¿ Torrent of Portugal.

Here bygynneth a good tale of Torrente of Portyngale.

GOD, that ys worthy and bold
Heven and erthe have in hold,
Fyld, watyr, and wynde,
Yeve use grace hevyn to wyne,
And brynge us owt off dedly synne,
And in thy servyse to ende!

A stounde and ye wolle lyst be-dene,
Ale dowghtty men that evyr hathe byr.,
Wher so that they lende,

I schalle yow telle, ore I hense pase,
Off a knyght that dowghtty wase,

In Rome ase clarkys ffynde.

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In Portynggalle, that ryche londe,
An erelle that wase wonande,

That curtese wase and dowghtty;

Sone aftyr he had a sone,

The feyerest that on fot myght gon,
Tyrrant men seyd he hyght.

Be tyme he wase xviij. yer old,
Of deddes of armys he wase bold,

To felle bothe kyng and knyght;

And now commythe dethe appon a day
And takythe hys father, ase I yow sey,

For God ys most of myght.

The kyng of Portynggalle wase fayne ;
Towarde hym he takythe Torrayne,
That dowghtty ys in dedde;
And ther he fesomnyd in hys hond

A good eyrldom in that lond,

Bothe forest and downe.

The kyng hathe a dowghttyr feyer ase flowyr,

Dyscenyr wase her name,

Worthyest in wede.

When Torrent had of her a syght,

More he loved that swet wyte

Than alle ys fathyrys londe.

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For love of thys lady deyr,
In dede of armys far and nere
Aventorres gan he take;

With heve tymbyr and ovyr-ryde,
Ther myght no man hys dent abydde,
But to the erthe he them stroke.

Her father and other knyghttes mo
Had farly how he ryd soo,

And on a day to hyme spake :

He seyd, "Torrent, howe may thys byne,
That thow dysplesyst thes knyghttes kene,
And ordurres non wolle take ?"

Torrent sayd, "So mot I the,
And other sayment wolle I bee

Ore I take ordor of knyght."

Tho he sware be hevyn kyng,
Ther wase told hym a wondyr thyng
In hys chambyr to nyght.

"For the love of my doughter dere, Thow makyst good far and nere,

In dedde of armys bryght;

And wyt thow wylle, so God me save !

Thow schalle here wyne, yf thow her have,

Be thow nevyr so wyttht."

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Torrent sayd, "Be Marré dere!
And I were off armyse clere,

Yowr dowghthyr me leve were.”
The kyng seyd, "Yf yt be soo,
Ore vij. yere be ago,

More schalle we here.

"Durst thow, for my dowghttyr sake, A poynt of armys for to take,

Withowt helpe of fere ?"

Than seyd Torrant, "So God me sped!
With anny man that syttythe on stede,
Other far ore nere."

Therof the kyng for tene wax wode; "Yf thow wylt make thy body good,

Be trew and hold thy contenaunce."

Tho seyd Torrant, " So God me sped ere!
And I wyst in what sted they were,

Fore no man wold I chaunce."

"Into the Grekes see a mylle

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Ther lyghttythe a gyant mauyle,

Fulle evylle thow dourst hyme stond.

My fayer forestes fellythe downe he,
And ryche castelles in that contré,

No ston lettythe he stond."

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Terrent sayd," Be Marre bryght!
Yt ys gret sorrow that he hathe syght,

The devylle of Helle hym blynd."

The knyght sayd, "Pericula more be-dew[n]e, Thow darryst fulle evylle with thy ey him sew[n]e, He wold felle the with hys wynde.”

"Now, be my trowthe," seyd Torrent than,

"As I ame a jentylman,

Yf I may hym fynd,

Won fot wolle I not fro hym pase,

Thow he be stronger than Samson wase,

Or anny man of kynd."

Hys squyerys they mornyd sore,
Withowt fere that he schold fare

To that gret jorney,

With the gyant heygh for to fyght;
Begonmese that gyant hyght,

That fynddes fare for aye.

To arme hyme Torrant goos,
Hys good stede with him he takythe,
Withowt squyer that day;

He takythe leve at lorddys hend,

And on hys wey than he wynd,

For hym alle they prayd.

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