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Now haþ Gij miche sorwe made,
For his felawes he is vnglade.
‘Allas,’ quod Gii, ‘felawes dere!
So wele doand kniȝtes ȝe were.
Al to iuel it fel to me,
Felice, þo y was sent to serue þe;
For þi loue, Felice, the feir may,
Þe flour of kniȝtes is sleyn þis day.
Ac for þou art a wiman,
Y no can nouȝt blame þe for þan;
For þe last no worþ y nouȝt
Þat wimen han to gronde y-brouȝt.
Ac alle oþer may bi me,
Ȝif þai wil, y-warned be.
Allas, Herhaud, mi dere frende,
What þou were curteys & hende!
Who schal me now help in fiȝt?
Neuer no was no better kniȝt.
In ich fiȝt wele halp thou me,
Ful iuel ichaue y-ȝolden it þe;
For me þou hast þi liif forgon,
Of þe no tit me neuer help non.
How mai ich now fram þe wende?
That y no mai dye þe hende!
Acursed be þe Lombardes ichon,
That slowen þe, and lete me gon!
& þat þai hadde y-slawe me,
& leten þe oliue be!
Wharto lete þai me alon?’
Þus sir Gij biment his mone.

‘Allas! allas! Rohaut, mi lord,
Þat y no hadde leued þi word!
Þan hadde y nouȝt y-passed þe se,
Ich hadde bileued at hom wiþ þe;
Þus yuel nere me nouȝt bifalle,
Y no hadde nouȝt lorn min felawes alle.
Who so nil nouȝt do bi his faders red,
Oft-siþes it falleþ him qued;
For often ichaue herd it say,
& y me self it sigge may,
“Who þat nil nouȝt leue his fader,
He schel leue his steffader.”’
What for his woundes þat strong bledeþ,
What for his sorwe þat he ledeþ,
Al for sorwe & for wo
Adoun he fel aswon þo.
When he of swoning vp stod,
His feren he biheld wiþ drery mod;
Þan he lepe opon his stede,
To an ermitage he wold ride.
‘Ermite,’ quod he, ‘com wiþ me;
Þis hors of priis ȝiue y þe;
To bodis þou schalt in erþe graue,
Þat in þis forest ben y-slawe.’
‘Bleþeliche, sir,’ þan seyd he;
‘Wende bifore, y folwe þe.’
Þe bodis him scheweþ sir Gij,
Boþe Toraud & sir Urry.
Seþþe he lepe opon his stede,
Herhaud he wil wiþ him lede;
& so he dede sikerliche,
& seþþe he was heled softliche,
Ac no for þan Gij wend wele þere
Þat Herhaud to deþ y-wounded were.

Now is Gij þennes y-fare;
For his felawes he haþ gret care.
Herhaudes bodi wiþ him he bar,
For he nold it nouȝt lete þar.
He went him to an abbay
Þat was bisiden on the way.
Wiþ þe gode abbot þer he mett,
& pitouseliche he him gret:
‘Sir abbot, he þe haue & weld,
Þat made man wex in-to eld!
& for þe loue of þe trinite,
Ich þe bidde, par charite,
Þat þou þis bodi vnder-fo,
& feir biry þou it do.
Ful wele y schal ȝeld it þe,
& y mot haue hele, & liues be.’
‘Who artow?’ seyd þe abbot, ‘telle it me.’
‘Bleþeliche,’ seyd Gij, ‘bi mi leute:
A kniȝt icham of fer cuntre;
At a pas asailed wer we
Wiþ strong þeues & mani outlawe,
Þat mine feren haue y-slawe;
& ich me-self am iuel y-wounde,
Y wene y liue no stounde;
Ac ȝif y liue, y ȝeld it þe,
Þe trauail þat tow dost for me.’
Þabbot answerd þo:
‘Al þi wille it schal be do.’