The Boy and the Mantle Child 29
In the third day of May
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child
That co’ld much of wisdome.

A kirtle and a mantle
This child had uppon,
With brauches and ringes
Full richelye bedone.

He had a sute of silke
About his middle drawne;
Without he co’ld of curtesye
He thought it much shame.

‘God speed thee, King Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate;
And the goodly Queene Guenever!
I cannot her forget.

‘I tell you, lords in this hall,
I hett you all heed,
Except you be the more surer
‘Is for you to dread.’
He pluck’d out of his potener,
And longer wo’ld not dwell,
He pull’d forth a pretty mantle
Betweene two nut-shells.

‘Have thou here, King Arthur,
Have thou here of mee:
Give itt to thy comely queene
Shapen as itt is alreadye.

‘Itt shall never become that wiffe
That hath once done amisse.’
Then every knight in the king’s court
Began to care for his.

Forth came dame Guenever,
To the mantle she her bed;
The ladye shee was new fangle
But yett she was affrayd.

When shee had taken the mantle,
She stoode as shee had beene madd;
It was from the top to the toe
As sheeres had it shread.

One while was it gaule,
Another while was itt greene,
Another while was it wadded;
Ill itt did her beseeme.
Another while it was blacke,
And bore the worst hue:
‘By my troth,’ quoth King Arthur,
‘I thinke thou be not true.’

Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast with a rudd red
To her chamber can she flee.

She cursed the weaver and the walker
That cloth that had wrought,
And bade a vengeance on his crowne
That hither hath itt brought.

‘I had rather be in a wood,
Under a greenè tree,
Than in King Arthur’s court
Shamèd for to bee.’

Kay call’d forth his ladye
And bade her come neere;
Saies, ‘Madam, and thou be guiltye
I pray thee hold thee here.’

Forth came his ladye
Shortlye and anon;
Boldlye to the mantle
Then is she gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And her about it cast
Then was she bare
All unto the waist.

Then every knight
That was in the King’s court
Talk’d, laugh’d and showted
Full oft att that sport.

She threw down the mantle
That bright was of blee,
Fast with a red rudd
To her chamber can she flee.

Forth came an old Knight
Pattering ore a creede,
And he proferr’d to this little Boy
Twenty markes to his meede;

And all the time of Christmasse
Willingly to ffeede;
For why this mantle might
Doe his wiffe some need.

When shee had tane the mantle
Of cloth that was made,
Shee had no more left on her
But a tassell and a threed:
That every knight in the King’s court
Bade evill might shee speed.

She threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee,
Fast with a red rudd
To her chamber can she flee.

Craddocke call’d forth his ladye
And bade her come in;
Saith, ‘Winne this mantle, ladye,
With a little dinne.

‘Winne this mantle, ladye,
And it shal be thine
If thou never did amisse
Since thou wast mine.

Forth came Craddocke’s ladye
Shortlye and anon,
But boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.

When she had tane the mantle
And cast it her about,
Up at her great toe
It began to crinkle and crowt:
Shee said, ‘Bowe downe, mantle,
And shame me not for nought.

‘Once I did amisse,
I tell you certainlye,
When Craddocke’s mouth I kist
Under a greenè tree;
When I kist Craddocke’s mouth
Before he marryed mee.’

When shee had her shreeven
And her sinnes shee had tolde,
The mantle stood about her
Right as she wo’ld;

Seemelye of coulour,
Glittering like gold
Then every knight in Arthur’s court
Did her behold.

The little Boy stoode
Looking over a dore;
[There as he look’d
He was ware of a wyld bore.]

He was ware of a wyld bore
Wo’ld have werryed a man:
He pull’d forth a wood-kniffe
Fast thither that he ran:
He brought in the bore’s head
And quitted him like a man.

He brought in the bore’s head,
And was wonderous bold;
He said there was never a cuckold’s kniffe
Carve itt that co’ld.

Some rubb’d their knives
Uppon a whetstone;
Some threw them under the table,
And said they had none.

King Arthur and the child
Stood looking them upon;
All their knives’ edges
Turnèd backe againe.

Craddocke had a litle kniffe
Of iron and of steele;
He birtled the bore’s head
Wonderous weale,
That every knight in the King’s court
Had a morssell.

The litle Boy had a horne,
Of red gold that ronge;
He said, ‘There was noe cuckolde
Shall drinke of my horne,
But he sho’ld itt sheede
Either behind or beforne.’

Some shedd it on their shoulder
And some on their knee;
He that co’ld not hitt his mouth
Put it in his e’e;
And he that was a cuckold
Every man might him see.

Craddocke wan the horne
And the bore’s head;
His ladye wan the mantle
Unto her meede;
Everye such a lovely ladye
God send her well to speede!