Lai Of Gobertz[1]

Of courteous Limozin wight,     Gobertz, I will indite:     From Poicebot had he his right     Of gentlehood;     Made monk in his own despite     In San Lonart 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     Maulon, 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     Talnt, 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 Maulon,     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?" Answerd     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 talnt,     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!     1911.