University of Virginia Library

God in glorye of myghteste moost,
That al thinge made in sapience
By vertue of woorde and holy goost,
Gyvinge to man grete excellence,
And alle, þat is in erthe, wroght
Subiecte to man and man to the,
That he shoulde with herte and thought
To loue and serve, and noon but the:
For ȝyfe man kepte thy commaundemente
In al thinge and loued the welle
And hadde synnede in his entente,
Than shulde he fully thy grace fele;
But for the offences to God I-doon
Many vengeaunces haue be-falle.
Where-of I wole you telle of oon,
It were to moch to telle of alle.
While þat Rome was in excellence
Of alle Realmes in dignite,
And howe it felle for his offence,
Listinythe a while and ye shal see,
Howe it was wonen and brente
Of a Sowdon, that heathen was,
And for synne howe it was shente;
As Kinge Lowes witnessith þat cas,
As it is wryten in Romaunce
And founden in bokes of Antiquyte
At Seinte Denyse Abbey in Fraunc[e],
There as Cronycles remembrede be,
Howe Laban, the kinge of hie degre,
And syr and Sowdon of hie Babilon,
Conquerede grete parte of Christiante,
That was born in Askalon.
And in the Cite of Agremare
Vppon the Rivere of Flagote
At þat tyme he soiorned ther
Fulle roially, wel I wote,
With kinges xij and Admyralles xiiij,
With many a Baron & Kniȝtis ful boold,
That roialle were and semly to sene;
Here worþynesse al may not be told.
Hit bifelle by-twyxte March and Maye,
Whan kynde corage begynneth to pryke,
Whan ffrith and felde wexen gaye,
And every wight desirith his like,
Whan lovers slepen withe opyn yȝe,
As Nightyngalis on grene tre,
And sore desire þat thai cowde flye,
That thay myghte withe here louere be:
This worthy Sowdon in this seson
Shope him to grene woode to goon,
To chase the Bore or the Veneson,
The Wolfe, the Bere and the Bawson.
He roode tho vppon a fforeste stronde
With grete rowte and roialte,
The fairest, þat was in alle þat londe,
With Alauntes, Lymmeris and Racches free.
His huntes to chace he commaunde,
Here Bugles boldely for to blowe,
To fere the beestis in þat launde.
The Sowdon woxe wery I-nowe;
He rested him vndere an holme tre
Sittynge vppon a grene sete
Seynge a Dromonde com sailyng in þe see
Anone he charged to bekyn him with honde
To here of him tidinges newe.
The maister sende a man to londe,
Of diuers langages was gode and trewe,
And saide “lorde, this Dromonde
Fro Babyloyne comen is,
That was worþe thousande poundis,
As it mete with shrewes I-wis,
Charged with perle and precious stones
And riche pelure and spicerye,
With oyle and bras qweynte for the nones
To presente yow, my lorde worthy.
A drift of wedir vs droffe to Rome,
The Romaynes robbed vs anone;
Of vs thai slowgh ful many one.
With sorwe and care we be bygone.
Whereof, lorde, remedye
Ye ordeyne by youre Barons boolde,
To wreke the of this vilane;
Or certes oure blis is coolde.”
The Soudon hirynge this tyþinge,
With egre chere he made a vowe
To Mahounde and to Appolyne,
That thai shulde by it dere I-nowe,
Er that he wente fro theyme.
“Where be ye, my kinges boolde,
My Barons and my Admyral?
Thes tidinges make myn herte coolde
But I be venged, dyen I shalle.
Sire Ferumbras, my sone so dere,
Ye muste me comforte in this case;
My ioye is alle in the nowe here
And in my Doghter Dame Florypas.
Sortybraunce, my Counselere,
Lete clepe him forthe to counsaile me,
And Oliborne, my Chauncelere
And noble Clerke of hie degre,
And Espiarde, my messangere,
To goon to Assye and to Aufrike,
To kinges, princes ferr and ner,
Barons, Admyralls and Dukes frike,
Comaundinge hem vppon her legeaunce
To come in al hast vnto me,
Wel Armed with shelde and launse,
To Egremoure þon riche Cite.”
In shorte tyme this message was wroghte
An hundred thouusande on a rowte
That robbery was righte dere boght,
Was never none derrer withouten douȝte.
The kinge of Baldas, sir Lukafer,
Of Aufryke lorde and governoure,
Spake to the Sowdon, that men myghte here,
And saide “sir, for thyn honour,
Do sende for shippes both fer and nere.”
Carrikes, Galeis and shippes shene,
vij hundred were gadered al in fere
And a Dromonde for the Sowden kene.
Sir Ferumbras of Alisaundre
In the Dromonde with him was,
Of Assy the kinge of Chaunder,
And his faire doghter Floripas.
Two maistres were in the Dromounde,
Two goddes on hye seten thore
In the maister toppe, withe macis rounde,
To manace with the Cristen lore.
The sailes were of rede Sendelle,
Embrowdred with riche araye,
With beestes and breddes every dele,
That was right curious and gaye;
The Armes displaied of Laban
Of Asure and foure lions of goolde.
Of Babiloyne the riche Sowdon,
Moost myghty man he was of moolde,
He made a vowe to Termagaunte,
Whan Rome were distroied & hade myschaunce,
He woolde turne ayen erraunte
And distroye Charles the kinge of Fraunce.
Forth thai sailed on the flode,
Tille thai come to the haven of Rome:
The wynde hem served, it was ful goode.
Ther londed many a grymlye gome.
Thai brente and slowen, þat Cristen were,
Town, Abbey and holy chirche.
The hethen hade such power there,
That moche woo gan thai there wirch.
Tidinggis came to Rome anone
Unto the Pope, that þt tyme was,
That the heþen came to bren and slone.
This was to hem a sory cas.
He lete cal his counsaile to-geder
To wete, what was beste to don.
Anone as thai were come þeder,
He asked of hem al ful sone:
“Lordinges, it is vnknowne to you,
That this cursed hathen Sowdon
Brennyth and stroyeth oure pepul nowe,
Alive he leveth vnneth not one.
Seint Petir be oure governoure
And save this worthi Cite of Rome,
And Seinte Poule be oure gydoure
From this cursed hethen houne!”
Ifreȝ he bispake him than,
Of Rome he was a Senatoure,
And saide “sendith some worthy man
To Charles kinge of hye honoure.
He wolde you helpe with al his myghte,
That noble kinge of Dowse Fraunce.”
“Certes” quod Savaris “þat weren no righte,
It were right a foule myschaunce,
To sende to þat worthy kinge.
We have oure hedes yet al hole,
Oure sheldes be not broke no-thinge,
Hawberke, spere, ner poleyne, ner pole.
Where-of shul we playn to him,
That no thinge yet have assaide?
Mech uylanye we myght wynne,
That for noght were so sone afrayed.
Ten thousande men delyuere me tyte
Tomorue next in-to the feelde,
And I shall prove with al my myghte
To breke there bothe spere and shelde.”
Vnto the Senatours it semed welle,
His counsaile goode and honurable.
This worthi Duke was armed in stele
In armes goode and profitable;
He bare a Chek of goulis clere,
An Egle of goolde abrode displayed.
With him many a bolde Bachelere
Tho spake Savaryȝ with wordes on hye
And saide “my felowes alle,
This daie prove you men worthy,
And faire you al shal befalle.
Thenke yat Criste is more myghty
Than here fals goddis alle;
And he shal geve vs the victorie,
And foule shal hem this day bifalle.”
Forth than rode þat faire Ooste
With right goode chere and randon,
Tille than come ful nyȝe the cooste.
Of the Sowdons Pavylon
Ferumbras was of hem ware
And sprange out as a sparkil of glede;
Of Armes bright a sheelde he bare,
A Doughty man he was of dede.
xv thousande came oute there
With him at þat same tyde,
Ayen the Romaynes for to were,
With bobaunce, booste and grete pride.
The stoure was stronge, enduryng longe:
The Romaynes hade there the feelde;
The Sarysyns thai slough amonge,
Ten thousand and mo with spere and sheelde.
Sauariz was wise and ware
And drowe towards þat Citee.
His baner displaied with him he bare
To releve with his meyne.
The Pope with his Senatours
Thanked god þat tyme of glorie,
That gafe hem þat day grete honours,
Of hethen that dai to have the victorie.
Lukafere, kinge of Baldas,
The countrey hade serchid and sought,
Ten thousande maidyns faire of face
Vnto the Sowdan hath he broghte.
The Sowdon commanded hem anone,
That thai shulde al be slayn.
Martires thai were euerychon,
And therof were thai al ful fayne.
He saide “my peple nowe ne shalle
With hem noughte defouled be,
But I wole distroie ouer all
The sede over alle Cristiante.”
Tho spake lukefere the kinge,
That hethen hounde Baldas,
And saide “Sir Sowdan, graunte me one thinge,
Thi doghter Dame Floripas.
The kinge of Fraunce I shal the bringe
And the xij dosipers alle in fere.”
The Sowdan saide in þat tokenyng,
“I graunte the here, that is so dere.”
Tho sayde Floripe “sire, noon haste,
He hath note done as he hath saide.
I trowe, he speketh these wordes in waste,
He wole make bute an easy brayde.
Whan he bryngith home Charles the kinge
And the xij dosipers alle,
I graunte to be his derlynge
What so evere therof by-falle.
Than on the morowe the Sowdan
Callid to him Lukafer of Baldas,
To assaile the Cite anone:
“And loke thou tary not in this cas!
Thritty thousande of my menie,
Of Gallopes, Ethiopes and Aufricanes,
Take hem to the walles with the.
Betith down wallis, towris and stones.”
Lukafer blewe his clarion
To Assemble the Sarasyns þat tide,
Where-of thai knewe right welle the soune,
Thai made hem redy for to ride,
But whan thai come to the yate,
The Dikes were so develye depe,
Thai helde hem selfe Chek-mate;
Ouer cowde thai nothir goo nor crepe.
Lukafer in al the haste
Turned to the Sowdan agayn
And saide “sir, it is alle in waste,
We laboure nowe alle in vayne.
To depe and brode the Dikes bene,
The Towres so stronge be with alle,
That by Mahounde I can note seen,
How that we shulde wyne ther to the walle.”
Who was woode but the Sowdon?
He reneyed his goddis alle.
He clepede his Engynour sir mavone,
To counsaile he did him faste calle.
He tolde him the case of þat myschefe,
How it stode at that ilke tyde.
Mavon Gafe him counsel in breefe
To fille the Dikes þat were depe.
Every man to woode shal goon,
Fagotis to hewe and faste bynde,
And fille the Dikes faste anoon
With alle, that we may ther fynde.
“Gramercy, Mavon,” quod Laban than,
“Mahoundis benysone thou shalt haue,
Of alle myn Ooste the wiseste man,
With counsaile men for to saue.
Alle this was done the seconde daye,
Men myght go even to the walle;
On every party the ooste laye,
Thai made assaite then generalle.
The Romaynes ronnen to the toures,
Thai were in ful grete dowte;
Thai hade many sharpe shoures,
Thai were assailed sore a-bowte.
Wifis and maidyns stones thai bare
To the walles than ful faste,
Thai were in grete drede and care;
The men over the wallis did caste.
Thai slowen many a Sarasyn,
x thousande pepul of hem and moo.
The daie passed to the fyne,
The hethen withdrowe hem tho.
Whan these tidinges came to laban,
His goddes he gan chide.
He waxe both blake, pale and wan,
He was nyȝe woode þat same tyde.
Tho Lukafer comfortede him welle
And saide “sir, be not dismayed,
For I have aspied everydele,
Howe thai shalle alle be betrayede.
Sauariz wole to morowe with us fighte,
His baner knowe I ful welle;
I shal have an othere, I you plighte,
Like to this every dele.
Whan he is moste besy in bataile,
Than wole I with banere displaiede
Ride in to Rome without faile,
Thus shal thai al be betrayede.
The Sowdan was glad of this tidinge,
Hopinge it shulde be so;
And even as it was in purposynge,
Right so was it aftir I-do.
Wenynge it hade be Sauarye,
Relevinge fro the hethen stour,
Wenynge doth ofte harme withoute lye,
He entred to the maister Toure.
The firste warde thus thay wonne
By this fals contrevede engyne.
Thus was moche sorowe bygon,
Thai slough all, that were ther-Inne.
Whan Sauariz saugh this discomfitur
Of the Romaynes in that tyme,
And howe harde than was here aventur,
Of sorowe þat myghte he ryme
Of x thousande men lefte no moo
But sexty men and twelfe,
And whan he sawe this myschief tho,
He turned homewarde agayn him selue.
By than he founde the gate shite
With Sarisyns, that hade it wone;
And Estragot with him he mette
With bores hede, blake and donne.
For as a bore an hede hadde
And a grete mace stronge as stele.
He smote Sauaryz as he were madde,
That dede to grounde he felle.
This Astrogot of Ethiop,
He was a kinge of grete strength;
Ther was none suche in Europe
So stronge and so longe in length.
I trowe, he were a develes sone,
Of Belsabubbis lyne,
For ever he was thereto I-wone,
To do Cristen men grete pyne.
Whan tidinggis came to the [P]ope,
That Duke Sauaryz was dede slayn,
Than to woo turned alle his hope;
He dide calle than to counsaile
Alle the Senatouris of Rome,
What þinge þat myght hem most availe,
And what were beste to done.
Tho by-spake a worthy man of counsaile,
An Erille of the Senatouris:
“The best counsaile, þat I can

Sending vnto Charles the kinge
Certifiynge him by your myssangeris
The myschief þat ye are Inne,
That he come with his Dosyperys
To reskue Cristiante fro this heþen.”
All thai assentede anone therto;
The lettres were made in haste.
Thre messageres we ordeyn therto,
That went forthe at the laste.
At a posterne thai wente oute
Pryvely aboute mydnyght,
And passed through alle the route.
Of hem was war no wight.

Bvt let we nowe the messangeris goon,
And speke we of Laban,
Howe he dide saile the Cite anoon,
And commaundid, þat every man
Shulde withe Pikeys or with bille
The Wallis over throwe,
That he myght the Romaynes kille,
Playnly on a rowe,
By water he ordeynede the shippes goon,
The bootis bownden to the maste,
That thai myght fight with hem anoon,
Honde of honde, þat was here caste.
To the Toure a bastile stode,
An engyne was I-throwe—
That was to the Cite ful goode—
And brake down towres both hie and lowe.
Tho sorowede alle the Citesyns
And were ful hevy than.
Tho wox prowde the Sarasyns,
And than bispake sire laban
And saide “yolde youe here to me,
Ye may not longe endure,
Or ellis shall ye al slayn be,
By mahounde I you ensure.”
A Romayne drife a darte him to
And smote him on the breste plate,
Ne hadde his hawberke lasted tho,
Mahounde had come to late.
Tho was the Sowdon more þan wod,
He cried to Ferumbras,
“For Mahoundes loue, þat is so good,
Destroye vp bothe man and place.
Spare no thinge that is alyve,
Hows, Toure ner Walle,
Beest, ner man, Childe nere Wife,
Brenne, slo and distroye alle.”
Tho Ferumbras ordeynede anone.
To bende the Engynes to the town
And bete down both Toure and stoon.
He cleped forth Fortibraunce and Mavon
And saide “be youre Engynes goode?
Shewe forth here nowe your crafte
For Mahoundis love, þat gevith man foode,
That ther be no Toure lafte.”
Tho the grete gloton Estagote
With his myghty mace sware
On the Gatis of Rome he smote
And brake hem alle on thre thare.
In he entrid at the Gate
The Porte-Colis on him thai lete falle.
He wende, he hade come to late,
It smote him through herte, lyuer and galle.
He lai cryande at the grounde
Like a develle of Helle;
Through the Cite wente the sowne,
So lowde than gan he yelle.
Gladde were al the Romaynes,
That he was take in the trappe,
And sorye were al the Sarsyns
Of þat myschevos happe.
Sory was the Soudon than
And Ferumbras and Lukafer.
Thai drowe hem tille her tentes than,
Thai left him ligginge there.
Mahounde toke his soule to him
And broght it to his blis.
He loued him wel and al his kyn,
Of þat myghte he not mys.
Anone the [P]ope dide somon alle;
The peple of the Cite came,
To Seinte Petris he dide hem calle,
And thidere came every man.
He saide on hie “my Children dere,
Ye wote wel, howe it is;
Ayenst the Sarisyns, þat nowe be here,
We mowe not longe endure I-wis.
Thay brekene oure walles, oure Toures alle
With caste of his Engyne.
Therefore here amonge you alle
Ye shalle here counsaile myne.
Thai bene withdrawe to here Oost,
And on-armede thay ben alle.
Therfore, me thenketh, is beste
To-morowe erly on hem to falle.
We have xxxti thousande men;
Twenty thousande shal go with me,
And in this Cite leve ten
To governe the comynalte.”
The Senatouris assentede sone
And saide, beter myghte no man seyne.
On the morowe this was it done;
God bringe hem wele home agayne.
The Pope did displav than
The hie baner of Rome,
And he assoiled every man
Through gracious god in Dome.
He praide of helpe and socour
Seinte Petir and Poule also
And oure lady, þat swete floure,
To saue the Cite of Rome from woo.
Forth thai riden towarde the Oost.
Ferumbras romede a-boute;
He saw the Romaynes comen by the Cost,
Thereof he hade grete dowte.
He blewe an horne, of bras it was;
The Sarsyns be-gon to wake.
“Arise vp” he saide in aras,
“We bene elles alle I-take,
And Armes anone, every wight,
To horse with spere and shelde!
Ye may se here a ferefull sighte
Of oure enemyes in the felde.
Astopars, goo ye biforne vs,
For ye be men of myghte;
Ethiopes, Assayneȝ and Askalous,
Go nexte afore my sighte.
My Fadir and I with Babyloynes,
Ho shal kepe the rerewarde.
King Lukafer with Baldeseynes,
To venge alle, shalle have the Fowarde.”
The Romaynes aspied, þat thai were ware
Of here comynge than,
And therfore hade thay moche care.
Natheles on hem thai gon—
Seinte Petir be here socoure!—
And laiden on side, bake and bon.
There bigan a sturdy shoure
Sire Ferumbras of Alisaundre oon,
That bolde man was in dede,
Vppon a steede Cassaundre gave,
He roode in riche Weede.
Sire Bryer of Poyle a Romayne to fraye
He bare through with a spere,
Dede to the grounde ther he lan
Might he no more hem dere!
That sawe Huberte, a worthy man,
Howe Briere was I-slayn,
Ferumbras to qwite than
To him he rode ful even.
With a spere vppone his shelde pan
Stifly ganne he strike;
The shelde he brake I-myddis the feelde;
His Hawberke wolde not breke.
Many goode strokes were delte.
Ferumbras was a-greved tho,
He smote with mayne and myghte
The nekke asonder, the ventayle also,
That dede he sate vprighte.
There was bataile harde and stronge;
Many a steede wente ther a-straye,
And leyen at the grounde I-stonge,
That resyn never aftyr that day,
IX thousand of the payens pride
That day were slayn,
And viij thousande of the Romaynes side,
That in the feelde dede layne.
Lukafere, þat paynym proude,
Slough Romaynes eyȝtene,
Of werr moche sorowe he coude,
His strokes were over alle sene.
Gyndarde, a Senatoure of Rome,
Had slayne Sarsenys ten,
Tille he met with the cursed gome,
Lukifere slough him than.
Tho come the Pope with grete aray,
His baner to-fore him wente.
Ferumbras than gan to assaye,
If he myght that praye entente,
Supposynge in this though[t]e,
Ther was the souerayne;
He spared him therfore right noght,
But bare him down ther in þe playn.
Anoon he sterte on him all ane
His Ventayle for to onlace,
And saugh his crown newe shafe,
A-shamed thanne he was.
“Fye, preest, god gyfe the sorowe!
What doist thou armede in the feelde,
That sholdest saie thi matyns on morwe,
What doist thou with spere and shelde?
I hoped, thou hadiste ben an Emperoure,
Or a Cheftayne of this Ooste here,
Or some worthy conqueroure.
Go home and kepe thy Qwer!
Shame it were to me certayne
To sle the in this bataile,
Therfore turne the home agayn!”
The Pope was gladde þer-of certayne,
He wente home to Rome that nyght
With Five thousande and no more,
XV thousande lefte in the feelde aplight,
Full grete sorowe was therfore.

Nowe telle we of the messanger,
That wente to Charlemayne,
Certyfyinge him by lettres dere,
Howe the Romaynes were slayne,
And howe the Contrey brente was
Vnto the Gate of Rome,
And howe the people song ‘alas,’
Tille socoure from him come.
“Who” quod Charles, that worthy kinge,
“The Sowdon and Ferumbras?
I nyl lette for no thinge,
Till I him oute of Cristendome chace.
Therefore Gy of Burgoyn,
Mynne owen nevewe so trewe,
Take a thausande pounde of Frankis fyne,
To wage wyth the pepul newe.
Take this with the nowe at this tyme,
And more I wole sende the,
Loke that thou spare no hors ne shelde,
But þat he dede be;
And faste hye the thyderwarde,
For I drede thay haue grete nede,
And I shalle come aftirwarde
As faste, as I may me spede.”

Speke we of Sir Laban
And let Charles and Gy be,
Howe he ordeyned for hem than
To Distroye Rome Citee.
“Sir Lukafer, thou madiste thi boost
To conquer the Romaynes
And to bringe me the Ooste
Of the xij peris and Charlemayne.
Vppon a condicion I graunte the
My doghter, dere Dame Floripas.
Wherefore, I aske nowe of the
To holde covenaunte in this cas.”
“That I saide” quod Lucafere,
“To Mahounde I make a vowe
To done al þat I hight the ther,
Ye and more than for Florip love.”
He ordeyned assaute anone in haste
With x thousande men and moo;
And Ferumbras at that oþer side faste
Assailed hem with grete woo.
The saute endured al þat daye
From morowe, tille it was nyght,
To throwe and shete by euery waye,
While that hem endured the light.
Tho wente thai home to thair tentys,
Tille it were on the morowe.
Isres in his fals ententes
Purposed treson and sorowe.
He was chief Porter of the Town,
By heritage and fee so he shulde be.
He wente to the Sowdan,
For the riche Cite betraye woolde he,
And saide “lorde, gife me grace
For my goodes and for me,
And I wole delyuer the this place
To haue and holde for ever in fee.
The keyes of this riche Cite
I haue in my bandon.”
“That graunte I” quod Laban “the
To be free withoute raunson.”
Ferumbras made him yare,
With xxti thousand men and moo,
With this Isres for to fare,
And to wynne the Cite soo.
As sone as he entred was
The chief Gate of alle,
And alle his men in aras.
He lete the Portcolys falle.
He smote of the traitourus hede
And saide “god gife him care!
Shal he never more ete brede,
All traitours evel mot thai fare!
If he myght leve and reigne here,
He wolde betraye me;
For go he west, south or North,
Traitour shalle he never be.”
He dide lete bere his hede on a spere
Through-oute this faire Citee.
‘Treson, treson’ thai cried there,
Pite it was to here and see.
The people fled by every waye,
Thai durst no-where a-bide.
The hye wey ful of dede men laye,
And eke by every lanys side.
Ferumbras to Seinte Petris wente,
And alle the Relekes he seased anoon,
The Crosse, the Crown, the Nailes bente;
He toke hem with him everychone.
He dide dispoile al the Cite
Both of tresoure and of goolde,
And after that brente he
Alle þat ever myght be toolde.
And alle the tresoure with hem þai bare
To the Cite of Egremour.
Laban the Sowdon soiourned there
Thre monþes and thre dayes more
In myrth and Ioye and grete solas.
And to his goddes offrynge he made,
He and his sone Sir Ferumbras
Here goddis of golde dide fade,
Thai brente Frankensense,
That smoked vp so stronge,
The Fume in her presence,
It lasted alle alonge.
Thai blewe hornes of bras,
Thai dronke beestes bloode.
Milke and hony ther was,
That was roial and goode.
Serpentes in Oyle were fryed
To serve þe Sowdon with alle,
“Antrarian Antrarian” thai lowde cryed
That signyfied ‘Ioye generalle.’
Thus thai lived in Ioye and blis
Two monþes or thre.
Lete we now be alle this,
And of Gye nowe speke we.

Now speke we of Sir Gye
That toward Rome hied with his Oost.
Whan he approched there-to so nyȝe,
That he myght se the cooste,
Alle on a flame þat Cite was,
That thre myle al abowte,
Ther durst no man,þat ther was,
Come nyȝe the Cite for grete dowte.
That was a sory Cite than,
Sir Gye was in grete care,
Ther was nowhere a soryer man,
For sorowe he sighed ful sare,
And saide “welallas” the while
“For we come ar to late,
For by some treson or some gyle
Thai entred in at some Gate.
There is no more but for to abyde,
Tille Charles come, the kinge,
In this mede Vnder grene wode side,
To telle him of this tithinge,
Howe Laban hath the Cite brente
And bore the Religes a-waye,
And howe he hath hem to Spayne sente
With Shippes of grete aray,
To Egremour his chief Cite,
Ther to live and ende;
And manassith Charles and his baronye.
God gife hem evelle ende!”
Kinge Charles he forgate nought
To come to reskowe Rome,
Alle his Doȝypers were I-sought,
Fulle sone to him thay come.
Thre hundred thousande of Sowdeoures
Kinge Charles with him dide lede,
They were doughty in all stourys
And worthy men of dede.
Sir Roulande þat worthy knighte,
He ladde the Fowarde,
And Sir Olyuer, that was so wighte,
Gouerned the Rerewarde.
The Kinge himselfe and his Baronye,
With Dukes And Erilles roialle,
Gouerned alle the medil partye.
By commaundemente generall
He ordeynede grete plente
Of Flessh and Fissh, brede and wyne,
In shippes to saile by the see,
To serven him ful wel and fyne.
Sir Gye aspied his comynge,
He knewe the baner of Fraunce,
He wente anoon ayen the kinge
And tolde him of þat myschaunce,
Howe that the cursed Sowdan
Hath brent Rome and bore the Relekis awaye,
And how he hath slayn alle and some,
That he hath founde of Cristen faye.
And more-over he made his a-vowe,
To seke kinge Charles in Fraunce
And do him wo ther I-nowe.
“God gif him moch myschaunce!”—
“A” quod Charles “þat nedith noght,
He shal fynde me nere.
By god, þat dere me boght,
He shal by it ful dere.
I shalle him never leve I-wis
Withinne walle ner withoute,
I swere by god and seinte Denys,
Tille I have sought him oute;
And but if he will Baptised be
And lefe his fals laye,
Babyloyne shal he never see
For alle his grete aray.
Anoon to shippe every man
With vitaile and with store,
Euen towarde the proud Sawdan
With-outen any more.
Wynde him blewe ful fayre and goode
Into the Ryver of Gaȝe,
Even over the salte flode
And ouer the profounde rase.
XXX legeeȝ from Egremour
By londe for south it is,
And ther withoute any more
To londe thai wente I-wis,
And brente and sloughen al þat thai fonde,
And stroyed both Toure and town.
Thai lefte no thinge on grounde,
That thai ne bete it down.
Tithinggis were tolde to Laban,
Howe Charles was I-come
And slough bouth childe, wyfe, man
And brente and stroyed alle and some
With thre hundred thousand of Bacheleris,
That were both stoute and gaye,
And with him al his Dosyperis,
Pepul of grete araye.
“And but ye ordeyne remedy,
He wole you brenne and sloon,
Youe and youre riche Baronye,
He wole leve a-life neuere oon.”
Whan Laban herde these tidyngys,
His herte woxe alle coolde
And saide “this is a wonder thinge!
Howe durste he be so boolde?
Litill kennyth he what I may doo,
He dredith me litil nowe.
But certes he shalle, er he goo,
To Mahounde I make a vowe.
Sir Lucafer and Ferumbras
To him dide he calle
And Mavon and Sortebras
And his Barons alle.
I charge you vppon youre legeaunce,
That ye bringe me that gloton,
That clepeth himselfe kinge of Fraunce,
Hidere to my Pavilon.
Kepe him a-live, the remenaunte sle
The xij Peris ychoon!
I shalle tech him curtesye,
I swere by god Mahounde.”
Ferumbras anoon than
Arrayed him for to ride
With proude Sarasyns many a man,
That boldely durst a-bide.
Rowlande met with Ferumbras
And gafe him such a stroke
That al astonyed þerof he was,
It made him lowe to stoupe.
Ferombras smote him agayne
With myghte and mayn, with ire
That he stenyed alle his brayne,
Him thought, his eyen were alle on fyre.
With Lucafer Oliver mette,
And hit him on the sheelde
A stroke, that was right wel sette;
A quarter flye in the feelde.
Thus thai hurteled to-gedere
Alle the lefe longe daye,
Nowe hider and nowe theder;
Mony an hors wente ther astraye.
The Dosyperis thay foughten wele,
Duke Neymys and Oger,
With goode swerdes of fyne stele
And so dide Gye and Syr Bryer.
Ferumbras was euer a-bowte
To fyghte with Olyvere,
And Olyuer with-oute dowte
Leyde on with goode chere.
Kinge Charles saugh Ferumbras,
To him fast he rode
And it on the helme with his mace,
That stroke sadlye abode.
Ferumbras was woode for woo,
He myght for prees come him to
For no worldis thinge, that myght be tho.
Kinge Charles anoon Ioye oute-drowe,
And with his owen honde
XXXti Sarseynys ther he slowe,
That laie dede vppone the sonde;
Many of hem therfore made joy Inowe.
Sir Lucafere of Baldas,
He presed to Charles sone,
And saide “Sir, with harde grace,
What hastowe here to done?
I behight Laban to bringe the to him
And the xij peris alle;
Now shaltowe come from al thy kyn
Into the Sowdans halle.
Yelde the to me” he saide,
“Thy life shalle I safe.”
A stroke on him than Charles layde;
He made the Paynym to rafe.
He smote him on the helme
With mown-Ioye, his gode bronde.
Ne hadde he be reskued than,
He hade slayn him with his honde.
Than came Baldeȝynȝ with thronge
To reskue there here lorde,
And nubens with hem amonge
And Turkes by one accorde.
Tho Roulande Durnedale oute-drowe
And made Romme abowte.
XL of hem ther he slowe,
Tho were thai in grete dowte.
Roulande as fiers as a lion
With Durnedale tho dinge
Vppon the Sarsyns crowne,
As harde as he myght flynge.
Duke Neymys and Sir Olyuer,
Gy and Alloreynes of Loreyne,
And alle the noble xij Peris,
Oger and Bryer of Brytayne,
Thai foughten as feythfully in þat fight,
The feelde ful of dede men laye.
XXXti thousande, I you plight,
Of Sarsenys ther were slayn.
Al thinge moste haue an ende,
The nyghte come on ful sone,
Every wighte retourned to wende;
Ferumbras to his men gan gone
And saide “oure hornes blowe we,
This day haue we a ful ille afraye,
To saie the south and not to lye,
Oure goddis holpe vs not to daye,
What devel þat ever hem eilith.
This bataile was so sharpe in faye,
That many a man it wailyth.
Shalle I never in herte be glade to daye,
Till I may preve my myghte
With Roulande, that proude ladde,
Or with Olyuer, that is so lighte,
That evel hath vs ladde;
And in Paris be crowned kinge
In despite of hem alle,
I wole leve for no thinge
What so evere byfalle.
Kinge Charles with grete honour
Wente to his Pavilon;
Of the treyumple he bare the flour
In dispite of Mahounde.
Almyghty God and Seynte Denyse
He thanked ful ofte sithe
And oure lady Marie of Paris,
That made hem gladde and blith.
He recomendide the olde Knightes,
That þat daye hade the victorye,
And charged the yonge with al her myghtes
To haue hem in memorye;
For worthynesse wole not be hadde,
But it be ofte soughte,
Ner knighthode wole not ben hadde,
Tille it be dere boghte.
“Therfore ye knightes, yonge of age,
Of oolde ye may now lere,
Howe ye shalle both hurle and rage
In felde with sheelde and spere.
And take ensample of the xij Peris,
Howe thai have proved her myght,
And howe thai were both wight and fiers
To wynnen honourys in righte.
These hethen houndes we shal a-tame
By God in magiste,
Let us make myrth in goddis name
And to souper nowe goo we.”

O thow, rede Marȝ Armypotente,
That in the trende baye hase made þy trone,
That god arte of bataile and regent
And rulist alle that alone,
To whom I profre precious present,
To the makande my moone
With herte, body and alle myn entente,
A crown of precious stoones,
And howe to the I gyfe
Withouten fraude or engyne,
Vppon thy day to make offerynge,
And so shal I ever, while þat I live,
By righte þat longith to my laye,
In worshipe of thy reverence
On thyn owen Tewesdaye
With myrr, aloes and Frankensense,
Vppon condicion that thou me graunte,
The victorye of Crystyn Dogges,
And that I may some hem adaunte
And sle hem down as hogges,
That have done me distruccion
And grete disherytaunce
And eke slayn my men with wronge.
Mahounde gyfe hem myschaunce!”

In the semely seson of the yere,
Of softenesse of the sonne,
In the prymsauns of grene vere,
Whan floures spryngyn and bygynne,
And alle the floures in the frith
Freshly shews here kynde,
Than it is semely therwyth,
That manhode be in mynde;
For corage wole a man to kith,
If he of menske haue mynde,
And of loue to lystyn and lithe,
And to seke honur for þat ende.
For he was neuere gode werryour,
That cowde not loue a-ryght;
For loue hath made many a conquerour
And many a worthy knighte.
This worthy Sowdan, though he heþen wer,
He was a worthy conquerour;
Many a contrey with shelde and spere
He conquerede wyth grete honoure.
And his worthy sone Ferumbras,
That kinge was of Alisaundr,
And Lucafer of Baldas,
That cruel kinge of Cassaundr,
That wroughten wonders with here honde
With myghte and mayne for to fyghte,
And over-ride mony a manly londe,
As men of Armes hardy and wighte.
The Sowdan seyinge this myschief,
How Charles hade him a-greved,
That grevaunce was him no thinge lese,
He was ful sore ameved.
He sente oute his bassatoures
To Realmes, provynces ferr and ner,
To Townes, Citeis, Castels and Tours,
To come to him ther he were,
To Inde Maior and to Assye,
To Ascoloyne, Venys, Frige and Ethiope,
To Nubye, Turkye and Barbarye,
To Macedoine, Bulgar and to Europe.
Alle these people was gadred to Agremore,
Thre hundred thousand of Sarsyns felle,
Some bloo, some yolowe, some blake as more,
Some horible and stronge as devel of helle.
He made hem drinke Wilde beestes bloode,
Of Tigre, Antilope and of Camalyon,
As is here vse to egre here mode,
Whan þai in werre to battayle goon.
He saide to hem “my frendes der,
As my trust is alle in you,
On these Frenche dogges, that bene here,
Ye moste avenge me nowe.
Thai have done me vilanye,
Mikille of my people have thay slayn.
And yet more-over thay manace me
And drive me to my contrey agayn;
Wherefore I wole at the bygynnynge
To Mahounde and to my goddis alle
Make a solempne offerynge;
The better shall it vs byfalle.
The laste tyme thai were wrothe,
We hade not done oure dute.
Therefore to saye the southe”....
There were many hornys blowe,
The preestes senden thikke I-nowe
Goolde, and silver thikke thai throwe,
With noyse and crye thai beestes slowe,
And thought to spede wel I-nowe;
And every man his vowe he made
To venge the Sowdan of his tene.
Here goddis of golde thai wex alle fade,
The smoke so grete was hem bitwene.
Whan alle was done, the Sowdan than
Charged Ferumbras redy to be
On the morowe, ere day began,
To ride oute of þat Cite
With xxxti thousande of Assiens,
Frigys, Paens and Ascoloynes,
Turkis, Indeis and Venysyens,
Barbarens, Ethiopes and Macidoynes,
“Bringe him to me, that proude kinge;
I shal him teche curtesye,
Loke that thou leve for nothinge
To sle alle his other mayne,
Safe Rouland and Olyuere,
That bene of grete renowne,
If thai wole reneye her goddis ther
And leven on myghty Mahounde.”

Ferumbras with grete araye
Rode forthe, Mahounde him spede,
Tille he came nyȝe ther Charles lay
By syde in a grene mede.
In a woode he buskede his men
Prively that same tyde,
And with his felowes noon but ten
To kinge Charles he gan ride
And said “sir kinge, that Arte so kene,
Upon trwes I come to speke with the,
If thou be curteis, as I wene,
Thou wolte graunte a bone to me,
That I mighte fight vppon this grene,
With Rouland, Olyvere and Gye,
Duke Neymes and Oger I mene,
Ye and Duke Richarde of Normandye,
With al sex attones to fight.
My body I profr here to the
And requyre the, kinge, thou do me right,
As thou art gentille Lord and fre;
And if I may conquere hem in fere,
To lede them home to my Faderis halle;
And if thai me, I graunte the here,
To be thy man, body and alle.
The kinge Answered with wordis mylde
And saide “felowe, þat nedith nought,
I shalle fynde of myn a Childe,
That shal the fynde that thou hast sought.”
The kinge lete calle Sir Roulande
And saide “thou most with this man fight,
To take this bataile here on honde,
Ther-to God gyfe the grace and myghte!”
Roulande answered with woordis boolde
And saide “Sir, have me excused!”
He saide, certeynly he ne wolde;
The bataile vttirly he refused.
“The laste day ye preised faste
The oolde knightes of her worthynes.
Let hem goon forth, I haue no haste,
Thai may goo shewen her prowes.”
For that worde the kinge was wrothe
And smote him on the mouthe on hye,
The bloode at his nose oute-goth,
And saide “traitour, thou shalte a-bye.”
“A-bye” quod Roulande “wole I noughte,
And traitour was I never none,
By þat lord, þat me dere hath bought!”
And braide oute Durnedale þer anone.
Ho wolde haue smyten the kinge ther,
Ne hadde the barons ronne bytwene;
The kinge with-drowe him for fer
And passed home as it myght beste bene.
The Barons made hem at one
With grete prayer and instaunce,
As every wrath moste over-gone,
Of the more myschiefe to make voydaunce.
Olyuere herde telle of this,
That in his bedde laye seke sore.
He armede him ful sone I-wisse,
And to the kinge he wente withoute more
And saide “Sir Kinge, a bone graunte me
For alle the servyse, that I haue done,
To fight with þat kinge so free
To morue day, ere it be none.”
Charles answered to Olyuer:
“Thou arte seke and woundede sore,
And thou also my cosyn dere,
Therfore speke thereof no more.”—
“Sir Kinge” he saide “I am alle hoole,
I aske you this bone in goddis name.”
“Certes” he saide “I holde the a fole,
But I praye, god sheelde the fro shame.”
Forth he rideth in that Forest,
Tille he gan Ferumbras see,
Where he was light and toke his rest,
His stede renewed til a grene tre.
“Sir” he saide “reste thou wele!
Kinge Charles sente me hidur.
If thou be curteys knighte and lele,
Rise vp and let vs fight to-geder.”
Ferumbras sate stille and lough,
Him liste not to rise oute of the place.
“My felowe” quod he “what arte thou?
Telle me thy name for goddis grace.”
“Sir” he saide “Generyse,
A yonge knighte late dobbet newe.”
“By Mahounde” quod he “thou arte not wyse,
For thy comyng shaltowe sore rewe.
I holde Charles but a foole
To sende the hider to me,
I shall the lerne a newe scole,
If thoue so hardy to fighte be.
I wende, he wolde haue sende Roulande,
Olyuer and iiij mo Dosyperys,
That hade bene myghty men of honde
Bataile to a-bide stronge and fiers.
With the me liste no playe begynne,
Ride agayn and saye him soo!
Of the may I no worshype wynne,
Though I slough the and such V mo.”
“Howe longe” quod Olyuer “wiltowe plete?
Take thyn armes and come to me,
And prove þat thou saiest in dede,
For boost thou blowest, and þenkes me.”
Whan Ferumbras herde him speke so wel,
He caught his helme in grete Ire,
That wroght was of goode fyne stele
With Perlis pight, Rubeis and Saphire.
Olyuer halpe him it to onlase;
Gilte it was alle abowte.
Ferumbras þanked him of his grace
And curteisly to him gan lowte.
Thai worthed vp on here stedes,
To Iuste thai made hem preest,
Of Armes to shewe her myghty dedis
Thai layden here speres in a-reeste,
To-geder thai ronnen as fire of thonder,
That both here Launces to-braste.
That they seten, it was grete wonder;
So harde it was, þat thay gan threste.
Tho drowen thai oute here swordes kene
And smyten to-geder by one assente.
There thai hitten, it was wele sene;
To sle eche other was here entente.
Syr Ferumbras smote Olyuer
Vppon the helme righte on hye
With his swerde of metel cler,
That the fyre he made oute-flye.
Olyuer him hitte agayn vpon the hede

the hede than fulle sore,
He carfe awaye with myght and mayne
The cercle, that sate vppon his crown.
The stroke glode down by his bake,
The Arson he smot ther awaye
And the botelles of bawme withoute lake,
That uppone the grene ther thai laye,
That were trussed by-hynde him faste.
Tho Ferumbras was full woo;
Olyuer light adown in haste,
The botellis he seased both two,
He threwe hem into the River than
As ferr as he myghte throwe.
“Alas” quod Ferumbras “what doistowe, manne?
Thou art wode, as I trowe.
Thai were worth an C ml pounde
To a man, þat were wounded sore.
Ther was no preciosour thinge vppon grounde,
That myghte helpe a man more.
Thou shalt abye by Mahounde,
That is a man of myghtes moost.
I shall breke both bake and crown
And sle the, ther thou goist.”
Tho Olyuer worth vp agayn,
His swerde he hade oute I-drawe.
Ferumbras him smote with mayne
And mente to haue him slawe.
He smote as doth the dinte of þondir;
It glased down by his sheelde
And carfe his stedes neke a-sonder,
That dede he fille in the felde.
Wightly Olyuer vp-sterte
As Bacheler, doughti of dede,
With swerde in honde him for to hirte
Or Ferumbras goode stede.
That Ferumbras aspied welle,
He rode a-waye than ful faste
And tiede him to a grene hasel,
And come ayen to him in haste
And saide “nowe yelde the to me!
Thou maiste not longe endure;
And leve on Mahounde, þat is so der,
And thy life I shalle the ensure.
Thou shalt be a Duke in my contr,
And men haue at thyn owen wille.
To my Sustir shaltowe wedded be,
It were pite the for to spille!”
“Better” quod Olyuer “shul we dele,
By God that is in magiste,
And of my strokes shaltow more fele,
Er I to the shalle yelde me.”
Thai smeten togeder with egre mode,
And nathir of othire dradde;
Thai persed her hauberkes, that were so goode,
Tille both thayr bodyes bladde.
Thay foughten soo longe, þat by assente
Thai drewe hem a litil bysyde,
A litil while thaym to avente,
And refresshed hem at þat tyde.
“Generis” quod Ferumbras,
“As thou arte here gentil knighte,
Telle me nowe here in this place
Of thy kyn and what thou hight;
Me thenkith by the now evermore,
Thou shuldist be one of the xij peris,
That maiste fighte with me so sore,
And arte so stronge, worthy and fiers.”
Olyuere answered to hym agayn:
“For fer I leve it not ontoolde,
My name is Olyuere certayn,
Cousyn to kynge Charles the boolde,
To whome I shalle the sende
Qwikke or dede this same daye,
By conqueste here in this feelde,
And make the to renye thy laye.”
“O” quod Ferumbras than to Olyuer,
“Welcome thou arte in-to this place,
I have desyrede many a yere
To gyfe the harde grace.
Thou slough myn uncle Sir Persagyne,
The doughty kinge of Italye,
The worthyeste kinge þat lyued of men,
By Mahounde, thou shalt abye!”
Tho thai dongen faste to-geder
While the longe day endured,
Nowe hither and nowe thider;
Fro strokes wyth sheeldes here bodies þai couered.
And at the laste Olyuer smote him so
Vppon the helme, þat was of stele,
That his swerde brake in two.
Tho wepen had he nevere a dele.
Who was woo but Olyuere than?
He saugh noone other remedy.
He saide “sir, as thou arte gentile man,
On me nowe here haue mercy.
It were grete shame I-wis,
And honur were it noon,
To sle a man wepenles;
That shame wolde never goon.”
“Nay traitour, thou getiste noon.
Hade I here an hundred and moo!
Knele down and yelde the here anoon,
And eles here I woole the sloo.”
Olyuer saugh, it wolde not be,
To truste to moch in his grace.
He ranne to the stede, þat stode by the tre,
A swerde he raught in þat place,
That was trussed on Ferumbras stede,
Of fyne stele goode and stronge.
He thought he quyte Ferumbras his mede.
Almoost hadde he abyde to longe;
For in turnynge Ferumbras him smote,
That stroke he myghte welle fele,
It come on hym so hevy and hoote,
That down it made hym to knele.
Tho was Olyuer sore ashamede
And saide “thou cursed Sarasyne,
Thy proude pride shall be atamed,
By God and by seinte Qwyntyne.
Thou hast stole on me that dynte,
I shall quyte the thyn hire.”
A stroke than Olyuer him lente,
That hym thought his eyen wer on fir.
Kinge Charles in his pavilon was
And loked towarde þat fyghte
And saugh, howe fiers Ferumbras
Made Olyuere knele down right.
Wo was him tho in his herte;
To Ihesu Criste he made his mone;
It was a sight of peynes smerte,
That Olyuere kneled so sone:
“O Lord, God in Trinite,
That of myghtis thou arte moost,
By vertue of thy maieste
That alle knoweste and woste,
Lete not this hethen man
Thy seruaunte ouercome in fyght,
That on the bileve ne kan,
Ihesu, Iorde, for thy myghte!
But graunte thy man the victorye,
And the Paynym skomfited to be,
As thou arte Almyghty God of glorye!
Nowe mekely, Lorde, I pray to the.”
To Charles anoone an Aungel came
And broght him tidingges sone,
That God had herde his praier than
And graunte him his bone.
Tho Charles thanked God aboue
With herte and thought, worde and dede,
And saide “blessed be thou, lorde almyghty,
That helpiste thy seruaunte in nede.”
These Champions to-gedir thai gone
With strokes grete and eke sure,
Eche of hem donge othir on,
Alle the while thai myghte endur.
Ferumbras brake his swerde
On Olyueris helme on hye.
Tho wexe he ful sore a-ferde;
He ranne for an othir redyly
And saide “Olyuere, yelde the to me
And leve thy Cristen laye,
Thou shalte have alle my kingdome free
And alle aftir my daye.”
“Fye, Saresyne” quod Olyuere than,
“Trowest thou, that I were wode,
To forsake him, þat made me man
And boght me with his hert blode.”
He raught a stroke to Ferumbras,
On his helme it gan down glyde,
It brast his hawberke at þat ras
And carfe hym throughe-oute his syde,
His bare guttis men myght see;
The blode faste down ranne.
“Hoo, Olyvere, I yelde me to the,
And here I become thy man.
I am so hurte, I may not stonde,
I put me alle in thy grace.
My goddis ben false by water and londe,
I reneye hem alle here in this place,
Baptised nowe wole I be.
To Ihesu Crist I wole me take,
That Charles the kinge shal sene,
And alle my goddes for-sake.
Take myn hawberke and do it on the,
Thou shalte haue full grete nede.
X thousande Saresyns waiten vppon me,
And therfore go take my stede.
Lay me to-fore the, I the praye,
And lede me to thy tente.
Hye the faste forth in thy way,
That the Saresyns the not hente.”
A-noon it was done, as he ordeynede,
And faste forth thai ryden.
The Saresyns anone assembled,
For to haue with hem foghten.
Ferumbras saugh the feelde thore
Of Sarsynes fully filled;
Of Olyvere dradde he ful sore,
That Saresyns shulde him haue killed.
He praide, that he wolde let him down
“Vndir yonde Olyfe tree,
For if ye cast me down here, with hors shoon
Alle to-treden shalle I be.”
He priked forth and layde him thar,
Out of the horses trase,
And with his swerde by-gan him wer,
For amonge hem alle he was.
A Saresyn smote him with a spere,
That it brake on pecis thre;
His hauberke myght he not der,
So stronge and welle I-wroght was he.
He hit þat Saresyns with his swerde
Through the helme in-to the brayne.
He made an other as sore aferde,
He smote of his Arme with mayne.
But than come Roulande with Durnedale
And made way him a-bowte.
He slowe hem down in the vale,
Of him hade thai grete dowte.
The prees of Saresyns was so stronge
A-boute Roulande that tyde.
Thai sloughen his horsys with thronge,
And dartis throwen on every syde.
Whan Roulande was on his Fete,
Than was he woo with-alle.
Many of hem he felte yete
And dede to grounde made hem falle.
At the last his swerde brake,
Than hadde he wepyn noon,
As he smote a Saresyns bake
A-sundre down to the Arson.
Tho was he caught, he myght not flee,
His hondes thai bounden faste
And lad him forth to here Cite,
And in depe prison they hem caste.
Olyuer sawe, howe he was ladde,
A sorye man than was he;
Him hadde leuer to haue bene dede
Than suffren that myschief to be.
Smertly aftire he pursued tho,
To reskue his dere brother.
The prees was so grete, he myghte not so,
It myghte be no othir,
Be he was cowþe by verr force
With lx of Astopartes.
Thai hurte him foule and slough his hors
With gauylokes and wyth dartis.
Yet on foote, ere he were foolde,
He slough of hem fiftene.
He was not slayn, as god woolde,
But taken and bounded with tene.
Tho were taken to Lucafer,
The proude kinge of Baldas,
Both Roulande and Olyuer.
Gladde was he of that cas.
Kinge Charles was in herte woo,
When he saughe his neuewes so ladde,
He cried to the Frenshmen tho:
“Reskue we these knyghtes at nede.”
The kynge himselfe slough many one,
So dede the Barons bolde.
It wolde not bene, thai were agon,
Magre who so woolde.
The Saresyns drewe hem to here Cite,
Kinge Charles turned agayne.
He saugh under an holme tre,
Where a knight him semed lay slayn.
Thederward he rode with swerde in honde.
Tho he saugh, he was alyve;
He lay walowynge vppon the sonde
With blody woundes fyve.
“What arte thow?” quod Charlemayne,
“Who hath the hurte so sore?”
“I am Ferumbras” he saide certayn,
“That am of hethen lore.”
“O fals Saresyn” quod the kinge,
“Thou shalte have sorowe astyte;
By the I haue lost my two Cosynes,
Thyn hede shalle I of-smyte.”
“O gentil kinge” quod Ferumbrase,
“Olyuere my maister me hight
To be Baptised by goddis grace,
And to dyen a Cristen knighte.
Honur were it noon to the
A discoumfite man to also.”
That is conuerted and Baptized wolde be
And thy man bycomen also.”
The kinge hade pite of him than,
He toke him to his grace
And assyned anoon a man
To lede him to his place.
He sende to him his surgyne
To hele his woundes wyde.
He ordeyned to him such medycyn,
That sone myght he go and ryde.
The kinge commaunded bishope Turpyn
To make a fonte redye,
To Baptise Ferumbras þerin
In the name of god Almyghtye.
He was Cristened in þat welle,
Floreyne the kinge alle him calle,
He forsoke the foule feende of helle
And his fals goddis alle.
Nought for than Ferumbras
Alle his life cleped was he,
And aftirwarde in somme place,
Floreyne of Rome Cite.
God for him many myracles shewed,
So holy a man he by-came,
That witnessith both lerned and lewde,
The fame of him so ranne.

Nowe for to telle of Roulande
And of Olyuere, that worthy wos,
Howe thai were brought to þe Sowdan
By the kinge of Boldas.
The Sowdan hem sore affrayned,
What þat here names were.
Rouland saide and noght alayned:
“Syr Roulande and sire Olyuere,
Nevewes to Kinge Charles of Fraunce,
That worthy kinge and Emperoure,
That nowe are takyn by myschaunce
To be prisoneres here in thy toure.”
“A, Olyuer, arte thou here?
That haste my sone distroyede,
And Rouland that arte his fere,
That so ofte me hath anoyed.
To Mahounde I make a vowe here,
That to morue, ere I do ete,
Ye shulle be slayn both qwik in fere,
And lives shalle ye bothe lete.”
Tho saide maide Florepas:
“My fader so dereworth and der,
Ye shulle be avysed of this cas,
How and in what manere
My brothir, þat is to prison take,
May be delyuered by hem nowe,
By cause of these two knightes sake,
That bene in warde here with you.
Wherefore I counsaile you, my fader dere.
To have mynde of Sir Ferumbras.
Pute hem in youre prison here,
Tille ye haue better space.
So that ye haue my brother agayn
For hem, þat ye haue here;
And certeyn elles wole he be slayn,
That is to you so lefe and dere.”
“A, Floripp, I-blessed thou bee,
Thy counsaile is goode at nede,
I wolde not leve my sone so free,
So Mahounde moost me spede,
For al the Realme of hethen Spayne,
That is so brode and large.
Sone clepe forth my gaylour Bretomayne,
That he of hem hadde his charge,
“Caste hem in your prison depe,
Mete and drinke gyfe hem none,
Chayne hem faste, þat thay not slepe;
For here goode daies bene a-gone.”
Tho were thay cast in prison depe;
Every tyde the see came inne.
Thay myght not see, so was it myrke,
The watir wente to her chynne.
The salte watir hem greved sore,
Here woundis sore did smerte.
Hungir and thurste greved heme yet more,
It wente yet more nere here herte.
Who maye live withoute mete?
vj dayes hadde thay right none,
Ner drinke that thay myght gete,
Bute loked vppon the harde stone.
So on a daye, as God it wolde,
Floripas to hir garden wente,
To geder Floures in morne colde.
Here maydyns from hir she sente,
For she herde grete lamentacion
In the Prison, that was ther nye;
She supposed by ymagynacion,
That it was the prisoners sory.
She wente her nerr to here more,
Thay wailed for defaute of mete.
She rued on hem anoon ful sore,
She thought, how she myght hem beste it gete.
She spake to her Maistras Maragounde,
Howe she wolde the prisoneres fede.
The develle of helle hir confounde,
She wolde not assente to þat dede,
But saide “Damesel, thou arte woode,
Thy Fadir did vs alle defende,
Both mete and drinke and othere goode
That no man shulde hem thider sende.”
Floripe by-thought hir on a gyle
And cleped Maragounde anoon right,
To the wyndowe to come a while
And se ther a wonder syght:
“Loke oute” she saide “and see a ferr
The Porpais pley as thay were wode.”
Maragounde lokede oute, Floripe come ner
And shofed hire oute in to the flode.
“Go there” she saide “the devel the spede!
My counsail shaltowe never biwry.
Who so wole not helpe a man at nede,
On evel deth mote he dye!”
She toke with hire maidyns two,
To Britomayne she wente hir waye
And saide to him, she moste go
To viseten the prisoneris that daye,
And saide “sir, for alle loues,
Lete me thy prisoneres seen.
I wole the gife both goolde and gloues,
And counsail shalle it been.”
Brytomayne that Iaylor kene
Answered to hir sone agayne
And saide “Damesel, so mote I then,
Than were I worthy to be slayn.
Hath not youre Fader charged me,
To kepe hem from every wyght?
And yet ye wole these traytours see?
I wole goo telle him Anoon right.”
He gan to turne him anone for to go,
To make a playnte on Floripas.
She sued him as faste as she myghte go,
For to gif him harde grace.
With the keye cloge, þat she caught,
With goode wille she maute than,
Such a stroke she hym ther raught,
The brayne sterte oute of his hede þan.
To hire Fader forth she goth
And saide “Sire, I telle you here,
I saugh a sight, that was me loth,
Howe the fals Iailour fedde your prisoner,
And how the covenaunte made was,
Whan thai shulde delyuered be;
Wherefore I slough him with a mace.
Dere Fadir, forgif it me!”
“My doghtir dere, that arte so free,
The warde of hem now gif I the.
Loke, here sorowe be evere newe,
Tille that Ferumbras delyuered be.”
She thanked her Fadere fele sithe
And toke her maydyns, and forth she goth,
To the prisone she hyed hire swyth.
The prison dore vp she dothe
And saide “sires, what be ye,
That make here this ruly moone?
What you lakkith, tellyth me;
For we be here nowe alle alone.”
Tho spake Roulande with hevy chere
To Floripe, that was bothe gente and fre,
And saide “lo, we two caytyfes here
For defaute of mete dede moste be.
vj dayes be comyn and goon,
Sith we were loked in prison here,
That mete nor drinke hade we noon
To comforte with oure hevy cher.
But woolde god of myghtes moost,
The Sowdon wolde let vs oute goon,
We to fight with alle his Ooste,
To be slayn in feelde anoon.
To murthir men for defaute of mete,
It is grete shame tille a kinge;
For every man most nedes ete,
Or ellis may he do no thinge.”
Tho saide Floripe with wordes mylde,
“I wolde fayne, ye were now here,
From harme skath I wole you shelde,
And gife you mete with right gode cher.”
A rope to hem she lete down goon,
That aboven was teyde faste.
She and hir maydyns drewe þer vppon,
Tille vp thay hadde hem at the last.
She led hem into here chambir dere,
That arrayed for hem was right wele,
Both Roulande and Olyvere,
And gafe hem there a right gode mele.
And whan thay hadde eten alle her fille,
A bath for hem was redy there,
Ther-to thay went ful fayre and stille,
And aftyr to bedde with right gode cher.
Now Floripas chamber is here prisone,
Withouten wetinge of the Sowdon;
Thai were ful mery in that Dongeon,
For of hem wiste man never oone.
Now lete we hem be and mery make,
Tille god sende hem gode delyueraunce.
Aftir the tyme, þat thay were take,
What did Charles, the kinge of Fraunce,
Ther-of wole we speke nowe,
Howe he cleped forth Sir Gy
And saide “on my message shaltowe,
Therfore make the faste redy,
To bidde the Sowden sende me my Nevewes both
And the Releqes also of Rome;
Or I shal make him so wroth,
He shall not wete what to done.
And by þat god, þat hath me wroght,
I shal him leve Towre ner Town.
This bargan shal so dere be bought
In dispite of his god Mahoun.”

Duke Neymes of Bauer vp stert than
And saide “Sir, hastowe no mynde,
How the cursed Sowdan Laban
Alle messengeris doth he shende?
Ye haue lost inowe, lese no mo
Onworthily Olyuer and Roulande.”
“By god, and thou shalt with him go,
For al thy grete brode londe.”

Tho Ogere Danoys, þat worthy man,
“Sir” he saide “be not wroth!
For he saith south.”—“go thou than!
By Gode thou shalte, be thou never so loth.”

“A sire” quod Bery Lardeneys,
“Thou shalte hem se never more.”—
“Go thou forth in this same rees,
Or it shalle the repente ful sore.”

Folk Baliante saide to the kinge,
“Liste ye youre Barons to lese?”
“Certis, this is a wondir thinge!
Go thou also, thou shalte not chese!”

A leroyse rose vp anone
And to the kinge þan gan he speke
And saide “what thinke ye, sir, to done?”—
“Dresse the forth with hem eke!”

Miron of Brabane spake an worde
And saide “Sir, thou maiste do þy wille.
Knowist thou not that cruel lorde,
How he wole thy Barons spille?”—
“Trusse the forth eke, sir Dasaberde,
Or I shalle the sone make!
For of all thinge thou arte aferde,
Yet arte thou neyther hurte ner take.”

Bisshope Turpyn kneled adown
And saide “lege lorde, mercy!”
The kinge him swore by seynt Symon:
“Thou goist eke, make the in hast redye!”

Bernarde of Spruwse, þat worthy knyght,
Saide “sir, avyse you bette,
Set not of youre Barons so light,
Thou maiste haue nede to hem yette.”—
“Thou shalte goon eke for alle thy boost,
Haue done and make the fast yare!
Of my nede gyfe thou no coost,
Ther-of haue thou right no care!”

Brdyer of Mounteȝ, þat marqwyȝ holde,
Was not aferde to him to speke.
To the kinge sharply he tolde,
His witte was not worth a leke:
“Woltowe for Angre thy Barons sende
To þat Tiraunte, þat alle men sleith?
Or thou doist for þat ende,
To bringe thy xij peres to the deth.”
The kinge was wroth and swore in halle
By him, þat boght him with his blode:
“On my messange shall ye gon alle!
Be ye never so wroth or wode.”
Thay toke here lefe and forth thay yede,
It availed not agayne him to sayne.
I pray, god gif hem gode spede!
Ful harde it was to comen agayn.

Nodwe let hem passe in goddis name,
And speke we of the Sowdon,
Howe he complayned him of his grame,
And what that he myght beste done.
“Sortybraunnce and Bronlande” seyde he,
“Of counsail ye be fulle wyse.
How shal I do to avenge me
Of kinge Charles, and in what wyse?
He brennyth my Toures and my Citees,
And Burges he levethe me never oon.
He stroieth my men, my londe, my fees.
Thus shalle it not longe goon.
And yet me greveth most of alle,
He hath made Ferumbras renay his laye.
Therfore my counselors I calle,
To remedy this, howe thay best maye.
For me were lever that he were slayn,
Thane he a Cristen hounde shulde be,
Or with Wolfes be rente and slayn,
By Mahounde myghty of dignyte.”
To answerde Sortybraunce and Broulande
And saide “gode counsaile we shal you gyfen,
If thoue wilte do aftyr covenaunte,
It shal you profit, while you lyven.
Take xij knightis of worthy dede
And sende hem to Charles on message nowe.
A-raye hem welle in roial wede,
For thy honour and for thy prowe.
Bidde Charles sende thy sone to the
And voyde thy londe in alle haste,
Or ellis thou shalt him honge on a tre,
As hye, as any shippes maste.”
“Nowe by Mahoude” quod Laban,
“This counseil is both trewe and goode,
I shalle him leve for no man
To parforme this, though he wer woode.”
He did his lettris write in haste,
The knightes were called to goo þerwith,
That thay hyȝe hem to Charles faste
And charke hym vppon life and lithe.
Forth thai ride towarde Mantrible þan,
In a medowe, was fayre and grene,
Thai mette with Charles messageris ten.
Duke Neymes axed hem, what thai wolde mene,
And saide “Lordynges, whens come ye?
And whider ye are mente, telle vs this tyde.”
“From the worthy Sowdon” than saide he,
“To Charles on message shalle we ride,
Euel tithyngges we shalle him telle,
Fro Laban, that is lorde of Spayne.
Farewele, felowes, we may not dwelle.”
“A-byde” quod Gy “and turne agayne,
We wole speke with you, er ye goon,
For we be messengeris of his.
Ye shal aby everichone,
So God brynge me to blis.”
Anoon here swerdes oute thay brayde
And smoten down right al a-boute.
Tille the hethen were down layde,
Thai reseyued many a sore cloute.
Thai smyten of here hedes alle,
Eche man toke one in his lappe.
Fal what so euer byfalle,
To the Soudon wole they trappe.
Tille thai come to Egremoure,
Thai stynte for no worldes thinge;
Anone thai fonde the Sawdan thore,
At his mete proudely sittynge,
And þat maide fair Dame Floripas
And xiiij princes of grete price
And kinge Lukafer of Baldas,
Thas was both bolde, hardy and wyse.
Doughty Duke Neymes of Bauer
To the Sowdone his message tolde
And saide “god, þat made heven so cler,
He saue kinge Charles so bolde
And confounde Laban and all his men,
That on Mahounde byleved,
And gife hem evel endinge! amen.
To morue, longe er it be even,
He commaundith the vppon thy life
His Nevewes home to him sende,
And the Religes of Rome withoute strife;
And ellis getist thou an evel ende!
xij lurdeynes mette vs on the waye;
Thai saide, thay come streight fro the.
Thai made it both stoute and gay;
Here hedis here maistowe see.
Thai saide, thai wolde to Charles goon,
Evel tidingges him to telle.
Loo here here heddis euerychone,
Here soulis bene in helle.”
“O” quod Lavane “what may this be,
To suffr this amonge my knightes alle?
To be rebuked thus here of the
At mete in myn owen halle!
To Mahounde myghty I make a vowe,
Ye shall be hanged alle ten,
Anoon as I have eten I-nowe,
In presence of alle my men.”
Maide Floripas answered tho
And saide “my derworth Fadir der!
By my counsaile ye shal not so,
Tille ye haue your Barons alle in fer,
That thai may se what is the best,
For to delyuere my brother Sir Ferumbras.
And aftirward, if þat ye liste,
Ye may gife hem ful evel grace.”
“Gramercy, doghter, thou saieste welle,
Take hem alle into thy warde.
Do feter hem faste in Iren and stele
And set hem in strayȝte garde.
Thus was I neuer rebukede er nowe;
Mahounde myghty gyfe hem sorowe!
Thay shalle be flayn and honged on a bowe,
Longe ere tyme to morowe.”
Florip toke these messangeris
And ladde hem vp in-to here tour,
There thai founde two of here feris.
Thay thanked thereof god of honoure.
Tho sayde Duke Neymys of Bauer:
“Gladde men we be nowe here,
To fynde Roulande and Olyuer
In helthe of bodye and of goode cher.”
Thai kissed eche other with herte gladde
And thanked god of his grace;
And eche toolde othir, howe thay sped hadde,
And howe thay come in-to that place
By helpe of mayde Florip hire self,
“God kepe hir in honoure!
For thus hath she brought vs hider alle twelfe,
To dwelle in hir owen boure.”
Tho thay wessh and wente to mete,
And were served welle and fyne
Of suche goode, as she myght gete,
Of Venyson, brede and gode wyne.
There thai were gladde and wel at ease;
The Soudon ne wist it noght.
Aftyr thay slepe and toke her ese,
Of no man than thay ne roght.
On the morowe Florip, that mayde fre,
To Duke Neymes spake in game:
“Sir gentil knight,” tho saide she,
“Telle me, what is your name.”
“Whi axe ye, my lady dere,
My name here to knowe alle?”
“For he spake with so bolde chere
To my Fadir yestirdaye in his halle.
Be not ye the Duke of Burgoyne, sir Gy,
Nevewe unto the kinge Charles so fre?”
“Noe, certes, lady, it is not I,
It is yondir knight, þat ye may see.”
“A, him have I loved many a day;
And yet knowe I him noght.
For his loue I do alle that I maye,
To chere you with dede and thought.
For his love wille I cristenede be
And lefe Mahoundes laye.
Spekith to him nowe for me,
As I you truste maye;
And but he wole graunte me his loue,
Of you askape shalle none here.
By him, þat is almyghty aboue,
Ye shalle abye it ellis ful dere.”
Tho wente Duke Neymes to Sir Gye
And saide “This ladye loveth the,
For thy loue she maketh us alle merye,
And Baptizede wole she be.
Ye shalle hir take to your wedded wife,
For alle vs she may saue.”
“By God” quod Gye “þat gafe me life,
Hire wole I never haue,
Wyle I neuer take hire ner no woman,
But Charles the kinge hir me gife.
I hight him, as I was trewe man,
To holden it, while I lyve.”
Tho spake Roulande and Olyuer,
Certyfyinge him of her myschefe,
Tellinge him of the parelles, þat þay in wer,
For to take this lady to his wedded wife.
“But thou helpe in this nede,
We be here in grete doute.
Almyghty god shalle quyte thy mede,
Elles come we nevere hennys oute.”
Thus thay treted him to the fro;
At the laste he sayde, he wolde.
Floripas thay cleped forth tho;
And brought fourth a Cuppe of golde,
Ful of noble myghty wyne,
And saide “my loue and my lorde,
Myn herte, my body, my goode is thyn,”
And kissed him with that worde,
And “sir” she saide “drinke to me,
As the Gyse is of my londe;
And I shalle drinke agayn to the,
As to my worthy hosbonde.”
Thay clipped and kissed both in fere
And made grete Joye and game,
And so did alle, that were ther,
Thai made ful mery alle in same.
Tho spake Floripas to the Barons boolde
And saide “I haue armur I-nowe;
Therfore I tel you, what I wolde,
And þat ye dide for your prowe.
To morue, whan my Fadir is at his souper,
Ye shalle come in alle attonys;
Loke ye spare for no fere,
Sle down and breke both bake and bones;
Kithe you knightis of hardynesse!
Ther is none helpe, but in this wyse,
Then moste ye shewen youre prowes,
And wynne this Castel in this guyse.”
Thai sayden alle, it was welle saide,
And gladde thay were of this counsaile.
Here armur was forth layde,
At souper the Sowdon to assaile.
Kinge Lucafere prayde the Sawdon,
That he wolde gif him lysence,
To the prisoners for to goon,
To see the maner of her presence.
He gafe him lefe, and forth he wente
Vp vnto Floripas Toure.
To asspie the maner was his entent,
Hem to accuse agayne honoure.
Whan he come, he founde the dore fast I-stoke,
He smote there-on with his fist,
That the barr began to broke.
To make debate, wel him list.
“Who artowe” quod Floripas
“þat maketh her such araye?”
“I am kinge Lucafere of Baldas,
The Sowdon sente me hidir in faye;
To seen his prisoneris is my desire
And speke with hem everychon,
To talke with hem by the fire
And speke of dedis of Armes amonge.”
Tho saide Duke Neymes “welcome be ye
To us prisoners here!
What is your wille, nowe telle ye;
For we be men of feble chere.”
“I woolde wete of Charles the kinge,
What man he is in his contre,
And what meyne he hath, and of what thinge
He rekyneth moost his dignyte.”
Duke Neymes saide “an Emperoure
And kinge he is of many a londe,
Of Citeis, Castels, and many a Toure,
Dukes, Erles, Barons bowynge to his honde.”
“But saye me, felowe, what is your vse,
To do in contr aftyr the none.
And what is the custome of your hous,
Tille men to souper shalle gone?”
“Sir, somme men iouste with sper and shelde,
And somme men Carol and singe gode songes,
Some shote with dartis in the feelde,
And somme play at Chesse amonge.”
“Ye bene but foulis of gode dissporte;
I wole you tech a newe play.
Sitte down here by one assorte,
And better myrthe never ye saye.”
He teyde a tredde on a pole
With an nedil ther-on I-fest,
And ther vppon a qwik cole.
He bade every man blowe his blast.
Duke Neymes hade a long berde,
Kinge Lucafer blewe even to hym,
That game hade he never before lered.
He brent the her of Neymes berde to the skyne.
Duke Neymes than gan wex wroth,
For he hade brente his berde so white
To the Chymneye forth he goth
And caught a bronde him with to smyte.
With a goode wille he him smote,
That both his eyen bresten oute.
He caste him in the fire al hote;
For sothe he hadde a right gode cloute.
And with a fyre forke he helde him doune,
Tille he were rosted to colis ilkadele.
His soule hade his god Mahoun.
Florip bade him warme him wele.
“Sires” tho saide Floripas,
“Entendith nowe al to me!
This Lucafer of Baldas
Was a lorde of grete mayne.
My Fadir hade him euer yn cher
I telle you for sothe everydele,
He wolde anoon aftyr him enquer,
And therefore loke, ye arme you well!”
Florip wente in, as the maner was,
To here Fadir at souper tyme.
No man spake worde of kinge Baldas,
Ner no man knewe of his sharp pyne.
The xij peris armed hem wel and fyne
With swerdes drawe and egr chere.
While thay mery drinkyng the wyne
And sittinge alle at here souper.
Thai reheted the Sowdon and his Barons alle
And maden orders wondir fast,
Thai slowe down alle, þat were in the halle,
And made hem wondirly sore a-gast.
Olyvere egerly sued Laban
With swerd I-drawe in his honde.
Oute at the wyndowe lepte he þan
Vppon the salte see stronde,
And he skaped away from hime,
But woo was he þerfore,
That he went awaye with lym
To worche hem sorowe more.
Roulande than came rennynge
And axed, where was Laban.
Olyuere answerede moornynge
And saide, howe he was agoon.
Tho thai voided the Courtes at the last
And slowen tho, that wolde a-byde,
And drewe the brigge and teyed it fast,
And shitte the gatis, that were so wyde.
Laban, that by the ebbe escapede,
Of harde, er he come to londe,
He alle astonyed and a-mapide,
For sorowe he wronge both his honde
And made a vowe to Mahounde of myght,
He wolde that Cite wynne
And never go thens by day nor nyght,
For foo, for frende, ner for kynne.
“And tho traytouris will I do honge,
On a Galowes hye with-oute the gate;
And my Doghter, þat hore stronge,
I-brente shal be there-ate.
To mauntryble he gan sende anoon
Aftir men and tentis goode,
And Engynes to throwe with stoon
And goode armur many foolde.
The sege he did leyen a-bowte
On every side of that Cite.
To wallis with Engynes thai gan rowte,
To breke the Toures so fre.
Tho saide Florip, “lordingges goode,
Ye bene biseged in this toure,
As ye bene wight of mayne and moode,
Proveth here to saue youre honour.
The toure is stronge, drede you nought,
And vitayle we have plente.
Charles wole not leve you vnsought;
Truste ye welle alle to me.
Therefore go we soupe and make merye,
And takith ye alle your ease;
And xxxti maydens lo here of Assyne,
The fayrest of hem ye chese.
Take your sporte, and kith you knyghtes,
Whan ye shalle haue to done;
For to morowe, when the day is light,
Ye mooste to the wallis goon
And defende this place with caste of stoon
And with shotte of quarelles and darte.
My maydyns and I shall bringe goode wone,
So eueryche of us shalle bere hir parte.”
On morowe the Sowdon made assaute
To hem, that were with-Inne,
And certes in hem was no defaute,
For of hem myght thay nought wynne.
Here shotte, here cast was so harde,
Thay durste not nyȝhe the walle.
Thay drowen hem bakwarde,
Thay were beten over alle.
King Laban turnede to his tentes agayn,
He was nere wode for tene,
He cryede to Mahounde and Apolyne
And to Termagaunte, þat was so kene,
And saide “ye goddes, ye slepe to longe,
Awake and helpe me nowe,
Or ellis I may singe of sorowe a songe,
And of mournynge right I-nowe.
Wete ye not wele, that my tresoure
Is alle with-inne the walle?
Helpe me nowe, I saye therfore,
Or ellis I forsake you alle.”
He made grete lamentacion,
His goddis byganne to shake.
Yet that comfortede his meditacion,
Supposinge thay didde awake.
He cleped Brenlande to aske counsaile,
What was beste to done,
And what thinge myght him moste avayle,
To wynne the Cite sone.
“Thou wotist welle, þat alle my tresour
Is there in here kepinge,
And my doughter, þat stronge hore,
God yif her evelle endyng!”
“Sir” he saide “ye knowe welle,
That Toure is wondir stronge.
While þay haue vitayle to mele,
Kepen it thay wole fulle longe.
Sende to Mauntreble, your cheif Cite,
That is the keye of this londe,
That non passe, where it so be,
With-oute youre speciall sonde,
To Alagolofur, þat geaunte stronge,
That is wardeyne of þat pas,
That no man passe that brigge alonge,
But he have special grace.
So shalle not Charles with his meyne
Reskowe than Agramoure.
Than thay shalle enfamyched be,
That shalle hem rewe ful sore.”—
“Mahoundis blessynge have thou and myne,
Sortybraunce, for thy rede.”—
“Espyarde, messanger myne,
In haste thou most the spede
To my Cite Mavntreble,
To do my message there,
To Alogolofr, þat giaunte orrible.
Bydde him his charge wele lere,
And tel him, howe that the last daye
Ten fals traytours of Fraunce
Passed by that same waye
By his defaute with myschaunce,
Charginge him vppon his hede to lese,
That no man by the brigge,
Be it rayne, snowe or freze,
But he his heede down ligge.”
Espiarde spedde him in his waye,
Tille he to Mauntrible came,
To seke the geaunte, ther he laye
On the banke bysyde the Dame,
And saide “the worthy Sowdon,
That of alle Spayn is lorde and sir,
Vppon thy life commaundeth the anoon,
To deserue better thyn hire.
The laste day thou letist here passe
Ten trattoures of douse Fraunce.
God giffe the evel grace,
And hem also moche myschaunce!
He charged the vppon life and deth,
To kepe this place sikerlye;
While in thy body lasteth the breth,
Lette noon enemye passe ther-bye.”
Alagolofur rolled his yen
And smote with his axe on the stone
And swore by Termagaunte and Apolyne,
That ther-by shulde passen never one,
But if he smote of his hede,
And brought it to his lorde Laban,
He wolde never ete no brede,
Nere never loke more on man.
xxiiijti Cheynes he didde ouer-drawe,
That noo man passe myght,
Neyther for loue nere for awe,
No tyme by daye, nere by nyghte.
“Go, telle my lorde, I shalle it kepe;
On payne of my grete heede
Shalle ther no man goo ner crepe,
But he be take or dede.”
This geaunte hade a body longe
And hede, like an libarde.
Ther-to he was devely stronge,
His skynne was blake and harde.
Of Ethiope he was bore,
Of the kinde of Ascopartes.
He hade tuskes, like a bore,
An hede, like a liberde.
Laban nolde not forgete
The saute to renewe,
To wynne the Toure, he wolde not lete.
Here trumpes lowde thay blewe.
Every man wente to the walle,
With pikeys or with bowe.
Thai made assaute generalle,
The walles downe to throwe.
But thay with-inne bare hem soo,
Thay slowe of the Saresyns iij hundred.
Thay wroghten hem both care and woo,
Vppon her fightinge thay wondride.
Tho cryed Laban to hem on hye,
“Traytours, yelde you to me,
Ye shall be hongede els by and bye
Vppon an hye Galowe tree.”
Tho spake Florip to the Sowdon
And sayde “thou fals tyraunte,
Were Charles come, thy pride wer done
Nowe, cursede myscreaunte.
Alas! that thou ascapediste soo
By the wyndowe vppon the stronde.
That thy nek hade broke a-twoo!
God sende the shame and shonde!”—
“A! stronge hore, god gife the sorowe!
Tho[u] venemouse serpente.
Withe wilde horses thou shalt be drawe to morowe,
And on this hille be brente,
That al men may be war by the,
That cursed bene of kynde.
And thy love shalle honged be,
His hondes bounde him byhynde.”
He called forth Mavon, his Engynour,
And saide “I charge the,
To throwe a magnelle to yon tour,
And breke it downe on thre.”
Mavon set vp his engyne
With a stoon of .vj. C wight,
That wente as even as eny lyne,
And smote a cornell down rihgt.
Woo was Roulande and Olyuer,
That þat myschief was be-falle,
And so were alle the xij peres;
But Florip than comforte hem alle:
“Sires” she saide “beith of goode chere!
This Toure is stronge I-nowe.
He may cast twies or thries or he hit ayen þer,
For sothe I telle it you.
Marsedage, the roialle kinge,
Rode in riche weede,
Fro Barbary commyng,
Vppon a sturdy stede,
Cryinge to hem vppon the walle:
“Traytouris, yelde you here!
Brenne you alle ellis I shalle,
By myghty god Iubyter.”
Gy aspied, that he came ner,
A darte to hime he threwe ful even,
He smote him throwe herte & liver in fer.
Dame Floripe lough with loude steven
And saide “Sir Gye, my loue so free,
Thou kanste welle hit the prikke.
He shall make no booste in his contre;
God giffe him sorowe thikke!”
Whan Laban herde of this mysehief,
A sory man was he.
He trumped, his mene to relefe;
For to cease that tyme mente he.
Mersadage, kinge of Barbarye,
He did carye to his tente,
And beryed him by right of Sarsenye
With brennynge fire and riche oynemente,
And songe the Dirige of Alkaron,
That bibill is of here laye,
And wayled his deth everychon,
vij nyghtis and vij dayes.
Anoon the Sowdon, south to say,
Sente iij hundrid of knightis,
To kepe the brigge and the waye
Oute of that Castil rightis,
That noon of hem shulde issue oute,
To feche vitayle by no waye.
He charged hem to wacche wel all abowte,
That thay for-famelid myght dye.
Thus thay kepte the place vij dayes,
Tille alle hire vitaile was nyȝe spente.
The yates thai pas the streyte weyes.
Tho helde thai hem with-in I-shente.
Tho spake Roulande with hevy chere
Woordes lamentable,
Whan he saugh the ladies so whiȝte of ler,
Faile brede on here table,
And saide “Charles, thou curteys kinge,
Why forgetist thou vs so longe?
This is to me a wondir thinge;
Me thinkith, thou doiste vs grete wronge,
To let vs dye for faute of mete,
Closed thus in a dongeon.
To morowe wol we asaye what we kon gete,
By god, that berithe the crown.”
Tho saide Floripas “sires, drede noghte
For noon houngr that may befalle.
I knowe a medycyne in my thoughte
To comforte you with alle.
I have a girdil in my Forcer,
Who so girde hem ther-with aboute,
Hunger ner thirste shal him neuer dere,
Though he were vij yere with-oute.”
“O” quod Sir Gy “my loue so trewe,
I-blessed mote ye be!
I pray you, that ye wole us alle hit shewe,
That we may haue oure saule.
She yede and set it forth anoon,
Thai proved alle the vertue,
And diden it aboute hem euerychon.
It comforted alle both moo and fewe,
As thai hade bene at a feste.
So were thay alle wele at ease,
Thus were thai refresshed both moost & lest
And weren bifore in grete disese.
Laban wondred, how thai myght endur
With-outen vitaile so longe.
He remembred him on Floripas senctur,
And of the vertue so stronge.
Tho wiste he welle, that throgh famyne
Might he hem never wynne.
He cleped to him fals Mapyne,
For he coude many a fals gynne:
He coude scale Castel and Toure
And over the walles wende.
“Mapyne” he saide “for myn honoure,
Thou mooste haue this in mynde:
That hore, my doghter, a girdil hath she,
From hounger it savyth hem alle,
That wonnen may thay never be,
That foule mote hir bifalle!
Kanstowe gete me that gyrdill by craft,
A thousande pounde than shal I gefe the;
So that it be there not lefte,
But bringe it hithir to me.
Thou kanste see by nyghte as welle
As any man doth by daye.
Whan thay bene in here beddes ful still,
Than go forth thider right in thy waye.
Thou shalt it in here Chamber fynde,
Thou maist be thereofe sure.”
“Sir, there-to I wole me bynde,
If my life may endure.”
Forth wente this fals Mapyne
By nyght into the Tour—
God gife him evel endinge!—
Euen in to Floripas bour.
By a Chemney he wente inne;
Fulle stilly there he soughte it.
He it founde and girde it aboute him,
And aftyr ful dere he boght it;
For by the light of a lampe ther
Floripas gan him aspye,
Alle a-frayed oute of hir slepe for fere,
But lowde than gan she crye
And saide “a thefe is in my boure,
Robbe me he wole or sloo.”
Ther-with come Rouland fro his tour
To wete of hir woo.
He founde Mapyne bysyde hir bedde,
Stondinge amased for drede,
To the wyndowe he him ladde,
And there he smote of his hedde,
And caste him oute in-to the see.
Of the gyrdille was he not war;
But whan he wist, the girdel hade he,
Tho hadde he sorowe and care.
Floripe to the Cheste wente
And aspyed, hire gyrdel was goon,
“Alas!” she saide, “alle is it shente!
Sir, what haue ye done?
He hath my girdel aboute hym.
Alas! þat harde while!
A rebelle hounde doth ofte grete tene;
Howe be we alle begilede.”
Tho spake Roulande with cher boolde,
“Dameselle! beyth noughte aferde!
If any vitaile be aboute this hoolde,
We wole hem wynne withe dinte of swerde.
To morowe wole wee oute-goon
And assaye, howe it wole it be.
I make a vowe to god alone,
Assaile hem wole we!
And if thay haue any mete,
Parte withe hem wole we.
Or elles strokes thay shal gete
By God and seynte Mary myn avour!
In the morne, er the larke songe,
Thai ordeynede hem to ride
To the Saresyns, þat hade so longe
Leyen hem besyde.
Duke Neymes and Oger
Were ordeynede to kepe the place.
The x othir of the xij peres
Wente oute to assaye here grace.
Thay founden hem in logges slepynge,
Of hem hade thay no thought.
Thai slowen down þat came to honde,
Mahounde availed hem noghte.
In shorte tyme the ende was made,
Thay ten slough iij hundred ther.
Tho founde thai vitaile, thay were glad,
As moche as thay myghte home ber.
Duke Neymes and Oger, that kept the tour,
Say hem with here praye.
Thai thanked god hye of honoure,
That thai spedde so þat day.
Thay avaled the brigge and lete him yn,
Florip and here maydyns were gladde,
And so were thay, that were with-yn;
For alle grete hounger thay hadde.
Thai eten and dronken right I-nowe
And made myrth ever amonge.
But of the Sowdon laban speke we nowe,
Howe of sorowe was his songe.

Whan tidyngges came to him,
That his men were slayn,
And howe thai hade stuffed hem also
With vitaile in agayne,
For sorowe he woxe nere wode.
He cleped Brenlande and Sortybraunce.
And tolde hem with angry mode
Of his harde myschaunce.
“Remedye ordeyne me,
Ye be chief of my counsaile;
That I of hem may vengede be,
It shalle you bouth availe.
O ye goddes, ye faile at nede,
That I have honoured so longe,
I shalle you bren, so mote I spede,
In a fayre fyre ful stronge;
Shalle I neuer more on you bileve,
But renaye you playnly alle.
Ye shalle be brente this day er eve,
That foule mote you befalle!”
The fire was made, the goddes were broght
To have be caste ther-inne.
Tho alle his counsaile him by-sought,
He shulde of þat erroure blynne,
And saide “Sir, what wole ye done?
Wole ye your goddis for-sake?
Vengeaunce shalle than on you come,
With sorowe, woo and wrake!
Ye moste make offrynge for youre offence,
For drede of grete vengeaunce,
With oyle, mylke and ffrankencense
By youre prestis ordynaunce.”
Tho he dide bere hem in ayen,
And to hem made dewe offerynge.
The prestis assoyled him of þat synne,
Ful lowly for him prayinge.
Tho he cleped his counselers
Brulande and Sortybraunce,
Axynge, howe he myght destroye the xij peres,
That Mahounde gife hem myschaunce.
Thay cowde no more ther-on,
But late saile ayen the toure.
With xxti thousande thai gan gon,
And bigonne a newe shoure
To breke down the Walles,
With mattokes and with pike,
Tille iiij hundred of hem alle
Lay slayne in the dike.
So stronge was the cast of stoone.
The Saresyns drewe hem abakke,
Tille it was at hye none;
Tho gonne thay ayen to shake.
Tho fayled hem cast, þat were with-inne;
Tho cowde thai no rede,
For stoone was ther noone to wynne.
Tho were thay in grete drede.
Than saide Florip, “beith not dismayde!
Ye shalle be holpe anoon.
Here is syluer vessel and now,” she sayde,
“That shulle ye prove goode woon.”
She set it forth, thay caste oute faste
Alle that came to honde.
Off siluer and goolde vessel thay made waste
That wast down vppon the sonde.
Whan thai saugh that roial sight,
Thai leften alle here dede;
And for the tresoure thay do fight,
Who so myghte it awey lede.
Tho the Sowdon wexe nere wode,
Seinge this tresoure thus dispoyled,
That was to him so dere and goode
Laye in the dike thus defouled.
He bade that thai shulde leue
And turne hem agayne in haste.
He wente home tille his tente than
With grete sorowe and mournyng mode.
To-fore his goddis whan he came,
He cryed, as he were wode:
“O fals goddis, that ye beth,
I have trustid to longe youre mode.
We were lever to suffr dede,
Than lif this life here lenger nowe.
I haue almoste loste the breth,
xij fals traytours me overe-lede,
And stroyen alle þat I haue.
Ye fals goddis, the devel youe spede!
Ye make me nowe for to rave;
Ye do fayle me at my nede.”
In Ire he smote Mahounde,
That was of goolde fulle rede,
That he fille down to the grounde,
As he hade bene dede.
Alle here bisshopes cryden oute
And saide “Mahounde, thyn ore!”
And down to the erthe wele lowe thay loute,
Howlynge and wepynge sore,
And saide “Sire Sowdon, what haue ye done?
Vengeaunce shalle on the falle,
But thou repente the here anone.”
“Ye” quod he “I shrewe you alle!”
Thai made a fyre of frankencense
And blewen hornes of bras,
And casten in milke hony for the offence,
To-fore Mahoundes face.
Thay counsailed Laban to knele a down
And aske forgevenes in that place.
And so he didde and hade pardon
Throgh prayere and specialle grace.
Then this was done, þan sayde Roulande
To his Felowes xj:
“Here may we not longe holde londe,
By God that is in heven.
Therefore sende we to Charles, the kinge,
That he wolde reskowe vs sone;
And certyfye him of oure strayȝte beinge,
If ye thinke, it be to done.
Richard of Normandye, ye most goon,
I holde you both wyse and hende.
And we shalle tomorowe, as stil as stoon,
The Saresyns a-wake, er ye wynde.
And while we be mooste bysy in oure werke,
And medel with hem alle in fere,
Stele ye a-waye in the derke!
And spede you faste, ye were there!”
On the morowe aftir the daye
Thay were armede ful ryghte,
Thai rode forth stilly in here way,
God gouerne hem, mooste of myght!
Floripe and here maydyns kept the tour
And woonde vp the brigges on hye,
And prayde god, to kepe here paramour,
The Duke of Burgoyne, Sir Gye.
She preyde to Rouland, er he wente,
To take goode hede of him,
That he were neyþer take nere shente,
As he wolde her loue wynne.
On thay set with herte stronge
And alle hem sore afrayed.
Richard the whiles away he wronge,
Thile thai were alle dismayede.
Towarde the Mountrible he hyed him faste,
To passe, if that he myghte.
Thedir he came at the laste.
God kepe him for his moch myght!
His xij felowes besyed hem soo
That many of hem thay sloughe.
Gye slowe the kinge of Babyloyne tho;
The Babyloynes of his hors him drowe,
And with force him drowe there
And bounde his hondes ful fast.
A newe game thai gan him lere,
For in depe prison thay him caste.
But Laban wolde him first se,
To wete what he was.
“Telle me thy name nowe” quod he,
“Thy songe shalle be ‘alas.’”)—
“Sire” he saide “my name is Gye,
I wole it never forsake.
It were to me grete vilanye
An othir name to take.”—
“O fals traytour” quod Laban,
“My doghtir, þat stronge hore,
Hath me for-sake and the hath tan,
Thou shalte be honged therfore.”
Roulande made grete moone,
It wolde noon other be.
Homwarde thai gan goon,
.iij.c Saresyns ther saye he,
That kepte the pace at the brigge-ende,
Armed wel in goode araye,
That thai sholde not in wende,
But be take or slayn þat daye.
Roulande to his felowes saide:
“Beth alle of right gode chere!
And we shal make hem alle afrayde,
Er we go to oure soupere.”
There byganne a bykeringe bolde
Of x Bachelers that tyde,
Agayne iijc men I-tolde,
That durste righte wel a-byde.
Tho was Durnedale set a werke,
XL of hethen he sloughe,
He spared neþer lewde ner clerke,
And Floripas ther-of loughe.
The shotte, the caste was so stronge,
Syr Bryer was slayn there
With dartes, gauylokes and speres longe,
xxti on hym there were.
Roulande was woo and Olyuer,
Thay sloughen alle that thai mette.
Tho fledde the Turkes alle for fer,
Thay durste no longer lette
And saide, thai wer no men,
But develis abroken oute of helle,
“.iij. hundred of vs agayn hem ten.
Oure lorde Mahounde hem qwelle!
XL of vs here be ascaped,
And hardde we be bistadde.”—
“Who so wole of hem more be iaped,
I holde him worsse than madde.”
Tho Roulande and Olyuer
Maden grete woo and sorowe,
And token the corps of Sir Bryere
And beryed it on the morowe.
Floripe asked Roulande anoone
“Where is my loue Sir Gye?”—
“Damesel” he saide “he is goon,
And therfore woo am I.”—
“Alas” she saide “than am I dede,
Nowe Gye my lorde is slayn,
Shall I neuer more ete brede
Tille that I may se him agayn.”—
“Be stille” quod Roulande “and haue no car,
We shal hym haue ful wele.
Tomorowe wele we thiderward far
With spere and shelde of stele.
But we bringe him to this Tour—
Leeve me elles no more—
With victorye and grete honour,
Or thay shalle abye it ful sore.”
On the morowe, whan tha daye was clere,
Laban ordeynede Gye honged to be.
He cleped forth Sir Tampere
And badde him do make a Galowe tre,
“And set it even by-fore the tour,
That þilke hore may him see;
For by lord Mahounde of honour,
This traitour there shalle honged be.
Take withe the .iij. hundred knightes
Of Ethiopis, Indens and Ascopartes,
That bene boolde and hardy to fight
With Wifles, Fauchons, Gauylokes and Dartes;
Leste þat lurdeynes come skulkynge oute,
For ever thay haue bene shrewes.
Loke eche of hem haue such a cloute,
That thay neuer ete moo Sewes.”
Forth thay wente with Sir Gye,
That bounde was as a thefe faste,
Tille thay come the towr ful nye;
Thai rered the Galowes in haste.
Roulande perceyued here doynge
And saide “felows, let armes!
I am ful gladde of here comynge,
Hem shall not helpe her charmes.”
Oute thai riden a wele gode spede,
Thai ix towarde hem alle.
Florip with here maydyns toke gode hede,
Biholdinge over the tour walle.
Thai met first with Sir Tamper,
God gife him evelle fyne!
Such a stroke lente hym Olyuer,
He clefe him down to the skyne.
Rouland bare the kinge of Ynde
Ther with his spere frome his stede.
.iiij. fote it passed his bak byhynde,
His herte blode þer didde he blede.
He caught the stede, he was ful goode,
And the swerde, þat the kinge hadde,
And rode to Gye, there he stode,
And onbounde hym and bade him be gladde.
And girde him with that goode swerde,
And lepen vppon here stedes.
“Be thou” he saide “righte nought a-ferde,
But helpe vs wightly at this nede.”
An hundred of hem sone thay slowe
Of the beste of hem alle;
The remenaunte a-way fast thay flowe,
That foule motte hem byfalle!
Rouland and his Felowes were glad
That Gye was safe in dede.
Thay thanked god, that thay him hadde
Gyfen thaye such grace to spede.
As thay wente towarde the Tour,
A litil bysyde the hye waye,
Thai saugh comynge with grete vigour
An hundred vppon a laye.
Costroye ther was, the Admyrall,
With vitaile grete plente,
And the stondarte of the Sowdon Roial.
Towarde Mauntrible riden he,
.iiij. Chariotes I charged with flessh and brede,
And two other with wyne,
Of divers colouris, yolowe, white and rede,
And iiij Somers of spicery fyne.
Tho saide Roulande to Olyuer:
“With these meyne moste we shifte,
To haue parte of here vitailes her,
For therof us nedith by my thrifte.”—
“Howe, sires” he saide “god you see!
We pray youe for youre curtesye,
Parte of your Vitaile graunte me,
For we may nother borowe ner bye.”
Tho spake Cosdroye, that Admyral,
“Ye gete none here for noght.
Yf ye oght chalenge in speciall,
It most be dere I-boght.”—
“O gentil knightes” quod Olyuere,
“He is no felowe, þat wole haue alle.”
“Go forth” quod the stondart, “thou getist noon here,
Thy parte shalle be fulle smalle.”—
“Forsoth” quod Roulande “and shift we wole,
Gete the better, who gete maye!
To parte with the nedy it is gode skille,
And so shalle ye by my faye.”
He rode to the Admyral with his swerde
And gafe him suche a cloute,
No wonder thogh he were aferde,
Both his eyȝen braste oute.
Olyuere met withe the proude stondarde,
He smote him through the herte.
That hade he for his rewarde;
That wounde gan sore smerte.
Thai were slayn, that wolde fight
Er durste bikure abyde.
Thai forsoke her parte anoon right,
It lefte alle on that on side.
Forth thai drewen þat vitaile
Streight in-to the Toure.
There was no man durst hem assayle,
For drede of here vigour.
Floripe hem resceyved with honour
And thanked Roulande fele sythe,
That she saugh Gye hir paramour,
That wolde she him qwite and kithe.
Thai eten and dronken and made hem gladde,
Hem neded ther aftyr fulle sore
Of suche, as god hem sente hade,
I-nowe for iiij moonþes and more.
Florip saide to Roulande than,
“Ye moste chese you a love
Of alle my maydyns, white as swan.”—
Quod Rouland “þat were myscheve;
Oure lay wole not, þat we with youe dele,
Tille that ye Cristyn be made;
Ner of your play we wole not fele,
For than were we cursed in dede.”

Nowe shall ye here of Laban.
Whan tidyngges to him wer comen,
Tho was he a fulle sory man.
Whan he herde, howe his vitaile were nomen,
And howe his men were slayne,
And Gye was go safe hem froo,
He defyed Mahounde and Apolyne,
Iubiter, Ascarot and Alcaron also.
He commaundede a fire to be dight
With picche and Brymston to bren.
He made a vowe with alle his myght,
“Thai shal be caste ther-Inne!”
The prestes of her lawe ther-on,
Thai criden oute for drede
And saide “alas, what wole ye done?
The worse than moste ye spede!”
The Sowdon made a grete othe
And swore by his hye trone,
That though hem were never so loth,
Thai sholde be brente Ichon.
Tho came the bisshope Cramadas
And kneled bifore the Sowdon,
And charged him by the hye name Sathanas,
To saven his goddes ychon:
“For if ye brenne youre goddes her,
Ye wynnyn her malison,
Than wole no man do you cher,
In feelde, Cite, ner in town.”
The Sowdon was astonyed þan
And gan him sore repente
Of the foly, that he bygan,
And els hade he be shente.
A thousande of Besauntes he offred þaym to,
By counsail of sir Cramadas,
To please with his goddys tho,
For fere of harde grace.
The Sowdone commaunded euery daye
To assaile the tour with caste.
But thay with-in gafe not an Eye,
For thai wroghte in wast.

Nowe speke we of Richarde of Normandy,
That on message was sente,
Howe he spede and his meyne.
Whan he to Mauntrible wente,
He founde the brigge Ichayned sore;
xxiiijti were ouere-drawen.
Alagolofure stode there byfore,
That many a man hade slawene.
Whan Richard saugh, ther was no gate,
But by flagot the flode,
His message wolde he not lete;
His hors was both bigge and goode.
He kneled, bisechinge god of his grace,
To save him fro myschiefe.
A white hende he saugh anoon in þat place,
That swam over the cliffe.
He blessed him in godis name
And folowed the same waye
The gentil hende, þat was so tame,
That on þat othir side gan playe.
He thanked god fele sythe,
That him hade sente comforte.
He hied him in his message swiþe,
To speke with Charles his lorde.
But I shalle you telle of a traytour,
That his name was called Genelyne,
He counseiled Charles for his honour
To turne homewarde ageyn.
He saide “the xij peres bene alle dede,
And ye spende your goode in vayne,
And therfore doth nowe by my rede,
Ye shalle see hem no more certeyn.”
The kinge bileved þat he saide,
And homwarde gan he fare.
He of his xij Dosiperes was sore dismayed,
His herte woxe right fulle of car.
Rycharde of Normandy came prikande
And hertly to ride begane.
Kinge Charles aspyed him comande;
He commaunded to abide euery man.
“What tidingges?” quod the kinge to Richarde,
“Howe fare my felowes alle?”
“My lorde” he saide “god wote, ful harde,
For thai be byseged with-in ston-walle,
Abydynge youre helpe and your socour,
As men þat haue grete nede.
For Ihesues loue, kinge of honour,
Thiderward ye you spede!”
“O Genelyne” quod the kinge,
“Nowe knowe I thy treson,
I shalle the qwite, be seynte Fremounde,
Whan this viage is don.”
The kinge turned him ageyn,
And alle his Ooste him with,
Towarde Mountrible certeyne.
And graunte him gree and grith!
Richarde him tolde of that place,
Howe stronge it was I-holde
With a geaunte foule of face,
The brigge hath chayned many folde;
The River was both depe and brode,
Ther myght no man over-ryde.
“The last tyme that I over-rode,
By myracle I passed þat tide.
Therfore sir, I shal you telle,
Howe ye mote governe you here.
In yonde wode ye moste dwelle
Priuely in this maner,
And xij of vs shalle vs araye
In gyse of stronge marchauntes,
And fille oure somers withe fog and haye,
To passe the brigge Currauntes.
We shalle be armed vnder the cote
With goode swerdes wele I-gyrde,
We moste paye tribute, wele I wote,
And elles over we may not sterte.
But whan the chaynes be lete down
Ouer ther for to passe,
Than wole I, þat ye come on,
In haste to that same place.
Whan I see tyme for to come,
Than shalle I my horne blowe.
Loke, ye be redy alle and some,
For that shall ye welle knowe.”
Forth thay wente in þat araye
To Mountrible, that Cite.
Alagolofur to hem gan seye,
“Felawes, wheder wole ye?”
Richarde spake to the geaunte
And saide “towarde the Sowdon,
With dyu[e]rs chaffer as trewe marchaunte,
We purpose for to goon,
To shewen him of pellur and Gryse,
Orfrays of Perse Imperyalle,
We wole the yefe tribute of assaye
To passe by lycence in especyall.”
“Licence gete ye noon of me,
I am charged that noone shall passe,
For x lurdeyns of Fraunce were her;
God yefe hem evell grace!
Thay passed this way to Egramour;
Thay haue done the Sowdon grete tene,
Thay have wonne his toure and his tresour,
And yet holde thai it, I wene.
Wherfor, felawes, I arest you alle,
Tille I knowe, what þat ye bene.”
Sire Focarde brayde oute his swerde with-alle,
Wel sore he gan to tene
And saide “fye on the Sarasyne!
For alle thy grete harde hede
Shaltow never drinke water ner wyne,
By god! thou shalte be dede.”
He smote at him with egre chere
But he gafe thereof right nought.
“Alas” quod Richard “thou combrest vs her,
By god, that me der hath boghte.”
The cheynes yet wer alle faste,
The geaunte wexe nere wode,
Richard blewe his horne in haste,
That was both shrille and goode.
Kinge Charles hied him anoon
Towarde the brigge so longe;
The Geaunte faught with hem alone,
He was so harde and stronge.
With a Clog of an Oke he faught,
That was wele bound with stele.
He slough al þat ever he raught,
So stronge was his dinte to dele.
Richard raught him with a barr of bras,
That he caught at the gate.
He brake his legges, he cryed “alas”
And felle alle chek-mate.
Loude than gan he to yelle;
Thay herde him yelle through þat Cite,
Like the grete develle of helle,
And saide “Mahounde, nowe helpe me!”
iiij men him caught ther,
So hevy he was and longe,
And cast him ouer in-to the river.
Chese he, whither he wolde swymme or gong!
Anoon thay brast the Chaynes alle,
That ouer the brigge were I-drawe.
The Saresyns ronnen to the walle,
Many Cristen men were ther I-slawe.
Than came forth Dam barrok, the bolde,
With a sithe large and kene,
And mewe a-down as þikke as shepe in folde,
That came byforne hir by-dene.
This Barrok was a geaunesse,
And wife she was to Astragote,
She did the Cristen grete distresse,
She felled downe alle þat she smote.
There durst no man hire sithe abyde,
She grenned like a develle of helle.
Kinge Charles with a quarel þat tide
Smote hir, that she lowde gan yelle,
Euer the founte through-oute the brayn;
That cursede fende fille down dede.
Many a man hade she there slayn,
Might she never aftyr ete more brede!
Charles entred in the firste warde
With xv knightis and no moo;
Of hym his oste toke no garde,
He wende his oste hade entred also.
The Sarysyns ronne to the gate,
And shet it wonder faste.
Charles men come to late;
Tho was Charles sore agaste.
Betwene two wardes he was shit,
Defende he him if he can!
The Sarysyns with him thay mette,
Grete parel was he in than.
Tho Genelyne saie, the kinge was inne
And the yates faste I-stoke,
Ther myght no man to him wynne,
So was he faste with-inne I-loke,
To his frendes he gan speke
And saide “the kinge is dede,
And alle xij peres eke.
On peyne” said he “to lese myn hede,
Let vs hye to Fraunce warde!
For I wele be crownede kinge,
I shalle you alle wele rewarde,
For I wole spare for no thinge.”
Anoon thay assented to Genelyne,
Thay saugh, ther was no better rede.
The Frenssh men drewe hem al ayene,
Thay wende the kinge hade bene dedde.
Tho Ferumbras with his meyne than
Came for to seke the kinge,
And saugh hem turne euery man;
Him thought, it was a wondir thing.
“Where is the kinge?” quod Ferumbras.
Quod Genelyne “with-in the walle,
Shaltowe neuer more seen his face!”
“God gyf the an yvel falle!
Turne agayne, thou traytoure!
And helpe to reskowe thy lorde.
And ye, sires, alle for your honour!”
Thay turned agayne with that worde.
Ferumbras with axe in honde,
Myghtyly brake up the gate,
Ther myght laste him noon yron bonde,
He hade ner-honde I-come to late.
The kinge hadde fought so longe with-ynne,
That onnethe myght he no more.
Many ther were abouten him,
His men were wounded ful sore.
Ferumbras came with gode spede,
He made the Sarasyns to fle.
He reskowed the kinge at his nede,
XL Sarasyns sone killed he.
Thai ronnen a-weye by every side,
Thai durste nowher rowte.
In shorte tyme was falled her pride,
Thay caught many a sore cloute.
That Cite was wonne that same daye,
And every tour ther-ynne
Of Mountreble, þat was so gaye,
For alle her soubtile gynne,
Fulle of tresour and richesse,
Of Siluer and goolde and perr,
And clothes of goolde, wroght of Saresynes,
Of riche aray and roialte.
Richarde, Duke of Normandy,
Founde ij Children of .vij. monþes oolde,
xiiij fote longe wer thay,
Thay wer Barrakes sonnes so boolde;
Bygote thay wer of Astragot.
Grete joye the kinge of hem hade.
Hethen thay wer both, wele I wote,
Therfore hem to be cristenede he bade.
He called þat one of hem Roulande,
And that other he cleped Olyuer:
“For thai shalle be myghty men of honde.”
To kepen hem, he was fulle chere.
Thay myght not leve, her Dam was dede;
Thai coude not kepe hem forth.
Thai wolde neyþer ete butter nere brede,
Ner no men was to hem worthe.
Her Dammes mylke they lakked ther,
Thay deyden for defaute of here dam.
Kinge Charles made hevy cher,
And a sory man was than.
The kinge lete ordeyne anoon,
The Cite to be gouerned
Of the worthyest of hem ychon,
That weren of werr best lerned.
Duke Richarde of Normandy,
He was made chief gouernour;
And ij C with him in hys company
To kepe the brigge and tour.
Forth he rode to laban than,
With his Ooste and Sir Ferumbras.
A spye to the Sowdon fast ran
And tolde him al that cas,
How Charles was come with his ost,
And Mountrible hade he wonne,
“Alagolofur slayn is for alle his bost,
This game was evel begon.”
Whane laban herde of his comynge,
Him thought his herte gan breke.
“Shalle I never be withoute moornynge,
Tille I of him be wreke.”
He commaunded to blowe his Claryons
To assemble alle his Ooste.
His counsaile to him he lete calle
And tolde, how kinge Charles was in þat coost,
Hadde wonne Mountrible and slayn his men
“And dishiryth to disheryte me,
And proudely manessith me to fleen,
Or drive me oute of this contre.
Me mervaylythe moch of his pride.
By Mahounde, moost of myght!
Ye and my sone withe him doth ride,
To the develle I hem bedight.
But I be venget of hem both
And honge hem on a tree,
To myghty Mahounde I make myne othe,
Shalle I never Joyfulle be.
Therfore I charge you in alle wyse
That thay be taken or slayn.
Thane shalle I pynne heme at my gyse
And don hem alle qwike be flayn.”
On the morowe, whan it was day,
Kinge Charles was in the felde,
Byfore Agremour in riche aray
On stede with sper and sheelde.
Floripe lay on the tour on hye
And knewe the baner of Fraunce.
To Roulande she gan faste crye
Tidynges of goode chaunce:
“Kinge Charles is comen and Ferumbras,
Here baners both I do see,
With alle her oste yonder in þat place;
Welcome to vs thay alle be.”
Roulande and Olyuere
Arayed hem for to ride;
And here felawes alle in fer,
To Charles thay gon that tyde.
Laban come forth with his mayne,
Saresyns, that were ful felle,
Turkes, Indens, and Arabye
Ye and of the Ethiopes like the develes of helle.
There were stronge wardes sette
By ordynaunce of dyuers batayle.
Whan thay to geder were met,
Eythir othir sore gan assayle.
Ther were Saresyns al to-hewe;
Roulande sloughe many one.
Thay lay so thikke dede on rewe,
That onneþe myghte men ride or goon.
Kinge Charles met with Laban
And bare him down of his stede,
He lighted down and ceased him than,
He thought to qwite him his mede.
He brayde oute Mownjoye wyth gode wille
And wolde have smeten of his hede,
Ferumbras prayde him to abyde stille,
To crysten him, er he wer dede.
The Saresyns saughe Laban take,
Thay fledden away fulle faste.
Lenger durste thay no maistryes make,
Thai were so sore agaste.
The Cristen hem chased to and fro,
As a grehounde doth the hare.
.iij. c. ascaped with moche woo,
To Belmore gan thay far.
Kinge Charles ladde Laban
In-to Agremour Cite.
And whan þat he ther came
A ful sory man was he.
His doghter welcomed him
With right gode cher.
He loked on hir al grymme,
As he wode wroth wer,
And saide “fye on the, stronge hore,
Mahounde confounde the!”
Charles saide “here-of no more,
But let us nowe mery be!”—
“Sir” she saide thanne,
“Welcome ye be into this tour!
Here I presente to you, as I can,
Relikes of grete honour,
That were at Rome I-wonnen
And broght into this halle.
That game was evel bygonnen,
It sithen rewed us alle.”
Kinge Charles kneled adown
To kisse the Relikes so goode,
And badde ther an oryson
To that lorde, þat deyde on rode.
And þanked Floripe with al his herte,
That she hade saued his meyne
And holpe hem oute of peynes smerte
And kepte the Relekes so fre.
Kinge Charles did calle bisshope Turpyn
And bade him ordeyne a grete fat,
To baptyse the Sowdon yne;
“And loke what he shalle hat.
Unarme him faste and bringe him ner,
I shal his godfader be.
Fille it fulle of water cler,
For Baptysed shalle he be.
Make him naked as a Childe,
He moste plunge ther-inne.
For now most he be meke and mylde,
And I-wassh awaye his synne.”
Turpyn toke him by the honde
And ladde him to the fonte.
He smote the bisshope with a bronde
And gaf him an evel bronte.
He spitted in the water cler
And cryed oute on hem alle,
And defied alle þat cristen wer.
That foule mote him by-falle!
“Ye and thou, hore serpentyne,
And that fals cursed Ferumbras,
Mahounde gyfe hem both evel endyng,
And almyghty Sathanas!
By you came all my sorowe,
And al my tresure for-lorne.
Honged be ye both er tomorowe!
In cursed tyme were ye born”
Ferumbras saide to the kinge,
“Sir, ye see, it wole not be,
Lete him take his endynge,
For he loueth not Cristyante.”
“Duke Neymes” quod Charles tho,
“Loke þat execucion be don,
Smyte of his hedde! god gyfe him woo!
And goo we to mete anoone.”
It was done as the kinge commaunde,
His soule was fet to helle,
To daunse in þat sory lande
With develes, þat wer ful felle.
Dame Florip was Baptysed than
And here maydyns alle,
And to Sir Gye I-maryed.
The Barons honoured hir alle.
Alle the londe of Spayne
Kinge Charles gyfe hem two,
To departe bitwyxt hem twayne,
Ferumbras and Gy also.
And so thay livede in ioye and game,
And brethern both thay wer,
In pees and werr both I-same,
Ther durste no man hem der.
Kinge Charles turned home agayn
Towarde his contre,
He charged Sir Bryer of Bretayne
His tresourer for to be:
To kepe the Relikes of grete pris
And his other tresour,
And bringe hem safe to Parys,
There to a-bide in store.
He saide “farewell, Sir Ferumbras,
Ye and Gye, my dere frende!
And thy wyf Dame Floripas!
For to Fraunce nowe wole I wende.
Be ye togeder as breth[e]rn both!
No man ye nedith to drede,
Be ye nevere to-gedere wroth,
But eyther helpe othir at his nede.
Vysityth me, whan ye haue space;
In-to Fraunce makith your disporte,
God wole you sende the better grace,
In age to do me comforte.”
Thai toke leve of the kinge,
With ful hevy cher,
And turned agayn both mornynge,
With wepynge water cler.
Kinge Charles with the victory
Sailed to Mounpeleres,
And thanked almyghty god in glorye,
That he hade saued his Dosiperes,
And fende him of the Saresynes
The hyer honde to have,
For alle here strenghe and her Engynes
The Relikes of Rome to saue.
At oure lady of Parys
He offred the Crosse so fre;
The Crown he offred at seynte Denyse,
At Boloyne the nayles thre.
Alle his Barons of him wer gladd,
Thai gafe him grete presente.
For he so wele hade I-spedde,
Thay did him grete reuerence.
The kinge hade wel in mynde
The tresone of Genelyne,
Anoon for him he dide sende
To yefe him an evel fyne:
“Thou traitour unkynde” quod the kynge,
“Remembrist thou not how ofte
Thou hast me betrayed, þou fals Genelyne?
Therfore thoue shalt be honged on lofte!—
Loke that the execucion be don,
That throgh Parys he be drawe,
And honged on hye on mount Fawcon,
As longeth to traytoures by lawe;
That alle men shall take hede,
What deth traytourys shall fele,
That assente to such falshede,
Howe the wynde here bodyes shal kele.”
Thus Charles conquered Laban,
The Sowdon of Babyloyne,
That riche Rome stroyed and wan
And alle the brode londe of Spayn.
[OMITTED][an]d of his Barons
[OMITTED][hi]s pride
[OMITTED]eligons
[OMITTED]þat tyde
[OMITTED]on Charles soule
[OMITTED]s also
[OMITTED]Peter and Poule
God lete hem never wete of woo!
But brynge here soules to goode reste!
That were so worthy in dede.
And gyf vs ioye of the beste,
That of here gestes rede!