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Þan seyd Gij, ‘lordinges, kniȝt,
Oȝains hem we wil ous diȝt.’
Sone þai ben in þe way y-don.
Þe steward seþ hem anon:
Þider-ward he him diȝt,
Also a kniȝt of gret miȝt.
His armes þan he ginneþ riȝt,
Oȝaines Gij he ritt apliȝt;
Anon to-gider þai gun smite,
Aiþer spard oþer bot lite.
Gij þe steward so hard smot,
Of his stede he feld him fot hot;
Þan he smot him wiþ his swerd broun
A quarter of his helme adoun.
Þurch grete strengþe he him wan,
& hom wiþ him ladde him þan.
When þe Almaines þat y-seye
Þat strong wer, and of fiȝt sleye,
Her lord nomen in þat fiȝt,
Owai þai priked wiþ al her miȝt.
Þer was þirled mani a scheld,
Mani a kniȝt lay in þe feld;
Gij is oȝain went wel sone,
& al his feren mid-y-done.
Þe Lombardes þai leggen fast opon,
Nil þai spare neuer on.
When þe kniȝtes of þat cite
Þis dede alle y-seyȝen he,
To army he[m] wel fast hy goþ,
Gij wel gode socour hij doþ;
& seþþen þai went forþ ariȝt,
& Gij socourd ful wele apliȝt.
Swiche strokes men miȝt þer se
Togider smiten þo kniȝtes fre:
Boþe wiþ launce and wiþ swerd
Thai ȝiuen mani strokes herd.
Þer miȝt men se stray þe steden,
So mani kniȝt cri & greden,
Þat wer þurch þe bodi wounde,
& ded fellen on þe grounde.

Michel him peyned sir Gij,
& Herhaud of Ardern sikerly:
Þis Almayns þai han ouercome,
Sum y-slawe and sum y-nome.
Þan sir Gij anon riȝt
Into þe cite he him diȝt,
Boþe he & his ferred:
Þe prisouns wiþ hem þai lede.
Into þe cite þai ben y-gon,
& to her innes þai wenten ichon.
Proude þai ben alle & some
Þat þe Almains ben ouer-come,
When þe douke yherd þis tidinge,
For blis his hert bigan to springe,
Þat Gii of Warwike was y-come
& hadde þe steward y-nome.
On his stede he lepe anon,
To Gyes in he is y-gon;
‘Gij,’ he seyd, ‘þou art welcome,
As of the warld þe best gome.
Toforn al oþer ichaue desired þe:
God y-thanked mot he be
Þat tow art come wiþ me to ben at nede,
For now ich worþ þe more loued & drede
Al of mi dedelich fo,
Þat al þis lond haþ brouȝt in wo.
Sire & lord now ichil make þe
Of mi court and of mi cite,
Mine castels & mine londes þer-to eke;
& hennes forward y þe biseke
Þatow þe worþschipe vnder-fo,
& þine hest þerof þou do.
Bi þi conseyl ichil nov don,
For to greue mi dedli fon.’

Wel curteysliche answerd Gij
& seyd, ‘sir, gramerci.
Bi mi miȝt ichil help þe
On ich stede where þat y be.’
Þe steward he ȝelt him þan swiþe,
Of whom þat he was glad & bliþe;
Þurch him he wende acorded be
Of þemperour, his lord so fre.
Bitvene hem þai tolden tale
Of her gode frendes fale.