The English Charlemagne Romances

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The Taill of RAUF COILȜEAR.

In the cheiftyme of Charlis, that chosin Chiftane,
Thair fell ane ferlyfull flan within thay fellis wide,
Quhair Empreouris and Erlis and vther mony ane
Turnit fra Sanct Thomas befoir the ȝule tyde.
Thay past vnto Paris, thay proudest in pane,
With mony Prelatis & Princis, that was of mekle pryde;
All thay went with the king to his worthy wane,
Ouir the feildis sa fair thay fure be his syde.
All the worthiest went in the morning;
Baith Dukis and Duchepeiris,
Barrounis and Bacheleiris,
Mony stout man steiris
Of town with the King.

And as that Ryall raid ouir the rude mure,
Him betyde ane tempest that tyme, hard I tell,
The wind blew out of the Eist stiflie and sture,
The deip durandlie draif in mony deip dell;
Sa feirslie fra the Firmament, sa fellounlie it fure,
Thair micht na folk hald na fute on the heich fell
In point thay war to parische, thay proudest men and pure,
In thay wickit wedderis thair wist nane to dwell.
Amang thay myrk Montanis sa madlie thay mer,
Be it was pryme of the day,
Sa wonder hard fure thay
That ilk ane tuik ane seir way,
And sperpellit full fer.

Ithand wedderis of the eist draif on sa fast,
It all to-blaisterit and blew that thairin baid.
Be thay disseuerit sindrie, midmorne was past;
Thair wist na Knicht of the Court quhat way the King raid.
He saw thair was na better bot God at the last,
His steid aganis the storme staluartlie straid;
He Cachit fra the Court, sic was his awin cast,
Quhair na body was him about, be fiue mylis braid.
In thay Montanis, I-wis, he wox all will,
In wickit wedderis and wicht,
Amang thay Montanis on hicht:
Be that it drew to the nicht
The Kyng lykit ill.

Euill lykand was the Kyng it nichtit him sa lait,
And he na harberie had for his behufe;
Sa come thair ane cant Carll chachand the gait,
With ane Capill and twa Creillis cuplit abufe.
The King carpit to the Carll withouten debait,
“Schir, tell me thy richt name, for the Rude lufe:”
He sayis, “men callis me Rauf Coilȝear, as I weill wait;
I leid my life in this land mith mekle vnrufe,
Baith tyde and tyme, in all my trauale;
Hine ouir seuin mylis I dwell,
And leidis Coilis to sell,
Sen thow speris, I the tell
All the suith hale.”

“Sa mote I thrife,” said the King, “I speir for nane ill;
Thow semis ane nobill fallow, thy answer is sa fyne.”
“Forsouth,” said the Coilȝear, “traist quhen thow will
For I trow and it be nocht swa, sum part salbe thyne.”
“Mary, God forbid!” said the King, “that war bot lytill skill;
Baith myself and my hors is reddy for to tyne:

I pray the, bring me to sum rest, the weddir is sa schill,
For I defend that we fall in ony fechtine.
I had mekill mair nait, sum freindschip to find;
And gif thow can better than I,
For the name of Sanct Iuly,
Thow bring me to sum harbery,
And leif me not behind!”

“I wait na worthie harberie heir neir-hand
For to serue sic ane man as me think the:
Nane bot mine awin house, maist in this land,
Fer furth in the Forest, amang the fellis hie.
With thy thow wald be payit of sic as thow fand,
Forsuith thow suld be wel-cum to pas hame with me,
Or ony vther gude fallow that I heir fand
Walkand will of his way, as me think the;
For the wedderis ar sa fell, that fallis on the feild.”
The King was blyth quhair he raid,
Of the grant that he had maid,
Sayand, with hert glaid,
“Schir, God ȝow forȝeild!”

“Na! thank me not ouir airlie, for dreid that we threip,
For I haue seruit the ȝit of lytill thing to rufe;
For nouther hes thow had of me fyre, drink, nor meit,
Nor nane vther eismentis for trauellouris behufe.
Bot, micht we bring this harberie this nicht weill to heip,
That we micht with ressoun baith thus excuse,
To-morne, on the morning, quhen thow sall on leip,
Pryse at the parting, how that thow dois;
For first to lofe, and syne to lak, Peter! it is schame.”
The King said, “in gud fay,
Schir, it is suith that ȝe say.”
Into sic talk fell thay,
Quhill thay war neir hame.

To the Coilȝearis hous baith, or thay wald blin,
The Carll had Cunning weill quhair the gait lay:
“Vndo the dure beliue! Dame, art thow in?
Quhy Deuill makis thow na dule for this euill day?
For my Gaist and I baith cheueris with the chin,
Sa fell ane wedder feld I neuer, be my gude fay!”
The gude wyfe [was] glaid with the gle to begin—
For durst scho neuer sit summoundis that scho hard him say—
The Carll was wantoun of word, and wox wonder wraith.
All abaisit for blame,
To the Dure went our Dame,
Scho said, “Schir ȝe ar welcome hame,
And ȝour Gaist baith.”

“Dame, I haue deir coft all this dayis hyre,
In wickit wedderis and weit walkand full will;
Dame, kyith I am cummin hame, and kendill on ane fyre;
I trow our Gaist be the gait hes farne als ill.
Ane Ryall rufe het fyre war my desyre,
To fair the better, for his saik, gif we micht win thair-till;
Knap doun Capounis of the best, but in the byre,
Heir is bot hamelie fair, do beliue, Gill.”
Twa cant knaifis of his awin haistelie he bad:
“The ane of ȝow my Capill ta,
The vther his Coursour alswa;
To the stabill swyith ȝe ga.”
Than was the King glaid.

The Coilȝear gudlie in feir, tuke him be the hand,
And put him befoir him, as ressoun had bene;
Quhen thay come to the dure, the King begouth to stand,
To put the Coilȝear in befoir, maid him to mene.

He said, “thow art vncourtes, that sall I warrand!”
He tyt the King be the nek, twa part in tene,
“Gif thow at bidding suld be boun or obeysand,
And gif thow of Courtasie couth, thow hes forȝet it clene!
Now is anis,” said the Coilȝear, “kynd aucht to creip,
Sen ellis thow art vnknawin,
To mak me Lord of my awin;
Sa mot I thriue, I am thrawin,
Begin we to threip.”

Than benwart thay ȝeid, quhair brandis was bricht,
To ane bricht byrnand fyre, as the Carll bad.
He callit on Gyliane his wyfe, thair Supper to dicht;
“Of the best that thair is, help that we had,
[OMITTED]
Eftir ane euill day to haue ane mirrie nicht,
For sa troublit with stormis was I neuer stad.
Of ilk airt of the Eist sa laithly it laid,
ȝit I was mekle willar than,
Quhen I met with this man.”
Of sic taillis thay began,
Quhill the supper was graid.

Sone was the Supper dicht, and the fyre bet,
And thay had weschin, I-wis, the worthiest was thair:
“Tak my wyfe be the hand in feir, withowtin let,
And gang begin the buird,” said the Coilȝear.
“That war vnsemand, forsuith, and thy self vnset:”
The King profferit him to gang, and maid ane strange fair,
“Now is twyse,” said the Carll, “me think thow hes forȝet!”
He leit gyrd to the King, withoutin ony mair,
And hit him vnder the eir with his richt hand,

Quhill he stakkerit thair with all
Half the breid of the hall;
He faind neuer of ane fall,
Quhill he the eird fand.

He start vp stoutly agane—vneis micht he stand—
For anger of that outray that he had thair tane.
He callit on Gyliane his wyfe, “ga, tak him by the hand,
And gang agane to the buird, quhair ȝe suld air haue gane.”
“Schir, thow art vnskilfull, and that sall I warrand;
Thow byrd to haue nurtour aneuch, and thow hes nane;
Thow hes walkit, I wis, in mony wyld land,
The mair vertew thow suld haue, to keip the fra blame!
Thow suld be courtes of kynd, and ane cunnand Courteir.
Thocht that I simpill be,
Do as I bid the,
The hous is myne, pardie,
And all that is heir.”

The king said to him self, “this is ane euill lyfe,
ȝit was I neuer in my lyfe thus-gait leird;
And I haue oft tymes bene quhair gude hes bene ryfe,
That maist couth of courtasie, in this Christin eird.
Is nane so gude as leif of, and mak na mair stryfe,
For I am stonischit at this straik, that hes me thus steird.”
In feir fairlie he foundis, with the gude wyfe,
Quhair the Coilȝear bad, sa braithlie he beird.
Quhen he had done his bidding, as him gude thocht,
Down he sat the King neir,
And maid him glaid & gude cheir,
And said, “ȝe ar welcum heir,
Be him that me bocht.”

Quhen thay war seruit and set to the Suppar,
Gyll and the gentill King, Charlis of micht,
Syne on the tother syde sat the Coilȝear,
Thus war thay marschellit but mair, & matchit that nicht.
Thay brocht breid to the buird, and braun of ane bair,
And the worthyest wyne, went vpon hicht;
Thay Beirnis, as I wene, thay had aneuch thair,
Within that burelie bigging, byrnand full bricht.
Syne enteris thair daynteis, on deis dicht dayntelie;
Within that worthy wane
Forsuith wantit thay nane.
With blyith cheir sayis Gyliane,
“Schir, dois glaidlie.”

The Carll carpit to the King cumlie and cleir:
“Schir, the Forestaris, forsuith, of this Forest,
Thay haue me all at Inuy, for dreid of the Deir;
Thay threip that I thring doun of the fattest.
Thay say, I sall to Paris, thair to compeir
Befoir our cumlie King, in dule to be drest;
Sir manassing thay me mak, forsuith, ilk ȝeir,
And ȝit aneuch sall I haue for me and ane Gest.
Thairfoir sic as thow seis, spend on, and not spair.”
Thus said gentill Charlis the Mane
To the Coilȝear agane:
“The King him self hes bene fane,
Sum tyme, of sic fair.”

Of Capounis and Cunningis they had plentie,
With wyne at thair will, and eik Vennysoun;
Byrdis bakin in breid, the best that may be;
Thus full freschlie thay fure into fusoun.
The Carll with ane cleir voce carpit on he,
Said, “Gyll, lat the cop raik for my bennysoun,
And gar our Gaist begin, and syne drink thow to me;

Sen he is ane stranger, me think it ressoun.”
They drank dreichlie about, thay wosche and thay rais;
The King with ane blyith cheir
Thankit the Coilȝeir;
Syne all the thre into feir
To the fyre gais.

Quhen they had maid thame eis, the Coilȝear tald
Mony sindrie taillis efter Suppair.
Ane bricht byrnand fyre was byrnand full bald;
The King held gude countenance, and company bair,
And euer to his asking ane answer he ȝald;
Quhill at the last he began to frane farther mair,
“In faith, freind, I wald wit, tell gif ȝe wald,
Quhair is thy maist wynning?” said the Coilȝear.
“Out of weir,” said the King, “I wayndit neuer to tell;
With my Lady the Quene
In office maist haue I bene,
All thir ȝeiris fyftene,
In the Court for to dwell.”

“Quhat-kin office art thow in, quhen thow art at hame,
Gif thow dwellis with the Quene, proudest in pane?”
“And Chyld of hir Chalmer, Schir, be Sanct Jame,
And thocht my self it say, maist inwart of ane;
For my dwelling to nicht, I dreid me for blame.”
“Quhat sall I call the,” said the Coilȝear, “quhen thow art hyne gane?”
“Wymond of the Wardrop is my richt Name;
Quhair euer thow findis me befoir the, thi harberie is tane.
And thow will cum to the Court, this I vnderta,
Thow sall haue for thy Fewaill,
For my sake, the better saill,
And onwart to thy trauaill,
Worth ane laid or twa.”

He said, “I haue na knawledge quhair the Court lyis,
And I am wonder wa to cum quhair I am vnkend.”
“And I sall say thee the suith on ilk syde, I wis,
That thow sall wit weill aneuch or I fra the wend:
Baith the King and the Quene meitis in Paris
For to hald thair ȝule togidder, for scho is efter send.
Thair may thow sell, be ressoun, als deir as thow will prys;
And ȝit I sall help the, gif I ocht may amend,
For I am knawin with Officiaris in cais thow cum thair.
Haue gude thocht on my Name,
And speir gif I be at hame,
For I suppois, be Sanct Jame,
Thow sall the better fair.”

“Me think it ressoun, be the Rude, that I do thy red,
In cais I cum to the Court, and knaw bot the ane;
Is nane sa gude as drink, and gang to our bed,
For als far as I wait, the nicht is furth gane.”
To ane preuie Chalmer beliue thay him led,
Quhair ane burely bed was wrocht in that wane;
Closit with Courtingis, and cumlie cled,
Of the worthiest wyne wantit thay nane.
The Coilȝear and his wyfe baith with him thay ȝeid,
To serue him all at thay mocht,
Till he was in bed brocht.
Mair the King spak nocht,
Bot thankit thame thair deid.

Vpoun the morne airlie, quhen it was day,
The King buskit him sone, with scant of Squyary.
Wachis and Wardroparis all war away,
That war wont for to walkin mony worthy.
And Pauyot preuilie brocht him his Palfray,
The King thocht lang of this lyfe, and lap on in hy;
Than callit he on the Carll, anent quhair he lay,

For to tak his leif, than spak he freindly.
Than walkinnit thay baith, and hard he was thair;
The Carll start vp sone,
And prayit him to abyde none:
“Quhill thir wickit wedderis be done
I red nocht ȝe fair.”

“Sa mot I thriue,” said the King, “me war laith to byde;
Is not the morne ȝule day, formest of the ȝeir?
Ane man that Office suld beir be tyme at this tyde,
He will be found in his fault, that wantis foroutin weir.
I se the Firmament fair vpon ather syde,
I will returne to the Court, quhill the wedder is cleir;
Call furth the gude wyfe, lat pay hir or we ryde,
For the worthie harberie that I haue fundin heir.”
“Lat be, God forbid,” the Coilȝear said,
“And thow of Charlis cumpany,
Cheif King of Cheualry,
That for ane nichtis harbery
Pay suld be laid.”

“ȝea, sen it is sa that thow will haue na pay,
Cum the morne to the Court, and do my counsall:
Deliuer the, and bring ane laid, and mak na delay,
Thow may not schame with thy Craft, gif thow thriue sall.
Gif I may helf the ocht to sell, forsuith I sall assay,
And als my self wald haue sum of the Fewall.”
“Peter!” he said, “I sall preif the morne, gif I may,
To bring Coillis to the Court, to se quhen thay sell sall.”
“Se that thow let nocht, I pray the,” said the King.
“In faith,” said the Coilȝear,
“Traist weill I salbe thair,
For thow will neuer gif the mair
So mak ane lesing.”

“Bot tell me now lelely quhat is thy richt name?
I will forȝet the morne, and ony man me greif.”
“Wymond of the Wardrop, I bid not to lane;
Tak gude tent to my name, the Court gif thow will preif.”
“That I haue said, I sall hald, and that I tell the plane;
Quhair ony Coilȝear may enchaip I trow till encheif.”
Quhen he had grantit him to cum, than was the King fane,
And withoutin ony mair let, than he tuke his leif.
Then the Coilȝear had greit thocht on the cunnand he had maid;
Went to the Charcoill in hy,
To mak his Chauffray reddy;
Agane the morne airly
He ordanit him ane laid.

The lyft lemit vp beliue, and licht was the day;
The King had greit knawledge the countrie to ken.
Schir Rolland and Oliuer come rydand the way,
With thame ane thousand, and ma, of fensabill men
War wanderand all the nicht ouir, & mony ma than thay
On ilk airt outwart war ordanit sic ten,
Gif thay micht heir of the King, or happin quhair he lay;
To Jesus Christ thay pray that grace thame to len.
Als sone as Schir Rolland saw it was the King,
He kneillit doun in the place,
Thankand God ane greit space,
Thair was ane meting of grace
At that gaddering.

The gentill Knicht, Schir Rolland, he kneillit on his kne,
Thankand greit God that mekill was of micht;
Schir Oliuer at his hand, and Bischoppis thre,
Withoutin commounis that come, and mony vther Knicht.

Than to Paris thay pas, all that Cheualrie,
Betuix none of the day and ȝule nicht;
The gentill Bischop Turpine cummand thay se,
With threttie Conuent of Preistis reuest at ane sicht,
Preichand of Prophecie in Processioun.
Efter thame baith fer and neir
Folkis following in feir,
Thankand God with gude cheir
Thair Lord was gane to toun.

Quhen thay Princis appeirit into Paris,
Ilk Rew Ryallie with riches thame arrayis.
Thair was Digne seruice done at Sanct Dyonys,
With mony proud Prelat, as the buik sayis.
Syne to Supper thay went, within the Palys;
Befoir that mirthfull man menstrallis playis;
Mony wicht wyfis sone, worthie and wise,
Was sene at that semblay ane and twentie dayis,
With all-kin principall plentie for his plesance.
Thay callit it the best ȝule than,
And maist worthie began,
Sen euer King Charlis was man,
Or euer was in France.

Than vpon the morne airlie, quhen the day dew,
The Coilȝear had greit thocht quhat he had vnder tane;
He kest twa Creillis on ane Capill, with Coillis anew,
Wandit thame with widdeis, to wend on that wane.
“Mary, it is not my counsall, but ȝone man that ȝe knew,
To do ȝow in his gentrise,” said Gyliane;
“Thow gaif him ane outragious blaw, & greit boist blew;
In faith thow suld haue bocht it deir, & he had bene allane.
For thy, hald ȝow fra the Court, for ocht that may be;
ȝone man that thow outrayd
Is not sa simpill as he said;
Thairun my lyfe dar I layd,
That sall thow heir and se.”

“ȝea, Dame, haue nane dreid of my lyfe to day;
Lat me wirk as I will, the weird is mine awin.
I spak not out of ressoun, the suth gif I sall say,
To Wymond of the Wardrop, war the suith knawin.
That I haue hecht I sall hald, happin as it may,
Quhidder sa it gang to greif or to gawin.”
He caucht twa Creillis on ane capill, & catchit on his way
Ouir the Daillis sa derf, be the day was dawin.
The hie way to Paris, in all that he mocht,
With ane quhip in his hand,
Cantlie on catchand;
To fulfill his cunnand,
To the Court socht.

Graith thocht of the grant had the gude King,
And callit Schir Rolland him till, and gaif commandment,
(Ane man he traistit in, maist atour all vther thing,
That neuer wald set him on assay withoutin his assent,)
“Tak thy hors and thy harnes in the morning;
For to watche weill the wayis, I wald that thow went,
Gif thow meitis ony leid lent on the ling,
Gar thame boun to this Burgh, I tell the mine Intent.
Or gyf thow seis ony man cumming furth the way,
Quhat sumeuer that he be,
Bring him haistely to me,
Befoir none that I him se
In this hall the day.”

Schir Rolland had greit ferly, and in hart kest
Quhat that suld betakin, that the King tald.
Vpon solempnit ȝule day, quhen ilk man suld rest,
That him behouit neidlingis to watche on the wald,
Quhen his God to serue he suld haue him drest.
And syne, with ane blyith cheir, buskit that bald,
Out of Paris proudly he preikit full prest;
In till his harnes all haill his hechtis for to hald,

He vmbekest the countrie, outwith the toun.
He saw na thing on steir,
Nouther fer nor neir,
Bot the feildis in feir,
Daillis and doun.

He huit and he houerit quhill midmorne and mair,
Behaldand the hie hillis and passage sa plane;
Sa saw he quhair the Coilȝear come with all his fair,
With twa Creillis on ane Capill; thairof was he fane.
He followit to him haistely, amang the holtis hair,
For to bring him to the king, at bidding full bane.
Courtesly to the Knicht kneillit the Coilȝear,
And Schir Rolland him self salust him agane,
Syne bad him leif his courtasie, and boun him to ga;
He said, “withoutin letting,
Thow mon to Paris to the King;
Speid the fast in ane ling,
Sen I find na ma.”

“In faith,” said the Coilȝear, “ȝit was I neuer sa nyse;
Schir Knicht, it is na courtasie commounis to scorne:
Thair is mony better than I, cummis oft to Parys,
That the King wait not of, nouther nicht nor morne.
For to towsill me or tit me, thocht foull be my clais,
Or I be dantit on sic wyse, my lyfe salbe lorne.”
“Do way,” said Schir Rolland, “me think thow art not wise,
I red thow at bidding be, be all that we haue sworne;
And call thow it na scorning, bot do as I the ken,
Sen thow has hard mine Intent:
It is the Kingis commandement,
At this tyme thow suld haue went
And I had met sic ten.”

“I am bot ane mad man, that thow hes heir met;
I haue na myster to matche with maisterfull men.
Fairand ouir the feildis, Fewell to fet,
And oft fylit my feit in mony foull fen;
Gangand with laidis, my gouerning to get.
Thair is mony Carll in the countrie thow may nocht ken;
I sall hald that I haue hecht, bot I be hard set,
To Wymond of the Wardrop, I wait full weill quhen.”
“Sa thriue I,” said Rolland, “it is mine Intent
That nouther to Wymond nor Will
Thow sald hald nor hecht till,
Quhill I haue brocht the to fulfill
The Kingis commandment.”

The Carll beheld to the Knicht, as he stude than;
He bair grauit in Gold, and Gowlis in grene,
Glitterand full gaylie quhen Glemis began,
Ane Tyger ticht to ane tre, ane takin of tene.
Trewlie that tenefull was trimland than,
Semelie schapin and schroud in that Scheild schene;
Mekle worschip of weir worthylie he wan,
Befoir, into fechting with mony worthie sene.
His Basnet was bordourit, and burneist bricht
With stanes of Beriall cleir,
Dyamountis and Sapheir,
Riche Rubeis in feir,
Reulit full richt.

His plaitis properlie picht attour with precious stanis,
And his Pulanis full prest of that ilk peir;
Greit Graipis of Gold his Greis for the nanis,
And his Cussanis cumlie schynand full cleir.
Bricht braissaris of steill about his arme banis,
Blandit with Beriallis and Cristallis cleir,

Ticht ouir with Thopas, and trew lufe atanis;
The teind of his Iewellis to tell war full teir.
His Sadill circulit and set, richt sa on ilk syde;
His brydill bellisand and gay,
His steid stout on stray,
He was the Ryallest of array,
On Ronsy micht ryde.

Of that Ryall array that Rolland in raid
Rauf rusit in his hart of that Ryall thing;
“He is the gayest in geir, that euer on ground glaid;
Haue he grace to the gre in ilk Iornaying.
War he ane manly man, as he is weill maid,
He war full michtie, with magre durst abyde his meting.”
He bad the Coilȝear in wraith swyth withoutin baid,
Cast the Creillis fra the Capill, and gang to the King.
“In faith, it war greit schame,” said the Coilȝear;
“I vndertuk thay suld be brocht,
This day for ocht that be mocht;
Schir Knicht that word is for nocht
That thow Carpis thair!”

“Thow huifis on thir holtis, and haldis me heir,
Quhill half the haill day may the hicht haue.”
“Be Christ that was Cristinnit, and his Mother cleir,
Thow sall catche to the Court that sall not be to craue.
It micht be preisit preiudice, bot gif thow suld compeir,
To se quhat granting of grace the King wald the gaif.”
“For na gold on this ground wald I, but weir,
Be fundin fals to the King, sa Christ me saue!”
“To gar the cum and be knawin, as I am command,
I wait not quhat his willis be,
Nor he namit na mair the,
Nor ane vther man to me,
Bot quhome that I fand.”

“Thow fand me fechand nathing that followit to feid,
I war ane fule gif I fled, and fand nane affray:
Bot as ane lauch-full man, my laidis to leid,
That leifis with mekle lawtie and laubour in fay.
Be the Mother and the Maydin that maid vs remeid,
And thow mat me ony mair, cum efter quhat sa may,
Thow I sall dyntis deill, quhill ane of vs be deid,
For the deidis thow hes me done vpon this deir day.”
Mekle merwell of that word had Schir Rolland;
He saw na wappinnis thair,
That the Coilȝear bair,
Bot ane auld Buklair,
And ane roustie brand.

“It is lyke,” said Schir Rolland, and lichtly he leuch,
“That sic ane stubill husband man wald stryke stoutly;
Thair is mony toun man, to tuggill is full teuch,
Thocht thair brandis be blak and vnburely;
Oft fair foullis ar fundin faynt, and als freuch.
I defend we fecht or fall in that foly;
Lat se how we may disseuer with sobernes aneuch,
And catche crabitnes away, be Christ counsall I.
Quhair winnis that Wymond thow hecht to meit to day?”
With the Quene, tauld he me;
And thair I vndertuke to be,
Into Paris Pardie,
Withoutin delay.”

“And I am knawin with the Quene,” said Schir Rolland,
“And with mony byrdis in hir Bowre, be buikis and bellis;
The King is into Paris, that sall I warrand,
And all his aduertance that in his Court dwellis.

Me tharth haue nane noy of myne erand,
For me think thow will be thair efter as thow tellis;
Bot gif I fand the, forrow now to keip my cunnand.”
“Schir Knicht,” said the Coilȝear, “thow trowis me neuer ellis,
Bot gif sum suddand let put it out of delay;
For that I hecht of my will,
And na man threit me thair till,
That I am haldin to fulfill,
And sall do quhill I may.”

“ȝea, sen thow will be thair, thy cunnandis to new,
I neid nane airar myne erand nor none of the day.”
“Be thow traist,” said the Coilȝear, “man, as I am trew,
I will not haist me ane fute faster on the way;
Bot gif thow raik out of my renk, full raith sall thow rew,
Or be the Rude I sall rais thy Ryall array;
Thocht thy body be braissit in that bricht hew,
Thow salbe fundin als febil of thy bone fay.”
Schir Rolland said to him self, “this is bot foly
To striue with him ocht mair:
I se weill he will be thair.”
His leif at the Coilȝear
He tuke lufesumly.

“Be Christ!” said the Coilȝear, “that war ane foull scorne,
That thow suld chaip, bot I the knew, that is sa schynand;
For thow seis my weidis ar auld, and all to-worne,
Thow trowis nathing thir taillis that I am telland.
Bring na Beirnis vs by, bot as we war borne,
And thir Blonkis that vs beiris, thairto I mak ane bland,
That I sall meit the heir vpon this mure to morne,
Gif I be haldin in heill—and thairto my hand—

Sen that we haue na laiser at this tyme to ta.”
In ane thourtour way,
Seir gaitis pas thay,
Baith to Paris in fay;
Thus partit thay twa.

The gentill Knicht, Schir Rolland come rydand full sone,
And left the Coilȝear to cum, as he had vndertane;
And quhen he come to Paris the hie Mes was done,
The King with mony cumly out of the Kirk is gane.
Of his harnes in hy he hynt withoutin hone,
And in ane Rob him arrayit richest of ane;
In that worschipfull weid he went in at none,
As he was wont, with the wy that weildit the wane,
On fute ferly in feir, formest of all.
Richt weill payit was the King
Of Schir Rollandis cumming;
To speir of his tything
Efter him gart call.

The King in counsall him callit, “cum hidder, Schir Knicht!
Hes thow my bidding done, as I the command?”
“In faith,” said Schir Rolland, “I raid on full richt,
To watch wyselie the wayis; that I sall warrand.
Thair wald na douchtie this day for Iornay be dicht;
Fairand ouir the feildis full few thair I fand;
Saif anerly ane man that semblit in my sicht,
Thair was na leid on lyfe lent in this land.”
“Quhat kin a fallow was that ane, Schir, I the pray?”
“Ane man in husband weid,
Buskit busteously on breid;
Leidand Coillis he ȝeid
To Paris the way.”

“Quhy hes thow not that husband brocht, as I the bad?
I dreid me, sa he dantit the, thow durst not with him deill.”
“In faith,” said Schir Rolland, “gif that he sa had,
That war full hard to my hart, and I ane man in heill.”
He saw the King was engreuit, and gat furth glaid,
To se gif the Coilȝearis lawtie was leill:
“I suld haue maid him in the stour to be full hard stad,
And I had witten that the Carll wald away steill;
Bo[t] I trowit not the day that he wald me beget.”
As he went outwart bayne,
He met ane Porter swayne
Cummand raith him agayne,
Fast fra the ȝet.

“Quhair gangis thow, Gedling, thir gaitis sa gane?”
“Be God,” said the Grome, “ane gift heir I geif;
I deuise at the ȝet thair is ane allane,
Bot he be lattin in beliue, him lykis not to leif.
With ane Capill and twa Creillis cassin on the plane,
To cum to this Palice he preissis to preif.”
“Gif thow hes fundin that Freik, in faith I am fane;
Lat him in glaidly, it may not engreif.
Bot askis he eirnestly efter ony man?”
Than said the Gedling on ground:
“ȝe, forsuith in this stound,
Efter ane Wymound
In all that he can.”

“Pas agane, Porter, and let him swyith in,
Amang the proudest in preis, plesand in pane.
Say thow art not worthy to Wymond to win,
Bid him seik him his self, gif thair be sic ane.”
Agane gangis Schir Rolland, quhair gle suld begin,
And the ȝaip ȝeman to the ȝet is gane;

Enbraissit the bandis beliue or that he wald blin,
Syne leit the wy at his will wend in the wane.
“Gang seik him now thy self,” he said vpon hicht:
“My self hes na lasair
Fra thir ȝettis to fair.”
“Be Christ,” said the Coilȝear,
“I set that bot licht.”

“Gif thow will not seik him, my awin self sall:
For I haue oft tymes swet in seruice full fair.
Tak keip to my Capill, that na man him call,
Quhill I cum fra the Court,” said the Coilȝear.
“My laid war I laith to lois, I leif the heir all;
Se that thow leis thame not, bot ȝeme thame full ȝair.”
In that hardy in hy, he haiket to that hall,
For to wit gif Wymondis wynning was thair.
He arguit with the Ischar ofter than anis,
“Schir, can thow ocht say
Quhair is Wymond the day?
I pray the, bring him gif thow may
Out of this wanis.”

He trowit that the wy had wittin of Wymond he wend,
Bot to his raifand word he gaue na reward;
Thair was na man thairin that his name kend,
Thay countit not the Coilȝear almaist at regaird.
He saw thair was na meiknes nor mesure micht mend,
He sped him in spedely, and nane of thame he spaird;
Thair was na fyue of thay Freikis, that micht him furth send,
He socht in sa sadly, quhill sum of thame he saird.
He thristit in throw thame thraly with threttis.
Quhen he come amang thame all,
ȝit was the King in the hall,
And mony gude man with all,
Vngane to the meit.

Thocht he had socht sic ane sicht all this seuin ȝeir,
Sa solempnit ane semblie had he not sene;
The hall was properly apperrellit and paintit but peir,
Dyamountis full dantely dentit betwene.
It was semely set on ilk syde seir,
Gowlis glitterand full gay, glemand in grene,
Flowris with Flourdelycis formest in feir,
With mony flamand ferly ma than fyftene.
The rufe reulit about in reuall of Reid,
Rois reulit Ryally,
Columbyn and Lely;
Thair was ane hailsum harbery
Into riche steid.

With Dosouris to the duris dicht, quha sa wald deme,
With all diuers danteis dicht dantely;
Circulit with siluer semely to sene,
Selcouthly in seir he was set suttelly.
Blyth byrdis abufe, and bestiall full bene,
Fyne foullis in Fyrth, and Fischis with fry;
The flure carpit and cled, and couerit full clene,
Cummand fra the Cornellis closand quemely.
Bricht Bancouris about browdin ouir all,
Greit Squechonis on hicht,
Anamalit and weill dicht,
Reulit at all richt
Endlang the hall.

“Heir is Ryaltie,” said Rauf, “aneuch for the nanis,
With all nobilnes anournit, and that is na nay;
Had I of Wymond ane word, I wald of thir wanis,
Fra thir wyis, I-wis, to went on my way;
Bot I mon ȝit heir mair quhat worthis of him anis,
And eirnestly efter him haue myne E ay.”
He thristit in throw threttie all atanis,
Quhair mony douchtie of deid war Ioynit that day.

For he was vnburely, on bak thay him hynt;
As he gat ben throw,
He gat mony greit schow;
Bot he was stalwart, I trow,
And laith for to stynt.

He thristit in throw thame, and thraly can thring,
Fast to the formest he foundit in feir:
Sone besyde him he gat ane sicht of the Nobill King,
“ȝone is Wymond, I wait, it worthis na weir;
I ken him weill, thocht he be cled in vther clething,
In clais of clene gold kythand ȝone cleir.
[OMITTED]
Quhen he harbreit with me, be half as he is heir,
In faith he is of mair stait, than euer he me tald.
Allace, that I was hidder wylit!
I dreid me sair I be begylit!”
The King preuilie smylit,
Quhen he saw that bald.

Thair was seruit in that saill Seigis semelie,
Mony Senȝeorabill Syre on ilk syde seir;
With ane cairfull countenance the Coilȝear kest his E
To the cumly Quene courtes and cleir:
“Dame, of thy glitterand gyde haue I na gle,
Be the gracious God that bocht vs sa deir;
To ken Kingis Courtasie, the Deuill come to me,
And sa I hope I may say, or I chaip heir.
Micht I chaip of this chance, that changes my cheir,
Thair suld na man be sa wyse,
To gar me cum to Parise,
To luke quhair the King lyis,
In faith, this seuin ȝeir!”

Quhen worthie had weschin, and fra the buirdis went,
Thay war for-wonderit I wis of thair wyse Lord;
The King fell in carping, and tauld his Intent,
To mony gracious Grome he maid his record.
How the busteous Beirne met him on the bent,
And how the Frostis war sa fell, and sa strait sord.
Than the Coilȝear quoke as he had bene schent,
Quhen he hard the suith say how he the King schord.
“Greit God! gif I war now, and thy self with all,
Vpon the mure quhair we met,
Baith all suddandly set,
Or ony Knicht that thow may get
Sa gude in thy hall!”

Thir Lordis leuch vpon loft, and lystinit to the King,
How he was ludgeit and led, and set at sa licht;
Than the curagious Knichtis bad haue him to hing,
“For he hes seruit that,” thay said, “be our sicht.”
“God forbot,” he said, “my thank war sic thing
To him that succourit my lyfe in sa euill ane nicht!
Him semis ane stalwart man, and stout in stryking,
That Carll for his Courtasie salbe maid knicht.
I hald the counsall full euill that Cristin man slais,
For I had myster to haue ma,
And not to distroy tha
Tha[t] war worthie to ga
To fecht on Goddis fais!”

Befoir mony worthie he dubbit him Knicht,
Dukis and digne Lordis in that deir hall.
“Schir, se for thy self, thow semis to be wicht;
Tak keip to this ordour, ane Knicht I the call;
To mak the manly man, I mak the of micht,
Ilk ȝeir thre hundreth pund assigne the I sall.
And als the nixt vacant, be ressonabill richt,
That hapnis in France, quhair sa cuer it sall,

Forfaltour or fre waird, that first cummis to hand,
I gif the heir heritabilly,
Sa that I heir, quhen I haue hy,
That thow be fundin reddy
With Birny & brand.”

“It war my will, worthy, thy schone that thow wan,
And went with thir weryouris wythest in weir;
Heir ar curagious Knichtis, suppois thay the nocht ken,
For thy simpill degre that thow art in heir.
I beseik God of his grace to mak the ane gude man,
And I sall gif the to begin glitterand geir.”
Ane Chalmer with Armour the King gart richt than
Betaucht to ane Squyar, and maid him keipeir.
With clois Armouris of steill for that stout Knicht,
Sextie Squyaris of fee,
Of his retinew to be;
That was ane fair cumpany
Schir Rauf gat that nicht.

Vpon the morne airly, Schir Rauf wald not rest,
Bot in Ryall array he reddyit him to ryde;
For to hald that I haue hecht, I hope it be the best,
To ȝone busteous Beirne that boistit me to byde.
Amang the Galȝart Gromis I am bot ane Gest,
I will the ganandest gait to that gay glyde;
Sall neuer Lord lauch on loft, quhill my lyfe may lest,
That I for liddernes suld leif, and leuand besyde.
It war ane graceles gude that I war cummin to,
Gif that the King hard on hicht
That he had maid ane carll Knicht
Amang thir weryouris wicht,
And docht nocht to do.”

Vpon ane rude Runsy he ruschit out of toun;
In ane Ryall array he rydis full richt;
Euin to the Montane he maid him full boun,
Quhair he had trystit to meit Schir Rolland the Knicht.
Derfly ouir Daillis, discouerand the doun,
Gif ony douchtie that day for Iornayis was dicht.
He band his blonk to ane busk on the brent broun,
Syne baid be the bair way to hald that he had hecht.
Quhill it was neir time of the day that he had thair bene,
He lukit ane lytill him fra,
He sa cummand in thra
The maist man of all tha,
That euer he had sene.

Ane Knicht on ane Cameill come cantly at hand,
With ane curagious countenance, and cruell to se;
He semit baldly to abyde with Birny and with brand,
His blonk was vnburely, braid and ouir hie.
Schir Rauf reddyit him sone, and come rydand,
And in the rowme of ane renk in fewtir kest he;
He seimit fer fellonar than first quhen he him fand,
He foundis throw his forcenes gif he micht him se.
He straik the steid with the spurris, he sprent on the bent;
Sa hard ane cours maid thay,
That baith thair hors deid lay,
Their speiris in splenders away
Abufe thair heid sprent.

Thus war thay for thair forcynes left on fute baith,
Thay sture hors at that straik strikin deid lay than;
Thir riche restles renkis ruschit out full raith,
Cleikit out twa swordis and togidder ran.
Kest thame with gude will to do vther skaith,
Bair on thair basnetis thay Beirnis or thay blan.
Haistely hewit thay togiddir, to leif thay war laith
To tyne the worschip of weir that thay air wan;

Na for dout of vincussing thay went nocht away.
Thus ather vther can assaill
With swordis of mettaill;
Thay maid ane lang battaill
Ane hour of the day.

Thay hard harnest men, thay hewit on in haist;
Thay worthit heuy with heid, and angerit with all;
Quhill thay had maid thame sa mait, thay failȝe almaist,
Sa laith thay war on ather part to lat than price fall.
The riche restles men out of the renk past,
Forwrocht with thair wapnis, and euill rent with all;
Thair was na girth on the ground, quhill ane gaif the gaist;
“ȝarne efter ȝeilding,” on ilk syde thay call.
Schir Rauf caucht to cule him, and tak mair of the licht,
He kest vp his Veseir,
With ane Cheualrous cheir,
Sa saw he cummand full neir
Ane vther kene Knicht.

“Now, be the Rude!” said Schir Rauf, “I repreif the!
Thow hes brokin conditioun, thow hes not done richt:
Thow hecht na bakheir to bring, bot anerly we;
Thairto I tuik thy hand, as thow was trew Knicht.”
On loud said the Saraȝine, “I heir the now lie!
Befoir the same day I saw the neuer with sicht;
Now sall thow think it richt sone, thow hes met with me,
Gif Mahoun or Termagant may mantene my micht.”
Schir Rauf was blyth of that word, & blenkit with his face;
“Thow sayis thow art ane Saraȝine?
Now thankit be Drichtine,
That ane of vs sall neuer hine,
Vndeid in this place.”

Than said the Saraȝine to Schir Rauf succudrously,
“I haue na lyking to lyfe to lat the with lufe.”
He gaue ane braid with his brand to the Beirne by,
Till the blude of his browis brest out abufe.
The kene Knicht in that steid stakkerit sturely,
The lenth of ane rude braid he gart him remufe.
Schir Rauf ruschit vp agane, and hit him in hy;
Thay preis furth properly thair pithis to prufe.
Ilk ane a schort knyfe braidit out sone;
In stour stifly thay stand,
With twa knyfis in hand;
With that come Schir Rolland
As thay had neir done.

The gentill Knicht Schir Rolland come rydand ful richt,
And ruschit fra his Runsy, and ran thame betwene:
He sayis, “thow art ane Saraȝine, I se be my sicht,
For to confound our Christin men, that counteris sa kene.
Tell me thy name tyte, thow trauelland Knicht!
Fy on thy fechting! fell hes thow bene;
Thow art stout and strang, and stalwart in fecht;
Sa is thy fallow in faith, and that is weill sene.
In Christ and thow will trow, thow takis nane outray.”
“Forsuith,” the Saraȝine said,
“Thy self maid me neuer sa affraid
That I for souerance wald haue praid,
Na not sall to day.

“Brief me not with ȝour boist, but mak ȝou baith boun,
Batteris on baldly the best, I ȝow pray.”
“Na,” said Schir Rolland, “that war na resoun,
I trow in the mekle God, that maist of michtis may.
The tane is in power to mak that presoun,
For that war na wassalage sum men wald say;
I rid that thow hartfully forsaik thy Mahoun;
Fy on that foull Feind, for fals is thy fay!

Becum Christin, Schir Knicht, and on Christ call;
It is my will thow conuert,
This wickit warld is bot ane start—
And haue him halely in hart
That maker is of all.”

“Schir Rolland, I rek nocht of thy Rauingis;
Thow dois bot reuerance to thame that rekkis it nocht;
Thow slane hes oft, thy self, of my Counsingis,
Soudanis and sib men, that the with schame socht.
Now faindis to haue fauour with thy fleichingis,
Now haue I ferlie, gif I fauour the ocht;
We sall spuilȝe ȝow dispittously at the nixt springis,
Mak ȝow biggingis full bair, bodword haue I brocht.
Chace Charlis ȝour King fer out of France;
Fra the Chane of Tartarie,
At him this message wald I be,
To tell him as I haue tauld the,
Withoutin plesance.”

“Tyte tell me thy name, it seruis of nocht;
ȝe Saraȝeins ar succuderus and self willit ay,
Sall neuer of sa sour ane brand ane bricht fyre be brocht,
The Feynd is sa felloun als fers as he may.”
“Sa thriue I,” said the Saraȝine, “to threip is my thocht,
Quha waitis the Cristin with cair, my cusingis ar thay;
My name is Magog, in will and I mocht,
To ding thame doun dourly that euer war in my way.
For thy my wary soun is full gude at hame quhair I dwel.”
“In faith,” said Schir Rolland,
“That is full euill wyn land
To haue quhill thow ar leuand,
Sine at thine end hell.

“Wald thow conuert the in hy, and couer the of sin,
Thow suld haue mair profite and mekle pardoun;
Riche Douchereis seir to be sesit in,
During quhill day dawis, that neuer will gang doun;
Wed ane worthie to wyfe, and weild hir with win,
Ane of the riche of our Realme be that ressoun;
The gentill Duches, Dame Iane, that claimis be hir kin
Angeos and vther landis, with mony riche toun.
Thus may thow, and thow will, wirk the best wise,
I do the out of dispair,
In all France is nane so fair
Als scho is, appeirand air
To twa Douchereis.”

“I rek nocht of thy riches, Schir Rolland the Knicht,”
Said the rude Saraȝine in Ryall array,
“Thy God nor thy Grassum set I bot licht;
Bot gif thy God be sa gude as I heir the say,
I will forsaik Mahoun, and tak me to his micht,
Euer mair perpetuallie as he that mair may.
Heir with hart and gude will my treuth I the plicht,
That I sall lelely leif on thy Lord ay,
And I beseik him of Grace, and askis him mercy,
And Christ his Sone full schene,
For I haue Christin men sene,
That in mony angeris hes bene,
Full oft on him cry.”

“I thank God,” said Rolland, “that word lykis me!
And Christ his sweit Sone, that the that grace send.”
Thay swoir on thair swordis swyftlie all thre,
And conseruit thame freindis to thair lyfis end,
Euer in all trauell, to leif and to die.
Thay Knichtis caryit to the court, as Christ had thame kend.
The King for thair cumming maid game and gle,
With mony mirthfull man thair mirthis to mend.

Digne Bischoppis that day, that douchtie gart bring,
And gaue him Sacramentis seir,
And callit him Schir Gawteir,
And sine the Duches cleir
He weddit with ane ring.

Than Schir Rauf gat rewaird to keip his Knichtheid:
Sic tythingis come to the King within thay nyne nicht,
That the Marschell of France was newlingis deid;
Richt thair, with the counsall of mony kene Knicht,
He thocht him richt worthie to byde in his steid,
For to weild that worschip worthie and wicht.
His wyfe wald he nocht forȝet, for dout of Goddis feid.
He send efter that hende, to leif thame in richt,
Syne foundit ane fair place quhair he met the King,
Euer mair perpetually,
In the name of Sanct Iuly,
That all that wantis harbery,
Suld haue gestning.

Finis.

Rouland and Vernagu

1

[OMITTED] For he it seiȝe wiþ siȝt.
Now bigin ichil of him,
Of charls þat was stout & grim,
& tel ȝou al þat riȝt.

2

An hundred winter it was and þre,
Seþen god dyed opon þe tre,
Þat charls þe king
Hadde al fraunce in his hond,
Danmark & Inglond,
Wiþouten ani lesing,
Lorein & lombardye,
Gascoun, bayoun, & pikardye,
Was til his bidding;
& emperour he was of rome,
& lord of al christendome,
Þan was he an heiȝe lording.

3

In þat time was an emperour
In costentin of gret honour,
Constansious he hiȝt;
God he loued & alle his,
& hated hem þat dede amis,
Wiþ al his miȝt.
In speyn, þo þer was a king,
A stern man wiþouten lesing,
Þat werred oȝain þe riȝt.
Ebrahim was his name,
Wide sprong his riche fame,
He was a douȝti kniȝt.

4

Alle þat leued in godes lawe,
He lete hem boþe hong & drawe,
Þo þat he miȝt of take;
& þe patriark of ierusalem
Out of lond he dede him flem,
Al for godes sake.
Þe patriarke was ful wiis,
& to þemperour he went y-wis,
His mone for to make,
Hou þe king ebrahim
Out of lond exiled him,
Wiþ michel wer & wrake.

5

King costance þemperour
Made swiþe gret dolour
For þis tidinges,
Ihū crist bisouȝt he,
Almiȝti god in trinite,
King of al kinges,
He sende him grace him to slo,
Þat had y-wrouȝt so michel wo,
& slawe godes ginges,
& sone so he had þe bon y-bede,
An angel liȝt doun in þat stede,
& þis bode him bringes.

6

Þe angel seyd to þemperour,
“Wele þe greteþ þi saueour,
Ihū, ful of miȝt,
& bit þe sende wiþ michel anour,
After charls þe conquerour,
He is a douhti kniȝt.
He schal þe help in batayl,
& sle þe sarrazin wiþouten fail,
Þat doþ oȝain þe riȝt.”
Þemperour was glad & bliþe,
& þonked god fele siþe,
His hert nas neuer so liȝt.

7

Four þe best he sent of hem,
Þat on hiȝt dauid of ierusalem,
& samuel al so,
Ion of naples was anoþer,
Ysac hiȝt þe ferþ broþer,
Þider he gan go.
He went to þe palais of rome,
& bi-for sir charli[s] come
& told him of her wo;
Þai toke him þe letter & kist his hand,
Swiche was þe lawe of þe land,
& schal ben euer mo.

8

Charls wepe for þat dede,
When he herd þe letter rede,
& hete an heiȝeing,
Al þat miȝt armes bere,
Kniif or scheld, swerd or spere,
Men schuld bi-for him bring.
Þai busked hem & made hem yare,
To costentin for to fare,
Wiþouten ani lesing.
Þemperour was glad y-wis,
& vnderfenge wiþ miche blis,
Sir charls þe king.

9

Riche iuels wiþouten lesing,
Sir costance þe king
Bifor sir charls he brouȝt;
Sauage bestes for þe nones,
Gold & siluer, & riche stones,
Ac þer of nold he nouȝt:
He bi-souȝt him of more honour,
Of ihū our saueour,
Þat al þis warld haþ wrouȝt,
Þat he on suffred passioun,
Of þe croice & of þe croun,
Þer of he him bi-souȝt.

10

Þemperour his wil dede,
& ladde him to þe holy stede,
Þere þe relikes ware;
Þer com swiche a swete odour,
Þat neuer ȝete so swete sauour,
No feld þai neuer are;
Of þe smal þat was so swote,
Þre hundred sike hadde her bote,
& cast were out of care.
þan brouȝt þai forþ þe holy croun,
& þe arme of seyn simoun,
Bi-forn hem alle þare.

11

& a parti of þe holy crosse,
Þat in a cristal was don in clos,
& godes cloþeing.
Our leuedi smok þt hye had on,
& þe ȝerd of araon,
Forþ þai gun bring,
& a spere long & smert,
Þat longys put to godes hert,
He gaf charls þe king;
& a nail long & gret
Þat was y-driue þurch godes fet,
Wiþ outen ani lesing.

12

When charls had reseiued þat þing,
He bisouȝt ihū, heuen king,
To sende him miȝt & space,
For to wite þe soþe þere,
ȝif þe relikes verray were,
Er he þennes pase.
Þan decended a liȝtnesse,
Doun riȝtes fram þe heuen blis,
In þat ich place,
Þat þai wenden alle y-wis,
Þai hadde ben in paradys,
So ful it was of grace.

13

Þai tok leue at þemperour,
& þonked him of gret honour,
& to aise in gascoyn went;
Þer he duelled siker apliȝt.
So he biheld opon a niȝt,
Vp to þe firmament,
A way of sterres he seiȝe y-wis,
Out of spaine in to galis,
As red as brond þat brent.
He bi-souȝt god in trinite
To sende him grace wite wat it be,
Wiþ wel gode entent.

14

& in þe þouȝt þat he was in,
Þer com a voice, & spac to him,
Wiþ a milde steuen,
“Eames þe apostel bi crist,
Iones broþer, þe wangelist,
Godes deciple of heuen,
Þat god bad prechy on þe se,
For þi herodes lete me sle,
Þer of y þe neuen,
Mi body liþ in galis,
Biȝond speyne for soþe y-wis,
Jurnays mo þan seuen.

15

For þi me wondreþ wiþouten fail,
Þat þou comest nouȝt to do batayl,
Þat lond for to winne,
& ȝif þou winnes þat lond y-wis,
Y schal þe bring in to þat blis,
Þer ich woni inne.
Al þat me sekeþ more & lesse,
Schal haue for-ȝeuenes
Of her dedeli sinne.
Now wende & do as y þe sede,
& in batayl þou schalt spede,
When þou it will biginne.

16

Þe way of sterres bitokneþ y-wis,
Þat of spaine & of galis
Þou shalt be conquerer;
Lorain & lombardye,
Gascoyne, bayoun, & pikardye,
Schal be in þi pouwer.”
Þus com þe apostel Iames,
Þries to charls, & seyd þis,
Þat was so stoute & fer.
Now wendeþ charls wiþ his ost
Into speyne wiþ michel bost,
As ȝe may forward here.

17

Þe first cite was pampiloun,
Þat was a swiþe noble toun,
Þat charls gan asayl;
& sex moneþes he it bi-lay apliȝt,
Þat noþing winne he it no miȝt,
For alle his batayle.
For þe walles so strong were,
He no miȝt haue non entre þere
Wiþ outen ani fayl,
Þer were mani strong gines,
& fele þousand of sarazines,
Swiþe heyȝe of parail.

18

Þan praid charls to god of heuen,
“Lord, he seyd, here mi steuen,
Astow art ful of miȝt,
Sende me grace þis cite to winne,
& sle þe sarrazins her inne,
Þat don oȝain þe riȝt.”
Þo felle þe walles of þe cite,
Charls entred wiþ his meyne,
Als a douhti kniȝt,
& þurch þe miracle þat was þere,
Ten þousand sarrazins cristned were,
In þat ich niȝt.

19

& þo þat nold nouȝt cristned be,
He lete hem hong opon a tre,
Er he þennes pase.
Þus charls þurch spayn gan gon,
& wan þe cites eurichon,
Al þurch godes grace.
Where he com in ani erd,
Ich man was of him aferd,
Þat loked on his face.
Þe names of eueri cite
Þat he wan, y schal tel ȝe
Er ich hennes pase.

20

Visim, lameche, & sumy,
Colomuber, luche, & vrry,
Brakare & vimaraile,
Compostel, a cite grete,
Aurilian & tullet,
Þat strong is to asayl;
Golddelfagar & salamencha,
Vline, canayls, madris, al swa
Calatorie & lestoyl,
Medinacel, an heiȝe cite,
Segouus þe grete, & salamenche,
Gramie & sturgel,

21

Godian & emerite,
Bourg in spaie, þt nis nouȝt lite,
A swiþe noble toun;
Nasers & maþed,
Carion & vrpaled,
& oche of gret renoun;
Burbagalle, a castel al so,
Costant, petros, & oþer mo,
Bayet & pampiloun,
Ventos in þe grene vale,
Caparre, eustorge, & entale,
Gascoine & bayoun,

22

Toutor, a strong castel,
Landulif & portingal,
Burnam & saragouns,
Granad & satyne,
Costaunce & deine,
Teragon & valouns,
Leride, acoun, & siuile,
Charls wan in a while,
Agabie & vrens,
Quaramelide, gibalderie,
Barbaster, vice, & almarie,
Agabie & sisens.

23

Acoun, þat y spak of ere,
Seyn Iames deciple liþ þere,
Þat hat seyn torquas;
A swiþe fair oliif tre
Beside his toumbe men may se,
Þat springeþ þurch godes grace;
Opon his fest in mid may,
Þer on is front of gret noblay,
Boþe more & lasse;
& who þat sekeþ hem verrament,
At þe day of iuggement,
Schal se godes face.

24

Alle þe londes þat were in spayne,
Wiþ dint of swerd wan charlmain,
Portingale & lauers;
Landuluf & chastel,
Bigairs, bastles, & londes fele,
Moys & nauers.
Alle þe londes he wan ȝern,
Til he com to lucern,
So stout he was & fers,
& tvelmoneþ he it bilay apliȝt,
& noþing win he it miȝt,
For al his dusse-pers.

25

Þo preyd charls to god abone,
Þat he him sent grace sone,
Þe cite for to winne.
Þo fel þe walles adoun riȝtes,
King charls entred wiþ his kniȝtes,
Þurch þat ich ginne;
Charls acurssed þat cite,
& ventos, & caparre, & deneye,
For her dedeli sinne;
Deserd þai were after þan,
Þat neuer seþþen no cristen man,
No durst com þer inne.

26

For charls curssed þo lucern,
Also tite þe toun ganbern,
& schal don euer mo;
& of þe smoc of þat toun,
Mani takeþ þer of pusesoun,
& dyeþ in michel wo:
& þer þe oþer þre cites stode,
Beþ waters red of helle flode,
& fisches ther in al blo;
& who þat wil nouȝt leue me,
In spaine men may þe soþe y-se,
Who þat wil þider go.

27

& while charls was in þat stede,
A fair miracle god for him dede,
Er he gan þennes wende;
Braunches of vines charls sett,
In marche moneþ wiþ outen lett,
As was þe riȝt kende;
& amorwe grapes þai bere,
Red & ripe to kerue þere,
For paners þai gun sende;
And for paners þai crid þo,
ȝete men clepeþ þe cite so,
& schal to þe warldes ende.

28

Clodonius þe first cristen king,
& clotayrs wiþ outen lesing,
King dagabers & pipin,
Won mani tounes in spaine,
Ac þe gode charlmain,
Wan it al wiþ gin:
Alle þe maumetes in spaine were,
Þat were þe sarrazins leue & dere,
King charls & turpin,
Þai destroyd þurch godes miȝt,
Sum þurch miracle & sum þurch fiȝt,
So seyt þe latin.

29

& an image of gret pouste,
Stode on a roche bi þe se,
In þe gilden lond;
His name was salanicodus,
As a man y-schapen he wes,
& held a glaive an hond,
Mahoun maked him wiþ gin,
& dede mani fendes þer in,
As ich vnderstond,
For to susten þe ymage,
& sett him on heiȝe stage,
For no man nold he wond.

30

Þe face of him was turned souþe riȝt,
In her lay the sarrazins founde apliȝt
Of iubiter & mahoun;
Þat when y-born were þe king,
Þat schuld spaine to cristen bring,
Þe ymage schuld falle adoun;
Charls dede þat ymage falle,
& wan in spaine þe cites alle,
Boþe tour & toun;
& wiþ þe tresour þat he wan þere
Mani a chirche he lete arere,
Þat was of gret renoun.

31

Þe first chirche for soþ y-wis,
Was seyn Iames in galis,
Þat he lete arere,
Wiþ an hundred chanouns & her priour,
Of seynt ysador þe confessour,
For to serui þere:
& in aise a chapel,
Of lim & ston y-wrouȝt ful wel,
Of werk riche & dere,
& seyn Iames at burdewes,
& on at tolous, anoþer at anevaus,
& mo as ȝe may here.

32

Charls duelled siker apliȝt,
Þre mones & fourten niȝt,
In bayoun wiþ his ost,
Þer fel a miracle of a kniȝt,
Wiche þat was to deþ y-diȝt,
Þurch þe holy gost;
Sir romain for soþe he hiȝt,
Er he dyd he hadde his riȝt,
Wiþ outen ani bost;
On of his frendes he cleped him to:
“Y schal dye it is so,
Ful wele þou it wost.

33

Mine cloþes þat ichaue,
Þer wiþ þat y be brouȝt in graue,
Wiþ mete & drink & liȝt,
& sel min hors on heiȝeing
Pouer clerkes sauters to sing,
Þer to þat it be diȝt;”
& when he hadde y-seyd þus stille,
Also it was godes wille,
Þan died þe kniȝt,
Þe hors was seld wiþ outen duelinges,
For to hundred schillinges,
& put it vp apliȝt.

34

& at þe nende of þritti niȝt,
To his seketour com þe ded kniȝt,
& seyd in þis maner:
“Mi soule is in heuen blis,
For þe loue of min almis,
Þat y sett here;
& for þou hast at-hold min,
Þritti days ichaue ben in pin,
Þat wel strong were,
Paradis is graunted me,
& in þat pain þou schalt be,
Þat ich was in ere.”

35

Þe ded þus in his way went,
& he awaked verrament,
& wonder hadde apliȝt;
& amorwe his sweuen he told,
To erls & to barouns bold,
To squiers & to kniȝt:
& amonges hem alle,
As þai stoden in þe halle,
Þer com a windes fliȝt,
& fele fendes þt were swift,
& beren him vp in to þe lift,
& held him þere four niȝt.

36

Seriaunce þe bodi souȝt,
Ac þai no miȝt it finde nouȝt,
Four dayes no more.
Fro bayoun he went wiþ his ost,
& þurch nauern wiþ miche bost,
Þe bodi þai founde þore,
Þer þe fendes had let him felle,
& bere his soule in to helle,
To hard paines sore.
So schal eueri sekatour,
Þe dedes gode abigge wel sour,
Þat hye bi-nimeþ þe pore.

37

No[w] late we be of þis þing,
& speke of charles þe king,
Þat michel was of miȝt,
Of his lengþe & his brede,
As þe latin ous sede,
Ichil ȝou rede ariȝt;
Tventi fete he was o lengþe,
& al so of gret strengþe,
& of a stern sight,
Blac of here & rede of face,
Whare he com in ani place,
He was a douhti kniȝt.

38

Four times in þe ȝere,
On his heued he bere,
Þe holy croun of þorn,
At ester, at wissontide,
& at seyn iames day wiþ pride,
& in ȝole as god was born.
& atte þe mete in þe halle,
Among his kniȝtes alle,
A drawe swerd him biforn,
Þis was þe maner ay,
& schal be til domesday,
Of emperour y-corn.

39

& whare he slepe aniȝt,
Wel wise he was & wiȝt,
& douted of tresoun,
An hundred kniȝtes him kept,
Þat non of hem no slept,
Þat were of gret renoun,
& eueri duȝti kniȝt
Held a torche liȝt,
& a naked fauchoun.
Þus king charls lay,
Wiþ his ost mani a dai,
In þe cite of pampiloun.

40

& on a day com tiding,
Vnto charls the king,
Al of a douhti kniȝt,
Was comen to nasers:
Stout he was & fers,
Vernagu he hiȝt;
Of babiloun þe soudan
Þider him sende gan,
Wiþ king charls to fiȝt,
So hard he was to fond,
Þat no dint of brond,
No greued him apliȝt.

41

He hadde tventi men strengþe,
& fourti fet of lengþe,
Þilke panim hede,
& four fet in þe face,
Y-meten in þe place,
& fiften in brede,
His nose was a fot & more,
His browe as brestles wore,
He þat it seiȝe it sede,
He loked loþeliche,
& was swart as piche,
Of him men miȝt adrede.

42

Charls com to nasers
Wiþ his dusse pers,
To se þat painim.
He asked wiþ outen fayl,
Of king charls batayl,
To fiȝt oȝaines him:
Charls wonderd þo,
When he seiȝe him go,
He bi-held him ich alim,
For seþþen he was y-bore,
He no hadde y-sen bifore,
Non þat was so grim.

43

Sir oger þe danais,
A kniȝt ful curtays,
To him first was y-sent;
& at his coming,
Vernagu an heyȝeing,
Vnder his arm him hent,
Y-armed as he was,
He toke him in þe plas,
& to þe castel he went:
Sir oger schamed sore,
Him o-þouȝt þat com þore,
& held him foule y-schent.

44

Reynald de aubeþpine
Was sent to þat sarrazin,
He serued him al so;
& seyd to charlmain,
“Sir, þo þou won spain,
Hadestow non better þo?
So mahoun me ȝiue rest,
Oȝain ten swiche þe best,
To fiȝt ich wold go.”
Sir costentin of rome,
& þerl of nauntes come,
To fiȝt wiþ boþe to.

45

& vernagu bar boþe,
No were þai neuer so wroþe,
To nassers castel,
Vnder aiþer arm on,
As stille as ani ston,
Miȝt þai nouȝt wiþ him mele.
Þo charls sent ten,
Al so he serued his men,
Miȝt no man wiþ him dele.
Charls bi-þouȝt þo,
ȝif he sent mo,
It were him wroþer hele.

46

Roland þe gode kniȝt,
Þo bad leue to fiȝt,
Oȝain þat painim,
King charls seyd, “nay,
Þou no schalt nouȝt bi þis day,
He is to stout & grim.”
So long he him bad,
Þat leue of him he hadde.
Rouland armed him,
& com anon riȝt
In to þe feld, to fiȝt
Oȝain þat sarrazin.

47

& at his coming þare,
Sir vernagu was ware
& tok him vnder his hond,
Out of his sadel he gan him bere,
& on his hors swere
He set roulond:
& rouland smot him so,
Þat vernagu þo
Vnto þe grounde wond.
& when þe cristen seiȝe þis,
Þat vernagu fallen is,
Þai þonked godes sond.

48

Þai lopen opon her stede,
& swerdes out þai brede,
& fiȝt þai gun þo.
Rouland wiþ durindale,
Brewe him miche bale,
& carf his hors ato:
When vernagu was o fot,
He no couþe no better bot,
To rouland he gan go,
In þe heued he smot his stede,
Þat ded to grounde he ȝede,
O fot þan were þai bo.

49

A fot þai tok þe fiȝt,
& vernagu a non riȝt,
His swerd he had y-lore.
Rouland wiþ al his miȝt,
He stired him as a kniȝt,
& yaf him dintes sore.
Til it was ogain þe none,
Þus þai layd opon,
Ay til þai weri wore:
Douk rouland sone he fond,
Þat wiþ no dint of brond,
He slouȝ him neuer more.

50

When it com to þe neue,
Vernagu bad leue,
To resten of þat fiȝt:
Rouland him trewþe ȝaf,
So he most bring a staf,
After his wil y-diȝt;
Vernagu graunted wel
& went to her hostel
When þat was niȝt.
Amorwe wiþ outen fail,
Þai com to þe batayl,
Aiþer as douhti kniȝt.

51

Sir rouland brouȝt a staf
Þat king charls him ȝaf,
Þat was long & newe,
Þe bodi of a ȝong oke,
To ȝif þer-wiþ a stroke,
He was touȝ & trewe.
& wiþ þat gode staf,
Wel mani dintes he ȝaf
Vernagu þe schrewe.
& at þe non apliȝt,
Þai gun anoþer fiȝt,
& stones to gider þrewe.

52

Gode rappes for þe nones,
Þai ȝauen wiþ þe stones,
Þat sete swiþe sore;
Þat helme & heye targe,
Þurch her strokes large,
Þer wiþ þai broken wore.
& vernagu at þat cas,
So sore asleped was,
He no miȝt fiȝt no more:
At rouland leue he toke,
Þat time, so seyt þe boke,
For to slepe þore.

53

Roland ȝaf leue him,
For to slepe wele afin,
& rest him in þat stounde,
& seyd þat he nold,
For þe cite ful of gold
Be þer wiþ y-founde,
Slepeand to slen a kniȝt,
Þei þat he had in fiȝt,
ȝif him deþes wounde.
Þo vernagu lay adoun,
To slepe he was boun,
Þere opon þe grounde.

54

& vernagu rout þore,
As a wild bore,
Þo he on slepe was:
To him rouland gan gon,
& tok þe gretest ston
Þat lay in þat place,
He leyd vnder his heued y-wis
For him þouȝt it lay amis,
To lowe at þat cas.
& vernagu vp stode,
He stard as he were wode,
When he awaked was,

55

Vernagu asked anon,
“Who leyd þis gret ston,
Vnder min heued so?
It no miȝt neuer be,
Bot ȝif he were a kniȝt fre.
Wist ich who it were,
He schuld be me leue & dere,
[OMITTED]
Þei þat he were mi fo.”
Quaþ rouland, sikerly,
“Certes it was y,
For þat þou rot so.

56

& when þo me louest miche,
Now tel me sikerliche,
Whi þou art so hard,
Þat no þing may þe dere,
Knif, no ax, no spere,
No no dint of sward.”
Quaþ vernagu sikerly,
“No man is harder þan y,
Fram þe nauel vp ward,
For-þi y com hider y-wis,
To fiȝt wiþ king charlis,
Wiþ þe hore bard.”

57

Vernagu to rouland sede,
“Al so þi god þe spede,
Whare were þou y-born?”
“In fraunce, bi seynt austin,
King charls cosyn,
Our kinde lord y-corn.
We leueþ opon ihū,
Þat is ful of vertu,
Þat bare þe croun of þorn.
& ȝe leueþ in þe fende,
For-þi wiþ outen ende,
ȝe schul be for lorn.”

58

& when þat vernagu
Y-herd speke of ihū,
He asked wat man he was.
Sir rouland seyd, “he is
Þe king of paradys,
& lord ful of gras,
In a maiden he was bore,
To bigge þat was forlore,
As sonne passeþ þurch þe glas,
& dyed opon þe rode,
For our alder gode,
& nouȝt for his gilt it nas:

59

& suffred woundes fiue,
& ros fram ded to liue,
Þan þridde day;
& fet out adam & eue,
& mo þat were him leue,
Fram helle for soþe to say,
& sitt in trinite,
O god in persones thre;
Swiche is our lay.”
Vernagu seyd þo,
“It no miȝt neuer be so,
Þer of y sigge nay.

60

Hou miȝt it euer be,
Þat he were on & thre?
Tel me now þe skille.”
Rouland þan sede,
“Al so god me spede,
ȝis wiþ a gode wille.
As þe harp has þre þinges,
Wode & soun & strenges,
& mirþe is þer tille,
So is god persones þre,
& holeliche on in vnite,
Al þing to ful-fille.

61

& as þe sonne haþ þinges þre,
Hete & white on to se,
& is ful of liȝt,
So is god in trinite,
Vnite & mageste,
& lord ful of miȝt.”
Quaþ vernagu, “now y se,
Hou he is god in persones þre,
Now ich wot þat riȝt,
Ac hou þat he bicom man,
The lord þat þis world wan,
Þer of no haue y no siȝt.”

62

Quaþ rouland, “he þat ous bouȝt,
& al þing maked of nouȝt,
Wele miȝt he be so hende,
Þat he wald sende his sone,
In a maiden for to wone,
Wiþ outen mannes kende.”
Quaþ vernagu, “saunfayl,
Þer of ichaue gret meruail,
Hou miȝt he fram hir wende,
Hou miȝt he of hir be bore,
Þat was a maiden bi fore,
Y no may nouȝt haue in mende.”

63

Rouland seyd to vernagu,
“Mi lordes fader ihū,
Is so michel of miȝt,
Þat he made sonne & se,
& fisches in þe flod to be,
Boþe daye & niȝt:
Wele may he þan, as y þe er seyd,
Ben y-bore of a maide,
Wiþ outen wem apliȝt.”
Quaþ vernagu, “it may wele be,
Ac hou he dyed y no can nouȝt se,
Tel me now þat riȝt.

64

For i nist neuer no man,
Þat aros after þan,
When þat he ded was,
& ȝif he godes sone were,
He no miȝt nouȝt dye þere:
Tel me now þat cas.”
Quaþ rouland, “y schal tel þe.
His bodi slepe vpon þe tre,
& þe þridde day aras,
His godhed waked euer & ay,
& to helle tok þe way,
& bond satanas.

65

So schul we al arise,
& of þe dome agrise,
Atte day of iuggement,
& answerey for our dede,
Þe gode & þe quede,
Hou we our liif haue spent.”
Quaþ vernagu, “now ichot wel,
Hou he aros ichadel,
& haue in min entent
Ac hou he steyȝe to heuen,
Y no can nouȝt neuen,
No wite verrament.”

66

Þan seyd rouland,
“O vernagu, vnderstand,
Herken now to me.
Þat ich lord þat wiþ his miȝt,
In a maiden a-liȝt,
Y-born for to be,
As þe sonne aros in þe est,
& decended in þe west,
Astow miȝt now se,
Riȝt so dede god almiȝt,
Mounted in to heuen liȝt,
& sit in trinite.”

67

Quaþ vernagu, “now ich wot,
ȝour cristen lawe eueri grot,
Now we wil fiȝt.
Wheþer lawe better be,
Sone we schul y-se,
Long ar it be niȝt.”
Rouland a dint him ȝaf,
Wiþ his gode staf,
Þat he kneled apliȝt,
& vernagu to him smot,
& carf his staf fot hot,
Euen ato ariȝt.

68

Þo rouland kneld adoun,
& maked an orisoun,
To god in heuen liȝt,
& seyd, “lord vnder stond
Y no fiȝt for no lond,
Bot for to saue þi riȝt,
Sende me now miȝt & grace,
Here in þis ich place,
To sle þat foule wiȝt.”
An angel com ful sone,
& seyd “herd is þi bone,
Arise rouland & fiȝt,

69

& sched þe schrewes blod,
For he nas neuer gode,
Bi lond no bi se:
Þei alle prechours aliue,
To cristen wald him schriue,
Gode nold be neuer be.”
When rouland herd þat steuen,
He stirt him vp ful euen,
& fauȝt wiþ hert fre;
Strokes bi sex & seuen,
Togider þis kniȝtes ȝeuen
Þat mani man miȝt y-se.

70

Rouland wiþ outen dueling,
Þurch miȝt of heuen king,
Vernagu he smot,
Þat þe left arm, & þe scheld
Fel forþ in to þe feld,
Fram þat painim fot hot:
His arm þo he had lore,
Swiþe wo him was þer fore
& fast he fauȝt y wot.
He smot rouland on þe croun,
A strok wiþ his fauchoun,
Þat þurch þe helme it bot.

71

No hadde ben þe bacinet,
Þat þe strok wiþ sett,
Rouland hadde ben aqueld.
Þe sarrazin sayd aswiþe,
“Smite ich eft on siþe
Þi liif is bouȝt & seld.”
Rouland answerd, “nay,
Mine worþ þe raþer pay,
Bi god þat al þing weld;”
& wiþ a strok ful large,
He clef þe sarrazins targe,
Þat half fel in þe feld.

72

& at anoþer venov,
Roland smot vernagu,
Þat he fel doun to grounde,
& rouland wiþ durindale
ȝaf him strokes fale,
& his deþes wounde.
Þe paynem crid, “help, mahoun,
& Iubiter of gret renoun,
Þat beþ so michel of mounde,
As ȝe beþ miȝt-ful helpeþ me,
Þat ich miȝt y-venged me
Of þis cristen hounde.”

73

Rouland louȝ for þat cri,
& syd, “mahoun, fikerly,
No may þe help nouȝt:
No Iubiter, no apolin,
No is worþ þe brust of a swin,
In hert no in þouȝt.”
His ventail he gan vn-lace,
& smot of his heued in þe place,
& to charls it brouȝt:
Þo þonked he god in heuen,
& mari wiþ milde steuen,
Þat he so hadde y-wrouȝt.

74

& al þe folk of þe lond,
For onour of roulond,
Þonked god old & ȝong:
& ȝede a procesioun,
Wiþ croice & gomfaynoun,
& salue miri song,
Boþe widowe & wiif in place,
Þus þonked godes grace,
Alle þo þat speke wiþ tong.
To otuel also ȝern,
Þat was a sarrazin stern,
Ful sone þis word sprong.

The Romance of Otuel

1

Herkneþ boþe ȝinge & olde,
Þat willen heren of batailles bolde,
& ȝe wolle a while duelle,
Of bolde batailles ich wole ȝou telle,
Þat was sumtime bitwene
Cristine men & sarrazins kene.

2

Þere was sumtime a king in france,
A douȝty man wiþ spere & launce,
& made sarazins ful tame,
King charles was his name,
& was born in seint denys,
Nouȝt bote a litel fram parys,
& was a wol treu kniȝt,
& meintenede cristendom ariȝt.

3

In his time, a king þer was,
An heþene þat vncristned was,
Þat was king of lumbardie,
& was y-hoten king garsie.
Marsile was his al so,
& manie oþer londes mo.
A swiþe gret lord he was,
In his time non suych þer nas,
On ihū crist ne leuede he nouȝt,
Þat him hadde so dere a-bouȝt.
He leuede al in maumettrie,
& for-sok god & seinte marie.
In alle londes þere he wente,
He slouȝ al þat euere he hente,

Þat wolde on ihū crist bileue,
& tok þe lond to his byheue:
Niȝt & day it was his þout,
To bringe cristendom to nout.

4

In heþenesse þer nas no king,
Þat ne hel[d] of him sum þing,
Or dude him omage or feute.
Suich a miȝty king was he,
Alle þei scholden to him bouwe.
He was lord of londes ynowe,
& ȝit he þouȝte wit maistrie,
Habben al cristendom to gye:
Al cristendom more & lasse,
He þouȝte to maken heþennesse.

5

Whan he wolde hauen a parlement,
Þere com to his comaundement,
To helpen hym wit alle þinges,
Fiftene heþene kinges:
& alle þei were togidere sworn,
Þat cristendom scholde be lorn,
& maden alle here ordenaunce,
To werren uppon þe king of France,
For þei herden alle tidinges,
Þat he was chef of cristene gynges,
& þe king wiste it wel.
Nou schulle ȝe here hou it bifel,

6

Hit was on childermasse day,
Soþ to segge wiþ outen nay,
Þat king charles of sein denys,
Wente him to ward parys.
Hise duzze peres wit him he nam,
& muche poeple to him kam,
& token alle here consail þare,
Þat þei wolden wiþ alle fare,

Into Marsile riden and gon,
& werren þere wiþ godes foon,
& hadden set a certein day,
To wenden þider wiþ outen delay:
Bote ar þei þiderward ferden,
Suiche tydinges þei herden,
Of a sarasin douȝti & good,
Þat a-moeuede al here blod.

7

Þer com a sarazin ful of rage,
Fram king garsie in message,
In to paris þe wei he nam,
& to þe kinges paleis he kam.
Otuwel his name was,
Of no man a-fered he nas,
Into þe paleis þo he cam,
A skwier be þe hon[d] he nam,
& seide: “ich am comen her,
Kyng garsies messager,
To speke wiþ charles, king of þis lond,
& wiþ a kniȝt þat heet Roulond,
& a noþer hatte oliuer,
Kniȝtes holden wiþouten peer:
Þose þre ich biseche þe,
Þat þou telle me whiche þei be.”

8

Þe skwier þouȝte wel by siȝt,
Þat Otuwel was a douȝti kniȝt,
& for he was in message come,
Bi þe hond he haueþ him nome,
& ladde him in to þe halle,
Among þe grete lordes alle,
& þere þei stoden oppon her feet.
He schewede him where þe king seet,

& tauȝte him hou he scholde knowe,
Þere þei seten oppon a rowe,
Roulond & olyuer,
& þe godde kniȝt ogger.

9

Anon as otuwel hadde a siȝt
Of 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]

10

[OMITTED] “Þat þou makest offe þis bost,
Tel me nou ȝef þou wost.”
Quaþ otuwel, “so mote ich þe,
I nelle nouȝt hele for eie of þe.
It was oppon a weddenesdai,
In aueril be-fore þe may,
King garsie þe weie nam,
To þe Cite of rome he cam,
Twenti þousende was þe sawe,
Þat were þare of sarazin lawe:
Corsouse m[i swerde ful] harde fel,
& bot þere Freinche flechs fol wel.”

11

Estuȝt of leggers, a freinshe kniȝt,
He sterte op anon riȝt,
& kypte anon in his hond
A gret muche fir brond,
& to otuwel a strok hadde ment,
& Roulond by-nam him þe dent.

12

Þanne seide charles þe king,
“Ich for bede oppon alle þing,
Þat noman be so wood,
For to don hym oþer þan good,
A kinges messager for he is,
He ne schal habbe non harm, i-wis.”

13

“Sire king,” quaþ otuwel, “be mi blod,
& ani of hem be so wod,
To drawe to me swerd or knif,
Certes he schal lesen his lif.”

14

Þe kinges kniȝtes hadden tene,
Of otuwel wordes kene;
Wiþ þat word anon riȝt,
Op starte a freinsche kniȝt,
Bihinden otuwel he cam,

& be þe hod otuwel nam,
& braid wiþ so gret miȝt,
& braid adon þat heþene kniȝt,
& anon out wiþ a knif,
& wolde haue reued him his lif,
& þat sarazin otuwel,
Was i-armed swiþe wel,
Þat he ne dede him nouȝt bote good,
Ne drouȝ of his bodi no blood.

15

He starte op & was wroþ,
To ligge longe him was loþ,
& Corsouze his brond he drouȝ,
& þe kinges kniȝt he slouȝ,
& amang hem alle he stood,
& lokede as he were wood.
Þe kinges kniȝtes were agramed,
& summe of hem were aschamed,
Þat otuwel in þe halle,
Slouȝ a kniȝt among hem alle,
& bi-gunnen op to stonden,
& þouȝte to leggen on him honden.

16

Otuwel þer of was war,
& in his herte it him bar,
Þat þei nere a-boute no good,
& seide to hem þere he stod;
“Bi þe louerd fire mahoun,
Kniȝtes i rede ȝe sitten a-doun.
For ȝef ani of ȝou so hardi be,
Þat any strok munteþ to me,
Mahoun mi god ich here for-sake
ȝef he sschal euere ordres take,
Of ani oþer bisschopes hond,
Bot of Corsouze mi gode brond.”

17

Þei be-helden otuwel alle,
Kniȝtes & skwieres in þe halle,

Þer nas non þat þere stood,
Þat ne wende otuel were wod,
& euere he held his swerd y-drawe,
& ȝaf nouȝt of hem alle an hawe.
King charles stood vpriȝt,
& comaundede a non riȝt,
Þat no man sscholde be so wod,
To do þe messager nouȝt bote good.

18

Kniȝtes & sweines in þe halle,
Were wol glade þer of alle,
Þat þe king so bad,
For mani of hem was sore adrad,
& þei wiþ drowen hem echone,
& euere stod otuwel al one,
& biheld hem as þei ȝede,
ȝef ani him wolde strok dede.

19

Þanne seide charles þe king:
“Bi god þat made alle þing,
Sarasin, nere þou messager,
Wroþer hele come þou her,
I rede þou ȝeld op þi brond,
& taket out of þin hond.”

20

Quaþ otuwel, þat sarazin,
“Bi mahoun, þat is louerd myn,
I nelle take it out of min hond
To noman of al þi lond,
Þat is þer inne geten & bore,
Þat wind þou hauest ilore.”

21

“Sarasin,” quaþ roulond,
“Tak me þi swerd in myn hond,
& iche wole saue þe bi mi blod,
Sschal noman do þe nouȝt bote good,
& whan þou art redi to fare
For soþe þi swerd sschal be ȝare.”

22

Quaþ otuwel þe sarazin;
“Bi mahoun, þat is louerd min,
Þauȝ ich hadde skwieres twelue,
Ich wole bere myn swerd mi selue.
Holte o roum! ich wolde rede,
& þanne dostou a god dede.”

23

“Sarazin,” quaþ charles þe king,
“Let ben al þi þretning.
Tel me nou alle & some
In what message artou come.”
Otuwel, þat noble kniȝt,
Answerede a non riȝt:
“Hider me sente king garsie,
Spaine is his, an[d] lumbardie,
& manye londes name-couþe,
Þat i ne mai nouȝt nemne wiþ mouþe;
Bi me he sente þe to segge,
Þou sscholdest cristendom a-legge,
& maken þine men in eche toun,
For to leuen on fire mahoun,
& þou & alle þine barons bolde,
Of him ȝe sschulle ȝoure londes holde,
Þanne miȝtou amenden ȝif þou wilt,
Þat þou hauest mahoun agult:
&, certes, bote it so bi-falle,
Garsie wele ȝiue þine londes alle,
To olecent of esclauenye,
Þe kinges sone of Ermenie,
Þat haueþ his .o. douȝter to wif,
Þat he loueþ as his lif;
Þous sschall all þi murþe a-doun,
Bote þou leue on sire mahoun.”

24

Þe duzze pieres answerede þo:
“Certes, while we moun ride & go,
Fraunse sschal he neuere ȝiue,

To noman while we moun liue.
Sire king, his wille nou þou wost,
Let asemblen al þin ost,
& let vs upon garsie wenden,
Alle hise londes for to sschenden;
Of wordes þat he haueþ ispeke,
For soþe we reden you be a-wreke.”

25

“Certes, sire king,” quaþ otuwel,
“Þine freinsche kniȝtes kune ȝelpe wel,
& whan þei beþ to werre ibrouȝt,
Þanne be þei riȝt nouȝt.

26

Þauȝ þou bringe wiþ sscheld & spere
Al þat euere may wepene bere,
To werren vpon [k]ing garsie,
Certes alle þei sscholden deie.
& þou art king, & old kniȝt,
& hauest iloren al þi miȝt,
& in þi ȝinkþe, tak god hede,
Þou nere neuere douȝti of dede.”

27

Þo was þe king was a-gramed,
& alle hise duzze peres asschamed,
Þat otuwel, þat heþene kniȝt,
Tolde of hem alle so liȝt.

28

Roulond bi þe king stood,
& ameuede al his blod,
& seide in wraþþe a non riȝt,
To otuwel þat heþene kniȝt;
“To werren on garsie ȝef we fare,
In bataille, and i mete þe þare,
& i may mete þe ariȝt,
Bi ihū þat is ful of miȝt,
Þou ne sschalt neuere after þat day,
Despice freinchs man, ȝef ich may.”

29

“Ouȝ,” quaþ otuwel & louȝ,
“Wherto makestou it so touȝ,
To þrete me in anoþer lond,
Nam ich [nouȝt] here at þin hond,
ȝef þou hauest wille to fiȝte,
Whan euere þou wolt let þe diȝte,
& þou sschalt finde me redi diȝt,
In þe feld to bide fiȝt.”

30

“Bi god,” quaþ roulond, “ich wolde be ȝare
Whan ich wiste to finde þe þare,
& euele mote he þriue & þe,
Þat ferst failleþ of me & te.”

31

“ȝe leue ȝa,” quaþ otuwel þo,
“Wheþer so failleþ of us two,
Ich wole finde mahoun to borwe,
Ich wile be redi erliche to morwe.”

32

Quaþ roulond, þar he stod on grounde,
“Selpe me gode.” feere ifounde
Riȝt be fore þe kinges Eien,
Þat alle þe kinges kniȝtes seien,
Eiþer oþer his trewþe pliȝte,
Vppon morwen for to fiȝte.

33

King charles stod al stille,
& biheld his gode wille,
& seide, “it is harm, iwis,
Þat þou nost what follaut is;
ȝef þou woldes follaut take,
& þine false godes for sake,
Iche wolle make the, so mote ihc þe,
& tou wille bleue wiþ me,
A riche man in mi lond,
Þat ich wille sikere þe on hond.”

34

Otuwel, þat hardi kniȝt,
Answerde a non riȝt:

“Cristes cors vppon his heued,
Þat me radde such a red,
To forsake mi god mahun;
I nelle nouȝt leue thi false sarmon.”

35

Þauȝ otuwel speke outrage,
For he was comen on message,
King charles þat was heende and god,
Noble soffre him habbe nouȝt bote god,
Bote seide to him a non riȝt:
“Be þou skwier, be þou kniȝt,
Tel me ȝef thi conseil is nome,
Of what linage þou art come.”

36

Otuwel answerde þis;
“A kinges sone ich am, iwis,
Soþ to segge & nouȝt to lye,
Ich am þe kinges cosin garsie,
Fernagu myn eem was,
Þat neuere ouer-comen nas,
Sir roulond þi cosin him slouȝ,
Þere fore wole rise wo inouȝ,
Þere fore ich desire so moche,
To fiȝte wiþ roulond sikerliche.
Ich wille to morewen in þe day,
Awreken his deþ ȝef ich may,
Nou he haueþ iseid his sawe,
Þat he ne mai him nouȝt wiþ drawe,
Þat we schule boþe fiȝten ifeere.
Nou ich wille þat þou it here,
Min Emes deþ ich [wille] a-wreke,
Or myn herte sschal to-breke.”

37

King charle[s] gan to meuen his blod,
Bot naþeles he was hende & good,
& nolde for hise wordes heȝe,
Don otuel no vileinie.

Bote comaundede a non a swein,
Gon sechen him his chaumberlein,
A ȝing kniȝt ant nouȝt old,
Þat was wel norssched & bold;
& seide to him, “sire Reiner,
Tak here þis messeger,
& to his in saueliche him lede,
Þat for no word ne for no dede,
Þat he haueþ don & seid,
Þat non hond be on him leid;
& loke that he be wel idiȝt,
& onoured als a kniȝt.”

38

Þe chamberlein a non dede,
Als þe king him hadde ibede,
& ladde him hom to his in;
& whan he was icomen in,
He tok his leue the chamberlein,
& wente to þe king aȝein.
Littel slep þe king þat niȝt,
For ferd of roulant þat gode kniȝt
Of þe bataille he hadde inome,
Leste he were ouer-come,
For þe king hadde sein fol wel,
Þe kuntenaunse of otuel:
Þe king wiste wel a fin,
Hit was a bold sarazin,
For he sauȝ hit wel by siȝt,
Þo he sauȝ him slen his kniȝt.

39

On morwe þo þe dai sprong,
& þe larke bi-gan hire song,
King charles wente to cherche,
Godes werkes for to werche.
Roulond, his cosin, wiþ him ȝede,
Of godes help þat hadde nede,

Þei wenten a non to here masse,
For here sinnen sscholde be þe lasse.

40

Þo þe masse was iseid,
& þe uestement doun ileid,
Þe king & roulond ifere,
Wente forþ as ȝe moun here,
Riȝt to þe paleis ȝate,
& founde houinge þer ate
Otuel, armed and idiȝt,
Al redi to bide fiȝt.
Þo seide þat sarazin;
“Sire king, where is þi cosin,
Roulond þat his truþe pliȝte,
Þat he wolde wiþ me fiȝte?
He was þo fol heie of mod,
Is he nou ilete blod.”

41

Roulond stod & al herde,
Hou otuel toward him ferde,
& answerde a non riȝt:
“By ihū, þat is fol of miȝt,
Þin heued sschal fele vnder þin hood,
Þat i nam nouȝt laten blood.”

42

“Wel-come be þou,” quaþ otuwel þo,
& turnde his stede & made him go,
& to þe place þo rod he,
Þere þe bataille sscholde be.
Al a-boute þe water ran,
Þer was noþer man ne wimman,
Þat miȝte in riden no gon,
At no stede bote at on;
& þere otuwel in rood,
No lengere he ne a-bood.

43

Roulond þat douȝti kniȝt,
Was fol hasteliche idiȝt,

& his stede he bi-strod,
& no lengere he ne abood,
Er þe dai i-don it were,
Þer þei sschollen fiȝten ifere.
Anon als roulond be-heeld,
Otuwel houede in þe feel[d],
Roulond was so egre to fiȝte,
Þat for al þe world he ne miȝte
Abide to riden in at þe ȝate,
Þere otuwel rod in ate,
He þoute þe nekste weie to ride,
& no lengere he nolde a-bide,
He smot his stede wiþ spores briȝte,
& wiþ help of godes miȝte,
Ouer þe water þe stede swam,
& to londe saf he cam.

44

Anon riȝt als roulond
Hadde ikauȝt þe druþe lond,
Gret enuye was ham be-twene,
Þei riden to-gedire wiþ speres kene,
Þat were steue & nouȝt longe;
& þe kniȝtes were boþ stronge,
& smyten eiþer in oþeres sscheld,
Þat boþe hors fellen in þe feld,
& risen aȝein op fram þe grounde,
& boþe kniȝtes were hole & sounde.

45

Þo þe stedes were risen boþe,
Þe kniȝtes woxen boþ fol wroþe,
& drowen swerdes ate laste,
& eiþer huȝ on oþer faste.
Roulond to otuwel smot
A strok, þat fol sore bot,
He wolde haue smiten otuwel,
& he blenkt swiþe wel,
& roulond smot þe stede broun,

& clef þe heued al adoun,
& þe stede fel to grounde,
Bot otuwel was hol & sounde.

46

Roulond was hende & good of wille,
& houede oppon his stede stille,
To smiten made he semblant non,
Er otuwel was risen & gon.

47

“Roulond,” quaþ otuwel, “what was þe?
Art tou blynd, miȝtou nouȝt se
Wil ich oppon mi stede sat?
Whi sscholde mi stede habbe that?
It hadde be more honour to þe,
For soþe to habbe i-smite me.”

48

“Ouȝ,” quaþ roulond, “blame me nouȝt,
Bisengeme, ihc habbe i-fouȝt.
Otuwel, ich hadde yment,
Þat þou sscholdest haue ifeled þat dent.
Ich hadde wel leuere, so mote ich þe,
Otuwel, habbe ȝouen it þe.”

49

Otuwel was wroþ his stede was slawe,
& wiþ his swerd he bar i-draue,
He smot to roulond wiþ good wille,
Þat [h]ouede oppon his stede stille.
Þat he hadde roulond ment,
& he failede of his dent,
& smot roulondes gode stede,
Þat neuere eft on erþe he ne ȝede.

50

Otuwel þoute on errore deede,
Þo he hadde slawe his stede,
Hou roulond houede stille as ston,
Til he was risen & gon;
& he stod al stille,
& leet roulond risen at wille,
& seide, “roulond, so mote ich þe,
Þat strok ich mente to þe,

& nou it is on þi stede istunt,
Let nou stonde dunt for dunt.”

51

Þo þei sien non oþer bote,
Þei wenten to-gidere al on fote,
& strokes ȝeden bi-twene ham so kene,
Þat þe fer sprong out bi-twene.

52

King charles wiþ hise kniȝtes bolde,
Was come þe bataille to bi-holde,
& bi-souȝte god fol of miȝt,
He sscholde saue roulond his kniȝt.

53

Boþe kniȝtes were gode & stronge,
& fouȝten to gider swiþe longe,
Roulond was a hende kniȝt,
& feled þat otuwel smot ariȝt,
& þat myȝt was in his arm,
& þoute to sauen him fram harm,
& seide, “otuwel, let þi fiȝt,
& leue on ihu ful of miȝt,
& ich wele ben at acent,
Þat þou sschalt wedde belecent,
Þe kinges douȝter, mi nese þat is;
I rede, otuwel, þat þou do þis.”

54

Quaþ otuwel to roulond,
“Whil mi swerd is in min hond,
Al þi preching is for nouȝt,
Hit ne cam neuere in my þout,
Me ne stant nouȝt of þe swich awe,
Þat þou sschalt make me reneie mi lawe,
For to wedde belecent;
So nis nouȝt mi wille iwent.”

55

Þo þei ne miȝte nouȝt acente,
Aȝein to bataille þei wente,
& fouȝten harde to-gidere beie;
Neueron of oþer ne stod eie.

56

Roulond bi-gan to meuen his blood,
Þat otuwel so longe stood,
& for tene vp wiþ þe brond,
Þat he bar in his hond,
& in þe heued he þoute to redde
Otuwel, bote nouȝt he ne spedde.
Otuwel starte o side,
& lette þe swerd bi him glide,
& roulond wiþ þe swerdes end,
Reiȝte Otuwel oppon þe lende;
Als he wolde þe dent fle,
Otuwel fel on kne.

57

Otuwel a-sschamed was,
Þat he knelede oppon þe gras,
& for anger his herte gan sswelle,
& þouȝte roulonde for to quelle;
In the heued he hadde him ment,
Bote roulond bleinte for þe dent,
As swete ihu crist wolde,
Þat roulond þere deie ne sscholde.
Bi side þe heued þe dent wente,
& þe hauberk he to-rente,
Fram þe hepe bon an heiȝ,
Þat alle þe pece out fleiȝ.

58

King charles sauȝ þere he stood,
& was fol dreri in his mood,
& was swiþe sore afriȝt,
To lese roulond his gode kniȝt,
For otuwel smot so heterliche,
Þe king wende sikerliche,
Þat roulond sscholde been ylore,
& was a sori man þere fore.

59

As þe king stod in doute,
He spak to his folk aboute,
& seide to alle þat þere were;

“Lordinges, doth as ich ȝou lere,
Sitte eche man oppon his kne,
& biddeth to god in trinite,
For his grace & for hise miȝtes,
Sende seiȝtnesse bi-twene þo kniȝtes
& ȝiue otuwel wille to day,
For to reneien his lay.”

60

Euerichone þei token here red,
& deden as þe king ham bed,
To ih'u crist þei deden here bone,
& swete ih'u herde ham sone.
A whit coluere þer cam fle,
Þat al þe peple miȝten se,
On otuweles heued he liȝte,
Þoru þe uertu of godes miȝte.
& otuwel, þat douȝti kniȝt,
Wiþ-drouȝ him anoon riȝt
Fram roulond, & stod al stille,
To fiȝte more he ne hadde wille,
& seide, “Roulond þou smitest fol sore,
Wiþ-drau þin hond & smiȝt na more.
ȝef þou wolt holden þat þou me het,
Þat i sschal wedde þat maiden swet,
Þe kinges douȝter, belesent,
For soþe, þan is mi wille went,
ȝef i sschal wedden þat faire may,
Ich wille bileuen oppon þi lay,
& alle myne godes forsake,
& to ȝoure god ich wille take.”

61

Roulond likete þat word fol wel,
& answerede otuwel;
“I þonke it ih'u, ful of miȝt,
Þorou wham þat grace is in þe liȝt,”

62

Otuel caste of his hond
Corsouse, his gode brond,

& roulond his also,
& to-gidere þei gune go.
Eyther for-ȝaf oþer his loþ,
Nas non of hem wiþ oþer wroþ,
Bote clippe & kusse eyþer oþer,
As eiþer hedde been oþeres broþer.

63

King charles rood þidere a non,
& kniȝtes wiþ him many on.
Anon as he þider cam,
Bi þe hon[d] roulond he nam,
& seide, “roulond, for godes Erþe,
Hou is þe and þis man iwurþe?
So harde strokes as ȝe habben ȝiue,
Hit is wunder þat ȝe liue.”

64

“Sire,” quaþ roulond, “we beþ al sounde,
Noþer of vs ne haueth wounde.
Otuwel haueþ his conseil nome,
Þat he wile cristene by-come,
& ich habbe granted bi ȝoure acent,
Þat he sschal wedde belecent.”

65

“Certes,” quaþ charles þo,
“Nou þou wolt þat it be so,
I grante wel þat it so be,
For whi þat he wille dwelle wiþ me.
Þanne hadde ich þe & oliuer,
Otuwel, & gode ogger,
In all þe world in lenkþe & brede,
Þer nis king þat nolde me drede.”

66

Þe king took otuwel a non,
& to his paleis made him gon,
& makeden murþe & meloudie,
Of alle maner of menestrausie,
For þe miracle þat was wrouȝt,
Þat otuwel hadde iturnd his þouȝt.

67

On moruen þo þe day was briȝt,
Þei ladden to churche þat noble kniȝt,
Bisschop turpin was bisschop þo,
He follede him þat day & nammo.

68

Þo otuwel hadde follauȝt nome,
& to þe kingges pees was come,
Þe king beed him his douȝter a non,
& feire londes mani on.

69

Otuwel to þe king saide,
“Sire, keep me wel þat maide,
For soþe ich nele hire neuere wedde,
No neuere wiþ hire go to bedde,
Er þi werre to þe ende be brouȝt,
& sum what of þi wille wrouȝt,
Whan king garsie is slawe or take,
Þanne is time mariage to make.”

70

Quaþ king charles to otuwel;
“Nou i se þou louest me wel,
& ȝef i leue, so mote I þe,
Þou ne sschalt nouȝt lese þi loue on me.”

71

Þo leet þe king asemblen a non,
Alle hise duzze peres echon.
“Lordinges,” he seide, “what is ȝoure red,
King garsie seiþ, i sschal be ded,
& as ȝe habbeþ iherd segge,
He þenkeþ cristendam to legge,
Wheþer wole we wenden oppon him anon,
Oþer abide til winter be gon?”
Þe duzze peres acentenden þer to,
To bide til winter were i-do,
& alle winter þe king of Fraunce,
Lette maken his purueianse.
Al þat winter at hom he bod,
& in somer to werre he rod.

Lordinges, boþe ȝinge & olde,
Her[k]neþ as we formest tolde,
Hou þe werre was fol hyȝe,
Bitwene king charles & king garsie.
Anon as winter was ygon,
Þe king a semblede his host a non,
& mochel peple cam to his hond
Out of mani diuerse lond.
Aueril was comen an winter gon,
& charles tok þe weie a non,
& drouȝ him to ward lumbardie,
To werren oppon king garsie.
Þere was set wiþ outen faille
Certein day of bataille.

72

Anoon as charles was icome,
Niȝ honde þar þe bataille was nome,
In a mede a non riȝt
Þe kinges pauilons were ipiȝt,
Vnder an hul besides a riuere,
& bi-fel as ȝe moun here.
Fol niȝ þe water þe king lay,
Of bataille for to a-bide his day,
& vppon þat oþer side,
He miȝte seen hise enemis ride,
& þere nas brugge ne forde non,
Þat man miȝte ouer riden ne gon.

73

King charles þat gode kniȝt,
Tok carpenters a non riȝt,
& lette make a brugge a non,
Þat men miȝten ouer gon,

74

Þo þe brugge was al ȝare,
Þat men miȝten ouer fare.
Hit bitidde vppon a day,
Wil charles in his bed lay,

Þat roulond an[d] oliuer,
& þe gode kniȝt oger,
Ouer þe brugge þei wenten ifeere,
Auntres for to sen & here.
& þo þei ouer passed were,
Such auntres þei funden þere,
For al þe good vnder sonne,
Þei nolde habben þe gamen bi-gonne.

75

Of garsies oft foure heþene kinges,
Wenten for to here tidinges,
For alle cas þat miȝte bitide,
Wel i-armed bataille to bide.
Here foure names ȝe moun wite,
As we finden in romaunse write,

76

Turabeles hatte þe to king,
A stout sarazin, wiþ-outen lesing;

77

Þat oþer balsamun het,
A werse man ȝede non on fet;

78

Astaward was þe þriddes name,
He louede werre & hatede game;

79

Þe ferþe king hiȝte Clarel,
Þat neuere ȝite ne dede wel.
As þei riden alle yfere,
Þat on seide as ȝe moun here;
“Mahoun leeue ous ȝit abide,
In to Fraunce þat we moun ride,
& ich miȝte roulond mete,
Al wiþ wraþþe ich wolde him grete:
Þat traitour he slouȝ mi broþer,
Ne gete ich neue[r] eft such a noþer.”

80

Roulonde herde & oliuer,
& þe gode kniȝt ogger,
Hou þei speken hare wordes hiȝe,

& þratten roulond to die;
& roulond was so nyȝ,
Þat alle foure kinges he syȝ.

81

“Felawes,” quaþ rouland a non,
“Ich am war of oure fon,
Þei beþ foure, And we bote þre,
Daþeit habbe þat hem fle;
Nou we habben fonnden game,
Gawe to hem a godesname!”

82

Anon as clarel ham syȝ,
He seide, “oure enemys beþ nyȝ,
Ich se bi here cuntenaunse,
Þei beþ cristene men of fraunce.
Charles ost liþ here bi-side,
In pauilons bataille to bide,
& þese beþ of hise men, i-wis,
Þerfore mi reed is þis,
Þat we hasteliche to ham ride,
& loke wheþer þei wole abide.”

83

Wiþ þat word þe kinges a non,
Touchede here stedes & made hem gon,
& toward þe cristene kniȝtes þei riden,
& þei douȝtiliche a-biden.

84

Astaward wiþ roulond mette,
Nouȝt he ne spak, ne him ne grette,
Bot smot him wiþ his spere anon.
Þorou þe sscheld he made hit gon.
& roulondes spere, y-wis,
Was wel betere than was his,
To astawardes herte hit ȝede,
& caste him doun of his stede,
“Aris,” quaþ roulond, “& tak þe bet,
At this time þou art i-let.”

85

Curabeles no lengere ne a-bood,
To god ogger a non he rod;
Ogger was a strong kniȝt,
& rod to him wiþ gret miȝt,
& bar a-don hors & pak,
& þe sarazins nekke to-brak.

86

Balsamum & oliuer,
Eyþer neiȝede oþer ner;
Þo balsamum bi-gan to ride,
Oliuer nolde no lengere a-bide;
He pingde his stede wiþ spores kene,
& smot a strok þat was sene,
He ne miȝte þo no bette do,
Bote gurde þe nekkebon otwo.

87

Þus roulond & oliuer,
& þe gode kniȝt ogger,
Slouwen þe heþene kinges þre,
& ȝit nolde nouȝt clarel fle:
To þe duk roulond he rood,
& roulond his strok a-bod.
For wraþþe hise felaus were islein,
He rood to roulond wiþ gret mayn,
& bar a spere greet & long;
& the sarazin was strong,
& in the sadel sat faste,
& roulond to grounde he kaste.
Wiþ þe fal þe steede a noon,
To-barst þat o sschanke bon,
Roulond vppon his feet stood,
& ne hadde nouȝt bote good.

88

Ogger sauȝ fol wel þo,
Þat roulondes hors was a go,
Ogger þat was douȝti of dede,
Smot doun clarel of his stede.
Oliuer tok þe stede a non,

& to roulond he gan gon.
“Roulond, haue þis,” quaþ oliuer,
“Þis þe sente good ogger,
& clarel he haueþ to grounde iþrowe,
For he brouȝte þe so lowe.”

89

Rouland þat hadde his stede ilore,
Þonkede hem boþe þer fore,
& wos þe gladdeste man vnder sonne,
Þat he hadde an hors i-wonne.

90

Clarel vppon his feet stood,
& fauȝt as he were wood,
On none manner he nolde fle,
Bot fauȝt aȝein hem alle thre.

91

Þe þre kniȝtes were fol stronge,
He ne miȝte nouȝt dure aȝein ham longe,
& seide to hem alle þre,
“Lordinges, let me o liue be:
To ȝou it were lutel honour,
To sle me þat nabbe no socour.”
To fiȝte more he for-sook,
& roulond his swerd he tok;
Roulond was hende & nouȝt forsok,
& of clarel his swerd he tok.

92

“King clarel,” quaþ ogger,
“Worþ vp bi-hinden me her.”
Þo was king clarel glad,
For to do þat ogger bad,
& was staleworþe & liȝt,
& lep vp a non riȝt.
Þo wenten þei forþ wiþ-outen targing,
& þoute presente charles þe king,
Wiþ clarel þat þei hadden i-nome,
& hopeden to ben welcome.
& of here weie þei were let,
& swiþe harde þei were met:

Þei sien of garsies men a feerd,
Boþe wiþ spere & wiþ swerd,
Bitwen hem & þe pauiloun,
Þere þei sscholden wenden a-doun,
Þei ne miȝte skapen in neuere a side,
Þoru out hem þei mosten ride.

93

“Felawes,” quaþ ogger þo,
To roulond & oliuer bo,
“Ich wene er we hom come,
Clarel ous worþ bynome;
Lordinges, what is nou ȝoure red,
Wole we smiten of his hed?”

94

Quaþ roulond, “so mote ich þe,
At þat red nel ich nouȝt be.”
‘No ich noþer,” quat oliuer,
“Bi þe louerd sein Richer,
On liue i rede we leten him go,
& ne do we him nammore wo.
Such cas may fallen in sum neede,
He mai quiten vs oure mede.”

95

“Bi god,” quaþ ogger, “þat is soþ,
& where he do, or he ne doþ,
Hit where sschame to ous, iwis,
To sslen a man þat ȝolden him is:
I rede we leten him gon his wey,
For we moten tenden to a noþer pley.”

96

Alle þre þei were at on,
& leten clarel on liue gon.
Clarel nolde no lengere a-bide,
He ne askede non hors onne to ride,
Bote on fote dede him go,
& leuede hem þare in muchel wo.

97

“Nou, lordinges,” quaþ ogger
To Roulond & to oliuer,

“Ich wole triste to my sswerd,
& fonde forto passe þis ferd.
Ich hope, þoru help of godes miȝt,
To se mi lord charles þis niȝt.
ȝef ani sarazin wiþ eie,
Comeþ to lette me of mi weie,
Selp me god & þis day,
He sschal abugge, ȝef ich may.”

98

“Nou,” quaþ roulond, þat douȝti kniȝt,
“& ich wille helpe þe bi mi miȝt;
I nele to day bi sein martin,
ȝilde me to no sarazin.”

99

Quaþ oliuer, “so mote ich þe,
In mani peril ich habbe ibe,
& yef ich faille at þis nede,
God ne lete me neuere eft spede;
I nele, ȝef god halt me sound,
To day ȝelde me to non hound.”

100

Þei markeden hem alle þre,
To him þat þolede deþ on tre,
& no lengere þei ne abiden,
Anon in to þe ferde þei riden.

101

A sarazin wiþ roulond mette,
& of his weie roulond lette;
He cam out of al þe here,
& bar to roulond a gret spere:
A bold kniȝt þat hatte byoun,
An[d] roulond bar him a-doun.

102

Oliuer, þat was his broþer,
He mette wiþ a noþer,
A douȝti kniȝt, an heþene man,
A strong þef þat heet bassan.
Oliuer was horsed wel,
& bare a spere kene & fel,

& smot him riȝt vnder þe sscheld,
Þat þere he lay amidde þe feld.

103

& þe gode kniȝt ogger,
Mette wiþ on, þat heet moter,
& wolde him habbe doun i-bore,
& ogger was wroþ þar-fore,
& smot þe sarazin so sore,
Þat he ne spak neuere more.

104

Oliuer, ogger, & Roulond,
Among þe sarazins stureden here hond,
Þoru help of god þat is a-boue,
Þat ham hadde þat grace i-ȝoue.
Þorou þe ferd as þei Riden,
Alle þat here strokes a-biden,
Þei were maimed for euere more.
Þe douȝti kniȝtes þei smiten so sore,
Þat wiþ-inne a litel stounde,
Þei felden mani on to grounde.

105

Þo cam a soudan, stout & firs,
On of garsies duzze peers,
Þat hatte karmel of tabarie;
Oppon þe Sarasins he gan crie,
“Recreiede kniȝtes, whi nele ȝe fiȝte,
Traitours, þeues, where [is] ȝoure miȝte?
It is sschame bi god mahon,
Þat oure folk goon þus a doun.”

106

Wiþ þis word, carmel a non
Pingde his stede & made him gon,
& rood to ogger in þat hete,
& þoute he sscholde his lif for-lete;
& was strong, & ful of tene,
& smot sore, & þat was sene.
He smot ogger in þe sscheld,
Þat ogger lay amidde þe feld,

Sore he fel oppon þe grounde,
& hadde a fol luþer wonde.

107

Þe duk roulond þat seyȝ,
For wraþþe he was wod wel nyȝ,
& for wraþþe smot him so sore,
Þat he ne spak neuere eft more.

108

Þo cam anwe of nubie,
On of kinges kniȝtes garsie,
& felde oliuer to grounde,
Bote he ne ȝaf him neuere a wounde.

109

Roulond was fol wroþ wiþ alle,
Þo he sauȝ oliuer falle,
& anawe of nubie he smot,
Þat neuere eft crouste he ne bot.

110

Oliuer ros ap fram þe grounde,
Al hol wiþ-outen wonde,
& a non his stede he nam,
& to roulond sone he cam.

111

Þo was roulond fol fawe,
Þat oliuer was nouȝt isslauwe,
Þo þei were to-gidere imet.
Þo were þei harde biset,
Amang sarasins þat were kene,
& þei smiten sore for tene.

112

Whil roulond fauȝt & oliuer,
Heuere stode þe gode ogger,
& hadde lorn his gode stede,
& his wounde gan faste blede;
& ȝit he fauȝt þere he stod,
& leide on as he were wod.

113

Whil ogger, þat douȝti kniȝt,
Aȝenes sarazins stod in fiȝt,
Oppon a stede Clarel come driue,
Þat ogger halp to sauen o liue,

Þorou cunseil of roulond & oliuer.
& a non he knuȝ ogger,
“Ogger,” he seide, “hit is my red,
ȝilte to me or þou art ded;
Þou holpe to saue mi lif a day,
Ich wole sauen þin, ȝef I may.”

114

Ogger sauȝ wel wiþ his Eye
Þat he was in point to deye,
& to clarel he gan gon,
& tok him his swerd a non.

115

Clarel nas no wedded man,
Clarel hadde a fair lemman,
Þat was hoten aufanye,
& was born in Ermenie.

116

Clarel, anon riȝtes,
Clepede to him two kniȝtes,
& seide to hem anon;
“To mi lemman ȝe schulle gon,
& segge þat ich sente hire þis kniȝt,
& þat his wounde be heled ariȝt;
& god hede to him nome,
To sauen him til mi to-come.”

117

Þe kniȝtes deden as he hem bad,
To his lemman he was lad,
Þat was hoten aufanye,
Þat was kinges douȝter garsie,
& ȝo was glad of þat present,
To do clareles comaundement.
Roulond & oliuer fouȝten,
Þat of here liues nouȝt ne rouȝten.
Þei hadden fouȝten ouer myȝte,
Þei ne miȝte no lengere dure to fiȝte,
An[d] a non turnden here steeden,
& flowen for þei ne myȝten nouȝt speden.

118

To otuwel it was told,
Þat roulond þat was bold,
Oliuer & ogger bo,
Were ouer þe water go.

119

Otuwel a non riȝtes,
Leet armen him, & alle hise kniȝtes;
Þo he was armed & wel i-diȝt,
He wente to þe king a non riȝt,
& seide, “sire, i dwelle to longe,
Roulond, oliuer, an ogger þe stronge,
Oue[r] þe water alle þre,
Beþ went for envie of me,
To loke wher þei miȝten spede,
To don any douȝti deede,
Among þe sarazins bolde:
& i sscholde be couward hoolde,
Þer fore i nele no lengere abide;
To sechen hem ich wole ride.
Þauȝ þei habben envie to me,
Ich wille for þe loue of þe,
Fonden whoþer i miȝte comen,
To helpen hem ar þei weren inomen.
& ȝif hem any harm bytit,
Let ham witen hare oune wit.”

120

Quaþ þe king, “par charite,
Otuwel, ich biseche þe,
For godes loue hiȝe þe bliue,
& fonde to sauen hem o liue,
Er þei be slawe or nome,
& þe sschal sone socour come.”

121

Otuwel no lengere ne abood,
Anon his stede he bi-strood,
& alle hise kniȝtes bi his side,
& toward þe ferd he gan to ride.

122

A non as otuwel was goon,
Þe king leet diȝte his host a non,
After otuwel to wende,
As a god king & hende.

123

As otuwel bi-gan to ride,
He lokede a-bouten in eche side,
& he sauȝ ate laste,
Where Roulond fleyȝ, & oliuer faste.
Otuwel touchede his stedes side,
& aȝein hem he gan ride,
& seide, “turneþ aȝein a non,
& helpeþ to wreke ȝou on ȝoure fon;
Þei sschulle abugge, so mote ich þe,
Þat makeþ ȝou so faste fle.”

124

Þo þei herden otuwel speken,
Þat þei sscholden ben a-wreken,
Þo were þei ferchs to fiȝte,
& tournden aȝein & were fol liȝte.

125

“Lordinges,” quaþ otuwel þo,
“Whuder is god ogger go?”
& þei answereden, sikinge sore,
“For soþe, we ne sien him nouȝt ȝore,
We ne witen where he is by-come,
Wheþer he is islawe oþer nome.”

126

“Allas! allas!” quaþ otuwel,
“Þis tiding likeþ me nout wel;
Sire charles, my lord þe king,
Wole be sori for þis tiding.
For godes loue, hie we bliue,
& loke we whoþer ogger be a liue.”

Otuwel & oliuer,
& Roulond þat douȝti bacheler,
Wiþ a feir compaignye,
Þei bigunnen for to hie,

Toward king garsies host,
For to a-baten of hare bost.

127

Þere was a sarazin strong,
Þat bar a brod swerd & a long,
& was hoten encumbrer,
& bigan to neiȝen hem ner,
Oppon a muche blak stede;
& otuwel took of him hede,
& of his armes hadde a siȝt,
& knuȝ him a non riȝt:
& no lengere he ne abod,
Otuwel to him rood,
& bar him doun hors & man,
Þus otuwel gamen bi-gan.

128

Estuȝt of legers, a noble kniȝt,
Þat wiþ otuwel cam to fiȝt,
Bar a spere of tre, fol fin,
& smot a bold sarazin,
In to þe bodi þoru þe sscheld,
& þere he lay det in þe feld.
Oliuer ho slouȝ a noþer,
& þe ferþe roulond his broþer.

129

Þo þe freinche kniȝtes seien,
Þe sarasins fallen wiþ hare eien,
Þei nolden þo no lengere abide,
Þei smiten to in Eche side,
& felden sarazins faste,
& þei flowen ate laste.

130

King clarel made hem torne aȝein,
Oppon cristene men to lein,
& he leide on faste,
& þe þef ate laste,
Slou dromer of alemaine;
Þat rue fol sore þe king charlemaine

131

Erpater king of ynde was,
He cam wiþ a mase of bras,
& otuwel on þe helm he reiȝte,
So harde þat al þe heued to-queiȝte.

132

Quaþ otuwel, “so mote y þe,
Ich ne þoute nauȝt boruwe þat strok of þe;
Bi min heued vnder myn hat,
I nele nouȝt longe ouwe þe þat.’
Otuwel, wiþ a fauchoun,
Cleef him al þe heued a-doun,
& he fil vnder his horse feet.
Quaþ otuwel, “þat Ich þe bi-heet.”

133

Þo was otuwel fol of mood,
& fauȝt as he were wood.
Al þe kinges ost a non,
Foleuweden otuwel Echon,
Roulond & oliuer,
& maden a foul larder.
Þe kniȝtes leiden on so faste.
Þe sarazins flouwen ate laste.

134

Þo neiȝede it toward eue,
Þo moste þe ost bileue,
& dwellen þere al þat niȝt,
Til on morwe þe dai was briȝt.
Þo þe ost was wiþ drawe,
To resten hem, as is þe lawe,
King clarel kam in fourme of pees,
Wiþ tweie felawes, mo ne lees,
Toward charles ost, þe king,
For to wyten a tiding:
& otuwel aȝein him wente,
To wite who him þidere sente.

135

Þanne seide king clarel,
To þe douȝti otuwel,

“Kniȝt,” he seide, “so mote þou þe,
Tel me what þi name be,
Þou art so douȝti man of dede,
& mani a kniȝt hauest maked blede,
Ich wolde fol fain bi myn Eye,
Bringe þi name to þe king garsie.”

136

“Bi god, felawe,” quaþ otuwel,
“Er þis þou kneuwe my name fol wel,
So god sschilde me fram sschame,
Otuel is my cristine name:
Mahun ich habbe for sake,
& to ih'u ich habbe me take.”

137

“Allas!” quaþ clarel, “whi destou so?
So wrecheliche hauestou do.
ȝit i rede þou turne þi mood,
& leef on mahoun, ore þou art wod,
& ich wole pese, ȝef þou wilt,
Þat þou hauest garsie a-gult.”
“Fiȝ,” quaþ otuel þo,
“On mahoun & on garsie bo.
Bi him þat maude adam & eue,
Y nele neuere oppon ȝou leue.
Bi ih'u, þat is fol of miȝt,
& ich may mete him ariȝt,
Þere sschal no sarazin skape oliue,
Þat ich may hente, so mote ich þriue.”

138

“Otuwel,” quaþ clarel þo,
“Were we sumware, bitwene vs two,
Bi mahoun, þat ich onne bileue,
Oppon þi bodi ich wolde preue,
Þat mahoun may mo miracles make,
Þan he þat þou art to itake:
He nis nouȝt half, be mi croun,
So miȝty, as is sire mahoun.”

100

139

Quaþ otuwel, “bi godes miȝte,
Clarel, mi truþe ich þe pliȝte,
Whan euere þou wolt, hit schal be,
Euele mote he þriue þat fle.”

140

Quaþ clarel, a non riȝt:
“Bi mahoun, þat is fol of miȝt,
Woltou sikere me on hond,
Þat no man of king charles lond,
Schal do me no vileynie,
By þe deaþ þat isschal deye,
Mi conseil is a non inome,
To morue erliche ich wille come.”

141

Quaþ otuwel, “ne doute þe nouȝt.
Bi god, þat al þe world haueþ wrouȝt,
& þe deþ þat ischal deie,
Þou ne sschalt hente no vileinie,
Of no man of king charles lond,
Bote riȝt of myn oune hond:
Bi him, þat made leef & bouȝ,
Þer offe þe sschall þinken ynouȝ.”
Quaþ clarel, “þo do þi best,
To-morwe þou sschalt finde me prest.”

142

Þus þe were þere boþe at on,
Er þei wolden o twinne gon.
Eyþer oþer his treweþe pliȝte
Oppon Morwen for to fiȝte.

143

On moruwen þo þe day sprong,
Clarel þe king þouȝte long
To þe pauiloun til he cam,
To holde þe day, þat he nam:
Oppon a stede wel idiȝt
He cam fol redi to bide fiȝt.

144

King charles wiþ hise kniȝtes bolde,
Comen out clarel to bi-holde,

101

Hou he com al redi diȝt,
Boldeliche to bide fiȝt.

145

Clarel was bold on his bond,
For [O]tuwel sikerede him on hond,
Þat no man of flechs & blood,
Ne sscholde doon him nouȝt bote good,
Bot hem selue tweien fiȝte,
& habbe þe maistrie who so miȝte.
Þo was clarel fol trist,
For to segge what him lust.

146

King charles was an old man,
& clarel hede þer offe nam,
& seide, “charles, þou art old,
Who made þe nou so bold,
To werren oppon king garsie,
Þat is cheef of al painie?
Al paynime he haued in wold,
Þou dotest, for þou art so hold.”

147

King charles waryþede anon riȝt,
Þat clarel tolde of him so liȝt,
& hadde iment þo fol wel,
To habben ifouȝten wiþ clarel:
& bad fetten his armure briȝt,
& wolde armen him a non riȝt;
& seide in wraþþe, “by godes miȝte,
Ich mi self wole wiþ him fiȝte.”

148

Roulond bi þe king stood,
& bi-gan to meuen his mood,
& sede to þe king a non,
“Þou hauest, sire king, mani on,
Gode douȝti kniȝtes of deede,
To fiȝte þi self þou ne hauest no nede.”

149

“God sschilde, sire,” quaþ oliuer,
“Hit sscholde springe fer or ner,

102

To putte þin oune bodi to fiȝt,
& hauest so mani a douȝti kniȝt.”

150

King charles swor his oþ,
& bi-gan to wexe wroþ,
& seide, “for ouȝt þat man may speke,
Miself, ich wile ben on him wreke.”

151

“A! sire,” quaþ otuwel þo,
“For godes loue sei nouȝt so,
Ich & he beþ truþe pliȝte,
Þat we sschole to-gidere fiȝte,
& ich wole telle þe, wiþ oute faille,
Where fore we habbe taken bataille.

152

He wolde habbe maked me ȝusterday,
To habbe reneied my lay,
& seide, þat ich was ilore
& god nas nouȝt of marie bore:
& seide, algate he wolde preue,
Þat ich am in mis beleue.
Þere-fore he profreþ him to fiȝt,
To wite wheþer is more of miȝt,
Ih'u, þat is louerd min,
Or mahoun & apolyn.
Þous we habbeþ þe bataille inome,
& boþe we beþ iswore to come.”

153

Quaþ þe king charles þo,
“Otuwel, whan it is so,
Tak þe bataille a godes name,
& ih'u schilde þe fram sschame!”
Otuwel, þat noble kniȝt,
Lette armen him a non riȝt,
& his gode stede bistrod,
& no lengere he ne abood,
Bote to þe stede he rood fol riȝt,
Þere clarel houede to bide fiȝt.

103

154

Anon as otuwel was icome
Here conseil was a non inome,
No lengere þei ne abiden,
Anon riȝt togidere þei riden,
Noon oþer nas ham bitwene,
Bote gode stronge speres & kene.
Nas neuer noþer of oþer agast,
& eiþer sat in his sadel fast,
Þat boþe stedes ȝeden to grounde,
& þe kniȝtes weren al sounde;
& boþe stedes wenten forþ,
Þat on souþ, þat oþer norþ;
Þe kniȝte on fote to-gidere ȝede,
An drowen hare swerdes gode at nede,
Ne sparede þei nouȝt þe swerdes egge;
Eyþer on oþer bi-gan to legge.

155

Þei were boþe swiþe stronge,
& fouȝten to-gidere swiþe longe.
King clarel was wel neȝ wood,
Þat otuwel so longe stood:
In gret wraþþe otuwel he smot,
& his swerd felliche bot,
& þau þe swerd [nere] neuere so good,
Þe gode helm it wiþ-stood.
Bote otuwel astoneied was,
Þere he stood vp on þe gras.

156

Quaþ otuwel, “so mote ich go,
He ne louede me nouȝt, þat smot me so,
Ich warne þe wel, so mote ich þe,
Þou sschalt habbe as good of me.”

157

Otuwel, for wraþþe, a non
Areiȝte him on þe cheke bon;
Al þe fel of þat was þare,
& made his teþ al bare.

104

158

Þo otuwel sauȝ is cheke bon,
He ȝaf clarel a skorn a non,
& seide, “clarel, so mote þou þe,
Whi scheuwestou þe teþ to me,
I nam no toþ drawere,
Þou ne sest me no cheine bere.”

159

Clarel felede him wounded sore,
& was maimed for euere more,
An smot to otuwel wiþ al his miȝt;
& otuwel, þat douȝti kniȝt,
Wiþ his swerd kepte þe dent,
Þat clarel him hadde iment,
& yit þe dent glood adoun,
& smot otuwel oppon þe croun.

160

Quaþ otuwel, “bi godes ore,
Sarazin þou smitest fol sore,
Suþen þi berd was ischaue
Þou art woxen a strong knaue.”

161

Otuwel smot clarel þo,
O strok & nammo,
Þat neuer eft word he ne spak,
& so otuwel his tene wrak.

162

Þo was charles glad ynouȝ,
Þat otuwel king clarel slouȝt,
& ȝaf otuwel, þat douȝti kniȝt,
A god Erldam þat selue niȝt.
Al þat in þe ost was,
Maden murþe & solas,
Þat otuwel hadde so bigunne,
& hadde so þe maistri wonne;
Al þat miȝt ouer al þe ost,
Þei maden al þer ioye most.

163

Þer cam a messager & browȝte tiding,
To garsie þat riche king,

105

Þat otuwel, his cosin in lawe,
Hadde king clarel i-slawe.

164

Þo garsie it vnder-ȝat,
He was swiþe sori for þat.
& for wraþþe þere he stood,
Corsede hise godes, as he were wood,
& seide, “allas & walawo!
Nou is gode clarel go.
Certes myn herte it wile to-breke,
Bote ich mowe clarel a-wreke.”

165

Þo lette garsie asemlen a non,
Alle hise sarazine echon,
& þouȝte þoru out alle þing
To ben a-wreken on charles king,
& on his cosin otuwel;
& on him self þe wreche fel.

166

King charles herde be a spye,
Þat garsie þratte him to die,
& he a-semblede hise kniȝtes echon,
& sede to hem alle a non,
“Lordinges, garsie þinkeþ to ride,
For soþe i nele no lengere a bide.”
Þe king armede him a non,
& alle hise kniȝtes echon,
Þe king gurde him wiþ his swerd,
& wente him self wiþ his ferd.

167

Þe king cam stilleliche wiþ his ost,
& garsie cam wiþ gret bost,
Þo þe ostes neiȝeden nieȝ,
Þat eiþer ost oþer sieȝ,
Out of garsies ost cam ride,
A turkein þat was ful of prude;

168

Roulond was good & hende,
& aȝenes him gan wende,

106

Þe tourkein no lengere nabod,
To roulond a non he rood,
& gurde roulond wiþ a spere,
Þat wel couþe a strok bere;
& as douȝti as he was,
His o stirop he las.

169

Roulond was a-schamed þarfore,
Þat he hadde his stirop lore,
& wiþ dorendal, þat was good,
He smot þe tourkein oppon þe hood,
& he sey doun of his stede;
So rowlond quitte him his mede.
Quaþ roulond, “þat ich þe biheet,
Þou nult na more stenden on þi feet;
Min o stirop þou madest me tine,
Nou hauestou lose boþe þine.”

170

Þer cam a noþer stout sarazin,
Þat was armed wel a fin,
Þat hiȝte myafle of bagounde,
& wiþ a litel stounde
He made his stede swiþe to goon,
& smot oliuer a noon
Þorou out al his armure briȝt,
He woundede sore þat gode kniȝt.

171

Roulond sauȝ be contenaunse,
His broþer was hurt wiþ þe launce;
His wardecors a non he fond,
& tok a spere out of his hond,
& made his hors make a sturt,
To him þat hadde his broþer hurt;
& touchede him wiþ þe speres ord,
Þat neuere eft he ne spak word;
& tok myafles stede a non,
& sette oliuer þer on.

107

172

Þere was a noble sarazin,
A king þat heet galatyn,
& cam wiþ a compainie,
& bigan faste to hie.
Otuwel was war of þat,
Oppon his stede þere he sat,
Hou king galatin cam wiþ wille,
Cristene men for to spille.
Wiþ þe spores þe stede he nam,
To galatyn þe king he kam.
Þorou þe bodi he him bar,
& bad he scholde eft be war
Of such a strok, whan it kam.
Non oþer hede of him he ne nam,
Bote rood forþ oppon his stede,
& leet þe sarazin ligge & blede.

173

Þo smiten þo ostes to-gidere a non,
& fouȝten faste & good won:
& to-daschsten many a scheld,
Mani a bodi lay in þe feld.

174

Þo cam ouer þe doune ride,
An heþene king, fol of prude,
& browȝte wiþ him al ferche þo,
A þousende sarazins & mo,
& fouȝten faste a good stounde,
& felden cristene men to grounde.

175

A douȝti bacheler cam ride,
Oppon king charles side,
A ȝong kniȝt, þat sprong furst berd,
Of no man he nas aferd;
Fiue hundred man wiþ him he brouȝte,
Þat of hare lif litel þei rouȝte:
Nas non twenti winter old,
& echon was douȝti man & bold.

108

He hadde ichosen hem fol wide,
Bolde men bataille to bide.
Þei fouȝten faste wiþ inne a stounde,
& brouȝten sarazins to grounde:
Þei were bolde & fouȝten faste,
Þe sarazins flouwen ate laste.
Roulond & oliuer hulpen wel,
& þe douȝty otuwel.

176

Coursabex, þe king, cam þo,
& mette fleinde a þousend & mo,
“Traitours,” quaþ coursabex, þe king,
“Certes þis is a foul þing,
Þat ȝe schule fle for ferd:
Traitours, tourneþ aȝein þe herd,
Tourneþ aȝein alle wiþ me,
& we wole make þe freinche fle.”
Þous coursabex him self allone,
Made tourne hem aȝein echone.

177

Þe ȝinge kniȝt þat was so bold,
Riȝt nou þat ich offe habbe told,
Wiþ coursabex wel sone he mette,
& wiþ his swerd a non he sette
Such a strok oppon his croun,
Þat of his stede he fel a doun.
Þe ȝinge kniȝt to him cam,
& coursabex o liue nam,
& sente him charles þe king.
Þo was he glad of þat tiding.

178

Þo þe tourkeins seien alle,
Þat coursabex was falle,
& cristene men smite sore,
Þei flouwen & nolde fiȝte na more.
& þe gode ȝinge kniȝt,
Suwede & leidon doun riȝt.

109

Þere ne halp nouȝ[t] sire mahoun,
Þe tourkeins ȝeden faste a-doun.

179

Þo kam poidras of barbarin,
& wiþ him mani a sarazin.
Poidras oppon the ȝunge kniȝt
Leid on wiþ al his miȝt,
& here men to-gidere huwen,
& heþene hornes faste blewen;
Poidras & þe ȝinge kniȝt,
Bitwene hem was strong fiȝt,
Poidras hadde þe more mayn,
& hadde wel neiȝ þe kniȝt slain.

180

Otuwel, þat douȝti kniȝt,
Was war of þat a non riȝt.
Otuwel no lengere nabood,
To poidras a noon he rood,
& smot poidras of barbarin,
Þat þere he lay as a stiked swin.

181

Otuwel rood in to þe feerd,
& leide on faste mid his swerd.
Roulond & oliuer,
Ne[i]ȝeden otuwel ner,
& þe berdles kniȝt,
& slowen sarazins a-doun riȝt.

182

King garsie herde wiþ inne a stounde,
Hou hise men ȝeden to grounde:
King garsie hadde a conseiler,
& a non he took him neer,
& seide to him, “sire arperaunt,
Aȝenes otuwel myn herte stant,
Þat þous haueþ reneid his lay,
& sleþ mine men niȝt & day.
Sire arperant, what is þi reed
Þat þe þef traitour nere ded?

110

Certes fraunce hadde be wonnen,
Ne hadde his tresoun be bigunnen.”

183

“King garsie,” quaþ arperaunt,
“Bi mahoun þat ȝonder stant,
Al þe while þat roulond
Mai bere durendal in his hond,
& oliuer rit by his side,
For no þing þat may betide,
Þou ne schalt neuere otuwel winne,
For nouȝt þat euere þou kans biginne.”
Þo was garsie wel nyȝ wood,
For wraþþe on molde þere he stood.

184

Þere was an affrikan gent,
Þat hatte baldolf of aquilent,
King garsie seide to him anoon;
“Certes, Baldoff, þou most goon,
& take wiþ þe kniȝt & swein,
& tourne þe cristene men aȝein;
& ich mi self wole after come,
& helpe þat otuwel were nome.”

185

Quaþ baldolf, “bi sire mahun,
Louerd, we wole don what we moun,
& com þou after & tak hede,
Wuche maner þat we spede,
& ȝef þou sest þat nede be,
Com & help us er we fle,
For whan an ost to fliȝt is went,
Bote socour come, it is schent.”

186

Baldolf took his compainie,
& to þe bataille he gan heye,
& wiþ inne a litel stounde,
Hard bataille þei habben i-founde.

187

Otuwel, douȝti of dede,
Where þei comen he took hede,

111

& no lengere he ne bood,
Bote hasteliche to ham he rood.
Roulond & oliuer,
Neiȝeden otuwel ner,
& þe gode ȝinge kniȝt,
Þat was so douȝti man in fiȝt.
Þo þei foure weren ifere,
Þo miȝte men seen & here
Harde strokes dele & diȝte,
& wiþ sarazins boldeliche fiȝte.

188

Þer cam out of garsies ost,
A man þat made muche bost,
A king þat hatte karnifees,
& muchel onour þere he les.

189

Þer kam a kniȝt of agineis,
A bold man, & a courteis,
& wiþ carnifees he mette,
& wende Carnifees to lette:
King karnifees him haueþ istunt,
& slouȝ him ate forme dunt.
Þo karnifees hadde þous do,
He wende to seruen ham alle so;

190

Otuwel no lengere na-bood,
To karnifees a non he rood;
Karnifees knuȝ otuwel,
By hise armes swiþe wel,
& seide to þe gode gome,
“For-sworne þef, artou come?”
“Bi mahoun,” quaþ karnifees,
“Þou schalt hoppen heuedles.”

191

Otuwel, wiþ oute targing,
Answerede karnifees þe king,
“Bi sein geme, ich ne habbe nouȝt munt,
Þa þou schalt ȝiue me þat dunt.”

112

Þei nolden no lengere abide,
Anon to-gidere þei gunde ride:
Karnifees smot otuwel,
Biside þe heued þe strok fel,
A corner of otuweles scheld
He gurde out amidde þe feld.

192

Quaþ otuwel, “good it wite,
Þat strok was wel ismite.
Nou þou schalt, bi seint martyn,
Preuen a strok of myn.”
Otuwel karnifees smot,
Wiþ Corsouse þat wel boot,
Þat karnifees souȝte þe ground,
Ros he neuere eft, hol ne sound.

193

Þo þe sarazins wisten alle,
Þat karnifees was ifalle,
& þat he nolde na more arise,
Þo bigan ham alle to agrise:
For in al garsies feerd,
Nas such a man to handle a swerd.
Þo tournde þei to fliȝt,
Þe sarazins a non riȝt.

194

Þous þe gode otuwel,
& roulond þat was good & snel,
Þoru þe help of godes miȝt,
Maden þe sarazins tourne to fliȝt,
Þrou swete ih'u cristes grace,
& þei suweden faste þe chasse.
Þe sarazins were so a dredde,
In to þe water manye fledde,
Summe swumme & summe sunke,
& coold water ynouȝ þei drunke,

195

Til Roulond & oliuer þe gode,
In manie harde stoures stode.

113

Godde ogger in prisoun lay,
Boþe bi niȝt, & eke be day,
Herkneþ, what hede good to him nam,
& hou he out of prisoun kam.

196

Seuene heþene kniȝtes bolde,
Ogger was bi-taken to holde,
& þe foure ogger slouȝ,
& ȝit he skapede wel inouȝ.

197

Þere was a noble skuier,
Þat wiþ queintize halp ogger.
Swiþe priueliche & stille
He brouȝte ogger, to his wille,
His swerd & his armure briȝt,
& ogger armede him a non riȝt.
Þo he hadde on his gode wede,
Þe squier brouȝte him a good stede.
Ogger no lengere ne abood,
Þe goodde stede he bistrood,
Þe squier was armed, & wel idiȝt,
& hadde a good hors & a liȝt;
& also stille as a ston
Þe squier lep to horse a non,
& to þe porteres windou he kam,
& in his hond his mase he nam,
& oppon þe windou he schof,
Þat þe windou al to-drof.

198

Hit was abouten mid niȝt,
& the porter was a-friȝt,
& asked a non, who was þare,
& who makede al þat fare.

199

“Porter,” quaþ þe squier þo,
‘Vndo þe gate & let us go.
We here tellen, bi sire mahoun,
Þat cristene men goon alle a doun,

114

& ich & mi felawes iwis,
We wole witen hou it is,
& ȝef we ani good winne,
For soþe þou schalt parten þer inne.”
& he dude op þe ȝate wide,
& lette ham boþe out ride,
& steek aȝein þe gate fast,
& þere þei sien ogger last.

200

Ogger rood al þat niȝt,
Til on þe morewen þe day was briȝt;
Þat neuere his feet comen on grounde,
Er he hadde his felawes founde.

201

Þo roulond & oliuer
Weren war of gode ogger,
Þei were fol glad of þat siȝt,
& þonkeden ih'u fol of miȝt.

202

Þo roulond & oliuer,
Adden imet wiþ gode [Ogger]
Þei were also fous to fiȝt,
As euere was a foul to fliȝt;
& wenten in to þe bataille a non,
& fouȝten faste & good won,
& made þe sarazins a-gaste,
& otuwel nas nouȝt þe laste.

203

Þo alle foure weren ifere,
Þar nere none strokes dere,
Þo douȝti kniȝtes smiten so sore,
As þauȝ þei ne hadden nouȝt fouȝten ȝore,
Þat wiþ inne a litel stounde,
Sarazins ȝeden alle to grounde.

204

King garsie toke god hede,
Hou his folk to grounde ȝede,
& no lengere he ne abood,
Toward his pauilons he rood.

115

205

& otu wel a noon by-held,
Þere he rod in þe feld,
& warende fore a non þo
Rouloud & oliuer bo,
& ogger þat douȝty kniȝt,
Þat king garsie was tornd to fliȝt.
Þo roulond & oliuer,
& þe gode kniȝt ogger,
Sien where king garsie rood,
Þer nas non þat lengere a-bood,
Hasteliche þe wey þei nomen,
& to king garsie þei comen.

206

King garsie was a-fered to deye,
& bi-gan mersi to crie,
& seide, for soþe þat he wolde
Of king charles, his lond holde,
& ben at eche parlement,
Redi at his comaundement.

207

King garsie seide þis,
“For his loue þat ȝoure good is,
Takeþ me on liue, & sle me nouȝt.
Leet mi lif be for-bouȝt,
& let me as a prisoun goon
Bi-fore king charles a noon,
& don him omage wiþ myn hon[d],
To holden of him al mi lond.”

208

Þanne seide otuwel,
Þat was douȝti kniȝt & snel,
To roulond & to oliuer,
& to þe gode kniȝt ogger,
“Nou he haueþ þis ȝift iȝiue,
I rede þat we laten him liue.
Bi-fore þe king he schall be brouȝt,
For gode, we nulle slen him nouȝt;”

116

An þei acenteden þerto,
& seiden, “it wile be wel ido.”
& wiþ outen any targing,
Þei ladden him bi-fore þe king.

209

Þanne seide otuwel, þat gode kniȝt,
To king charles a non riȝt,
“Sire,” he seide, “her is garsie,
Þat sumtime þratte þe to die,
He wile nou, ȝif þi wille be,
Do þe omage & feaute,
& ben at þi comaundement;
& at eche parlement,
Al redi at þin hond,
& holden of þe al his lond,
& for his lond rente ȝiue,
Wiþ þe noue he mote liue.” [OMITTED]

University of Virginia Library

The Taill of RAUF COILȜEAR.

Rouland and Vernagu

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The Romance of Otuel

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