Me repentys that I have nat wryton moche. I have bene sumwhat syke. Nay I haue bene passynge syke.

One day, when y wolde have shapped for to ascape, a grete unhap bifelle and I felle in ye sewer. Wete you well yt was an opyne sewere and a depe. And a sycknesse touchid me therefrom so outrely, I wende yt to have slayne me.

And that was moste pity, for yf a presoner hath the helthe off hys bodye, he myghte endure, be goddis mercy, having allwey hope of good deliveraunce. But whanne sum sicknesse rageth in hys body, well may he waile and wepe.

Lay his hous uppon hys nose
for of thys lyf he yevith nat a pese!

Bot thanke GOD hyt is paste.

Thereto I have wryton be lettirs to ye Lawerde Mayore Richarde Whittyngtonne that he sholde purvey newe seweris and dychis heere in thys preson. For even rattys mighte nat endure the fylthynesse that here reyneth.

And aftire I wrote these lettirs, and felte moche bettir, I shifted me for to ascape agayne for I moste crossse the see into BRETAGNE & I am allmoste redy en trestote poyntez.

I woll more anone.

may god delyver SIR Th. Malleore, miles, &c.

Sertayne lettirs unto Malory

I late receyved a lettir of som reder that sayde 'wherfor is nat thy blogge so fulfylled of mirthe and of bourdis as is Mayster Chauceres blogge?'

I answere, wayte for hit.


An othir axeth 'where ys hoccleeve?'

How sholde I knowe? I suppose he ys woode othir ellys deed.


Anothir besy person writeth carpyng that 'thyn armes a chyff dexter syde off thy blogg be in sundir, that is to sey, yn sheldis twayne, bot they moste be quartird. Thou most quartir hem!'

Bot I sey, quartir hem thyselffe. I am in presoun.

Gyff me a bone.

TOUCHYNGE SOM FREYNSSHE BOOKIS

Last moneth Sir Antony de Wydeville, that ys secounde lorde Scalis, the selff knyght that dud forjuste the Bastarde of Bourgundy, and is a valyaunte shyvalere of his hondis. howbehit I holde hys peple of ful lytel worshippe . he let me wete be lettirs that he hath gat som freynsshe bokys of Syr Trystrams and Sir Launcelot du Lake and othir knyghtys longing unto the Table Rounde,and therwythal othir talys I knew nat, whereof I woxe oute of mesure gladde, leve you well.

{He sayde Johan Dewke of Bedeford that was Kyng Henrys brodir and regente of Fraunce after that Henry the V hadde yt wonne, and that was weddedde befornhande to Antonys modir Jacquette Seynt Poll, hadde brought wyth hym to Ingelonde manye bokkis from Fraunce, and these self bokys abode at his dwellynge.}

Ryght so, I wrote to him agayne to ‘entrete yow for freynship as yif me thys bone and sende me these bookys. As I am knyghte, I wol tak good kepe of hem . and retourne hem unto thee agayne.’

be lettirs unto me agayne he sayde, ‘I wol nat at thys tyme.’

whoso this redyth

for Christis sake

pray for mallore, knyghte

What cheere.

I Syr Thomas Malleorré, knyght-presoner, have purveyed me agayne of pauper, penne and inke, and I wol heere drawe in brief thistorye off my lif, knyghthode, off the bookis wryton by myn owyn honde of the MORTE DARTHUR and other talis of the knyghtis off the TABLE ROUNDE , and thereto my much empresonmente al upon severall and divers chargis. of which the mooste party be false. Natforthan have I ben shytte in severall prisounes fro whiche ful ofte I have ascapid for that I have hadde ovirmuch bysynesse elleswhere.

Therto I wol heere reherse the verray falsehede off the Duk of Buckingham who hath with grete bobbaunce wrought hys mal engynes in this lond to the hurte of many a bettir man than he. som men yn Engelonde wol say that thys duk of Bokhyngeham is ‘fatte’ and ‘ful off grece’; I know nat whethir hit be so, but I wold sey, that that selff dewke is an overthwartely opynne-mowthed duke that hath nat so muche pousté as he wol lette be noysed he hath. But as for that, let be: I wol sey more touchynge hym anone.

Thys ys my herborgage as at thys tyme:

And ye wol say: Hit ys presoun! Thanne wol I sey, Ye, hyt is. {Sayde I nat knyghte-presoner tofornehonde?} That ys hyghte Newegate in Londoun, whiche ys passyng stronge and thicke-wallyd. But be that as be may. hit may nat holde me ovirlong. but I wol sey, hyt ys a wel-purveyed preson, and i dwelle within myn owen chambir that is a warme chambir and a drye, and ys a gode enow. And y am grauntid therto thappurtenances longing unto knyghthode, and hyt is somdel gode herbowrage, yif that I myghte wythstonde the vermayne, which are terrabil wise-fyghtyng rattis! her ys a byg and boysteous one that I hyghte Werlow. (But as for that, wete you well, thys place is bettir thanne the presoun at Colchestre.) And I have had sum bookys delivird, and leyser to rede.

Pray for hym that this wrote,

that God delyver hym sone

Syr Thomas Malleorré knyght