University of Virginia Library

The Sege off Melayne

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Square brackets throughout the text indicate insertions by the editor.

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1

Here Bygynnys the Sege off Melayne.

1

All werthy men that luffes to here
Off cheuallry þat by fore vs were
Þat doughty weren of dede,
Off charlles of Fraunce, þe heghe kinge of alle,
Þat ofte sythes made hethyn men for to falle,
Þat styffely satte one stede.
This geste es sothe, wittnes þe buke,
Þe ryghte lele trouthe who so will luke,
In Cronekill for to rede.
Alle lumbardy þay made þaire mone
And saide þaire gaumes weren alle gone
Owttrayede with hethen thede.

2

The sowdane Arabas the stronge
Werreyde appon Crystyndome with wronge
And Ceties brake he downn;
Robbyde þe Romaynes of theire rent,
Þe popys pousty hase he schente,
And many a kynges with Crownn.
In Tuskayne townnes gon he wyn
And stuffede þam wele with hethyn kyn,
This lorde of grete renownn;
And sythen to lumbardy he wane,
Mighte to lett hym hade no man,
Thus wynnes he many a townn.

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3

The Emagery þat the[r] solde bee,
Bothe the Rode & þe marie free,
Brynnede þam in a fire:
And þan his Mawmettes he sett vp there
In kirkes and abbayes þat there were,
Helde þam for Lordes and Syre.
To Melayne sythen he tuke þe waye
And wanne þe Cyte apon a daye,
Gaffe his men golde & ill hyre.
Many a Martyre made he there
Off men and childire pat there were
And ladyes swete of Swyre.

4

Þe lorde of Melayne, sir Alantyne,
Sawe þe Crystynde putt to pyne,
Oute of þe townn he flede
To a Cyte þat was there by,
Alle nyghte he thoghte þer In to ly,
He was full straytly stede.
Þay myghte it wynn with spere & schelde
Appon þe morne hym buse it ȝelde
Or laye his lyfe in wede.
Was neuer no knyghte putt to mare care,
Full hertly to Criste þan prayes he thare
To knawe þe lyfe he ledde.

5

Þe Sawdane sent hym messangers free
And bade hym torne and hethyn bee
And he solde haue his awenn:
Melayne, that was the Riche Cite,
And alle þe laundis of lumbardye,
And to his lawe be knawenn:

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3

“And if he ne will noghte to oure lawe be sworne
He sall be hangede or oþer morne
And with wylde horse be drawen:
His wyffe & his childire three
By-fore his eghne þat he myghte see
Be in sondre sawenn.”

6

He prayede þe sowdane þan of grace
Þat he wolde byde a littill space
Whils one þe morne at daye,
And he sall do hym for to witt
If þat he wolde assent to itt
To leue apon his laye.
Bot þan heues he vp his handis to heuen,
To Iesu Criste with mylde steuen
Full hertly gane he praye.
“Lorde,” he saide, “als þou swelte appon þe tree,
Of thy man þou hafe Pete,
And Mary mylde þat maye!

7

If I solde Crystyndome for-sake
And to hethyn lawe me take
Þe perill mon be myn.
Bot, lorde, als þou lete me be borne
Late neuer my sawle be forlorne
Ne dampnede to helle pyne.
Bot, lorde, als þou swelte on þ rode
And for mankynde schede thi blode
Some concelle sende þou me:
Whethire þat me es better to doo,
The hethyn lawe to torne too,
Or my lyfe in lande to tyne.”

8

Than wente þat knyghte vn to bedde
For sorowe hym thoghte his hert bledde,
And appon Iesu þan gan he calle.

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4

And sone aftire þat gane he falle one slepe
Als man þat was wery for-wepe.
Þan herde by hym on a walle
Ane Angelle þat vn-to hym gane saye:
“Rysse vp, sir kynge, & wende thy waye,
For faire þe sall by falle,
To Charles þat beris the flour delyce,
Of oþer kynges he berys þe pryce,
& he sall wreke thy wrethis alle.”

9

The Angelle bade hym ryse agayne,
“And hy þe faste to charlemayne,
Þe Crownnede kynge of Fraunce,
And say hym god byddis þat he sall go
To helpe to venge the of thy foo
Bothe with spere & launce.”
The kynge was full fayne of that,
His swerde in his hande he gatt
And þerto graythely he grauntis.
He garte swythe sadyll hym a palfraye
And Euen to Fraunce he tuke þe waye,
Now herkenys of þis chaunce.

10

The same nyghte by fore þe daye
Als kyng Charls in his bedde laye
A Sweun þan gan he mete.
Hym thoghte ane angele lyghte als leuen
Spake to hym with mylde steuen,
Þat gudly hym gane grete.
Þat angele by-taughte hym a brande,
Gaffe hym þe hiltis in his hande,
Þat euen was handefull mete:
And saide:“Criste sende the this swerde,
Mase the his werryoure here in erthe,
He dose þe wele to weite.

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11

He biddes þou sall resteyne it tyte
And þat þou venge alle his dispyte,
For thynge þat euer may bee.
And sla alle there thou sees me stryke,
And sythen þou birne vp house & dyke,
For beste he traystis in thee.”
The walles abowte Melayne townne
Hym thoghte þe angele dange þam downn,
þat closede In þat Cite.
Sythen alle þe landis of lumbardy,
Townnes, borows, and bayli:
this was selcouthe to see.

12

When Charls wakenede of his dreme
He sawe a bryghtenes of a beme
Vp vn-to heuenwarde glyde.
Bot when he rose þe swerde he fande
Þat þe Angelle gaffe hym in his hande
Appon his bedde syde.
He schewede it thanne to his Baronns alle,
And than saide his lordes bothe grete & smalle:
“Þe sothe is noghte to hyde:
We wote wele þat goddis will it es
Þat þou sall conquere of hethennesse
Countres lange and wyde.”

13

To mete þan wente þat Riche kynge
Bot sone come there newe tydynge,
Als he in sete was sette.
The lorde of Melayne he sawe come In,
Þat was his Cosyn nere of kyn,
And hym full gudely grette.
The grete lordis alle hailsede hee
And prayede þam all sesse of theire glee,
And sayse to Charls with owtten lette:

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6

“Iesu Criste hase comaunde thee
To fare to þe felde to feghte for mee,
My landis agayne to gette.”

14

He tolde þam alle at þe Borde and by
That the Saraȝenes had wonn lumbardy—
Þay mornede & made grete mone—
And how the angelle bade hym goo:
The kynge tolde his sweuen alsoo,
Þay accordede bothe in one.
Thane sayde þe Beshope Turpyne:
“Hafe done! late semble þe folke of thyne!
Myn hede I vndir nome
Þat gode es greuede at þe saraȝenes boste:
We salle stroye vp alle theire hoste,
Þose worthely men in wone.”

15

Bot alle þat herde hym Genyenn,
Þat was a lorde of grete renownn
And Rowlande Modir hade wedde.
Þare wery hym bothe god & sayne Iohn,
The falseste traytoure was he one,
Þat euer with fode was fedde!
For landis þat Rowlande solde haue thare
Dede fayne he wolde þat he ware,
Þe Resone ryghte who redde.
His firste tresone now by gynnes here,
Þat þe lordis boghte sythen full dere,
And to ladyse grete Barett bredde.

16

“Sir,” he sayde, “þat ware a Synfull chaunce,
Whatt solde worthe of vs in Fraunce,
And þou in þ felde were slayne?

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7

Thy selfe and we at home will byde
And latte Rowlande thedire Ryde,
Þat euer to Bekyre es bayne,
With Batelle & with brode banere;
Of his wyrchippe wolde I here,
Witt ȝe wele, full fayne.”
For Rowlande this resone he wroghte
Euere more in his herte he thoghte
He solde neuer come agayne.

17

The kynge þan sent a Messangere
To grette lordes bothe ferre & nere
And bade þam make þam ȝare.
Bot þe peris take a concelle newe
Þat made alle fraunce ful sore to rewe
And byrdis of blyse full bare.
Þay prayede þe kynge on þat tyde
Þat he hym selfe at home walde byde,
To kepe þat lande riȝt thare:
“And Sendis Rowlande to lumbardy,
With fourty thowsande cheualry
Of worthy men of were.”

18

Then Rowlande thus his were þan made
Fares forthe with Baners brade,
Þe kynge byleues þare still
With-In þe Cite of Paressche
For to kepe þat townn of pryce,
Als þay accordede till.
And if þe Sowdane wane þe felde
Lyghtly walde þey it noghte ȝelde
To þay had foughtten þaire fill.
Bot be comen was þe feftenede daye
Þer fore myghte mornne bothe man & maye,
And ladyse lyke full ill.

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19

To Melayne euen þay made þam bownn,
And Batelde þam þare by-fore þe townn,
þose knyghttis þat were kene.
And In to þe Sowdane þay sent a knyghte
And bade hym come owte with þam to fyghte,
To witt with owtten wene.
The Sowdane grauntis wele þer-till,
Þat tornede oure gudmen all to gryll,
And many one mo to mene.
Than þe Saraȝene come owte of þat Cite,
Forty thowsandes of cheualrye,
Þe beste in erthe myghte be[ne].

20

Þe forthirmaste come a saraȝene wyghte,
Sir Arabaunt of Perse he highte,
Of Gyon was he kynge:
He saide þer was na cristyn knyghte,
Ware he neuer so stronge ne wyghte,
To dede he [ne] solde hym dynge.
And one sir Artaymnere of Beme,
Þat was sir Olyueres Eme,
Byfore þe stowre þay thrynge;
And euen at þe firste countire righte
Þe Saraȝen slewe oure cristyn knyghte,
It was dyscomforthynge.

21

The lorde of Melayne to hym Rade,
Sir Alantyne with owtten bade,
Þe Crystyn knyghte to wreke,
Bot he stroke oure Cristyn knyghte þat stownde
Þat dede he daschede to þ grounde,
Mighte no worde after speke.
Sythen afterwarde he bare down
Worthy lordes of grete renownn,
Ay to his launce gane breke:

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9

And sythen areste þaire nobill stedis
And to þe hethyn hoste þam ledis:
Loo þus-gates fares þe freke!

22

Bot by þat was done þe grete gon mete
Barouns ondir blonkes fete
Braythely ware borne donn.
Thay stekede many a staleworthe knyghte,
Þe hethen folke in þat fyghte
Þe moste were of renownn.
Oure knyghtis one þe gronde lyse
With wondes wyde one wafull wyse
Crakkede was many a Crownn:
Riche hawberkes were all to-rent,
And beryns thorowe þaire scheldis schent,
Þat many to bery was bownn.

23

Þe Saraȝene semblede so Sarely
Þat þay felde faste of oure cheualrye,
Oure vawarde down þay dynge.
Righte at þe firste frusche þay felde
Fyve thowsande knyghtis trewly telde,
this is no lesynge!
Oure knyghtis lyghtede one þe bent,
Thorowe þaire scheldis are þey schent,
Of sorowe þan myghte þay synge!
Than oure Medill-warde gane þam mete,
Þare myghte no beryns oure bales bete,
Bot þe helpe of heuens kynge.

24

Þe Medill warde sir Rowlande ledde,
Þat doghty in felde was neuer drede
To do what solde a knyghte.

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10

Fyfty Lordis of gret Empryce,
Of Fraunce, þat bare þ floure delyce,
Hase loste bothe Mayne & myghte.
Our Medillwarde sone hade þaye slayne,
And Rowlande was in handis tane,
And oþer seuen þat were knyghtes.
But als god gaffe hym þat chaunce,
Þay wende he hade bene kynge of fraunce
Þat lyfede in þase fyghtis.

25

Bot of a knyghte me rewes sore,
Þat in þe felde laye wondede thore,
Þe Duke of Normandy.
He lukes vp in the felde,
His vmbrere with his hande vp helde,
On Rowlande gane he cry:
“Rowlande, if þe tyde þat chaunce
Þat þou come euer more in to fraunce,
For þe lufe of mylde Marie,
Comande me till oure gentill kynge,
And to þe Qwene my lady ȝynge,
And to all Cheualrye.

26

And if þou come in to Normandy,
Grete wele my [faire] lady,
And sir Richerd my sone;
And dubbe hym Duke in my stede,
And bydde hym venge his Fadir dede,
Of myrthe if he will mone.
Bid hym hawkes & houndes forgoo,
And to dedis of armes hym doo,
thase craftes for to konne;
Appon þe cursede Saraȝens for to werre,
Venge me with dynt of spere,
For my lyfe es nere done.

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27

A, Rowlande! by-haulde nowe wnatt I see,
More Ioye ne myghte neuer bee,
In ȝouthe ne ȝitt in elde.
Loo! I see oure vawarde ledde to heuene
With Angells songe & merye steuene,
Reghte as þay faughte in þe felde!
I see moo Angells, loo! with myn eghe,
Then there are men with-In Cristyante,
Þat any wapyn may welde.
To heuen þay lede oure nobill knyghtis,
And comforthes þam with mayne & myghtis,
With mekill blysse & belde.”

28

Bot by Rowland gan a saraȝene stande
Þat braydede owte with a bryghte brande
When he harde hym say soo;
And to þe Duke a dynt he dryvede,
At þe erthe he smate righte of his hede;
Þer-fore was Rowlande woo;
And Rowland styrte þan to a brande
And hastily hent it owte of a saraȝene hande,
And sone he gane hym sloo.
With þat swerde he slewe sexty,
Þe beste of þe saraȝene cheualrye,
Off hardy men and moo.

29

Þan Rowlande in handis is taken agayne,
And putt vn to full harde payne,
Þat Sorowe it was to see.
And foure nobill knyghtis þan haue þay slayne,
By-fore þat were in handis tane
With sir Rowlande þe free.

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12

The Sowdane comandis of his men,
An hundrethe knyghtis to kepe þam then,
Rowland and oþer three,
And to oure rerewarde sythen þay rode;
Oure Barons boldely þam abode,
Nowe helpe þam þe Trynytee!

30

Þe Duke of Burgoyne, sir Bellande,
Þe Fadir of sir Gy of nevynlande,
Þe rerewarde þan Rewlis hee.
He comforthede alle oure nobyll knyghtis,
Said, “lordis, halde ȝour feldes & ȝour ryghttis
And no saraȝene ȝee flee.
And þofe ȝe see thies lordis be slayne
Ne hope ȝe noghte for alle þaire payne
Þat ne we sall solance see,
Bot the werkynge of oure wondis sare
Of the paynes of helle fele we no mare,
Bot hy to heuen one heghe.”

31

Thay fruschede In fersely: for goddis sake
Grete strokes gane þay gyffe and take
With wondis werkande wyde:
Bot ȝitt the saraȝens with þay speris
Full ferre on bakke oure Batelle berys
And knyghtis felde vndir fete.
Walde neuer no Crystyn knyghte thethyn flee
Þoghe þat he wyste ryghte there to dye,
I doo ȝowe wole to wytt.
Bot alle in fere þay Endide righte thare
Þat Sewede þe Saraȝenes sythen full sare
For lordis þat leuede þe swete.

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32

Thus fourty thowsande hafe þay slayne
Safe foure þat were in handis tane,
Rowlande ande oþer three:
One was þe gentill Erle sir Olyuere,
Anoþer was sir Gawtere,
Þe kyngis Cosyns nere;
The thirde was sir Gy of Burgoyne,
His Fadir in þe felde laye þere slone,
Þe soryare myghte he bee.
They ledde thies lordes in to Melayne,
With þat þe Sowdane turnes agayne
Righte gladde of his menȝee.

Prymus passus: the first Fytt.

33

To the Sowdane chambir many a man
Oure foure lordis ledd thay than
To rekken of theire Arraye.
Thay Ette and dranke and make þam glade,
Bot littill myrthe oure lordis hadde:
Þe Sowdane gane þam saye,
“Welcome be thow, kynge of Fraunce,
The by-tide a cely chaunce,
thi lyfe was sauede this daye.
The false lawes of Fraunce sall downn,
The Rewme sall leue one Seynt Mahownn
Þat alle þe myghtyeste maye!”

34

And Rowlande answerde full gentilly:
“I ne rekke whethir I lyfe or dye,
By god þat awe this daye.

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14

Kynge of Fraunce ame I none,
Bot a Cosyne ame I one
To charlles by my faye.
He will gyffe me golde and Fee,
Castelles ryche with towris heghe,
Þat lorde full wele he maye.
Bot goddis forbode & þe holy Trynytee
Þat euer fraunce hethen were for mee
And lese oure crysten lawe!

35

For sothe, þou Sowdane, trowe þou moste
One þe Fader and þe Sone and þe holy goste,
thire thre are alle in one:
Þat Borne was of Marye free,
Sythen for vs dyede one a tree,
In other trowe we none.”
Thane loughe þe sowdane withe eghne full smale,
And saide; “ane hundrethe of ȝoure goddis alle hale
Haue I garte byrne in a Firre with bale
Sen Firste I wanne this wone.
I sawe at none no more powstee
Than att anoþer rotyn tree
One erthe, so mote I gone!

36

Goo, feche one of theire goddis In
And if he in this fire will byrne
Alle oþer sett att noghte.”
Þan furthe þer rane a saraȝene in þat tyde
To a kyrke was there by-side,
A faire rode In he broghte
Fourmede ewenn als he gane blede.
Oure Cristen knyghtis by-gane þaire crede
And Rowland god by-soughte,
And saide: “þou þat was borne of a May,
Schewe þou, lorde, thi meracle this day,
Þat with thi blode vs boghte!”

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15

37

They keste þe Rode in to þe fire
And layde Brandis with mekill Ire,
Fayne wolde þay garre hym birne.
The Sowdane saide: “now sall ȝe see
What myghte es in a rotyn tree
Þat ȝoure byleue es In.
I darre laye my lyfe full ryghte
Þat of hym selfe he hase no myghte
Owte of this fire to wyn.
How solde he þan helpe a-noþer man
That for hym selfe no gyn ne kan,
Noþer crafte ne gyn?”

38

Thay caste one it full many a folde,
Þ rode laye still ay as it were colde,
No fire wolde in hym too.
All if þe crosse were makede of tree
The fire ȝode owtt þat come þer nee,
Þan wexe þe sowdan woo:
“And ȝif þe deuell,” he sayde, “be hym with In
He sall be brynt or euer I blyne;”
Of hert he was full throo.
“Thies cursede wreches þat are here In
Hase wethede þaire goddis þat þai may not byrn,
I wote wele it es soo.”

39

Þan bromstone þat wele walde birn,
And pykke & terre mengede þer In,
Þay slange in þe fire full bolde.
Torches þat were gude and grete
For to helpe þat mekill hete
Þay caste In many a folde.
The fire wexe owte at þe laste,
Oure knyghtis made þaire prayere faste
To Criste þat Iudas solde.

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16

The rode braste & gaffe a crake,
Þat þam thoghte þat alle þe byggynge brake,
Þat was with In þat holde.

40

A fire þan fro þe crosse gane frusche,
And In þe Saraȝene eghne it gaffe a dosche,
Ane Element als it were,
That þay stode still als any stone,
Haundis nore fete myghte þay stirre none
Bot drery wexe in chere,
Thay wyste noþer of gude ne ill.
Þan Rowlande sais his felawes vn-till:
“Sirs, hy vs alle hethyn in fere.
This Meracle es schewede thorowe goddis grace
For alle þe saraȝenes in this place
May noþer see nore here.”

41

Sayde sir Gy of Burgoyne: “ȝitt or I goo
The sowdane sall haue a stroke or twoo
Þat glade sall hym no glee.”
He ferkes owte with a fawchon
And hittis þe Sawdane one þe crownn
Vn to þe girdyll welle nee.
Thay tuke þe grete lordes with Ire
And brynte þam in þat bale fire,
Those doughty garte they dye.
Bot sythen þe Saraȝenes Crouned sir Garsy,
Þay ofte sythes chaste oure cheualry,
A bolde Saraȝene was he.

42

Alle þat was þan in þat place
Thay slewe clenly thorow goddis grace,
Oure worthy men & wyghte.

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17

And Sythen owte at þe ȝates they ȝede
Ilkone of þam fande a whitte stede
Sadilt & redy dighte.
Thay stirtt vp on those stedis full steryn,
Þay fande no man þat þam wolde warne,
Oure ferse men felle in fighte.
And als þe Cronekill ȝitt will saye
Eeuen to Fraunce þay tuke þe waye,
To Paresche þay ryde full righte.

43

Bot ȝitt þay wolde noghte come att Paresche
To þay had offerde to Seyne Denys,
And wendis to þat abbaye;
And leues þaire stedis righte at þe ȝate
And wightly In þay tuke þe gate,
Þaire prayers for to say.
And by þay hade þayre prayers made
Agayne þay come with owtten bade,
Thaire horse þan were away.
And alle þe bellis þat in þat abbaye was
Range allone thorowe goddis grace,
Whils it was pryme of þe day.

44

And there-by wiste those lordis of pryce
That þ myghte of god and Seynt denys
Had broghte þam thethyn a way:
Thaire horse þat so there come to handes
Was thorowe þe prayere of seynt Denys,
Thus will þe Cronecle say.
Bischope Turpyne þan come fro paresche townn
To seynt Denys with grete Processiownn
For thiese lordes for to pray
That was in lumbardy at þe were:
And when he sawe Rowlande there
He saide: “lordis, morne we may.”

---

18

45

Thay meruelde why þe bellis so range,
And þe clergy lefte theire sange,
Thoghte ferly of þat fare;
Thay hade meruelle whate it myghte mene.
Als sone als þe byschoppe hade Rowlande sene
To hym he went full ȝare.
Sayd: “a, Rowlande, how fares lumbardye
And all oure nobill cheuallry,
þat þou hade with the thare?”
“Certis, sir Bischoppe, it is noghte to layne,
The saraȝenes hase oure gude men slayne,
Þou seese of þam na mare.”

46

The Bischop keste his staffe hym fro
Þe mytre of his hede also:
“I sall neuer were the more,
Ne oþer habite for to bere,
Bot buske me bremly to þe were,
And lerene one slyke a lore.
A! Mary mylde, whare was thi myght,
Þat þou lete thi men thus to dede be dighte,
Þat wighte & worthy were?
Art þou noghte halden of myghtis moste,
Full Conceyuede of þe holy goste?
Me ferlys of thy fare.

47

Had þou noghte, Marye, ȝitt bene borne
Ne had noghte oure gud men thus bene lorne?
Þe wyte is all in the.
Thay faughte holly in thy ryghte,
Þat þus with dole to dede es dyghte,
A! Marie, how may this bee?”
The Bischoppe was so woo þat stownnd,
He wolde noghte byde appon þe grownnd
A Sakerynge for to see,

---

19

Bot forthe he wente, his handis he wrange,
And flote with Marye euer amange
For þe losse of oure menȝee.

48

Then Come kynge Charls appon Pilgremage
Fro Paresche town with his Baronage
To seynt Denys he went.
Bot when the Bischoppe mett with þe kynge
He wolde noghte say “gud mornynge,”
Ne ones his browes blenke.
Þe kynge hade meruelle what þat myght be,
Bot als sone als he Rowlande see
Wyghtly to hym he went.
Be Rowlande had his tale tolde
Þe kynge myghte noghte a tere holde,
For bale hym thoght he brynt.

49

“Allas,” he saide, “Cosyn syne,
Whare are alle þe nobill knyghtis of myne
Þat euer to fighte were fayne?”
“Sir, bi god & by sayne Iohn,
Þe Saraȝenes alle bot vs hase slone,
It is no bote to layne.
Bot we were taken in to holde,
Bot als þat criste hym selfe wolde
Þat we wan owte agayne,
Thorowe þe grace of god om[n]ipotent,
In his chambir or we went
Þe Sowdane haue we slayne.”

50

Genyonn saide: “lorde, by my Rede,
All if þe Sowdane thus be dede
Thay will haue anoþer newe,

---

20

A more schrewe þan was the toþer,
Garcy þat is his awenn brothir,
Þat more Barett will brewe.
These landes of hym I rede ȝe halde
Or he will kindill cares full calde,
ȝhe trowe þis tale for trewe.
Or ells with In thies monethes three
Als qwhitte of Fraunce sall ȝhe bee
Als ȝhe it neuer ne knewe.”

51

“Now cristis Malyson,” quod þe Bischoppe,” myghte he haue
Þat Charle firste this concell gaffe
& noghte bot it be righte!
To make homage to Saraȝene,
Iesu kepe vs fro þat pyne
And Marie his modir bryghte!
Bot at home, sir kynge, þou sall kepe nane
Bot alle thy gud men with the tane,
Þat worthy are & wighte,
Appon ȝone cursede saraȝenes to were,
And venge the one þam with dynt of spere,
Þat þus thi peris hase dyghte.

52

And alle þe Clergy vndir-take I
Off alle Fraunce full sekerly
Þay sall wende to þat were.
Of þe pope I haue pouste,
Att my byddynge sall þay bee
Bothe with schelde and spere.”
The Bischoppe sendis ferre & nere
To monke, Chanoun, Preste and frere,
And badd þam graythe þaire gere,
And keste þaire [care] clene þam froo,
Come helpe to feghte one goddis foo,
Alle þat a swerde may bere.

---

21

53

The Clergy grauntes alle þer to,
Als doghety men of dede solde do,
Þat worthy were & wyghte.
Be comen was wekes three
Thare semblede a ful faire menȝhe,
In baneres burneschid bryghte.
A hundrethe thowsande were redy bownn
Of Prestis þat werede schauen crownn,
And fresche men for to fighte.
Thay lightede appon a lawnde so clere
Vndir þe Mownte Mowmartere,
It was a ful faire syghte.

54

With þat þe Bischoppe Turpyn come,
And also a Cardynall of Rome,
With a full grete powere,
Thay semblede appon a noþer syde
Baners bett with mekill pryde,
Þe clergy þat was so clere.
And appon þaire knees þay knelide down,
The Bischoppe gafe þam his Benyson,
Alle hollyly in fere.
And thane sent he In to the kynge
And badde hym forth his Baronns brynge,
And saide, “my Prestis are here.”

55

Bot ȝitt this false Genyoun
Conselde þe kynge ay with treson
Þat hym selfe solde duelle þer still:
“And lette þe Bischoppe wende his waye,
Doo at ȝone Saraȝenes that he maye,
There sall he feghte his fill:
And byde thi selfe in this Citee.
Slayne in þe felde gife þat þou bee
Alle Fraunce may like it full ill.”

---

22

And with his concelle and his fare
Slyke concell he gaffe þam þare
The kynge grauntis þer till.

56

And forthe to þe Bischoppe þan sendis he,
And for thynge þat euer myghte bee
He solde hym neuer be-swyke.
Bot take his nobill Cheualrye
And wende forthe in to lumbardy,
“For I will kepe my Ryke.”
The Bischoppe saide: “by goddes tree,
Or þat Charls doo so with mee
Full ill it sall hym lyke!
I sall hym curse in myddis his face.
What! sall he nowe with sory grace
Be-come ane Eretyke?”

57

The Bischoppe leues his powere thare
And In to þe Cite gane he fare
And þe Cardenall with hym.
And when he come by fore þe kynge
There was none oþer haylsynge
Bot stowte wordes and grym.
He saide: “allas, sir Charllyone,
That þou thus sone be comes a crayon,
Me thynke thi body full dym.
Alle the false councell þat touches þe crown
Here gyffe I þam goddis malyson,
Bothe in lyfe and lyme.

58

And Cristis Malyson myghte he haue
That fyrste to þe þat Concell gaffe,
And here I curse the, þou kynge!

---

23

Be cause þou lyffes in Eresye,
Thou ne dare noghte fyghte one goddes Enemy:”
& a buke forthe gane he brynge:
And þe Sertayne sothe als I ȝow telle
He dyde all þat to cursynge felle,
this was no manere of lesynge.
“Nowe arte þou werre þan any Saraȝene,
Goddes awenn wedirwyne,
Of sorowe now may þou synge!

59

If Cristyndome loste bee
Þe wyte bese casten one the,
Allas, þat þou was borne!
Criste for the sufferde mare dere,
Sore wondede with a spere,
And werede a Crown of thorne.
And now þou dare noghte in the felde
For hym luke vndir thy schelde,
I tell þi saule for lorne.
Men will deme aftir thi daye
how falsely þou forsuke thi laye,
And calle the kynge of skorne.”

60

Bot then kyng Charls with owtten wene
At the byschoppe was so tene
A fawchone hase he drawen,
And þe Bischoppe styrte þan to a brande,
Hent it owt of a sqwyers hande,
Both with myghte & mayne,
And braydes owte þe blade bare:
Be myghtfull god þan he sware:
“If I wiste to be slayne,
Charls, and þou touche mee
Thou fares noghte forthir fete thre
Or it be qwitt agayne.”

---

24

61

Than grete lordes ȝede þam by-twene,
The kynge comande his knyghtis kene
The Bischoppe for to taa.
And þe Bischoppe said: “sirres, I will ȝow no scathe
And bi my faythe it es grete wathe
Bot if ȝe late me gaa.
For certis I will noghte taken bee
With nane þat I now here see,
Bot if ȝee firste me slaa.
And whilk of ȝow þat touches me
With owtten harme passes noghte hee.”
Than with his horse come þay.

62

“Here,” he said, “I a-vowe to mylde marie,
And to hir sone god almyghttye,
I sall noghte leue the soo.
For we are halden with þe righte
Clerkes appon cursede men to fighte,
I calle the goddes foo.
I sall gerre buske my batelle bownn
And halde the, Charls, with In þis townn,
With-owt þou sall noghte goo.
Was neuer kynge þat werede a crown
So foule rebuytede with Relygyon,
Þou sall sone witt of woo.

63

Goddes byddynge hast þou broken,
Thurghe þe traytour speche spoken
Alle Cristendom walde þou schende.
When Criste sent the a suerde vn till
Thou myghte wele wiete it was his will
that thi selfe solde thedir wende,
There-fore I sall stroye the,
Bryne and breke downn thi Cite,
If þou be neuer so ten[d]e.

---

25

Then to ȝone saraȝenes wende sall I,
Fighte with þam whils I may dry,
In goddes seruyce to ende.”

64

The Bischoppe & þe Cardynere
Appon þaire horses gatt bothe in fere,
Owte of þe townn þay rade
Also faste als þay myghte dryve
To the grete Batelle be-lyfe,
And Buskede baners full brade.
They Romede to-warde Paresche town,
And thoghte to bete the Cyte downe
With þe powere þat he hade.
“Slyke clerkes beris my Benysone,
For trewere men of Relygyoun
In erthe were neuer none made.”

65

Charls ouer þe walles bi-helde,
And sawe the hoste come in the felde
And drawe to-wardes þe town.
Bot þan said Duke Naymes vn to þe kynge:
“Sir, ȝonder comes vs new tythynges
With Baners buskede alle bown.
I rede ȝe praye ȝone clergy sesse
And aske þe Bischoppe forgyfnesse
And Absolucioun.
And graunt hym graythely for to goo
For to feghte appon goddis foo,
Or loste es thi renownn.”

66

“In faithe,” saide þe kynge, “I graunt.”
The Bischoppe es gude & on evynhaunt
With Baners bryghte of hewe

---

26

Be-fore þam a furlange & mare.
The kynge vndid his hede alle bare,
The Bischoppe wele hym knewe,
And appon his knees he knelid down
And tuke his absolucyoun,
theire Ioye by-gane to newe.[OMITTED]

67

The kynge says: “haly fader free,
This gilte I praye the forgyffe me
And I will wirke ȝour will.
And with ȝour clergye tournes agayne,
Riste and Ryott ȝow by þe water of sayne,
Ay whills I come ȝow till.”
The Bischoppe grauntis hym in þat tyde,
And pyghte Pauylyons with mekill pryde,
With wyne & welthes at will.
The kynge in to þe Citee went
And aftir his Baronage he sent,
Alle forwardes to fulfill.

68

And by the thre wekes comen were
Charls had semblede a faire powere,
Hym selfe come all at hande.
Erles, Dukes, & þe xij duchepers,
Bothe barons and Bachelers,
knyghtis full heuenhande.
Thay offerde alle at seynt denys,
And grete lordes to armes chesse,
And Charls tuke his hande.
And thus remewes that grete powere,
The leuenynge of [þair] baners clere
Lyghtenes all þat lande.

---

27

[Tertius] Passus: a ffittt

69

Thus Charls with his cheualrye
Vn to he come at lumbardy
In no place wolde he hone.
And to the Saraȝenes was it tolde
That Charls make werre appon þam wolde,
To venge þat are was done.
The grete lordes þan to gedir spake:
“It is better þat we sir Garcy take,
And Crownn hym þe Sowdane Sone.”
Than sent þay to many an hethyn knyghte,
Þay badde þat alle solde come þat myghte,
By þe heghten day at none.

70

When þay were semblede sekerly,
Thay Crownnede þe Sowdane sir Garcy,
Þat Solance was to see[ne].
Sexty knyghtis of dyuerse lande
Ilkon sent hym sere presande
To witt with owtten wene.
Thay dressede on hym a dyademe,
And made hym Emperour so hym seme,
These knyghtis þat were kene.
Syne present hym with golde,
And Stones of vertu þat was holde,
Þe beste in erthe myghte bene.

71

The kynge of Massedoyne lande
Sent þe Sowdane a presande,
Þe Meryeste one molde:
Sexty Maydyns faire of face,
That cheffeste of his kyngdome was,
And faireste appon folde:

---

28

Sexty Fawconns faire of flyghte,
And Sexti stedis noble and wyghte,
In euer-ilke Iournay bolde.
And appon Ilke a stede a knyghte sittande
With a fawcon appon his hande,
And a cowpe full of golde.

72

Sexty grewhondes vn to þe gamen,
And Sexti Raches rynnande in samen,
Þe beste in erthe myghte bee.
He come hym selfe with this presande
And broghte in his awenn hande,
Þat was worthe thiese three:
In visebill a full riche stone,
A Safre þe beste þat myghte be one
To seke alle Crystiauntee.
The Sowdane was full fayne of this,
And kyndely gan his cosyn kysse
With mekill solempnytee.

73

When he his powere semblede hade,
A ryalle feste þe Sowdan made
Of worthy men in wede.
Of alle þe damesels bryghte & schene
Þe Sowdane hade hym selfe I wene
Þaire althere Maydynhede;
By þam ilkone he laye a nyghte,
And sythen Mariede hir vn-to a knyghte,
Þay leffed one haythen lede.
So mekill luste of lechery
Was a-mange þat cheualry
Þat þay [myg]hte noghte wele spede.

---

29

74

To Charls now will I torne agayne
Þat passes ouer Mountayne & playne,
At [Me]layne wolde he bee;
And when he come in to þat stede
Where als þe cristyn men by fore weren dede,
Off Fraunce so grete plentee,
There heghe appon an hill appon highte
Turpyn garte an awtre dyghte,
Þat alle þe folke myghte See;
And off the Trynytee a messe he says,
And hertly for þe saules he prayes,
And the bodyes þat þare gan dye.

75

The Bischoppe sone gane hym reuesche,
In gude entent he says a messe,
In þe name of god almyghte:
He blyssede þe awtere with his hande,
And a fayre oste of brede þer appon he fande,
Þat euer he sawe with syghte.
His chalesse was so full of wyne
There myghte no more hafe gone þer in,
It come fro heuen on highte.
He dide his messe forthe to þe ende
And thankede gode þat it hym sende,
And Marie his modir bryghte.

76

The Bischoppe in his hert was fayne
And thankede god with all his mayne,
And Marie his modir free.
He tolde þe hoste with lowde steuen,
How brede & wyne was sent fro heuen,
Fro god of moste poustee:
“And all þat euer hase sene this syghte
ȝee are als clene of syn, I plyghte,
Als þat day borne were ȝee.

---

30

And who so endys in this felde
In his byggynge sall he belde
Euer more in blysse to bee.”

77

The Bischoppe þan keste of his abytte
And aftir armours he askede tytte,
For egernesse he loughe.
A kirtill and a corsett fyne,
Þer ouer he keste an acton syne,
And it to hym he droughe:
An hawbarke with a gesserante,
His gloues weren gude & auenaunte;
And als blythe als birde one boughe
He tuke his helme & sythen his brande,
Appon a stede a spere in hande,
Was grete and gud ynoghe.

78

Sayse “I praye ȝow, all my cleregy here,
Assembles vndire my Banere,
The vawarde will I haue.
Charls & his knyghtis kene
Lete Erles & Barons with hym bene,
Bothe Sqwyers & knaue,
I beseke freschely for to fyghte,
That þe [le]wede men may se with syghte,
And gud Ensample haue.
Standis [now baldly f]or ȝoure trouthe;
Appon ȝo[ne Saraȝen]es haues no rewthe;
For golde in erthe, none saue.”

79

Thus Ch[arls led]eth a faire menȝhe
For[th to Mela]yne, þat riche Cite,
Braydes vp Baners ȝare.

---

31

And when þe Sowdane hase þam sene,
He comandes his knyghtis kene,
Þat þay solde make þam ȝare:
And Or he wolde passe owte of þe townn,
He made his Offerande to Mahownn,
þe wars leue gode þay fare.
And sythen owt of that Citee,
Off heythen men an hugge menȝhee
Þat Semyde als breme als bare.

80

Sir Arabaunt, with Ire and hete,
A Furlange bi-fore þe Batelle grete,
Come and askede fighte.
And by-fore of oure folke had he slayne
Bothe þe lorde of Melayne
And many an oþer knyght.
Than sayde þe Bischoppe:“so mot I spede,
He sall noghte ruysse hym of this dede,
If I cane rede a ryghte!”
And or any knyght myght gete his gere
The Bischoppe gart hym with a spere
Appon his tepet lighte.

81

Turpyn strake hym so sekerly
Thurgh þe breste bone all plenerly,
A lange ȝerde and more,
That dede he daschede to þe grounde,
Grysely gronaunde in that stownde,
Woundede wonderly sore.
The Bischoppe þan lighte full apertly
And off he hewes his hede in hy,
Þat are was breme als bare.
His horse vn to þe Cristen Oste gan spede,
A Sqwyere broghte agayne his stede,
And one he leppe righte thare.

---

32

82

The Bischoppe sqwyere in the place
Saw þat þe kynge dede was
Þat had bene of grete powere;
His helme & his hawberke holde,
Frette ouere with rede golde,
With stones of vertue dere;
His gowere pendande on þe grounde,
It was worthe a thowsande pownde,
Off rubys and Safere:
He lowtede down, vp wolde itt ta,
The Bischoppe bad hym fro it ga:
“Go fonnge the anoþer fere.

83

To wyn the golde þou arte a fole,
Þou bygynnes sone for to spoyle,
Loo! ȝonder comes moo.
Thou settis more by a littill golde,
Þat þou seese lye appon þe molde,
Þan to fighte one goddes foo.
Loo! ȝonder comes Saraȝenes in þe felde,
Go kill þam down vndir thi schelde,
Slyk [w]orchippes were gude to do.”
He tuke þe pendande in his hande,
The Bishoppe bett hym with his brande
[Þat] he keste it hym fro.

84

With þat come girdande sir Darnadowse,
A nobill knyghte and a cheuallrouse,
Prekande one a stede.
He was þe chefe of Famagose,
A Saraȝene þat fayne wolde wyn lose,
And to þe Cristen oste gan spede.
He bad sende owte Charlyon
If he dare come to wynn pardoun
A bofett for to bede.

---

33

He wolde noghte fighte bot with a kynge,
He calde hym selfe with owt lesynge
The chefe of hethyn thede.

85

Then kyng Charls tuke his spere hym to,
The Bischoppe Turpyn and oþer mo
Prayede god solde hym spede.
“A, dere lorde,” said Rowlande in heghe,
“Late me fare to fighte for thee,
For hym þat one rode gan blede.”
Than Charls sweris by saynt paule:
“Sen ilke a man feghtis for his saule
I sall for myn do mede.
Slayne in the felde gif þat I bee
Kynge off Fraunce here make I the,
With reghte þe Reme to lede.”

86

Þan with owtten any more habade
Theis two kynges to-gedir rade,
With Ire and grete envy.
And at þe firste course þat þay ranne
Thies kynges two with horse & manne
At þe grounde bothe gun ly.
Deliuerly vp sone bothe þay stirtt,
And drewe þaire swerdis with noble hertt,
With owtten noyse or cry.
Thay dalt so derfely with þaire brandes,
Thay hewe theire scheldis to þaire handis
In cantells hyngand by.

87

So darfely bothe þaire dynttis þay driste
A littill while þay wolde þam riste,
Þe Saraȝene prayede hym styntt:

---

34

“Nowe, certis, sir,” he saide, “me rewes of thee
A Cristynn man þat þou solde bee,
thou arte so stronge of dyntt.
Bot torne vn to oure lawes & take þam to,
And I sall gyffe the rewmes two,
And elles will þou harmes hentt.”
Bot þe Bischoppe Turpyn þan cryes on heghte:
“A! Charles, thynk appon Marie brighte,
To whayme oure lufe es lentt.

88

And if euer þat þou hade any myghte,
Latt it nowe be sene in syghte,
What pouste þat þou hase.
Latte neuer oure kynge with dynt of brande
B[e] slayne with ȝone Saraȝene hande,
Ne ende, lady, in this Place.
A [God] wote we sall be safe,
[Neuer] the lyk wolde we hafe
Of oure comly kynge of face.
[Þou ma]kere bathe of son and see,
[Pity t]he dole w[e d]ree for thee,
And graunte vs of thi grace!”

89

[Charls] saide:“sir Bischoppe, nay,
[Neuer sall I] forsake my lay:”
And to-gedir gan þay goo.
So stiffely aythere at othere strake,
Appon his helme sir Charles brake
His nobill swerde in two.
Bot þan the franche folke with nobill steuenn,
Thay cry vp vn to þe kynge of heuenn,
And for þaire lorde were wo.
The Saraȝene was curtays in þat fighte
And lawses owt a knyfe full righte,
His swerde he keste hym fro.

---

35

90

And Charles voydede his broken brande,
Owte he hent a knyfe in hande,
And Samen þay wente full tytte.
Thay daschede full darfely with þaire dynt,
Mighte no steryn stele þam stynt,
So styffely bothe þay smyte.
In sondre braste þay many a mayle,
Thaire hawberghes thurgh force gan fayle:
To see had lordis delitte.
Bot a felle stroke sir Charls gafe hym one
Evyn at þe breste bone,
Þat strake his hert gan blende.

91

The Saraȝene was dede of þat strake,
And Charls gan this fende vp take,
And with his awenn brande
He broches hym so boldely
That his hert blode sekerly
rane to oure kynges hande.
And thare he wane þe saraȝene swerde,
And certis þat with one the erthe
He conquered many a lande.
The Cristen folke were neuer so fayne;
Bot by the kynge was horsede agayne
Þe Batells were doande.

92

And hawberkes sone in schredis were schorne,
And beryns thorowe the bodys borne,
And many a saraȝene slayne.
Knyghtis one þe bent bledis,
Many lay stekede vndir stedis,
In gilten gere full gay[n]e:
Other with glafes were girde thurgh evyn:
We may thanke gode þat is in heuen
Þat lent vs myghte & mayne.

---

36

Thay sloughe þam downn with swerdis bright,
Þe Cristynnes faughte in goddis righte,
Þe Bischoppe loughe for fayne.

93

Bot, als þe Cronakill ȝitt will telle,
Þer come a saraȝene fers and felle
And to þe Bischoppe glade.
And stroke hym righte thorowe þe thee,
And agayne to þe hethen oste gane flee,
And Turpyn after hym rade.
The Bischoppe folouede hym so ferre
Þat þe saraȝene hade þe werre
For þe maystrie þat he [made].
He stroke hym so in þe sowdane syghte,
He fande neuer man þat after myghte
Hele þe hurt [he had]e.

94

Bot they helde In þe Bischoppe in þat rowtte
Þat he ne myghte noghte wyn owte,
And þer he [was doande].
The kynge of Massedoyne land with a spere,
Þe Bischope fro his horse gane bere,
And sette [on hym his hande]
The saraȝenes sware he solde be dede,
And þe kynge sayde, “naye,” in that stede
For no Saraȝene liffande.
And righte als þay solde oure Bischoppe slo,
Thay smote þe kynge of Massaydoyne fro
Clenly of his reghte hande.

95

Bot þan kynges men of Massaydoyne weren wo,
When þay saughe þaire lorde was wondede soo,
And trowede he walde be dede.

---

37

Thay Braydede owte swerdes full bryghte
Agaynes þe Sowdane folke to fighte,
Full styffely in þat stede:
For that gane fyfetene thowsandeȝ dy
Of þe Sowdans cheualry,
Laye bledande þan full rede.
And with þat Turpyn gatt a-waye
To Charls Oste, full fayne were þay,
A horse þay to hym lede.

96

Bot when þe Bischoppe was horsede agayne,
Alle þe cleregy weren full fayne,
And presede in to þe place.
So depe wondes þat day þay dalt,
Þat many on wyde opyn walt,
Þat wikkidly wondede was.
Thay sloughe so many an heythen kynge
Þat at þe laste þay tuke to flyinge,
Als god vs gaffe þe grace.
Many a Saraȝene garte þay falle,
And Turpyn with his Clergy alle
Folowede faste one þe chase.

97

And Charls on þe toþer syde
Sloughe þam downn with wondis wyde,
the doughty garte þay dy.
The Sowdane hym selfe so harde was stedde
Þat with Ten thowsande a-way he fledde,
And faste to Melayne gatt he.
The Cristen men chasede þam to þe barres,
And sloughe righte there fele folke & fresche,
All þat þere walde byde & bee.
Bot þan kynge Charls tuke þe playne
And Semblede all his folke a-gayne,
To luke how beste myghte [þe].

---

38

98

Thay myghte noghte þe Cite wynn,
The strenghe of þe Saraȝenes þat were with-In.
Þe Bischoppe said:“I rede
Of oure knyghtes in þe felde
es many wondede vndir schelde,
And also some are dede;
And ȝone Saraȝenes full of tresone es,
There I concelle bothe more & lesse
We stirre noghte of this stede,
Ne or to-morne serche neuer a wounde,
Bot luke þan who may be sownde;
Lete Criste wirke:” & forthe he ȝede.

99

Here to a[c]ordes euerilkon,
Lordes [haf] þaire horses tone,
And Comen es the nyghte.
Fo[r alle] þe Saraȝenes there
Th[ay ne mygh]te no forthir fare,
Bot bydis in brenys bryghte.
Ch[arles acordede] als þay rade,
All [nyghte on]e þe bent þay bade
With standardes euen vp streghte.
The kynge prayede the Bischoppe fre
His wonde þat he wolde late hym see,
Þat he hade tane in þat fighte.

100

Bot þe Bischoppe saide:“a vowe to god make I here,
There sall no salue my wonde come nere,
Ne no hose of my thee:
Ne mete ne drynke my hede come In,
The Cite of Melayne or we it wyn,
Or ells þer fore to dye.”
He garte dele his vetells then
Firste amanges oure wonded men,
Bot no mete neghe wolde hee.

---

39

Bot als so sore wondede als he was,
Knelande he his prayers mase
To gode of moste Pouste.

101

Oure folke hade done so doughtily
That many of þam weren ful wery,
So hade þay foghten þan.
Bot one þe morne þe Cristen stode
A thowsande ouer theire fete in theire blode
Of theire awenn wondes wane.
Othere refreschynge noghte many hade
Bot blody water of a slade,
Þat thurghe þe Oste ran.
The Sowdane sent a Messangere
To kynge Charles als ȝe may here,
And that sawe many a man.

102

Þe Messangere bare a wande
Of ane Olefe in his hande,
In takynnynge he come of pece.
And lowde he cryede appon Charls þe kynge,
And saide he myghte his handis wrynge,
“Appon lyfe if þat he es:
For oure Sowdane hase by Mahownn sworne
Þat he salle mete hym here to-morne,
With full prowde men in prese:
With fowrty thowsande of helmes bryghte,
Was neuer ȝitt frekkere men to fighte
Sene in hethynnesse.”

103

And Charles ansuerde at þat tide:
“In faythe I sall þam here habyde
Wode giffe þat þay were.

---

40

If þat he brynge alle þe Saraȝenes
Þat es alle heythynnesse with-In,
Hyne will I noghte fare.”
The Messangere agayne þan rade,
And they sett wache and still habade
Whills Pryme was passede & mare.
Bot or þe nonee neghede nee,
To þam þan soughte a felle semble
With Baners breme als bare.

104

Bot than sir Charles spekes full gudely
To Rowlande his nevewe þat stode hym by,
And seid; “sir, so god the spede,
This day wirke þou Manfully
With thi nobill Cheualry,
And of þe Saraȝens hafe [no dre]de.
Thou sall see þat I sall noghte be sparede,
My selfe sall haue the vawarde,
There Iesu [Crist þe sp]ede.”
The trumpetes trynes one righte þan,
To Ioyne so Iolyly thay by-gane,
Oure worthy men in wede.

105

Thay ruysschede Samen with swilke a rake
That many a Saraȝene laye on his bake,
& one þe lawnde righte þer þay lay;
Full Grisely gronande one the grete,
Stekyde vndir stedis fete,
And liste no thynge of playe.
So darfely þan þay dynge þam downn,
Thay saide þe myghte of saynt Mahownn
Was clenely all a-waye.
“A! mount Ioye!” oure lordes gane crye,
And Charles with his cheualrye
Full freschely faughte þat day.

---

41

106

They hewe of hethen hedis in hye,
Oure Cristen men so sekirly
Of þam hade littill drede,
Bot brittenesse þam with brandis bare
And Saraȝenes thurghe þe schuldire schare,
þat to þe girdill it ȝede.
Thay tuke none hede of gudes nore golde,
Lay neuer so mekill appon the molde,
Oure worthy men in wede;
Bot beris abake the Batells brade,
Fowrty thowsande in a slade,
Laye stekede vnder stede.

107

And so harde by-stade was þe Sowdane
Hym selfe with ten thowsande þan
To Melayne tuke þe gate.
Oure Cristen knyghtis with þaire speres
The hyndirmaste fro þaire blonkes beres,
And chacede þam to þe ȝate.
The owte barres hew þay downn,
And slewe hethynn kynges with crownn,
And þaire powere þer-ate.
To sawtte þe Cite sadly þay by-gann,
Off Cristyn men many a cruelle man,
Þe hethyn wex all mate.

108

With speris & with spryngaldes faste,
With dartis kenely owte þay caste,
Bothe with myghte & mayne.
With gownnes & with grete stones
Graythe gounnes stoppede those gones
With peletes vs to payne.
Oure Cristyn men that were of price
Bendis vp bowes of devyce,
And Bekirs þam agayne.

---

42

Appon bothe the sydis so freschely þay fighte
That by it drewe vn to the nyghte
Fele folke of fraunce were slayne.

109

There were of oure clergy dede
And oþer lordes in þat stede,
Or thay of sawte walde sesse.
By þan þay sawe it was no bote to byde
And fro þe Cite warde þay ryde,
Oure prynces prouede in presse.
The Bischoppe es so woundede that tyde
With a spere thorowe owte the syde,
Þat one his ribbis gan rese.
Thurgh þe schelde & the browe bare
A schaftemonde of his flesche he schare:
lordynges, þis es no lese.

110

He pullede it owte, keste it hym fro,
And weryde þe handis þat it come fro,
And þat it lete forthe glyde.
The Sowdane ouer þe wallis by-helde
And sawe þe Cristen in the felde
Frowarde þe Cite ride.
And appon kynge Charls þan cryes he:
“What! Charls, thynkes now to flee?
I trowe the moste habyde.
I sall the mete to-morne in felde,
With fourty thowsand vnder schelde,
Sall fonde to felle thi pryde.”

111

Says Charls: “þou false hethyn hownde,
Thou ne dare noghte byde appon þe grounde,
Þer euer more worthe the woo

---

43

Bot aythire of thies dayes Ilyke
Hase þou stollen a waye lyke a tyke,
The deuelle myghte with þ goo!
That Cite bot þou ȝelde to me,
And fully trowe and Cristyn be
Appon one god and no moo,
In felde ȝif euer I see the mare
I sall by myghtfull god” he sware,
“Hewe thi bakke in twoo.”

112

Then of oure Cristen men in þe felde
Many semblede vnder schelde,
And some ware wondede sare.
Thay þat were bothe hale & sownde
Comforthed þam þat were euyll wonde,
So als Criste wolde it were.
The kynge þan of his helme tase,
And to the Bischoppe swythe he gase
And sayde: “Fadir, for goddes are,
Thy woundes that thou walde late me see,
If any Surgeoun myghte helpe thee,
My comforthe were þe mare.”

113

“What! wenys þou, Charls,” he said, “þat I faynte bee
For a spere was in my thee,
A glace thorowte my syde.
Criste for me sufferde mare;
He askede no salue to his sare,
Ne no more sall I this tyde.
I sall neuer ette ne drynke,
Ne with myn eghe slepe a wynke,
Whate bale als euer I byde,
To ȝone Cite ȝolden bee,
Or ells þer-fore in Batelle dye,
The sothe is noghte to hyde.”

---

44

114

Als þay stode spekande of þis thynge,
To Charls come a newe tydynge
Þat Blenkede all his blee:
Thay saide þat one sir Tretigon,
Þat was þe Sowdane syster son,
And þe beste of Barbarye,—
“Certys, Charls, he comes at hande
With men of armes a sexty thowsande,
To strenghe with ȝone Cite.” [OMITTED]

115

[_]

A leaf seems to be missing here. The French being hard pressed, Charles wishes one of his knights to ride off to France for help.

[OMITTED] “Now sone, when I hafe foughten my fill,
I sall avise me gif þat I will
One thi message to wende.”

116

“Now sir Bawdewyne, buske, & make þe bownn.”
He saide: “allas, þou charelyonn,
Þat euer I tuke thi fee!
For ȝitt my selfe es saffe & sownnde,
My body hole with owttyn wounde,
Als þou thi selfe may see;
I walde noghte, for all thi kyngdome,
Þat euer þat worde vn-to france come
I solde so feyntly flee.

---

45

Gett the a currour whare þou may,
For, by god þat awe this day,
Þou sall haue none of mee.”

117

“A, sir Ingelere, for a knyghte þou art kyde,”
“Whi, sir Charls, what walde þou þat I dide?
“I pray the wende thi waye.”
“Bi Iesu Criste þat sittis aboffe,
Me thynke þou kydde me littill luffe,
When þou þat worde wolde saye.
Bot me sall neuer be-tyde þat taynte:
I hope þou wenys myn herte be feynte,
I say þe schortly, naye:
Þat I sall neuer so fremdly flee,
God lett me ȝif it his wills bee
Neuer habyde þat daye.”

118

The Duke Berarde was wondede sare,
Thurgh þe schelde into þe Body bare
He was borne with a brande.
Of this message þay gun hym frayne,
bot he hade no worde to speke agayne,
Bot grymly stude lukande.
Than Turpyn gan to Charls say:
“Here arte þou seruede, bi my fay,
Þou fayles of þat þou fande.
The Duke es woundede so wonder sare
It ware grete syn to greue hym mare;
Gude sir, þou late hym stande.”

119

Thay prayede a Banarett þan of pryce,
One sir Barnarde of Parische,
For grete gyftis he wolde wende.

---

46

And he saide: “lordynges, by my faye,
I ame ouer symple to ȝow to saye,
Where euer ȝe will me sende.
I aske ordir of knyghte þer till;
Bot giffe ȝour giftis where ȝe will,
Elles ȝe be my frende.”
Thay made hym knyghte with full gud chere,
He tuke leue at þe twelue duȝepere
this curtayse knyghte & he[nde].

120

He saide þan: “haue guddaye, Charls, in this stede,
For þou sall neuer gyffe me brede,
Ne in thy burdynge say,
If I be pore of golde and fee,
Þat I fro this grete Iournee
Fayntly fledde a way.”
He rydis euen to þe ȝatis of Melayne
And there with saraȝenes was he slayne,
He dide full wele þat day.
And Charls for hym in hert was woo,
Bischoppe Turpyn and othere moo
For his dede sore mournede thay.

121

Thus haue þay prayede euerylkone,
Bot there wolde goo neuer one,
The symple thay bade none sende.
The Bischoppe Turpyn cryede appon highte:
“Sen ȝe are so frekke for to fighte
God of his myghte ȝow mende!
ȝitt are we ten thowsande here
That are ȝitt bothe hole and fere,
Þat wele for kene are kende.
And of gude men þat none will flee,
To fourty thowsande or we dye
In þe felde to make þaire ende.”

---

47

122

Bot als Turpyn lengs hym on his brande
Ouer an hill he saw comande
ful many a brade Banere,
The Duke of Bretayne, sir lyonelle,
That Charls was thare he herde telle
And hade mystere of powere.
He broghte hym thirty thowsande fyne,
Vetaylls gude and nobill engyne,
This bolde with full blythe chere,
Than Turpyn gan to Charls say:
“I see a felle hoste, bi my fay,
Þat sone will neghe vs nere.

123

ȝone are the saraȝenes mekill of mayne,
The full powere owt of spayne,
Þat sone sall full ill spede.
For by hym þat swelt on tree
This day no saraȝene sall I see
Sall gerre me torne my stede.”
And In his hande he caughte a launce:—
“Haue gud day, Charls, and grete wele fraunce.”—
& agayne þat hoste he ȝede.
In fewter sone he keste his spere
And thoghte the Boldeste down to bere
Þat Batelle walde hym bede.

124

So blody was that Bischoppis wede
His conysaunce ne ȝit his stede
Þe Bretons ne couthe noghte knawe.
Bot als an harawde hym by-helde
He lukede vp in to his schelde,
And sayde to alle one rawe:
“If Bischoppe Turpyn appon lyve be,
In faythe, lordynges, ȝone es he
Þat ȝe se hedirwarde drawe.”

---

48

Thay ferlyde why he fewterde his spere,
“A Mounte Ioye,” cryes one þat he myghte here,
He was glade of þat sawe.

125

The Wardayne rydis hym agayne
And said: “sir Bischoppe, for goddis payne,
Who hase greued the?”
He tuke his spere owt of reste adownn
And gaffe þam alle his Benysonn,
the Bretons when he þam see.
The Bischoppe tolde þam of his care
Bot þan the Bretons hertis were sare,
For þe dole oure Oste gun dryee.
A Messangere went to telle the kynge,
So fayne was Charles neuer of thynge
With eghe þat he gan see.

126

And or Turpyn myghte his tale halfe telle
He sawe come houande ouer a felle
Many a brade Banere;
Standardis grete with stalworthe men,
Sexti thowsande wele myghte þay ben,
In brenyes burnescht clere.
Vnder þe cante of a hille
Oure Bretons beldis & bydis stille,
When þay wiste whate þay were.
The Bischoppe saide: “bi goddis myghte,
Thaym sall rewe or it be nyghte,
the tyme þat þay come here!

127

Go we to ȝone company
With ‘Mountioye’ baldly & þam ascrye,
Late þer be no Lettynge.”

---

49

An hawrawde said: “to fewe are we
To fighte with slyke a grete menȝe,
It is better wende to þe kynge.”
“A, sir, whare þay are sexti thowsande men!
And if þay were mo bi thowsandis ten,
[Bi] God þat made all thynge,
The more powere that thay be,
The more honour wyn sall we,
We dowte noghte þam to dynge.”

128

The Bischoppe to þe kyng sent
And prayes hym to byde appon þe bent,
Þe Cite for to kepe;
That there no saraȝene solde come owte,
To þay had rekkenede with þat rowte,
Þay sawe come ouere þe depe.
Oure Bretons kyndely comforthes he,
Sayse: “alle þ Saraȝenes ȝe ȝonder see
Þaire frendis sore may wepe:
We sall wirke þam wondis full wyde,
I hete þam be þaire lemans syde
Sowndely neuer sall þay slepe.”

129

For Isschuynge owte of þe Cite
kynge Charles with his menȝe
Helde his Batelle still.
Oure Bretons bolde þat fresche come In
Thoghte þat þay wolde wirchippe wyn
And gatt þe cante of þe hill.
The Saraȝenes were so strange & stowte
Thay late no lede þat þay wolde lowte,
Þay were so wykkede of w[ill].
Oure Bretons dide so doughtyly
That lange or none sekerly
Þe saraȝenes lykede full ill.

---

50

130

Samen þan strake þat grete stowre
Als it were aftire þe none ane houre,
It was noghte mekills mare:
Bot Many a saraȝene in þat stownde
Lay grysely gronande on the grownde,
Woundede wonderly sore.
Bot there god will helpe þer es no lett;
So stronge strokes þay one þam sett
With burneschede bladis bare,
That fourty thowsande saraȝenes kene
With Brandis lay brettenyde on the grene,
So bolde oure Bretons were.

131

And to þe Cite þe toþer wolde haue flede,
And Rowlande thoghte he wolde þam stedde,
Ten thowsande was with hym.
And when he with the saraȝenes mett,
Full grym strokes he ouer þam sett,
With growndyn speris and grym.
Charles appon þe tothere syde
Sloughe þam downn with wondis wyde,
And made þaire dedis full dyme.
And thus thay chase þam here and thare,
Als þe howndes dose the hare,
And refte þam lyfe and lyme.

132

Rowlande rydis to Letygon,
Þat was þe sowdane Sister sone,
And stroke hym with a spere,
That dede he daschede in þe felde:
Helme ne hawberke he myghte none welde,
Ne neuer after none bere.

---

51

Of sexti thowsande, sothely to say,
Passede neuer one qwyke a way,
Bot euyll þay endide there.
The Cristenyde knelide down in þat place
And thankede god þat gaffe þam grace,
So worthily þam to were.

133

The false in þe felde thus gun þay felle,
The kynge callede sir lyonelle,
And a-vauntede hym full heghe.
The Duke of Burgoyne bi-fore was dede,
He Sessede hym in his stede,
And gafe hym his doughter free.
And to þe Bischoppe þan swythe he gase,
That wery and sore wondede was,
And fastande dayes three:
Be þat tyme he myghte note wele a worde owt-wyn,
The teris rane ouer Charles chynn,
Þat Sorowe it was to See:

134

“And þou dy, þan dare I saye
The floure of presthode es a-waye,
Þat euer hade schauen crownn.
For there ne is kynge ne Cardynere
In Cristyndome may be thi pere,
Ne man of Religiownn.”
He will no man his wondes late See,
Ne mete ne drynke none neghe hym ne,
For prayer ne for pardownn.
Oure Oste for þe Bishcoppe mournes alle,
And graythes þam to Melayne walle,
With Baners buskede bownn.

---

52

135

New vetailles þe bretons broghte þan
Þat refresschede many of oure men,
Of brede, brawne & wyne.
A nobill hurdas ther was graythede
And Baners to þe walles displayede,
And Bendis vp þaire engyne.

---

53

Þe Romance Of Duke Rowlande and of Sir Ottuell of Spayne.

---

55

Off Cherlls of Fraunce.

1

Lordynges, þat bene hende and Free,
Herkyns alle hedir-wardes to mee,
Gif þat it be ȝour will.
Now lates alle ȝour nyose be,
And herkyns nowe of gamen & glee,
Þat I schall tell ȝow till.
Of doghety men I schall ȝow telle,
Þat were full fayre of flesche & fell,
And Semely appon Sille.
And with þaire wapyns wele couthe melle,
And boldly durste in batell duelle,
And doghety proued one hill.

2

The sone of le Roy Pepyn,
Þat was sir Cherlles gud & fyne,
Als þe cronykills vs gan say,
With his dusperes doghety and dym
Þat wele couthe feghte with a Saraȝene,
For to felle þam fey.
Till Genyone with his traytorye
Solde þam ille and wikkedly
Vn-to þe false ley:
Fourty thowsande and fyfty
Of þe flour of cheualrye
there dyede apon a daye.

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56

3

Mynstrells in þat lande gan duelle,
Bot alle þe sothe þay couthe noghte tell
Of this noble cheualrye.
How þat Cherlles with his swerde gan melle,
Bot suche a Menske hym be-fell
Þat come hym Sodeynly.
They tentede to þaire daunsynge
And also to þaire othir thynge,
to make gamen & glee.
Burdours in to þe haulle þay brynge,
Þat gayly with þaire gle gan synge,
With wowynges of lady.

4

And forthir in Romance als ȝe mon here;
This noble kynge of grete powere
Duellede in pariche,
With his lordes and his Duspers,
Þat were holden felle & fers
And in Batelle full wyse.
All þay buskede þam for to bere
Helme & hawberke, schelde & spere,
And rapede þam for to ryse,
Agaynes kynge Merthill for to were,
And for to kepe þe heythyn here,
& struye there goddes Enymys.

5

Bot now come þam newe note one hande
And wondirfull hasty tythande,
Þat greuede þam righte Sore.
For of þe cheuallrye of the lande
Þer hade dyede thritty thousande,
Gif goddes helpe ne wore.
And owte of Spayne there come in hy
A Saraȝene þat was full doghety,
With grymly grownden gare,

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57

Fro þe Emperour sir Garey
To kyng Charlles full hastilye,
Þat kindilde alle þaire care.

6

The Messangere was mekill of pride,
Thorowte Pareche gan he ryde
& at þe kynges sale he lighttis.
And there he metys in that tyde
Þat were faire of hewe and hide,
thre full noble knyghtis:
Sir Otes and sir Raynere,
Duke Naymes was theire fere,
Þat ofte þaire resouns rightes.
He haylsede þam with steryn chere,
Sayd: “fro þe kynge am I sent a Messangere
Þat moste es prouede of myghtis.”

7

Duke Naymes sayde full curtaysly:
“Sir, whate may thi name bee?”
He sayde: “I highte Otuell.
kyng Cherlles where es he?
Righte to hym by-houede mee
Mi message for to telle.”
Duke Naymes saide: “he sittes his duspers Imange,
With white berde large and lange,
Faire of flesche & fell.
With a floreschede thonwange,
Oure noble kynge þat es so strange,
His doghety men I-melle.

8

He sittes in riche meneuere,
Þe Duke Rowlande sittys hym nere
In rede Siclaton.

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58

And þe gentille Erle sir Olyuere,
Þat es full noble & felle & fere,
& in Batelle ay full bowun.”
Forthe passede than the Messangere
Bi-fore þe kynge with steryn chere,
It was hym grete renoun.
He saide: “Ane euyll flawmandre fyre
Bryne þi berde, þi breste, & þi swyre,
Euen to þi fote alle doun!

9

A Messangere Ame I sent hy
Fro my lorde þe Emperour sir Garey,
Þat Settis ȝow alle at noghte.
In Paynym ne es none so doghety,
He hathe the flour of cheuallrye
All redy with hym broghte.
Charlles I ne maye noghte honour the,
For þou hase greuede Mahoun & me,
Þat alle þis worlde hase wroghte.
And, Rowlande, if euer I may the see
At Batayle or at any Semble,
thi dedis schall dere be boghte.

10

And, Rowlande, gif euer I maye þe mete,
With my swerde I schall the hete,
to-hewe thi body in two;
And fulle the vnder my horse fete,
Saraȝenes myrthe with the to bete,
For þou hase wroghte þam woo.”
And Rowlande at those wordes loughe,
& said: “sir, þou arte doghety ynoghe
Siche dedis to vndir-too.
Þou may Iangill & make it toughe,
For here schall no man do the woghe,
till aughte dayes ben a-goo.”

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59

11

Þe kyng spekis þan the Saraȝene till:
“Say one, felawe, whatte thou will,
Distroube the schall riȝte none.
Ne none of my men lowde nor still
touche the with nonekyns ille,
till heghte dayes ben gone.”
Þe Saraȝene at those wordes hadde skorne:
“I dowte no man,” he says, “þat euer was borne,
& I my stede hafe tone:
Corsu my swerde me bi-forne,
Þat myche cristen blode hathe schorne,
& many a body slone.”

12

“Where?” sayde þe kynge in hy.
“Sir, in þe playnes of lumbardy,
Þou claymes it for þi lande.
Þe powere there of sir Garcy
Appon a daye we garte þam dy
Fully Fifty thousande.
Nyne monethes es gone arighte
Sen I with Cursu was dobbide knyghte,
My golde brayden brande.
A thosande there to þe dede I dighte
Of Cristen men mekill of myghte,
Righte with myn awenn hande.

13

And thus hathe lumbardes harmes laughte,
Bothe by dayes and by naghte,
Ne gladdes þam no glee.
My selfe was þer in Batelle & faughte,
Myn neffes were bolnede dayes aughte,
þat Selly was to see.”
Vp þan stirte ane hardy knyghte,
sir Estut of logres for sothe he highte,
A lorde of grete bountee:

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60

With the Saraȝene wolde he fighte,
A staffe in hande he takes hym righte,
Was of Sqwarede tree.

14

Than Rowlande sayde full sobirly;
“Now gud sir Estut, let it be,
He es a Messangere:
He es Ensurede to myn Eme & mee.
For-thi, gud sir, par charyte,
thyn hert þat þou wolde stere.”
Bot ȝit þe knyghte ne wolde noghte spare,
Bot hent þe Saraȝene by þe hare,
& backwarde doun hym bere.
Þe Saraȝene stirte vp breme as bare,
Cursu his swerde he drewe reghte thare,
Þe knyghte hede of he schere.

15

Than saide þe Baronage with hole sowun:
“Lay hande on the traytoure feloun,
He hase done velanye!”
Bot he rollede his eghne both vp & dowun,
And ferde als a wilde lyoun,
Brayde vp his browes one hye.
He braundesch[e]t his swerde bare,
Þat trenchande was & wele schare,
And sayde full sobirly,
And by his grete Mahown he sware:
“And any of ȝow duspers stirre þare
þe beste party schall dy!”

16

Þe kyng his men sone Sessed he,
Sayd:“Saraȝene, ȝelde thi suerde to mee,
& late be alle this bere.”

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61

& he sayde:“naye, als mot I the.”
Vp þan rose sir Rowlande full Sobirly,
& with a lagheande chere
Said:“ȝelde to me thi brande brighte,
I schall the saue, als I ame knyghte,
Whills þat þou arte here;
And when thi Message es doun & dighte,
I schall delyuer the thi brande so brighte,
Als I am trewe duspere.”

17

“In þat conande I ȝelde it the;
I nolde gif it for twelue Cite,
So bittirly will it bite.
And, Rowlande, ȝif euer I may the see
At batayle or at any Semble,
Þi hede of þer-with to smyte.”
Rowlande sayde: “sir, þou art to outrage:
Fayrere myghte þou batayll wage
þan all daye thus to chide.”
Þe Saraȝene spake with stowte vesage:
“Herkenys now to my message,
& I schall tell ȝow tyte:—

18

kyng Cherlls, als þou may here,
I am sent a Messangere
fro hym þat es doghty.
He weldes Paynym ferre & nere,
Alysaundere of grete powere,
& þe londis of Boty:
Toures, Sedoyne ferre & fre,
Perse, semely one to see,
& þerto fermorye.
This noble kynge of grete pouste
He distruyes bothe londe & see,
reghte in to fermonye.

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62

19

For-thi hathe he sent the worde by mee,
Þat þou schall vn-cristen bee
& leue appon oure ley.
For we will proue in oure degre
Þat þe lawes of Cristyante
ne are noghte worthe ane aye.
Giffe thi hert vn-to Mahoun,
Þat weldis bothe toure & towun,
And alle myghtis maye;
Hafe done be-lyfe þat þou be bowne
For to come to oure somoun:
thus am I sent to saye.

20

Hafe done, sir, buske þe to oure kynge,
For he hath ordeynede thi wonnynge,
For alle thi cheualrye,
House & londe, wodde & thynge,
he grauntes the ouer all othir thynge
Þe londes of Normandy;
Inglonde also hathe giffen to the,
And to Rowlande, thi Nevieu fre,
to be sesede in Russy.
Olyuer þat es faire and free,
the knyghte es prouede of grete bounte,
Þe landes of Scamonye;

21

To sir Florance of Surry
He hathe giffen Fraunce in hye,
Þat wele cane prike a stede,
Þe kyng[es] sone of Barbarye,
To hafe it to his Bayly,
Þer-one his life to lede.”
Than the kynge sayde: “nay,
Dus[e]pers, whate will ȝe say
Of this wonder dede?

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63

Schall neuer Saraȝene of heythyn ley
Welde France by nyghte ne daye;
Now Iesu it for-bede!”

22

Þen þay ansuerde sone in hye:
“Nay, sir, we will oure batells guy,
And rape vs for to ryde
Agayne þe Emperour sir Garcy.
thurgh þe myghte of mylde marye
Hym schall schome be-tyde.”
the Saraȝyn laughes full smothirly:
“What! threte ȝe now sir Garcy
With ȝour boste & ȝour pryde?
ther es none of ȝow so hardy,
And ȝe hade sene his cheualry,
ȝour hedis þat ye nolde hyde.”

23

Þe Duke Naymes talkes wordes one highte,
says: “sir, if þat þe Emperour will fighte,
We schall to hym full euen.”
Þe Saraȝene ansuerde with mekill myghte;
“He hath a hondreth thousande helmys brighte,
& þer-to hundrethes Seuen.
Þer es no kyng in Cristyante
Dare warne hym huntynge & fischynge fre,
Ne discrye hym þer with steuen.
Bi-twix two watirs fayre & fre
He hath bigged a Cite hight attayle,
es none siche vnder þe heuen.

24

Cherlles, with thi longe berde,
Þat Emperoure schall make þe full ferde
With his stronge powere:

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64

For he hathe men in Batell lerede,
Þat wele kon feghte with floresched swerde,
& hafe lemans full clere.
Lete Duke Naymes lenge at hame
To kepe pareche walles fro schame,
Þat no gledes neghe þam nere;
Coo ne pye that there come none,
For cheualrye es fro hym gone,
A nolde nappere als he were.”

25

Þe Duke Naymes asschamede was,
Þe blode stert vp in his face,
A-greued he was full sore.
Þan sir Rowlande full rathely vp he rase:
“Vnconnande Saraȝene,” he said, “in þis place
Þi wykkednes es ȝare.
By hym þat dyede appon a tree,
Þou scholde haue a velany of me,
Ensurede nyfe þat I ware!
Bot in Batelle if euer I may þe see,
Schall neuer no kyng of Cristyante
Be encombirde with the mare.”

26

the Saraȝene ansueres full stoutly:
“Be Mahownn, Rowlande, I ame redy
For to fighte with the.
In to ȝone Medowe I rede we hye,
And luke þat no man bee vs by,
Grete gamen þan schall men see.
Whethir oo werse es of vs twoo
lett hewe bothe his spourres hym froo,
He neuer more honourede bee.”
Rowlande was of hert full throo
Siche dedys to vnder-too,
His hande vp holdes hee.

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65

27

“Sir Vernague of Barabas,
Sertys myn [eme] I wote he was,
Þat Rowlande here hath slayne:
I chalange his dethe now in þis place,
I schalle þe lede a wikkede pase,
Bothe with myghte & mayne.”
Þe kynge at those wordes loughe
& said: “sir, þou arte doghty ynoghe:”
Garte calle a chambirlayne,
Garte delyuere hym Innes withowtten woghe:
“To serue hym lokes þat ȝe bene toughe,
Of alle þat scholde hym gayne.”

28

The kynge garte calle sir Grauntere,
Sir Raynere and sir Oggere,
bade take kepe of the knyghte.
One þe Morne þay rose alle in fers,
The abbott of Saynte Thomers
Songe þam a messe full righte.
Elleuen coupes fayre to fonde
Was Offrede at þe Abbottes honde,
Full of golde so brighte.
Rowlande Offrede Droundale his brande,
Boghte it agayne with golde at hande;
Alle Honoured þay god alle myghte.

A fitt.

29

And vnnethes was þe Messe alle done,
When þat þeSaraȝene come full sone,
And cryed appon highte
to kyng Cherlles with steryn tone,
Sayd: “send owte Rowlande withowtten hone
I calle hym recreyande knyghte.

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66

I appelle hym for trouthe broken,
For þe wordes þat were spoken
ȝistreuen within þe nyghte.
In his armes þat he be loken
Myn Emes dethe I will hafe wroken,
he was a kynge of myghte.”

30

Eleuen duspers stode hym by
To arme sir Rowlande full hastyly,
Þat prouede was in Batayle.
An actone thay threwe appon hym hye
And ane hawberke sekerly,
Þat sekire was of Mayle:
Hose of hawberke Gesseraunte,
Broghte hym ane helme of bettant,
& lacede his auentale.
Iche a knyghte gane þam a-vaunte,
For to serue hym to his avenaunte,
Þat no thynge scholde hym fayle.

31

Þay spende hym with his gilte sperres,
And dressede hym in his armours,
Alle redy to the felde:
Broghte hym a schelde of faire-coloure:
he was a lofely creatoure,
Who so hym þan bi-helde.
Girde hym with Droundale to þe were:
Appone a stede he leppes there,
Þat doghety vnder schelde;
And in his hande a noble spere,
A faire course he rydes there
Hys wapyns for to welde.

32

Then sayde Cherlles þe kynge;
“Loke rekreyande þou hym brynge
Þat hathe made þis derraye:

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67

late hym noghte skape for nonkynsthynge.”
he gaffe hym goddes blyssynge
& bade hym wende his waye.
Þay broghte þam by-twene two watirs brighte—
Sayne, and Meryn le graunte, þay highte,
Als þe bukes gan vs saye—
In to a Medowe Semely to sighte,
there als these doghety men solde fighte
With-owtten more delaye.

33

Þis while houede the Saraȝene still
And called to þe kynge with voyce full schrylle:
“Ane hawberke aske I the;
Spere and schelde garre brynge me till,
For I hafe horssynge at my will,
None siche in Cristyante.”
Þe kyng þan lokes hym be-syde
And saughe his dogheter mekill of pryde,
Belesent, brighte of blee;
Þan he comandide hir that tyde:
“Goo take hym fayre be thi syde
Wele armede þat he bee.”

34

And scho calles Flores of Maundelle,
Mayden Roselet of Barelle,
& bade þam wende to þeknyghte,
And haste þam þat with-in a while.
And til a chambire gan þay syle,
And gayly gan hym dighte.
to arme hym wele þay were full snelle,
Ouer his aktone ane hawberke felle
Of colours þat were brighte,
Þat aughte gud kynge Ragnell,
Þat was bothe ferse and felle
& in felde full faire couthe fighte.

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68

35

Þay armede hym wele with-owtten fayle,
With golde þay lacede his auentaile
For þat it solde be trewe;
Brothte hym ane helme of riche entayle,
Of precyouse stanes þe appayrayle,
Þat brighteste was of hewe,
His helme was bothe harde and holde,
ther-one was sett a Sercle of golde
Þat bett was wonder newe.
then sayde thies Damesels fre one folde,
A Meryere armede knyghte one molde
Neuer ȝitt þay ne knewe.

36

Þay broghte hym a Schelde when he was bownn,
theis Maydens two þay broghte hym downn,
He cried aftir his stede.
He rollede his eghne vp and downn,
And sware by his grete Mahoun
his Enemy sore myghte drede.
Þan spake those two Maydens smale:
“sir, kepe the wele fro Drondale,
For it will garre the blede.
Entyre þou ones in to ȝone vale,
Comes þou neuer aftyr in to this sale,
And sir Rowlande righte may rede.”

37

He toke his leue & forthe he gose,
lepe one a stede highte Mekredose,
in his hande a spere.
A faire course he rydes close
Full egerly amonges his fose,
& dressede hym in his gere.
When þe Saraȝene commen was,
the kyng garte sone a-voyde þe place,
Of Cristen þat there were.

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69

to þe castelle he wendes a pase
And appone þe kirnells gase,
to wayte appon þat were.

38

the kynge to Rowlande lowde gan crye:
“Feghte one, dere Sone, hardely,
In þe name of Marie of Heuen.”
the Saraȝene saide: “I ame redy.”
Appon sir Rowlande he gan defy
With a full hawtayne steuen.
thies kene knyghtis to-gedir gan glide,
the Medowe tremlyde one aythir syde,
In scheldes þay cowped full euen.
theyre Ioynynge was so harde that tyde
that theyre tymbir in sondire gan ryde,
In mo þan sex or seuen.

39

thurgh-owte þaire scheldis þan þay schare
And all þe lethirs þat þare ware
Þay assembled soryly.
the poyntes appon þehawberke bare
Bot þe mayles so sekir ware,
Þe spere hedis bi-gan to plye.
Rowlande owte his swerde wanne
And hittes hym on þe helme thanne,
Þat þe Nasell floghe full hye.
thurgh þe horse schu[l]dirs þe swerde rane,
Þat was a styffe stroke of a man,
His noble stede gan dy.

40

the Saraȝene of his horse tumblys doun
And stert vp fers als any lyoun,
And Cursu his swerde he drewe.

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70

he brasede his Schelde & made hym bowun,
he hitt sir Rowlande one þe crowun
Þat fore Egirnes he loughe.
the Nasell of his helme of-glade
Dowun bi-fore hym in the strade,
hade almoste wroghte hym woghe.
thurgh þe horse schuldirs þe swerde gan wade,
his stede euen in Sondere he hade,
Þe stroke was stythe ynoghe.

41

Rowlande one þe grownde es lighte,
Vppon his fete he sterte vp righte,
His swerde in his hande he helde.
Þe Saraȝene cryed with mekill myghte:
“Þis was a stythe stroke of a knyghte,
& no thynge of a childe!”
Charlles herde those wordes wele,
Appon his knees downn gan he knele
& bothe his handes vp helde:
“God,” he said, “þat alle schall dighte & dele,
his Modir mylde, and Saynt Michael,
Fro schame ȝe Rowlande schelde.!”

42

Rowlande raysede vp Drondale,
Abown his hede he gane it hale
His Enemy for to dere.
He hade almoste wroghte hym bale,
A quartere of his helme a-waye gane vale,
And halfen-dele his one Ere;
Þat þe Saraȝene by-gane to helde,
& vp he caste his noble schelde,
In þe bokells gane he schere.
So thikke þaire dynttis to-gedir pelyde,
thaire armours hewenn laye in þe felde,
Als floures þat strewede were.

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71

43

Belesent sayde full curtaysly:
“Mi lorde, þay feghten full gentilly,
& grete trauayle þay hafe.”
Vp to god he caste a crye,
And to his Moder Saynt Marie:
“Fro schame ȝe Rowlande Saue;
And conuerte vs ȝone gentill knyghte
Þat es so hardy and so wighte,
For elles it were grete wathe.
He es so ferse in armes to fyghte
And a man of mekill myghte;
Full doghety are þay bathe.”

44

Than Rowlande sayde full curtaysly:
“Saraȝene, will þou cristenyde be
& leue appon oure laye?
A noble gifte I schall giffe the,
Belesent þat es brighte of ble,
In þe worlde ne es siche a maye.
And thow and I and Olyuer,
We schall be felawes all in fere,
& trauell nyghte & daye:
We schall ryde bothe ferre & nere,
Wyn Citees & townnes dere,
& gode horses at assaye.”

45

the Saraȝene ausuers full stoutly:
“thou kan to littill of clergy
to leryn me siche a lare.
the wordes þat þou hase spoken in hy
thou schall þam full dere a-by,
With sadde dynttes & sare.
I swere the by my grete Mahoun,
I schall the lere a newe lessoun,
Or I fro the fare,

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72

With a bofete appon thi croun
Þat þou schall laye þi wapen doun,
rekreyande als þou were.”

46

Þan was sir Rowlande gretly greuded
And in his hert full sore ameuede,
At þe Saraȝene lete he flye.
He hitt hym a-bown appon þe heuede,
Þat to þe scholdire þe swerde wefede,
Þe fyre floghe owte full hye:
thurgh duble hawberke it hym schare,
to þe girdilstede it made hym bare,
Þen bi-gane he for to plye.
Drondale felle so sadde and sare
Þat þe Saraȝene bi-gane to stare,
& fallen he was full nye.

47

Þe Saraȝene þan a lepe he made,
A stroke to Rowlande for sothe he glade
& hit hym on þe hede,
Þat almoste top ouer tayle he rade,
And nere þe swerde twynede hade,
His life þer hade he lefede.
And other stroke he to hym bere,
And Doun by-fore hym it strypes there,
his schelde a waye it reuede
And alle þe skirtys of Rowlandes gere.
Otuell says “my suerde kan schere.”
& in to þe erthe it weuede.

48

Rowlande claghte vp his noble schelde,
His wapyns wightly for to welde
& helde it one his nefe.

---

73

Þaire dynttis so thikke gan samen helde
Þaire harnays hewen was in þe felde,
Full littill was þam leuede,
Þaire dynttis felle so sadde & sare,
Þat bothe þaire bodies wexen bare,
Þaire armours all to-dreues.
Þare-fore sir Charlles hade mekill care,
appon his knees he knelys thare,
& bothe his handes vp-heues,

49

And als þe kynge thus prayed faste,
A dofe come fro the holy gaste,
& one þe Saraȝene lightes:
And þan was he full sore agaste,
And vn-to sir Rowlande saide he in haste:
“Sesse, sir, of thi fighttes,
For I ame broghte in siche a will,
Þat I ȝoure lawes will fulfill,
And be-come a Cristyn knyghte.”
Þan doun þay layde þaire wapyns still,
And aythere wente othire vntill,
A Saughtillynge was þer dighte.

50

Þan wolde þe kynge no lengere dueel
Bot hyed hym dowun of the castelle,
& grete lordes hym by;
He askede sir Rowlande how it bi-felle,
and he ansuerde with wordes snelle:
“Mi lorde, full gentilly
I hafe foghten with þe beste knyghte,
In alle this wdrlde es none so wighte,
Þat euer ȝitt prouede I .
And he hase ȝolden hym to the righte,
Belesent I hafe hym highte,
Gare cristen hym in hy.”

---

74

51

Vn-to þe grounde þan knelide þe kynge,
He loued god of alle this thynge,
And his Modir fre.
two gude stedis þay garte forthe brynge,
& one þay lepe with-owte lettynge
& went home to þe Cite.
Bischope Turpyn was Redy
With bukes & with Stoles in hy,
A fownte sone halowes he
To cristen hym þat was doghety;
Many grete lorde stode thaym by
With myche Solempnyte.

52

And when þe Saraȝene cristenned was,
Þe kynge tuke his doghetir faire of face
& gyffes hir to þat noble knyghte;
Þe louelyeste in with lace,
And swetteste in armes for to enbrace,
In þe worlde nas siche a wighte.
Als lely like was hir coloure,
Hir rode rede als rose floure,
In lere þat rynnes righte.
Þe kyng toke þat brighte in boure
With menske & with myche honoure,
& gaffe hym þat birde so brighte.

53

He said: “hafe here my doghetir fre,
And Rowlande felawe schall þou bee,
And gentill sir Olyuer:
Powunce and plesaunce I schall gife the,
With two full noble Cites,
With towrres heghe & dere.
I make the lorde of lumbardye,
To hafe it alle to thi Bayllyee,
Þat contrey ferre & nere.

---

75

For thi noble cheuallrye
Welcome to this companye,
Duelle & be a pere.”

54

the Saraȝene knelyde appon his knee,
And thankkes the kynge full gentilly
Of thies giftes so gude.
He sayde: “Damesell, arte þou payed of me?”
And sche sayde: “ȝee, als mot I thee!”
Full frely was þat fude.
than he said: “I make a-vowe to mylde Marie,
that I hafe now chosen to my lady,
Þat es so mylde of mode,
that I schall wende to attale,
And for thi lufe do cheualrye
And distruye þe heythyn blode.

55

Sir kyng, I giff a-gayne to the
this mayden þat es faire & fre,
& in clethynge comly clede.
And lokes alle þat we redy be
In to the landes of lumbardye,
Righte als we firste redde,
For to distruye there goddes Enemy
Þat hathe to ȝowe ther grete envy,
With folkes on fote wele fedde.
When I hafe tane Myn Eme garcy
And the Cite of Attaly
Þis Mayden schall I wedde.”

56

The [kyng] said þan to his duspers:
“Now hafe [ȝe] herde þe Messangeres,
ȝour consell what es beste?
Sir Garcy with his stronge powere
Distruyes my landes both ferre & nere,
Mi Cites brekes & bristes:

---

76

He confoundes so myche of Cristen blode
Þat I for Sorowe goo nere wode,
And I may hafe no riste.”
And þay þan ansuerde with steryn mode:
“to fende of, lorde, vs thynke it gude,
to batayle are we priste.”

57

Þe kynge saide: “we will habyde
till it be nerre þe Somer tyde,
Þe colde of Marche be gone.
We schalle sende lettres on ilke a syde,
In dyuerse countres brode & wyde,
to grete lordes ichone.
Sqwyers doghety vndir schelde,
that wele kan þaire wapyns welde,
by-hynde vs leue we none:
And alle þat are with-in elde
loke þat þay to batayle helde,
Goddes Enemys for to slone.”

58

Þus þe kynge duellys there
till þe tyme commen were,
Þe daye neghede neghe.
With hym Rowlande & Olyuere,
And þe gentill Grauntere,
In Batayle þat was so sleghe;
sir Oggere and sir Raynere,
Duke Naymes was þaire fere,
& Gayryn of kynredyn heghe:
sir Estut and sir Inglere,
sir Otuell the werryoure,
his dynttys were full dreghe.

59

Appon a Mornynge þay lokede owte
And saughe there powere stythe & stowtte
comynge ferre & nere.

---

77

Þay rode in many a ryalle rowte,
By thowsande tale with-owtten dowtte
Vnder þe Mount Marteres.
Þe Almaynes & þe Tuskaynes,
Þe Flemynges full fele for þe nanes,
With þe Banereres;
Þe Normandes gude of blode & bone
Þe prouynce worthily in with wone
there semlyde faire powere.

60

Þere semled owte of lumbardye
a full noble cheualrye
And Sekir at ilke a nede;
Þe Gayscoynes comen sone in hy,
And þe Burgoynes faste þam by,
Þat worthily were in wede;
Þe Bretons come with-owtten faile,
there Semblede a full faire Batayle,
One many a stalworthe stede;
With helmys one hedis þat walde a-vayle,
Full riche was þaire appayraille,
& worthily was þaire wede.

61

One þe forthirmaste daye of auerille
Þe kyng assemblede appon ane hille
Alle his mery menȝe.
Full faire he Offres Saynt Denys till,
& appon his knees he knelys still
to god & oure lady.
Sayde to Olyuere gud at ilke a nede:
“My sone, þou schall þe vawarde lede
For þou arte swythe doghety.”
Þe Oste remowede & forthe þay ȝede,
Þay stirrede on many a stalworthe stede
to þaire Iournaye þay hye.

---

78

62

Olyuere his stede hathe hent,
With hym ȝode Mayden Belesent,
Þat lady of grete renoun;
One a Muyle þen rode þat gentill [mayd,]
And in hir company ther wer[e arayd]
[A] thousande bolde Barouns.
Þay passed forthe þan Bretayne by
thurgh þe landes of the Mandely,
By many a ryalle toun:
Þay Schipped ouer at Vertely
In to þe landes of lumbardy,
Þay passede bothe dales & dowun.

63

Vnder a Mountayne þey herberde þan
Besyde a reuer þat highte Soltane,
& in a Medowe þay lighte.
Þer was many a worthy man,
Ryalle howssynges þay by-gan
Of pauylyouns proudly pighte.
So for-trauellede were þay sare
Þat aughte dayes þay duelled thare,
Þaire harnays for to righte.
there-fore kyng cherlles wolde noghte spare,
A noble brigge he garte make thare
Ouer þe watir of Roltane dighte.

64

A wonder poynte now schall ȝe here,
To þe mete þay wente alle in fere,
iche lorde in þaire lyuere.
Bot Duke Rowlande & Olyuere
And þe Daynnes [Sir] Oggere
Stode armede vndir a tree;
And ouer þe brigge þan gan þay ryde
Full preualy that ilke a tyde,
Þat no mo wiste bot they three.

---

79

Awnters thoghte þay for to byde,
Þay stale awaye by a wodde syde,
Righte towarde Attale,

65

And a Mile with-owtten Attale
there houede foure kynges fre
With speris in thaire hande.
And ichone sware in theire degree
Þat þay wolde reghte gladly see
Olyuer and Rowlande.
Þay sware alle by þaire grete Mahowun,
“We wolde þat þay were nowe here bowun,
to loke how þay couthe stande.
And so we scholde for-Iuste þam doun
Þat þay solde neuer see Charllyoun,
Þe chefe of Cristen lande.”

66

Now, lordynges, for to rede ȝow righte
thies kynges names what þay highte,
Þe sothe I will ȝow tell.
kynge Balsame, a mane of myghte,
kynge Corsabell, a-noþer knyghte,
Þat bothe was ferse & felle;
kyng Askuardyne þat teraunt,
Of wikkednes he myghte hym auaunte,
Was lyke a fende of helle;
the ferthe was faire and auenante
With a full Maniy Semblande,
Men callede hym kyng Claryell.

67

kynge Clariell sayde: “als mot I the,
Rowlande es holden full doghety,
Es none siche vndir Sone.

---

80

Be Mahonn I wolde he were here me by,
I scholde assaye his Body,
My dynttis scholde he con!”
thies knyghttes herde how þay therett were,
With spores þay brochede þaire stedis there,
oute of þe wodde þay rynn.
than sayd kynge Clariell breme als bare:
“We hafe þam þat we spake faire,
Be Mahoun alle es wonn.

68

Bot wendes now forthe, ȝe kynges three,
And slees ȝone knyghtis of Cristyantee,
& I schall houe here styll.
Alle als ȝe done I schall see,
there es no mache vn-to mee,
And þat me lykes ille.”
kyng askuardyn in his gere
Rydes owte a course of were,
Full werly and with ill will.
And Rowlande thurgh his scholdir gan schere,
his armours ne vaylede noghte a pere,
his hert blode he gan þer spill.

69

kyng Corsabolyn in armes full clere
Rydis owte to sir Oggere
and hittes hym in þe schelde.
the Cristen knyghte neghede hym so nere
thurgh double hawberke he hym bere,
Of horse he garte hym helde.
kyng Balsamy rode till sir Olyuere,
thies thre kynges dyede in fere,
& lyen gronande in þe felde.
Þaire thretynge boghte þay there full dere,
thaire saules went alle to lucyfere,
Þat hade þam alle to welde.

---

81

70

then was kyng Clariell full Sory
And flynges owte full fersely,
With hert Egire & throo.
He Smyttis Rowlande þat was doghety,
Þat his noble stede gan dy,
His bakke braste euen in two.
And vp he keste ane heghe cry,
“this was a poynte of cheualry,”
And busked hym for to goo.
Oggere danynes gan aftir hym hye,
And stroke þe kynge his sadill bye,
His stede he tuke hym fro.

71

Olyuere anone hath hent þe stede
And righte to Rowlande he gan hym lede,
& sayde:“hafe this for thyne.”
And he stert vp bettir spede
And drissede hym in his worthy wede,
Þat lofesome vnder lyne,
kyng Clariell drawes Melle
And faghte agaynes þam all thre,
His Swerde was gude & fyne.
he said:“gud lordes, slees noghte me,
A noble cheke here wonn hafe ȝee,
My lyfe wolde I noghte tyne.”

72

And when his vesage was alle bare
A fayrere knyghte sawe þay neuer are,
& Sett hym one a stede.
Þay wende awaye with hym to fare,
A thousande Saraȝenes come one þam thare,
there bale by-gan to brede.
than saide Rolande to Olyuere:
“Ȝ;ondere I see full brighte Banere
And worthily vndir wede,

---

82

þam semes bothe felle and ferse,
I wolde no worde come to oure peres
þat we fledde þam for drede.”

73

Ogger Daynes was moste wysse,
Sayd:“Sen we hafe gettyn þis kyng of price,
I rede we late þam goo.
For bi god and Saynt Denys
We may noghte skape in nonekyns wyse,
ne hym will we noghte slo.”
þan said kyng Clariell there he stode:
“this was a worde of gentill blode
to speke thus for thi foo.”
he tuke his leue and forthe he ȝode,
thankede þam with mylde mode,
And Agaynes A thousande was no moo.

74

Rowlande and Olyuere
Dressede þam in armes clere
Alle redy to þe fyghte:
And þe Daynes Oggere
Cryed “Mount Ioy,” all in fere,
Bothe with Mayne & myghte.
For þe Saraȝenes þay haden dowte,
To Iesus criste þay crye & lowte,
Þat moste es man of myghte.
thies Paynyms put þam owte
that were halden full steryn & stoute,
& vnder þaire horses þay lighte.

75

those thre to the thousande gan ryde
And hewed one faste one iche a syde,
& brittenede blode & bone.

---

83

Þay made þaire wayes wondere wyde,
ther durste no Saraȝene þair dynttis byde,
to gronde þay garte þam gone.
then comes girdande sir carpe,
the kynges sone of aubre,
Was halden a noble man.
Vp-one highte he castis a krye:
“What schall [we] saye to sir Garcye?
thre schendis vs euerichone.”

76

sir Carpy come girdande suythe,
To Oggere Daynes gan he dryfe,
Þat he swounede als he were wede.
sir Rowlande gan doghety dedis kythe,
With Drondale he gan hym ryfe
Reghte to þe girdill stede.
Ogger daynes wakkened than,
Pulled owte a swerde highte curtane,
Was gude at ilke a nede.
than to fighte Oggere by-gane,
to hewe doun many ane heythyn man,
grete trauayle þer þay hade.

77

And þe gentill Erle sir Olyuere
hewes one with haunkclere,
Mighte none his dynttis with-stande.
he dannge þam doun bothe ferre & nere,
It was a wonder thynge to here,
thies thre men wroghte with hande.
Þan comes a Saraȝene sone in hye,
his name was kyng alphamanye,
Was fayre & wele farande;
he smyttes Olyuere þat was doghety
Þat toppe ouer tayle he garte hym lye
Appon a ley lande.

---

84

78

Bot þan was sir Rowlande neuer so woo,
Full swythe þat Saraȝene gan he sloo,
Þat to þe grounde he ȝede.
Olyuere rose with herte full throo,
Be-lyfe his stede gan he too,
And sterte vp in his nede.
he sayd: “Rowlande, drede þe noghte,
Now I am one horse broghte,
I fayle the at no nede.”
With bankclere many wondirs he wroghte,
Fele Saraȝenes to þe grounde he broghte,
& ferde als he wolde wede.

79

this while was Ogger daynes one fete,
the Saraȝenes þat he myghte with mete,
He wroghte þaire bodyes wo:
he gaffe þam woundes wyde & wete,
Full Many one there lefte the swete,
Þe boke vs telles Soo.
till almoste Scomfet was he,
Þan comes kyng Clariell with hert fre,
Als faste als he myghte go,
& bade þe Saraȝenes þay scholde late be;
“Oggere, ȝelde thi suerde to me,”
be-lyue he sayde hym þoo.

80

A Saraȝene come with steryn ble,
Sayd: “þis Cristen doge sall not saued be,
bot sle we hym reghte here.”
“ȝee,” sais kyng Clariell, “as auenche the,
he schall be sauede nowe, pardee.”
his heued of sone he schere.
he called seuen paynyms of mekill myghte,
said: “gose, ledis hym to my lemman brighte,
Of colours þat es clere;

---

85

loke his wondes ben wele dighte,
And kepe me wele this cristen knyghte,
For this es gentill of chere.”

81

the Saraȝenes toke hym þat was hende,
And to þat lady gan þay wende,
Of coloures þat was brighte;
tolde hir the tale vn-to the ende,
sayd: “Ma dame, this Duke Claryell ȝow sende,
to hele hym at ȝour myghte.”
“What?” sayde þat lady white als fame,
“Es this kynge Charlles þat here es tane,
His men to dethe alle dighte?”
“Nay, by grete Mahoun,” þay sware, “ma dame,
thre knyghtes of his hath a thousande slane,
Þat we helde hardy & wighte.

82

And kyng Clariell vnder schelde
hym selfe was taken in þe felde,
thre kynges by hym slayne.
ther was noþer bute nere belde,
Ne Mahoun þat alle schall welde,
For hym þay moghte nott gone;
And there was none bot glotouns thre,
And one of þam here may thou see,
Þat kyng Clariell hathe tane.”
“What, deuyll,” scho sayd, “how may this be?
Who durste neghe my leman free,
es beste of blode & bone?”

83

Scho said: “comforthe the, sir, be noghte abayste,
Schall none of my men the brayste:
What es þe name of the?”

---

86

“Ma dame,” he sayde, “Oggere Daunays.”
than sayde þe lady þat was curtayse;
“I haue herde speke of thee.”
Be-lyfe scho garte vn-Arme hym there,
And to hym commes þat lady clere
& greses broghte þat fre,
Þat godd sett in his awenn herbere;
Als sone als euer þay dronken were
He was lyghte als lefe one tree.

84

thus Oggere Daynas duelled there
& heled es of his hurtes Sare,
In þe ladise presoun.
And of his felawes speke we mare,
how þat þay full harde handilde ware,
thies two knyghtes of renoun.
Ten thousande Saraȝenes come girdande,
Þat hardy were of hert & hande,
With Helme & Haberioun.
Bot þan myghte þay no lengere stande,
Olyuer and gud Rowlande,
to flye nowe are þay boun.

85

Otuell þat was so wighte
Duelles with Belesent þe brighte,
Was comely one to calle;
Oute of hir chambire he wendis righte
Als faste als euer þat he myghte
In to þe kynges haulle,
to seche Olyuer and Rowlande;
Bot neuer noþer he ther fande
Amonge þe lordes alle.
there-fore kynge Charlles his handes wrange
And euer, “allas!” was his sange,
“What may of this by-falle?”

---

87

86

Ottuell sayde: “where it be Soo,
Oggere Daynes and tho twoo
Are went to Attalee?
Now buske we aftir thaym to goo,
Or ells þe Saraȝenes will þam sloo,
For sothe þay mon alle dy.”
Þay busked þam in armes full clere,
Seuen hundrethe bolde Bacheleres
With hym to wende in hy.
Belesent sayde to sir Grauntere:
“Gude sir, ryde my lemmane nere,
the knyghte es full thethey.”

87

thies seuen hundrethe knyghtis
Duellede with Belesante þe brightes,
At hir awenn Fyndynge.
sir Otuell þat was so wighte
Strykes Florence his stede brighte,
By-fore þam forthe gan he flynge.
he metys Rowlande and Olyuere
Faste rydande by a reuere,
And fresche folke aftir þam dynge.
he hailsede þam with steryn chere,
And sayde: “Sirres, whate make ȝe here,
come ȝe fro Fischeynge?”

88

he reproued þam there full velanslye,
And ȝit theire bodies were alle blodye
With woundes Many one.
“Wene ȝe for ȝoure cheualrye,
For ȝoure boste and ȝoure folye,
Þat þe Saraȝenes will late ȝow one?
Charlles with his stronge powere
Schall thynke this a grete gramaungere,
this dede to vnder-tone.

---

88

Bot this chase schall þay full dere:”
he smote to a knyghte highte sir Glantere,
& be-lyfe he hathe hym slone.

89

Syr Otuell there righte in þat gere
Full faste he dange þam doun there,
& garte þam go to grounde.
And his felawe sir ynglere
In a Saraȝene breke a spere,
Within a littill stounde:
And in his hande lefte a littill troncheoun
Þer-with full faste he dange þam doun,
Full Many Ane heythyn hounde.
he crakkede full many a carefull croun,
& criede, “Mount Ioye,” with heghe Sowun,
Fele folke þay there confounde.

90

then come a kynghte þat highte sir Galias,
A noble Saraȝene, men saide he was,
& in his hande a spere;
For þe lufe of his leman fayre of face
A glofe to his pensalle he hase,
In Sygnance of his were.
He rydes to sir Inglere,
And thurghe þe schelde he gan hym schere,
And vnhorssede hym there:
thurghe double hawberke he hym bere,
Bot, als goddes will it were,
his Flesche hade nonekyns dere.

91

Appon hym also releuede a saraȝene wighte,
Þat hardy was and ancole highte,
sir Inglere for to sloo,

---

89

Bot sir ysope come with mekill myghte,
And sir Estut a noble knyghte,
And sir Dauide also.
Sir Estut de ronoun,
Sir Grauntere de lyoun,
One bakke þay garte þam goo,
And broghte hym vpe þat are was doun,
& horsede hym on a stede browun,
With hert Egere & throo.

92

Þan come rydande sir Galyadose,
Off Saraȝenes alle he bare þe lose,
Was halden a noble knyghte:
Faste he felled dowun of his fose,
Sir Inglere righte to hym gose,
And cl[e]ues his hede full righte.
Forthe rydes than sir Grauntere,
A Saraȝene thurgh þe body he bere,
Sir Megradyn he highte;
he dange þam doun bothe ferre & nere,
Bot appon hym come a stronge powere
With Baners brode & brighte.

93

then was there no noþer crye
When grete batells to-gedir gan hye,
With mouthe als I ȝow mene.
Full thikke folde gan Saraȝenes dy,
And thaire horses thaym by,
to wete with-owtten wene,
Be thousandes þay tumblede doun dede,
Þaire saules wente vn to þe quede,
Þat myghte not nombrede be[ne].
For braynes & blode in þat stede
Þe brode Medowe was waxen rede,
þat ere was growen grene.

---

90

94

Þan come a turke appon a stede
to kynge Clariell better spede,
& sayde: “allas, how do wee?
For Cristen men we hafe grete drede,
& bot þou helpe vs in this nede
Grete Sorowe here may þou see.”
kynge Claryell come with his powere,
Oure batells ferre one bakke he bere,
And Almayne sone sloghe he;
Also he dide the gude G[r]auntere,
sir Otes and sir Raynere,
& oþer grete plentee.

95

By þat it was so nere nyghte
Þay moghte no lengere See to fighte,
Bot stynt one ayther syde.
Sir Otuell þat was so wighte
Stroke Florence his stede full righte,
& by-fore þam forthe gan ryde.
Þen commes girdande kynge Clariell,
And cried to hym with wordes fell,
“to speke þou schalt a-byde,
thi righte name þat þou me tell.”
he sayde: “I highte Otuell,
For no man will I hyde:

96

And fro ȝoure Mahoun ame I went,
And Cristyndome hafe I hent,
& Baptiste ame I full righte.
My lemman es bothe faire & gent,
Hir reghte name es Belesent,
Charlles dogheter þe brighte.”
Bot þan þe Saraȝene said: “allas,
Now is this a wikkede case,
& þou so noble a knyghte.

---

91

Whi duelles þou there amonges thi fase?
Foully there thou wichede was,
& whi es this dede thus dighte?

97

I rede þat þou conuerte the in hye,
& then sall saughtyll with thyn Eme sir Garcy,
& forsake not thy lawe.”
Vn-to þe Saraȝene gon he defye:
“ȝour lawes are noghte worthe a pye,
Þat dare I Sauely saye.
And if þou wilt for Mahoun fighte,
loo, me here a Cristyn knyghte,
With hym þat myghtes maye,
Stalworthely to stande for oure righte.”
kyng Clariell his trouthe hase plighte
At Morne to holde his daye.

98

kyng Clariell wendes to the Cite
þat men callede Attale,
ther-In to duelle al nyghte.
Sir Otuell to his companye,
to kyng Charlles þat was fre,
& Belesent so brighte.
Þat faire mayden of hewe & hide
hir selfe vn-armed hym þat tide,
& thris scho kissede þat knyghte:
And groped hym wele body & syde
þat he ne hade no woundes wyde,
& Esede hym at hir myghte.

99

knyghtis wache was there sett,
Faire Fyres was there bett,
to Ese þam þat þere were.

---

92

Of dede folkes þay hepes fett,
To berye þam withowtten lett,
those þat cristen were.
leches come þat couthe one booke,
Woundede men for to loke,
to salue þam of þaire sare.
And grete lordes riste toke,
& nyghte wache full worthily wooke,
blewe & made grete fare.

100

kyng Clariell rose at Morne,
Wiste whate othes þat he hade sworne,
And to his chambir went:
Garte kaste armours hym by-forne
þat riche was & comly korne.
And Actone one he hent,
One he dide ane hawberke schene,
Of þe Mayster handweke of Galyene,
Þat neuer no wapyn rent.
When þat [he] was armed clene
A fayrere knyghte was neuer sene,
For Ioly ne for gent.

101

his creste was of a neddire hede,
With golde abowte it was by-wevede:
And sett one hym Mahoun,
And appolyne þat he one leuede;
Alle his armours was ouer dreuede
With stones of grete renoun.
he girde hym with a suerde þat hate Modlee;
Broghte hym a schelde of faire blee,
He buskede & made hym boun:
lepe on a stede semely to see,
With mekill myrthe & Solempnytee
He rydes thurgh-owte þe toun.

---

93

102

An hundrethe knyghtes of Turkeye
Bare his Mawmettis hym by
And paste ouer that strande.
And doun þay lighten all in hye,
Þay were halden full doghetye,
All in þaire awenn lande.
Þay sett þaire goddes appon a stone,
And dowun þay knelyde euerichone,
& made þam thare Offerande.
kyng Clariell his leue hase tone,
lepe one a stede þat highte Browan,
Þat horse was noble at hande.

103

Charlles come rydande by a reuere,
With hym Rowlande and Olyuere,
Appon þe ferrere syde.
Duke Naymes was þaire fere,
And sir Otuell the gude werryere,
Full fayre of hewe & hyde.
þan comes girdande kyng Clariell
And Cried to þam with wordis felle:
“to speke ȝe schall a-byde.
I be-teche ȝow to þe deuell of helle,
how longe schall I aftir batelle duelle?”
thus by-gynnes he for to chide.

104

And ȝit he cried breme als bore:
“Wiche of ȝow foure es Mayster thore?”
“kyng Charlles, calles men mee.”
“Now cursede worthe thou euer mare!
For þou hase wroghte vs myche care
In Many dyuerse contree.”
Þe kyng sayde: “be saynt Marie,
And hir dere sone almyghtye,
Þat derely dyede one tree,

---

94

With dyntt of swerde þou schalte aby;
And take ȝour Emperoure sir Garcy,
And distruye alle ȝoure Citee.”

105

Þe Saraȝene ansuerde with wordes full bolde:
“Charlles, me thynke þat þou scholdeste folde
And thou were streken Sore.
thi vesage es crounkilde & waxen olde,
A nobill suerde the burde not wolde,
Now for thi Mellyde hare.
Bot by righte me thynke þou scholde be founde
Als þofe it were an olde grewhounde,
þat myghte rynn no mare.”
Þe kynge wex greuede in that stounde,
And keste his clothes appon þe grounde,
“As armes,” he cried thare.

106

Bot sir Otuell saide full curtasely:
“Gude lorde, graunte this Batell to me,
For trowthes hafe we plighte.
he sett þe lawes of Cristyantee
Nott at a pillynge of a tree
ȝistereuen within the nyghte.”
Charlles thankkes hym þer he stode,
Taughte hym to godde þat diede on rode
Þat alle schall deme & dighte.
Elleuen duspers with hym ȝode
To dresse hym in his armours gude,
Alle redy for to fighte.

107

When he was armede in his gere,
Þat was bothe faire, white, & clere,
Þay girde hym with a brande,

---

95

Broghte hym ane helme was riche & dere
Þat aughte gud kynge Galliere,
Was none siche in þat lande.
the lady lufsome vnder lyne
Garte þe Bischope sir Turpyne
Assoyle hym with his hande.
Scho kiste hym thryse with herte full fyne,
Bytaughte hym vn to dere dryghtyne,
þat Mayden faire to fande.

108

lordes þat weren of mekill pride
Ouere þe brigge þan gan þay ryde,
With Mouthe als I ȝow mene.
Bot then the Saraȝene be-gynnes to chide:
“Now schalte þou fole lose thi pryde,
Bothe with traye & tene.
To oure goddes I rede thou gone,
And knele bi-fore þam euer-ichone,
Of colours þat are clene.”
“Nay,” he sayde “there es no god bot one
Þat euer made ne blode ne bone,
Nowe sone it schall be sene.”

109

Þan bothe thies kene knyghttes there
to-gedir þay reden a course of werre
With stronge speres in theire hande,
þat alle in sondre floughe þaire gere,
Tayle ouer tope bothe doun gon bere,
the stroke was wele sittande.
Belysent keste vp a crye
Vn-to god and Milde Marie,
Scho wepede & handes wrange.
Bot vp þay stert full hastily
And ayther gan to oþer defye
With swerdis large & lange.

---

96

110

This noble kyng this Clariell
Smyttes to sir Otuell
A dynt þat he myghte fele:
Bot one his helme it myghte nott duelle,
So sadly one his scholdire it felle,
The knyghte by-gane to knele.
Bot vp he stirte full hastilye:
“I vowe to god þou schall a-bye,
Þat alle schalle deme & dele.”
Cursu thurghe his helme gan hye
Þat alle his one cheke hyngede bye,
His tethe were Schauen wele.

111

he said þan: “Clariell, als mote þou thee,
Whi grynnes þou nowe so one mee,
As þofe þou wolde me byte?
Alphayne thi lemman white & fre
thare neuer ȝerne to kysse the,
Þer-fore I maye nott hir wyte.”
the kynge ferde than als he wolde wede,
to þe knyghte he hyed hym bettir spede,
Full Egerly to smyte:
And thurgh his schelde he gan hym schrede,
Þat schulde hafe sauede hym at his nede,
Almoste he was Scomfite.

112

Þ kynge woundede Otuell so sore,
hade he nott schounte his stroke thore,
For sothe he hade bene slayne.
Bot than Cursu that the knyghte bare
thorowowte þe kynges herte it schare,
bothe with myghte & Mayne;
And to þe grounde he tumbills doun,
His saule went vn-to Mahoun,
than by those gates gayne.

---

97

And a full blythe man was Charllyoun,
And louede god with full heghe sowun,
& Belesent was full fayne.

113

For sorowe sir Garcy went nere wode,
For Clariell dede was stronge of mode,
And sware by appolyne,
Þat mete ne drynke scholde done hym gude
are he struyed hade Cristen blode,
& broghte þam alle to pyne.
his grete bataylls he garte arayee,
And his Baners brode displeye
With coloures noble & fyne.
And Charlles wele thynkes þat he maye
For to kepe the heythyn laye,
With þe helpe of dere drightyn.

114

Sir Barlott of perse come girdande swythe,
Also faste als he myghte dryfe,
Was holden a noble knyghte;
And doghety dedis gun he kythe,
Þer myghte no wapen his wedys ryfe,
So Sauely was He dighte.
he rydes owte a course of were
& In his hande a noble spere,
His armours glyssenede full brighte,
he askede leue at Sir Garcy there
To Iuste with Rowlande and Olyuere,
theire bothere dede to dyghte.

115

And one his horse he come rynnande
With his spere faste in his hande
his armours glessened clere.

---

98

he called firste one Rowlande,
One Otuell stalworthe for to stande,
And sythen One Olyuere:
“hafe done,” he saide, “brynge mee forthe ȝour kynge,
Or ells to dethe I schall ȝow dynge,
For sothe alle foure in fere.”
Rowlande askede þe kynges blyssynge,
he stroke his stede & forthe gan flynge,
His thretynge boghte he dere.

116

When þat þay to-gedir mett
A sekere stroke was there sett,
Þat bothe þay tynte þaire stedys;
& vp þay rose with-owtten lett,
And ayther harde on othir bett,
& persed some of þaire wedys.
Rowlande doghty dedis gan kythe,
With Drondale he gan hym ryue,
Þat reghte to þe girdill it ȝede.
And sir Barlot loste his lyfe,
he faughte nothir with foure ne fyve,
His lyfe was hym full gnede.

117

then commes a Saraȝene girdande there,
his name was called sir lamagere,
Was holden a noble knyghte:
he come als breme als any bore
And woundede sir Rowlande wonder sore,
thurgh his brenyes brighte:
And Olyuere saughe his felawe blede,
With sporres he touches his noble stede,
þe Saraȝene garte he lighte.
Þe grete Batells by þan to-gedir ȝede,
Þey hewede one faste & full gude spede,
And now bygynnes þaire fyghte.

---

99

118

Bot oþer noyse was þer none
When þ grete to-gedir gun gone,
Bot stronge strokes & steryn.
Þay hewede one faste & full gud wone,
Brusten bothe bak, blode, & bone,
Of wandrethe myghte men leryn.
Be thousandes þay doun gan dryfe,
For bothe helme & haberieone þay ryfe,
Þer myghte no man þam werynn.
kyng & Duke there loste þaire lyfe;
with dynt of swerde, spere, & knyfe,
Þay Brittenede many a beryn.

119

Doun þay dange þaire Baners brade
Bothe in slakkes & in slade,
One bukes as we rede.
Full fele Saraȝenes felle þay fade
And many one to þe grounde þay hade,
Þaire lyfe was þam full gnede.
Full Grisely þay grone & grenne,
Maisterles þaire horse þay rynne,
Of þam toke no man hede.
Þe cristen men gan þe maystry wynn,
Bot ȝitt þaire barett ne wolde not blyn,
On Newe by-gynnes þaire dede.

120

Sir Elye come with mekill myghte,
With Seuen hundrethe newe made knyghtes
Oute of Bretayne.
Þise fresche men so freschely fyghte
Þat it was Ioye to See þat sighte,
Bothe with myghte & mayne.

---

100

A Saraȝene come with Felawes Fyve,
thorowte sir Briane gane he dryfe,
Þat nobill knyghte was slayne.
And ȝitt þat paynym loste his lyfe,
With a spere þay gan hym ryfe,
his saule wente vn-to payne.

121

sir Otuell þat noble man
to his awenn Cosyn he ran,
Full Grymly in his gere.
he strikes the Duke Balame,
the kynges Sone of alphane,
Euen thurgh-owte with a spere.
Þan kynge alphane come in hye
With twenty thowsande of Barbarye,
Þat wele couthe wapyns bere.
And the kynge Cursabolee
With thritty thousande of Turkee,
And alle one fote þay were.

122

thies fute men so staleworthe ware
þat oure Batells full ferre one bakke þay bare,
Þer myghte none stirre þaire schelde.
þaire dynttes felle so sadde & sare
þat wele ane alblastire schott & mare
þay myghte no wapyns welde.
þay were so mekill & so vn-ryde,
And so foulle of hewe and hyde,
Þat þay hade almoste wonn þe felde.
Þay gafe þaym woundes wete & wyde,
And Brittenede þam bothe bake & syde,
Oure Batell garte þay helde.

123

than come girdande a gude sqwyere,
Sir Grym sone þe gude duchere,
Þat was borne in Pareyche;

---

101

With hym an hundrethe þat hardy ware,
his name was hatten Naymere,
A man of mekill pryce.
to arme thaym grete hye þay hade,
Dispoyle þe bodyes þat laye one brade,
ichone one þaire beste wyse.
Of þaire clothes pensalles þay made,
To kyng Cherlles be-lyfe þay rade,
“Mount Ioye” was þaire discrye.

124

Þe grete Batell than relyed agayne,
Both with myghte and with mayne,
& brittenede blode & bone.
kynge Charlles than was full fayne
And louede god, es noghte to layne,
& his modir allone.
kynge Cresable houed by apparoun
And seese hys men alle donngen doun,
& Sone gane he to þam goo[n].
Bot Aymere hitt hym one þe crowun,
Þat that lorde hathe loste alle his renoun,
In þe felde he hathe hym tone.

125

Aymere hathe the kynge hent,
And to kynge Charlles he hathe hym sent
By foure of his Sqwyere.
Bot when þat he made hym þat present,
he loues gode þat luffe hade lent,
And his mylde Modere dere.
Thies fresche men so fersely fighte,
It was grete Ioye to See þat syghte,
& a wondere thynge to here.
This noble man sir Ottuell
thilke folde he gane þam felle,
With strengthe & Noblitee.

---

102

126

And Certis, als the bookes gane telle,
Þaire Saules wente vn-to helle,
those fele þat there gun blede.
thus kynges & Dukes to þe dede þay dighte,
A hundrethe Dubbide þam selfe to knyghte,
þat worthy were & welde:
And to þe Banere be-lyfe þay wanne,
And foure gude kynges þay sloughe þer þane,
þaire lyfes was þam full gnede.
thurghe-owte þe Oste are þat he blane
Vn-to kynge Charlles als a mane,
he thankede hym of þat dede.

127

than for sorowe sir Garcy said, “allas,”
to a kynge þat highte sir Abars,
þat was armede full clere:
“ȝone Renayede thefe my Cosyn was,
he ledis vs here a wikkide pase,
bothe with traye and tene.”
The kyng ansuerde to sir Garcy:
“loo, where sir Cherlles commes the by,
And dynges alle dounne by-dene.
Now for Mahonns lufe þat þou þe hye
With twenty thousande of Turkye
till þat we redy bene.”

128

the kyng dide als þe Emperour bad,
With those Turkes þat he hade
he stroke in to the stourre.
there were oure folkes full styffely stadde,
Þay hewede one faste als þay were madde,
& brittenede brighte armour.
the Duke Naymes stede was slayne
& hym selfe in þe felde tane,
þat boughte þay sythen full Sourre.

---

103

Rowlande gude of blode & bone
And sir Otuell hase thre kynges slone,
& reschewsede hym with honour.

129

þan was there no noþer crye
Bot thik folde gane þe Saraȝenes dy,
& Grysely gane þey grone.
A Sory man was sir Garcy,
And alle þe Saraȝenes þat houed hym by,
þaire herttis was fro þam tone.
Oggere Dannays laye in presoun
And of þat noyse he herde the soun,
& heghte men kepede hym one.
Bot preualy he made hym boun,
With a nastell schide he slewe þam doun,
hys wardens thus hath he slayne.

130

He armede hym selfe iche a thynge,
And to stabill gan he gange
& hent a noble stede.
þe horse was styffe þuoghe & strange,
he caughte a spere was large & lange,
& leppe vp better spede.
he kayres forthe owte of the Cite:
“Nowe hafes alle gude daye,” says he,
& to his felawes þus he ȝede.
And gladdere men there myghte none bee
Ne þay were when þay sir Oggere Daynnas See,
Þat doghety was of dede.

131

Now Oggere Daynas by-gynnes to fighte,
& to hew doun many ane heythen knyghte,
& Brittyne blode & bone.
kynge & Duke to þe dede he dighte,
The Emperour tooke hym to þe flighte,
to þe toun he wolde hafe gone.

---

104

sir Otuell stroke his stede Floryne
With two sporres of golde full fyne,
& belyfe he to hym come:
“Nay sir,” he sayde, “be sayne drightyne,
thou schall noghte to þe toun to dyne,
Bot here the moste be tone.”

132

sir Otuell hase tnere tane þe Emperour,
Þat lorde hath loste þere his honour,
to charlles he hathe hym sent.
knyghtis streghte in ilke a stourre
token vp Cite, toun and toure,
the Saraȝenes are alle schent.
When þay had wroghte one swilkon wyse
Home þay wente þan to Pariche,
Full wightly one þaire waye:
And Charlles louede god of this Enpryce;
And sir Otuell þat worthy es,
Now weddede he Belesent.

133

And than þay helde a Mangery
With alle þe noble cheualry,
Þat semely was to see.
Þay made hym lorde of lumbardy
to hafe it alle in his Bayly,
Þat contre faire & free.
And thus he duellys & es a pere,
Rowlande felawe, and Olyuere,
A gud Cristyn man was hee.
And Iesus Criste þat boghte vs dere,
Brynge vs to thi Blisses sere!
Amen, par charite!