 | Guy of Warwick |  |
Nowe been the Almaignes ouere-come,
To dethe wounded, and greuously nome.
Toward their hooste they goo fleyng,
The Duke and Guy after theim dryuyng.
With that come priking Terry full sone,
Of Gornoyse Aubries owne sone,
Of thirty Knyghtis swithe and snelle
Of his owne meyne hardy and felle:
All they come armed the hooste fro,
The Almaignes socour for to doo.
There they haue theim mette:
With loude steuene withoute lette,
‘Lordingis,’ he seide, ‘how goo ye?
Ayene wende nowe with me
To assaille eftsones your foon,
Of whom ye bee ouerecome echoon,
To dethe wounded, and greuously nome.
131
The Duke and Guy after theim dryuyng.
With that come priking Terry full sone,
Of Gornoyse Aubries owne sone,
Of thirty Knyghtis swithe and snelle
Of his owne meyne hardy and felle:
All they come armed the hooste fro,
The Almaignes socour for to doo.
There they haue theim mette:
With loude steuene withoute lette,
‘Lordingis,’ he seide, ‘how goo ye?
Ayene wende nowe with me
To assaille eftsones your foon,
Of whom ye bee ouerecome echoon,
Or ichil telle þemperour
Ȝe han y-don him gret deshonour,
When ȝe for a fewe men
Schul so sone oway flen.’
Þai turned hem anon riȝt,
& bi-gun a newe fiȝt.
Al togider þai gun smite;
Semblant of loue þai kidde bot lite.
Heteliche to him smot Gyoun;
His scheld nas nouȝt worþ a botoun,
No his tvifold armes halp him nouȝt
Þat in Loreyn weren y-wrouȝt.
Strokes hij togider delden ywis
On helmes & on briȝt scheldes;
So hard þai striken hem bitvene,
Þat gode stones fallen þer ben.
Aiþer semed a lyoun of mode,
So hard þai smiten wiþ swordes gode.
Wiþ him smot þe douke Segyn,
No lenge miȝt he wiþhelden him;
Togider þai smiten hard and wel
Wiþ brondes wele wrouȝt of stiel.
Ȝe han y-don him gret deshonour,
When ȝe for a fewe men
Schul so sone oway flen.’
Þai turned hem anon riȝt,
& bi-gun a newe fiȝt.
Al togider þai gun smite;
Semblant of loue þai kidde bot lite.
Heteliche to him smot Gyoun;
His scheld nas nouȝt worþ a botoun,
No his tvifold armes halp him nouȝt
Þat in Loreyn weren y-wrouȝt.
Strokes hij togider delden ywis
On helmes & on briȝt scheldes;
So hard þai striken hem bitvene,
Þat gode stones fallen þer ben.
Aiþer semed a lyoun of mode,
So hard þai smiten wiþ swordes gode.
Wiþ him smot þe douke Segyn,
No lenge miȝt he wiþhelden him;
Togider þai smiten hard and wel
Wiþ brondes wele wrouȝt of stiel.
| Guy of Warwick | |