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Princes proude that beth in pres, I wol you telle thing, not lees! In Cisyle was a noble kyng, Fair and strong and sumdel yyng. He hedde a brother in grete Roome, Pope of alle Cristendome; Another he hedde in Alemayne, An Emperour, that Sarazins wroughte payne. The kyng was hote kyng Robert, Never man ne wiste him fert; He was kyng of gret honour For that he was conquerour; In al the world nas his peer, Kyng ne prince, fer no neer. And, for he was of chivalrie flour, His brother was mad Emperour, His other brother Godes vikere, Pope of Rome, as I seide ere. The pope was hote pope Urban, He was good to God and man; The Emperour was hote Valemounde, A strengur weorreour nas non founde After his brother of Cisyle, Of whom that I schal telle a while. The kyng thoughte, he hedde no peer In al the worlde, fer no neer; And in his thought he hedde pryde, For he was nounpeer in uch a syde. At midsomer, a Seynt Jones Niht, The kyng to churche com ful riht, Forto heeren his evensong. Hym thoughte, he dwelled ther ful long: He thoughte more in worldes honour, Than in Crist, ur saveour. In "Magnificat" he herde a vers, He made a clerk hit him rehers In langage of his owne tonge, In Latyn he nuste, that heo songe. The vers was this, I telle the: Deposuit potentes de sede, Et exaltavit humiles. This was the vers, withouten les. The clerk seide anone riht; "Sire, such is Godes miht, That he may make heyghe lowe And lowe heighe in luytel throwe. God may do, withoute lyghe, His wil in twynklyng of an eighe." The kyng seide with herte unstable: "Al your song is fals and fable! What mon hath such pouwer, Me to bringe lowe in daunger? I am flour of chivalrye, Myn enemys I may distruye; No mon lyveth in no londe, That me may withstonde. Then is this a song of nouht!" This errour he hedde in thought. And in his thouht a sleep him tok In his pulput, as seith the bok. Whon that evensong was al don, A kyng ilyk him out gan gon, And alle men with hym gan wende, Kyng Robert lafte out of mynde. The newe kyng was, as I you telle, Godes angel, his pruide to felle. The angel in halle joye made, And alle men of hym weore glade. The kyng wakede, that lay in churche, His men he thouhte wo to worche, For he was laft ther alon, And derk niht him fel uppon. He gan crie after his men, Ther nas non, that spak agen. But the sexteyn atten eende Of the churche to him gan wende, And seide: "What dost thou nouthe her, Thou false thef, thou losenger? Thou art her with felenye, Holy churche to robbye." He seide: "Foule gadelyng, I am no thef, I am a kyng! Opene the churche dore anon, That I mowe to mi paleis gon!" The sexteyn thouhte anon with than, That he was sum wood man, And wolde the chirche dilyveret were Of hym, for he hedde fere; And openede the chirchedore in haste. The kyng bygon to renne out faste, As a mon that was wood. At his paleys gate he stood, And heet the porter gadelyng And bad hym come in highing, Anon the gates up to do. The porter seide: "Ho clepeth so?" He onswerde anon tho: "Thou schalt witen, ar I go: Thi kyng I am; thou schalt knowe. In prison thou schalt ligge lowe And ben anhonged and todrawe As a traytur bi the lawe. Thou schalt wel witen, I am kyng, Open the gates, gadelyng!" The porter seide: "So mot I the, The kyng is mid his meyne; Wel I wot, withoute doute, The kyng nis not now withoute." The porter com into halle, Bifore the newe kyng aknes gan falle And seide: "Ther is atte gate A nyce fool icome late. He seith he is lord and kyng And clept me foule gadelyng. Lord, what wol ye that I do? Leten hym in or leten him go?" The angel seide ryght in haste: "Do him come in swithe faste! For my fol I wole him make, Forte he the name of kyng forsake." The porter com to the gate, And him he called, in to late. He smot the porter, whon he com in, That blod barst out of mouth and chyn. The porter yeld him his travayle, Him smot ageyn, withouten fayle, That neose and mouth barst a blood; Thenne he semed almost wod. The porter and his men in haste, Kyng Robert in a podel caste; Unsemely heo maden his bodi than, That he nas lyk non other man, And brouht him bifore the newe kyng; And seide: "Lord, this gadelyng Me hath smyte withoute decert; He seith, he is ur kyng apert. This harlot oughte for his sawe Ben ihonged and todrawe; For he seith non other word, Bote that he is bothe kyng and lord." The angel seide to kyng Robert: "Thou art a fol, that art nought fert Mi men to don such vilenye; Thi gult thou most nede abuye. What art thou?" seide the angel. Qwath Robert: "Thou shalt wite wel, That I am kyng and kyng wol be, With wronge thou hast my dignité. The Pope of Roome is my brother And the emperour myn other; Heo wol me wreke, for soth to telle, I wot, heo nulle not longe dwelle." "Thow art my fol," seide the angel, "Thou schal be schoren everichdel, Lych a fool, a fool to be, Wher is now thi dignité? Thi counseyler schal ben an ape, And o clothyng you worth ischape. I schal him clothen as thi brother, Of o clothyng - hit is non other; He schal beo thin owne feere, Sum wit of him thou miht lere. Houndes, how so hit bifalle, Schulen eten with the in halle; Thou schalt eten on the ground; Thin assayour schal ben an hound, To assaye thi mete bifore the; Wher is now thi dignité?" He heet a barbur hym bifore, That as a fool he schulde be schore, Al around lich a frere An hondebrede bove either ere, And on his croune made a crois. He gan crie and make nois. He swor, thei schulde alle abuye, That hym dude such vileynye, And evere he seide he was lord, And uche mon scorned him for that word, And uche mon seide he was wod, That proved wel, he couthe no good. For he wende in none wyse, That God Almihti couthe devyse, Him to bringe to lower stat: With o drauht he was chekmat! With houndes everi niht he lay, And ofte he criyede weylaway, That he evere was ibore, For he was a mon forlore. Ther nas in court grom ne page, That of the kyng ne made rage; For no mon ne mihte him knowe, He was defygured in a throwe. So lowe er that was never kyng; Allas, her was a deolful thing, That he scholde for his pryde Such hap among his men betyde! Hunger and thurst he hedde grete, For he ne moste no mete ete, But houndes eeten of his disch, Whether hit weore flesch or fisch. He was to dethe neigh ibrouht For hunger, ar he miht eten ouht With houndes that beth in halle. How might him hardore bifalle? And whon hit nolde non other be, He eet with houndes gret plenté. The angel was kyng, him thoughte long; In his tyme was never wrong, Tricherie, ne falshede, ne no gyle Idon in the lond of Cisyle. Alle goode ther was gret plenté: Among men, love and charité; In his tyme was never strif Bitwene mon and his wyf; Uche mon lovede wel other: Beter love nas nevere of brother. Thenne was that a joyful thing In londe to have such a kyng. Kyng he was threo yeer and more. Robert yeode as mon forlore. Seythe hit fel uppon a day A luytel bifore the moneth of May, Sire Valemound, the emperour, Sende lettres of gret honour To his brother, of Cisyle kyng, And bad him come withouten lettyng, That heo mihten beo bothe isome With heore brother, Pope of Rome. Hym thoughte long heo weore atwinne; He bad him lette for no wynne, That he neore of good aray In Roome an Holy Thoresday. The angel welcomede the messagers And gaf hem clothes riche of Pers, Furred al with ermyne; In Cristendom is non so fyne; And al was chouched mid perré, Better was non in Cristianté. Such cloth, and hit weore to dihte, Al Cristendom hit make ne mihte; Of that wondrede al that lond, Hou that cloth was wrought with hond; Wher such cloth was to selle, Ne ho hit maade, couthe no mon telle. The messagers wenten with the kyng To grete Rome withoute lettyng. The fool Robert also went, Clothed in lodly garnement, With foxes tayles mony aboute: Men miht him knowen in the route. The angel was clothed al in whit; Nas never seyghe such samyt; And al was chouched myd perles riche, Never mon seigh none hem liche. Al whit atyr was and steede, The steede was feir, ther he yede; So feir a steede, as he on rod, Nas never mon that ever bistrod. The angel com to Roome sone, Real, as fel a kyng to done; So real kyng com never in Rome, Alle men wondrede whethen he come. His men weore realliche diht; Heore richesse con seye no wiht Of clothes, gurdeles, and other thing, Everiche sqyyer thoughte a kyng. And alle ride of riche aray Bote Kyng Robert, as I you say. Alle men on him gon pyke, For he rod al other unlyke. An ape rod of his clothing, In tokne that he was underlyng. The pope and the emperour also And other lordes mony mo Welcomede the angel as for kyng, And made joye of his comyng. Theose threo bretheren made cumfort; The angel was brother mad bi sort; Wel was the pope and emperour That hedden a brother of such honour. Forth con sturte Kyng Robert As fool and mon that nas not fert, And criyede with ful egre speche To his bretheren to don him wreche Of him that hath with queynte gyle His coroune and lond of Cisyle. The pope ne the emperour nouther, The fol ne kneugh not for heor brother. Tho was he more fol iholde, More then er a thousend folde; To cleyme such a bretherhede: Hit was holde a foles dede. Kyng Robert bigon to maken care, Muche more then he dude are, Whon his bretheren nolde him knowe: "Allas," quath he, "nou am I lowe." For he hopede, bi eny thing, His bretheren wolde ha mad him kyng; And whon his hope was al ago, He seide "allas" and "weilawo." He seide "allas" that he was bore, For he was a mon forlore; He seide "allas" that he was mad, For of his lyf he was al sad. "Allas, allas," was al his song: His heer he tar, his hondes wrong, And evere he seide, "Allas, Allas." And thenne he thoughte on his trespas. He thoughte on Nabugodonosore, A noble kyng, was him bifore. In al the world nas his peer, Forte acounte, fer ne neer. With him was Sire Olyferne, Prince of knihtes stout and steorne. Olyferne swor evermor Bi god Nabugodonosor, And seide ther nas no god in londe But Nabugodonosor, ich understonde. Therfore Nabugodonosor was glad, That he the name of god had, And lovede Olofern the more; And seythe hit greved hem bothe sore. Olofern dyyede in dolour, He was slaye in hard schour. Nabugodonosor lyvede in desert; Dorst he noughwher ben apert; Fyftene yer he livede thare With rootes, gras, and evel fare. And al of mos his clothing was: Al com that bi Godes gras: He criyede merci with delful chere, God him restored, as he was ere. "Nou am I in such caas, And wel worse then he was. Whon God gaf me such honour, That I was clepet conquerour, In everi lond of Cristendome Of me men speke wel ilome; And seiden, noughwher was my peer In al the world, fer no neer. For that name I hedde pride, As angels that gonne from joye glyde, And in twynklyng of an eighe God binom heore maystrie. So hath he myn, for my gult, Now am I wel lowe ipult, And that is right that I so be. Lord, on Thi fool Thow have pité. I hedde an errour in myn herte, And that errour doth me smerte. Lord, I leeved not on The. On Thi fol Thou have pité. Holy Writ I hedde in dispyt, For that is reved my delyt, For that is riht a fool I be, Lord, on Thi fool Thou have pité. Lord I am Thi creature, This wo is riht that I endure, And wel more, yif hit may be. Lord, on Thi fool Thou have pité. Lord, I have igult The sore. Merci, Lord, I nul no more; Evere Thi fol, Lord, wol I be. Lord, on Thi fol Thou have pité. Blisful Marie, to the I crie, As thou art ful of cortesye, Preye thi Sone, that dyed for me, On me, His fol, thow have pité. Blisful Marie, ful of graas, To the I knowe my trespas; Prey thi Sone, for love of the On me, His fool, thow have pité." He seide no more "Allas, Allas!" But thonked Crist of His gras, And thus he gon himself stille And thonked Crist mid good wille. Then pope, emperour, and kyng Fyve wikes made heore dwellyng. Whon fyve wykes weore agon, To heore owne lond heo wolden anon, Bothe emperour and the kyng; Ther was a feir departyng. The angel com to Cisyle, He and his men, in a while. Whon he com into halle, The fool anon he bad forth calle. He seide: "Fool, art thow kyng?" "Nay, sire," quath he, "withoute lesyng." "What artou?" seide the angel. "Sire, a fol, that wot I wel, And more then fol, yif hit may be; Kep I non other dignité." The angel into chaumbre went, And after the fol anon he sent. He bad his men out of chaumbre gon, Ther lafte no mo but he alon And the fol that stod him bi. To him he seide: "Thou hast merci! Thenk, thou weore lowe ipult, And al was for thin owne gult. A fool thou weore to Hevene kyng, Therfore thou art an underlyng. God hath forgiven thi mysdede, Evere herafter thou him drede! I am an angel of renoun, Isent to kepe thi regioun; More joye me schal falle In hevene among my feren alle In an houre of a day Then in eorthe, I the say, In an hundred thousend yeer, Theigh al the world, fer and neer, Weore myn at my lykyng. I am an angel, thou art kyng!" He went in twynklyng of an eye; No more of him ther nas seye. Kyng Robert com into halle, His men he bad anon forth calle, And alle weore at his wille, As to heore lord, as hit was skille. He lovede God and holi churche, And evere he thoughte wel to worche. He regned after two yer and more And lovede God and his lore. The angel gaf him in warnyng Of the tyme of his diying. Whon tyme com to dyye son, He let write hit riht anon, Hou God myd His muchel miht Made him lowe, as hit was riht. This storie he sende everidel To his bretheren, under his seel. And the tyme, whon he schulde dye That tyme he diyede as he gon seye. Al this is writen withouten lyye, At Roome to ben in memorie At Seint Petres chirche, I knowe. And thus is Godes miht isowe, That heighe beoth lowe, theigh hit ben ille, And lowe heighe, at Godes wille. Crist, that for us gon dye, In His kyneriche let us ben heighe, Evermore to ben above, Ther is joye, cumfort and love. Amen.

proud; in company; (see note) lies; (see note) Sicily; (see note) somewhat young had Christendom had; Germany pain [upon] Saracens named No one ever knew him to be afraid was not his equal; (see note) far or near flower of chivalry; (see note) made vicar before (see note) stronger warrior was not had arbiter (judge) on either side on June 24 (see note) church; directly To hear; (see note) cared more about our savior verse; (see note) repeat He did not know Latin (see note) lies right away high in an instant lie eye heart not steadfast (in virtue) false man; power danger flower of chivalry destroy withstand had took royal pew; (see note) When; done looking like him went out; (see note) went was forgotten pride; destroy; (see note) were glad waked who woe (i.e., harm) to work left there alone dark began to call was none; back sexton; at the back; (see note) went now here thief; scoundrel here; evil intent; (see note) rob said; rascal thief at once might go to my palace sexton; thereupon mad wanted the church rid he had fear began to run man palace called haste to lift up Who says answered; then know, before lie be hanged and pulled to pieces traitor according to the law know might I thrive with his company know is not; outside on his knees silly fool come recently called; rascal Let (see note) Have; very quickly fool; will Until let struck; when burst requited; pains struck back [So] that nose; burst with insane puddle Unattractive they was not like Has hit me; desert our; openly vagabond; assertion hanged and pulled to pieces But fool; afraid; (see note) do; villainy guilt; atone for Said; know will have; worthiness my They; avenge; truth know; they will not; delay fool shaved completely; (see note) Like your honor advisor; (see note) one (same) clothing; shall be dressed be; companion learn Hounds; as it will happen Shall eat taster; (see note) test; you dignity called So that; shorn like a friar hand's width above each ear crown (top of his head); cross cry out; noise pay for it did; villainy each man each; mad showed well; understood [nothing] thought in no way could state one move; checkmated cried alas born man totally lost was not; groom nor ridicule no man; recognize changed in appearance; instant before here; mournful (see note) fortune; experience had great could not eat food meat or fish nearly brought before; could; anything How might (anything) harder befall him when it might not be otherwise great plenty it seemed to him Treachery; falsehood; guile Done goods; great plenty strife man; wife Each three years went as man utterly lost Later it happened upon a day little great delay they might be; together their it seemed to him; they; apart spare; consideration arrive in good array on Holy Thursday; (see note) messengers gave; from Persia Trimmed with ermine decorated with gems Christendom if it had to be made could not make it wondered How; made; hand Who made it, could messengers delay hideous garments tails many recognize; along the way white Was never seen such rich silk decorated with pearls man saw; like white attire; horse; (see note) horse; on which he went rode man; bestrode soon Royally; was fitting Such a royal from where royally dressed Their; gainsay; person girdles (belts) Every; seemed Except look rode rode in the same clothing As a sign he was an underling more three brothers made by necessity Great had leapt; (see note) afraid fierce brothers revenge him On him who has with clever guile crown; land nor; neither fool; knew; their Therefore; fool considered before; times claim; brotherhood considered; fool's deed to grieve did before When; brothers did not said hoped, somehow brothers; have when; gone alas; wellaway born made hair; tore; wrung Nebuchadnezzar before him was not his equal According to the record, far nor near Holofernes bold; stern swore; (see note) By was no Except; I later; grieved them; sorely died; sorrow slain; pain lived; (see note) Dared he nowhere be seen there roots, grass, and poor food moss by; grace cried mercy; sorrowful countenance before Now; condition much worse When; gave called spoke; often said, nowhere; equal (peer) far nor near Because of that name (reputation) I had pride Like angels that from joy fell; (see note) eye took away their power; (see note) guilt brought down pity had pain believed (see note) held in contempt taken away my delight woe; (see note) if it offended You sorely will not will Mary; you; cry courtesy Pray grace you; acknowledge Pray thanked; grace be quiet with Five weeks made their abode When five weeks had passed their; wanted to go fair When are you said; lying; (see note) are you know if it desire at once bade; go There were left no more stood; by forgiveness Think; were brought down guilt underling misdeed dread Sent to protect your region befall companions earth, I tell you Though Were seen bade at once were their; as it was right Holy Church to do good teaching gave dying When; soon had it written; immediately with His great just every bit of it brothers; seal when; die died lies be disseminated high; though it be died royal lineage; be elevated