LAI OF GOBERTZ

Of courteous Limozin wight,

Gobertz, I will indite:

From Poicebot had he his right

Of gentlehood;

Made monk in his own despite

In San Léonart the white,

Withal to sing and to write

Coblas he could.

Learning had he, and rare

Music, and gai saber:

No monk with him to compare

In that monast'ry.

Full lusty he was to bear

Cowl and chaplet of hair

God willeth monks for to wear

For sanctity.

There in dortoir as he lay,

To this Gobertz, by my fay,

Came fair women to play

In his sleep;

Then he had old to pray,

Fresh and silken came they,

With eyen saucy and gray

That set him weep.

May was the month, and soft

The singing nights; up aloft

The quarter moon swam and scoffed

His unease.

Rose this Gobertz, and doffed

His habit, and left that croft,

Crying Eleison oft

At Venus’ knees.

Heartly the road and the town

Mauléon, over the down,

Sought he, and the renown

Of Savaric;

To that good knight he knelt down,

Asking of him in bown

Almesse of laurel crown

For his music.

Fair him Savaric spake,

“If coblas you know to make,

Song and music to wake

For your part,

Horse and lute shall you take

Of Jongleur, lightly forsake

Cloister for woodland brake

With good heart.”

Down the high month of May

Now rideth Gobertz his way

To Aix, to Puy, to Alais,

To Albi the old;

In Toulouse mindeth to stay

With Count Simon the Gay,

There to abide what day

Love shall hold.

Shrill riseth his song:

Cobla, lai, or tenzon,

None can render him wrong

In that meinie —

Love alone, that erelong

Showed him in all that throng

Of ladies Tibors the young,

None but she.

She was high-hearted and fair,

Low-breasted, with hair

Gilded, and eyes of vair

In burning face:

On her Gobertz astare,

Looking, stood quaking there

To see so debonnair

Hold her place.

Proud donzela and free,

To clip nor to kiss had she

Talént, nor for minstrelsy

Was she fain;

Mistress never would be,

Nor master have; but her fee

She vowed to sweet Chastity,

Her suzerain.

Then this Gobertz anon

Returneth to Mauléon,

To Savaric maketh moan

On his knees.

Other pray'r hath he none

Save this, “Sir, let me begone

Whence I came, since fordone

My expertise.”

Quod Savaric, “Hast thou sped

So ill in amors?” Answeréd

This Gobertz, “By my head,

She scorneth me.”

“Hauberc and arms then, instead

Of lute and begarlanded

Poll, take you,” he said,

“For errantry.”

Now rides he out, a dubbed knight,

The Spanish road, for to fight

Paynimry; day and night

Urgeth he;

In Saragoza the bright,

And Pampluna with might

Seeketh he what respite

For grief there be.

War-dimmed grew his gear,

Grim his visage; in fear

Listened Mahound his cheer

Deep in Hell.

Fled his legions to hear

Gobertz the knight draw near.

Now he closeth the year

In Compostell.

Offering there hath he made

Saint James, candles him paid,

Gold on the shrine hath laid;

Now Gobertz

Is for Toulouse, where that maid

Tibors wonned unafraid

Of Love and his accolade

That breaketh hearts.

He rode north and by east,

Nor rider spared he nor beast,

Nor tempered spur till at least

Forth of Spain;

Not for mass-bell nor priest,

For fast-day nor yet for feast

Stayed he, till voyage ceased

In Aquitaine.

Now remaineth to tell

What this Gobertz befell

When that he sought hostel

In his land.

Dined he well, drank he well,

Envy then had somedeal

With women free in bordel

For to spend.

In poor alberc goeth he

Where bought pleasure may be,

Careless proffereth fee

For his bliss.

O Gobertz, look to thee.

Such a sight shalt thou see

Will make the red blood to flee

Thy heart, ywis.

Fair woman they bring him in

Shamefast in her burning sin,

All afire is his skin

Par amors.

Look not of her look to win,

Dare not lift up her chin,

Gobertz; in that soiled fond thing

Lo, Tibors!

“O love, O love, out, alas!

That it should come to this pass,

And thou be even as I was

In green youth,

Whenas delight and solace

Served I with wantonness,

And burned anon like the grass

To this ruth!”

But then lift she her sad eyes,

Gray like wet morning skies,

That wait the sun to arise,

Tears to amend.

“Gobertz, amic,” so she cries,

“By Jesus’ agonies

Hither come I by lies

Of false friend.

“Sir Richart de Laund he hight,

Who fair promised me plight

Of word and ring, on a night

Of no fame;

So then evilly bright

Had his will and delight

Of me, and fled unrequite

For my shame!

“Alas, and now to my thought

Flieth the woe that I wrought

Thee, Gobertz, that distraught

Thou didst fare.

Now a vile thing of nought

Fare I that once was so haught

And free, and could not be taught

By thy care.”

But Gobertz seeth no less

Her honour and her sweetness,

Soon her small hand to kiss

Taketh he,

Saying, “Now for that stress

Drave thee here thou shalt bless

God, for so ending this

Thy penury.”

Yet she would bid him away,

Seeking her sooth to say,

In what woful array

She was cast.

“Nay,” said he, “but, sweet may,

Here must we bide until day:

Then to church and to pray

Go we fast.”

Now then to all his talént,

Seeing how he was bent,

Him the comfort she lent

Of her mind.

Cried Gobertz, well content,

“If love by dreariment

Cometh, that was well spent,

As I find.”

Thereafter somewhat they slept,

When to his arms she had crept

For comfort, and freely wept

Sin away.

Up betimes then he leapt,

Calling her name: forth she stept

Meek, disposed, to accept

What he say.

By hill road taketh he her

To the gray nuns of Beaucaire,

There to shred off her hair

And take veil.

Himself to cloister will fare

Monk to be, with good care

For their two souls. May his pray'r

Them avail!