise
That forevermore, while I live,
For her sake you shall be dear to me.
I would like all these people to witness that."
The earl did not refuse the king,
And neither knight nor servant
Said anything against the match,
But they were wedded that same day.
That marriage was made in a blessed moment,
For there were never in any land
Two who came together, clothed or naked,
Who lived in the way
That they did their whole lives.
They had five sons together,
All the best men in times of need
Who might ride on any steed.
When Gunnild was brought to Chester,
Havelock, the good man, did not forget
Bertram, who was the earl's cook.
He called him as well
And said, "Friend, so God help me,
You will have a rich reward
For your guidance and your kind deeds
That you did for me in my great need.
For then I walked in my cloak
And had neither bread nor sauce,
Nor did I have any possessions.
You fed and clothed me well.
Take now the earldom of Cornwall,
Every acre, without any doubt,
And all the land that Godrich held,
Both in town and field as well.
And with that I want you to marry
Grim's daughter, Levi the gracious,
And bring her honorably to your house
For she shall go with you there.
It is her nature to be courteous,
For she is as fair as the flower on the tree.
The color in her face
Is like the rose in a rosebush
When it has newly blossomed out
Toward the sun, bright and fresh."
And at once he fit him with the sword
Of the earldom, in front of his army,
And with his hand he made him a knight
And gave him arms, for that was proper,
And straightaway had him married
To Levi, who was so sweet in bed.
After they were married,
The earl did not wish to dwell there,
But soon made his way to his land
And received it all into his hand,
And lived there, him and his wife,
For a hundred seasons in good health.
They had many children together,
And lived forever in ease and pleasure.
When both of the maidens were married,
Havelock immediately began
To endow his Danish men well
With rich lands and properties,
So that they were all prosperous,
For he was generous and not grudging.
Soon after, he traveled with his army
To London to wear the crown,
So that all would see,
English and Danish, high and low,
How he wore it with regal pride
Before his great baronage.
The festival of his coronation
Lasted with great rejoicing
For forty days and somewhat more.
Then the Danes began to go
To the king to ask permission to leave.
He did not want to aggrieve them,
For he saw that they were anxious
To journey home to Denmark,
But gave them permission soon after
And entrusted them to Saint John,
And ordered Ubbe, his magistrate,
That he should govern and guard
Denmark in the same way,
So that no complaint would come to him.
When they had all departed together,
Havelock stayed with joy and pleasure
In England and was king there
In peace for sixty years.
And as for Queen Goldeboro, I know that
So much love was between them
That all the world spoke of the two.
He loved her and she loved him
So that neither one could be separated
From the other, nor have any happiness
Unless they were together.
They were never angry with each other,
For their love was always new.
Harsh words never grew between them
That might lead to any hostility
Or any wrath.
They had many children together,
Sons and daughters, fifteen in all,
Of whom the sons were all kings
If God should have it happen,
And the daughters all queens.
He stands well who has good children!
Now you have heard the adventure through
Of Havelock and Goldeboro,
How they were born and how they fared,
And how they were treated wrongly
In their youth with treachery,
With treason, and with felony;
And how the traitors intended
To rob them of what was their right,
And how they were well avenged.
I have told you every bit.
For that, I now ask of all of you
Who have heard the story now,
That each of you, in good faith,
Will say the Lord's Prayer quietly
For him who made this story
And stayed awake many nights for it,
That Jesus Christ would bring his soul
Before His Father at his end.

Amen.



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