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At a pas he houed riȝt,
As a kniȝt of gret miȝt;
A gisarme he bar kerueinde,
He smot bifore & bi-hinde.
Þe Sarraȝins so he agast,
Al þat he smot to grounde he cast.

His scheld he hadde forlore,
To-hewe it lay his fet bifore.
So mani Sarrazin he slouȝ þat day,
Þat ich on oþer ded lay;
So mani to ded þer he dede,
Þat þe hepe lay to his girdel stede.

Who so seye þan Herhaud fiȝt,
Of a gode kniȝt ȝelp he miȝt.
A damsax he bar on his hond:
Al þat he rauȝt to grounde he wond;
Sarrazins he slouȝ mo þan sexti,
& Gij an hundred & fourti.
Herhaud þat day so sore swong,
Þat þurch his mouþe þe fom it sprong;
Al to-hewe was his helme,
Þe blod ran out als a welme.
What schuld y make tale muche?
Þe Sarrazins þai slowen strongliche;
Ac euer he was gode, apliȝt,
Gij of Warwike michel of miȝt,
More dede þan ani oþer:
His stroke was heui so a foþer.
Gij and his feren also
Als lyouns þai fouȝten þo,
& the Gregeys forþ wiþ hem,
Þai wered hem as douhti men.
Weynes & cartes þai han y-nome
Mo þan fiften þousende atte frome.
Y-ioined hij han þe gret piles,
Ginnes þai made on selcouþe wise,
Sum piles scharpe kerueinde,
Al aboute so mani stondinde,
Þat ich ne can þe noumbre telle,
Noiþer in rime no in spelle.
Þer nas man þat þer neye come,
Þat he ne was to-corwen anon.
So griseliche be þe engins,
For to sle þe Sarrazines,
In ich half y-sett arawe,
Scharpe soules doun of þe hulle y-drawe.
Þer-mid þai hewe þe gret stonis,
Bi-hewe quarre for þe nonis,
So gret so tventie men miȝt drawe,
To slen hem of þe heþen lawe.
Swiche a þousende for-smiten þai be,
Þat neuer after schullen y-the;
Wel iuel hem is bifallen þare,
Ded þai ben wiþ sorwe & care.