Two Balades

I.

To you, welle of honour and worthinesse, Our Cristen king, the heir and successour Un-to Justinians devout tendrenesse In the feith of Jesu, our redemptour; And to you, lordes of the Garter, 'flour Of chevalrye,' as men you clepe and calle; The lord of vertu and of grace auctour Graunte the fruit of your loos never appalle!

O lige lord, that han eek the lyknesse Of Constantyn, th'ensaumple and the mirour To princes alle, in love and buxumnesse To holy chirche, O verray sustenour And piler of our feith, and werreyour Ageyn the heresyës bitter galle, Do forth, do forth, continue your socour! Hold up Cristes baner; lat it nat falle!

This yle, or this, had been but hethenesse, Nad been of your feith the force and vigour! And yit, this day, the feendes fikilnesse Weneth fully to cacche a tyme and hour To have on us, your liges, a sharp shour, And to his servitude us knitte and thralle. But ay we truste in you, our prótectour; On your constaunce we awayten alle.

Commandeth that no wight have hardinesse, O worthy king, our Cristen emperour, Of the feith to despute more or lesse Openly among people, wher errour Springeth al day and engendreth rumour. Maketh swich lawe, and for aught may befalle, Observe it wel; ther-to be ye dettour. Doth so, and god in glorie shal you stalle.

II.

Ye lordes eek, shyninge in noble fame, To whiche appropred is the maintenaunce Of Cristes cause; in honour of his name Shove on, and putte his foos to the outrance! God wolde so; so wolde eek your ligeaunce; To tho two prikketh you your duëtee. Who-so nat kepeth this double observaunce Of merit and honour naked is he!

Your style seith that ye ben foos to shame; Now kythe of your feith the perséveraunce, In which an heep of us arn halte and lame. Our Cristen king of England and of Fraunce, And ye, my lordes, with your alliaunce, And other feithful people that ther be (Truste I to god) shul quenche al this nuisaunce And this land sette in hy prosperitee.

Conquest of hy prowesse is for to tame The wilde woodnesse of this mescreaunce; Right to the rote repe ye that same! Slepe nat this, but, for goddes plesaunce And his modres, and in signifiaunce That ye ben of seint Georges liveree, Doth him servyce and knightly obeisaunce; For Cristes cause is his, wel knowen ye!

Stif stande in that, and ye shul greve and grame The fo to pees, the norice of distaunce; That now is ernest, torne it into game; Dampnáble fro feith werë variaunce! Lord lige, and lordes, have in rémembraunce, Lord of al is the blessed Trinitee, Of whos vertu the mighty habundaunce You herte and strengthe in feithful unitee! Amen.

Cest tout.