The Lay of Sir Orfeo
Middle English version by J.R.R. Tolkien

We redyn ofte and fynde y-wryte,
As clerkes don us to wyte,
The layes that ben of harpyng
Ben y-founde of frely thing.
Sum of wele and sum of wo
Sum of rechery and sum of gyle,
And sum of happes that fallen by whyle,
Sum of bourdys and sum of rhybaudry,
And sum ther ben of the fayre.
Of alle thing that men may se,
Moost to lowe forsothe they be.
In Brytayn this lays arne y-wrytt,
Furst y-founde and forthe y-gete
Of aventures that ther weryn,
They toke her harpys with game,
Maden layes and yaf it name.
Of aventures that han befalle,
Y can sum tell, but nought alle.

Kerken, lordyngys, that ben trewe,
And Y wol you telle of 
Syr Orphewe.
Orfeo was a ryche king,
In Ingland an heighe lording,
A stalworth man and hardi bo,
Large and curteys he was also.
His fader was comen of King Pluto,
And his moder of King Juno,
That sum time were as goes y-hold
For aventours that thai dede and told.
Orpheo most of ony thing
Lovede the gle of harpyng.
Syker was every gode harpure
Of hym to have moche honour.
Hymself loved for to harpe,
And layde ther-on his wittes scharpe.
He lerned so, ther nothing was
A better harper in no plas.
In the world was never man born
That onus Orpheo sat byforn,
And he myght of his harpyng her,
He schulde thinke that he wer
In one of the joys of paradys,
Suche joy and melody in his harpyng is.

That king sojournd in Traciens,
That was a cite of noble defens.
(For Winchester was cleped tho
Traciens withouten no.
The king hadde a quen of priis
That was y-cleped Dame Heurodis,
The fairest levedi for the nones
That might gon on bodi and bones,
Full of love and of godenisse;
Ac no man may tell hir fairnise.

Bifel so in the comessing of May--
When miri and hot is the day,
And oway beth winterschours,
And everi feld is ful of flours,
And blosme breme on everi bough
Overal wexeth miri anough--
This ich quen, Dame Herodis,
Tok to maidens of priis
And went in an undretide
To play bi an orchard side,
To se the floures sprede and spring,
And to here the foules sing.
Thai sett hem doun al three
Under a fair ympe-tre,
And wel sone this fair quene
Fel on slepe opon the grene.
The maidens durst hir nought awake,
Bot let hir ligge and rest take.
So sche slepe til afternone,
That undertide was al y-done.

Ac as sone as sche gan awake,
Sche crid and lothli bere gan make.
Sche froted hir honden and hir fet,
And crached hir visage; it bled wete.
Hir riche robe hye al torett
And was reveyd out of hir witt.
The two maidens hirt biside
No durst with hir no leng abide,
Bot ourn to the palays ful right
And told bothe squier and knight
That her quen awede wold,
And bad hem go and hir at-hold.
Knightes urn and levedis also,
Damisels sexti and mo.
In the orchard to the quen hye come
And her up in her armes nome
And brought hir to bed atte last
And held hir there fine fast.
Ac ever she held in o cri
And wold up and owy.

When Orfeo herd that tiding,
Never him nas wers for nothing.
He come with knightes tene
To chaumber right bifor the quene
And biheld and seyd with grete pite.

"O lef liif, what is thee,
That ever yete hast ben so stille,
And now gredest wonder schille?
Thi bodi, that was so white y-core,
With thine nailes is al totore!
Alas, thi rode, that was so red,
Is al wan, as thou were ded!
And also thine fingres smale
Beth al blodi and al pale!
Allas! thi lovesum eyghen to
Loketh so man doth on his fo!
A! Dame, Ich biseche merci!
Lete ben al this reweful cri,
And tel me, what thee is and hou,
And what thing may thee help now!"

Tho lay sche stille atte last
And gan to wepe swithe fast
And seyd thus the king to:
"Allas, mi lord, Sir Orfeo!
Seththen we first togider were,
Ones wroth never we nere;
Bot ever Ich have y-loved thee
As mi liif, and so thou me.

Ac now we mot delen ato;
Do thi best, for Y mot go!"

"Allas!" quath he, "forlorn Ich am!
Whider wiltow go and to wham?
Wider tou gost, Ichil with thee,
And wider Y go thou schalt weith me."

"Nay, nay, sir, that nought nis.
Ichil thee telle al hou it is.
As Ich lay this undertide
And slepe under our orchard side,
There come to me to fair knightes
Wele y-armed al to rightes
And bad me comen an heighing
And speke with her lord the king.
And Ich answered at wordes bold,
Y durst nought, no y nold.

"Thai priked oyain, as thai might drive.
Tho com her king al so blive
With an hundred knightes and mo
And damisels an hundred also
Al on snowewhite stedes;
As white as milke were her wedes.
Y no eighe never yete bifore
So fair creatours y-core.
The king hadde a crown on hed,
It nas of silver no of gold red,
Ac it was of a precious ston;
As bright as the sonne it schon.

"And as son as he to me cam,
Wold Ich, nold Ich, he me nam
And made me with him ride
Opon a palfray bi his side,
And brought me to his palays,
Wele atird in ich ways,
And schewed me castels and tours,
Rivers, forestes, frith with flours,
And his riche stedes ichon,
And seththen me brought oyain hom
Into our owhen orchard,
And said to me thus afterward:

"Loke, dame, to-morwe thatow be
Right here under this ympe-tre,
And than thou schalt with ous go
And live with ous ever mo.
And yif thou makest ous y-let,
Whar thou be, thou worst y-fet
And totore thine limes al
That nothing help thee no schal.
And thei thou best so totorn,
Yete thou worst with ous y-born'"

When King Orfeo herd this cas,
"O, we!" quath he. "Allas, allas!
Lever me were to lete mi liif
Than thus to lese the quen mi wiif!"

He asked conseyl at ich man,
Ac no man him help no can.
Amorwe the undertide is come,
And Orfeo hath his armes y-nome,
And wele ten hundred knightes with him,
Ich y-armed stout and grim,
And with the quen wenten he
Right unto that ympe-tre.
Thai made scheltrom in ich a side
And sayd thai wold there there abide
And dye ther everichon
Er the quen schuld fram her gon.

c yete amiddes hem ful right
The quen was owway y-twight,
With fairi forth y-nome,
Men wist never wher sche was bicome.
Tho was ther criing, wepe, and wo!
The king into his chaumber is go
And oft swoned opon the ston
And made swiche diol and swiche mon
That neighe his liif was y-spent.
Ther was non amendement.

He cleped togider his barouns,
Erls, lordes of renouns,
And when thai al y-comen were,
"Lordinges," he said, "bifor you here,
Ich ordainy min heighe steward
To wite mi kingdom afterward.
In mi stede ben he schal
To kepemi londes over al.
For now Ichave mi quen y-lore,
The fairies levedi that ever was bore.
Never eft Y nil no woman se.
Into wildernes Ichil te
And live ther ever more
With wilde bestes in holtes hore.
And when ye understond that Y be spent,
Make thou than a parlement
And chese you a newe king.
Now doth your best with al mi thing."

Tho was ther wepeing in the halle
And gret cri among hem alle.
Unnethe might old or yong
For wepeing speke a word with tong.
Thai kneled adoun al yfere
And praid him, yif his wille were,
That he no schuld nought fram hem go.
"Do way," quath he, "it schal be so."

Al his kingdom he forsoke.
Bot a sclavin on him he toke,
He no hadde kirtel no hode,
Schert, ne non other gode.
Bot his harp he tok algate
And dede him barfot out atte yate.
No man most with him go.
O way! What, ther was wepe and wo,
When he that hadde ben king with croun
Went so pouerlich out of town.

Thurch wode and over heth
Into the wildernes he geth.
Nothing he fint that him ays,
Bot ever he livteth in gret malais.
He that hadde y-werd the fowe and griis
And on bed the purper biis,
Now on hard hethe he lith;
With leves and gresse he him writh.
He that hadde castels and tours,
River, forest, frith with flours,
Now, thei it comenci to snewe and frese,
This king mote make his bed in mese.
He that had y-had knightes of priis
Bifor him kneland and levedis,
Now seth he nothing that him liketh,
Bot wilde wormes bi him striketh.
He that y-had plente
Of mete and drink, of ich deynte,
Now may he al day digge and wrote,
Er he finde his fille of rote.

In somer he liveth bi wild frut
And berien bot gode lite.
In winter may he nothing finde
Bot rote, grases, and the rinde.

The Middle English lay of Sir Orfeo was composed about 1330 in the East Midland, and is probably an adaptation of a French Breton lay. In Sir Orfeo, the classical story of Orpheus and Eurydice has been reinterpreted as a Celtic folk-tale. The abductor of Heurodis (Eurydice) is the Fairy King who takes her to his kingdom, the Other World rather than Hades. From this Celtic fairyland Orfeo happily regains her.