University of Virginia Library

Beues & Saber sente here sonde
Wide in to fele londe,
And hii sente an hie
After gret cheualrie,
Of al þe londe þe stringeste kniȝte,
Þat hii owhar finde miȝte.

Þat emperur neȝ daide,
His wif confortede him & saide:
‘Sire,’ ȝhe seide, ‘doute ȝow nouȝt!
Of gode consaile icham be-þouȝt:
Ȝe scholle sende, for sertaine,
After ȝour ost in to Almaine,
And whan ȝour ost is come to gadre,
Send to þe king of Scotlonde, me fadre;
He wile come to þe an hiȝe
Wiþ wonder-gret cheualrie,
Þat þow derst haue no sore
Of þat þef, Saber þe hore,
Ne of Beues, þat is me loþe:
Ȝit ȝe schollen hem hangen boþe!’
Þo þe letters were ȝare,
Þe masegers wer forþ ifare.
In Mai, whan lef & gras ginþ springe,
And þe foules merie to singe,
Þe king of Scotlonde com to fiȝte
Wiþ þretti þosend of hardi kniȝte
Of Almaine, is owene barouny,
Wiþ wonder-gret cheualry.
‘Lordinges,’ a seide, ‘ȝe witeþ alle,’
Whan hii were be-fore him in þe halle,
‘Þat ofte þis þef, Saber þe hore,
Me haþ aneied swiþe sore.
Now is him come help to fiȝte,
Beues of Hamtoun, an hardi kniȝte,
To Sarasins was solde gon longe,
Ich wende, he hadde ben anhonge;
He me þreteþ for to slen
& for to winne is londe aȝen;
Wiþ him he haþ a geaunt brouȝt:
Erþliche man semeþ he nouȝt,
Ne noman of flesch ne felle,
Boute a fend stolen out of helle;
Ascopart men clepeþ him þer oute,
Of him ichaue swiþe gret doute.
Ac, lordinges,’ a seide, ‘arme ȝe wei,
We scholle besege hem in here castel;
Þe Ascopard be strong & sterk,
Mani hondes makeþ liȝt werk!’
Forþ þai wenten ase snel,
Til þai come to þe castel,
Þar Saber and Beues weren inne,
Þai piȝte pauilouns & bente ginne.

Saber stod on is tour an hiȝ,
Al þat grete ost a siȝ;
Gret wonder þer of he hade,
Þe holi crois be-fore him he made
And swor be his berde hore,
Hit scholde some of hem rewe sore.
Saber doun of his tour went,
After al is kniȝtes a sent:
‘Has armes, lordinges!’ he gan segge,
‘Þemperur þer oute vs wile be-legge:
Make we þre vintaine,
Þat be gode and certaine!
Þe ferste ich wile me self out lede,
& þow þat oþer, Beues!’ a sede,
‘And Ascopard þe þredde schel haue
Wiþ is gode, grete staue.
Be we þre vpon þe grene,
Wel ich wot and nouȝt ne wene:
Mani man is þar oute kete,
Þis dai schel is lif for-lete!’
Saber is horn be-gan to blowe,
Þat his ost him scholde knowe.
‘Lordinges,’ a seide, ‘ne doute ȝow nouȝt,
Ȝe scholle þis dai be holde so douȝt,
Þat hem were beter at Rome,
Þanne hii hadde hider icome.’

Þo þemperur herde in castel blowe,
Þar bi he gan to knowe,
Þat hii armede hem in þe castel;
His kniȝtes he het ase snel:
‘Has armes, lordinges, to bataile!
Out hii comeþ, vs to asaile.’
Twei ostes þai gonne make,
He of Scotlonde haþ on itake,
Þemperur þat oþer ladde:
His deþ þat dai þer he hadde.