 | The English Charlemagne Romances |  |
9
Anon as otuwel hadde a siȝtOf charles þat was king & kniȝt,
For eye of no man he ne leet,
Bote wente to him þere he seet.
Hit was þe boldeste sarazin,
Þat euere þorte drinke win,
& þat was sene wiþ oute lesing.
Þo he spak wiþ charles þe king.
He seide to him amydde his halle:
“Sire king, foule mote þe falle,
Þou art a-boute for to greue
Mahoun þat we onne byleue,
Þere fore haue þou maugre,
So þe greteþ garsie bi me,
Þat me haueþ in message sent,
To seggen his comaundement.
& þou, Roulond, þat art his kniȝt,
Nou ich knowe þe be siȝt,
May ich mete þe in þe feeld,
Wiþ þi spere & wiþ þi scheld,
Ich wole wyte, so mote Ich þe,
Riȝt bytwene me & te.” [OMITTED]
| The English Charlemagne Romances | |