 | The English Charlemagne Romances |  |
37
Rouland and Vernagu
1
[OMITTED] For he it seiȝe wiþ siȝt.Now bigin ichil of him,
Of charls þat was stout & grim,
& tel ȝou al þat riȝt.
2
An hundred winter it was and þre,Seþen god dyed opon þe tre,
Þat charls þe king
Hadde al fraunce in his hond,
Danmark & Inglond,
Wiþouten ani lesing,
Lorein & lombardye,
Gascoun, bayoun, & pikardye,
Was til his bidding;
& emperour he was of rome,
& lord of al christendome,
Þan was he an heiȝe lording.
3
In þat time was an emperourIn costentin of gret honour,
Constansious he hiȝt;
God he loued & alle his,
& hated hem þat dede amis,
Wiþ al his miȝt.
In speyn, þo þer was a king,
A stern man wiþouten lesing,
Þat werred oȝain þe riȝt.
Ebrahim was his name,
Wide sprong his riche fame,
He was a douȝti kniȝt.
38
4
Alle þat leued in godes lawe,He lete hem boþe hong & drawe,
Þo þat he miȝt of take;
& þe patriark of ierusalem
Out of lond he dede him flem,
Al for godes sake.
Þe patriarke was ful wiis,
& to þemperour he went y-wis,
His mone for to make,
Hou þe king ebrahim
Out of lond exiled him,
Wiþ michel wer & wrake.
5
King costance þemperourMade swiþe gret dolour
For þis tidinges,
Ihū crist bisouȝt he,
Almiȝti god in trinite,
King of al kinges,
He sende him grace him to slo,
Þat had y-wrouȝt so michel wo,
& slawe godes ginges,
& sone so he had þe bon y-bede,
An angel liȝt doun in þat stede,
& þis bode him bringes.
6
Þe angel seyd to þemperour,“Wele þe greteþ þi saueour,
Ihū, ful of miȝt,
& bit þe sende wiþ michel anour,
After charls þe conquerour,
He is a douhti kniȝt.
He schal þe help in batayl,
& sle þe sarrazin wiþouten fail,
Þat doþ oȝain þe riȝt.”
Þemperour was glad & bliþe,
& þonked god fele siþe,
His hert nas neuer so liȝt.
39
7
Four þe best he sent of hem,Þat on hiȝt dauid of ierusalem,
& samuel al so,
Ion of naples was anoþer,
Ysac hiȝt þe ferþ broþer,
Þider he gan go.
He went to þe palais of rome,
& bi-for sir charli[s] come
& told him of her wo;
Þai toke him þe letter & kist his hand,
Swiche was þe lawe of þe land,
& schal ben euer mo.
8
Charls wepe for þat dede,When he herd þe letter rede,
& hete an heiȝeing,
Al þat miȝt armes bere,
Kniif or scheld, swerd or spere,
Men schuld bi-for him bring.
Þai busked hem & made hem yare,
To costentin for to fare,
Wiþouten ani lesing.
Þemperour was glad y-wis,
& vnderfenge wiþ miche blis,
Sir charls þe king.
9
Riche iuels wiþouten lesing,Sir costance þe king
Bifor sir charls he brouȝt;
Sauage bestes for þe nones,
Gold & siluer, & riche stones,
Ac þer of nold he nouȝt:
He bi-souȝt him of more honour,
Of ihū our saueour,
Þat al þis warld haþ wrouȝt,
Þat he on suffred passioun,
Of þe croice & of þe croun,
Þer of he him bi-souȝt.
40
10
Þemperour his wil dede,& ladde him to þe holy stede,
Þere þe relikes ware;
Þer com swiche a swete odour,
Þat neuer ȝete so swete sauour,
No feld þai neuer are;
Of þe smal þat was so swote,
Þre hundred sike hadde her bote,
& cast were out of care.
þan brouȝt þai forþ þe holy croun,
& þe arme of seyn simoun,
Bi-forn hem alle þare.
11
& a parti of þe holy crosse,Þat in a cristal was don in clos,
& godes cloþeing.
Our leuedi smok þt hye had on,
& þe ȝerd of araon,
Forþ þai gun bring,
& a spere long & smert,
Þat longys put to godes hert,
He gaf charls þe king;
& a nail long & gret
Þat was y-driue þurch godes fet,
Wiþ outen ani lesing.
12
When charls had reseiued þat þing,He bisouȝt ihū, heuen king,
To sende him miȝt & space,
For to wite þe soþe þere,
ȝif þe relikes verray were,
Er he þennes pase.
Þan decended a liȝtnesse,
Doun riȝtes fram þe heuen blis,
In þat ich place,
Þat þai wenden alle y-wis,
Þai hadde ben in paradys,
So ful it was of grace.
41
13
Þai tok leue at þemperour,& þonked him of gret honour,
& to aise in gascoyn went;
Þer he duelled siker apliȝt.
So he biheld opon a niȝt,
Vp to þe firmament,
A way of sterres he seiȝe y-wis,
Out of spaine in to galis,
As red as brond þat brent.
He bi-souȝt god in trinite
To sende him grace wite wat it be,
Wiþ wel gode entent.
14
& in þe þouȝt þat he was in,Þer com a voice, & spac to him,
Wiþ a milde steuen,
“Eames þe apostel bi crist,
Iones broþer, þe wangelist,
Godes deciple of heuen,
Þat god bad prechy on þe se,
For þi herodes lete me sle,
Þer of y þe neuen,
Mi body liþ in galis,
Biȝond speyne for soþe y-wis,
Jurnays mo þan seuen.
15
For þi me wondreþ wiþouten fail,Þat þou comest nouȝt to do batayl,
Þat lond for to winne,
& ȝif þou winnes þat lond y-wis,
Y schal þe bring in to þat blis,
Þer ich woni inne.
Al þat me sekeþ more & lesse,
Schal haue for-ȝeuenes
Of her dedeli sinne.
Now wende & do as y þe sede,
& in batayl þou schalt spede,
When þou it will biginne.
42
16
Þe way of sterres bitokneþ y-wis,Þat of spaine & of galis
Þou shalt be conquerer;
Lorain & lombardye,
Gascoyne, bayoun, & pikardye,
Schal be in þi pouwer.”
Þus com þe apostel Iames,
Þries to charls, & seyd þis,
Þat was so stoute & fer.
Now wendeþ charls wiþ his ost
Into speyne wiþ michel bost,
As ȝe may forward here.
17
Þe first cite was pampiloun,Þat was a swiþe noble toun,
Þat charls gan asayl;
& sex moneþes he it bi-lay apliȝt,
Þat noþing winne he it no miȝt,
For alle his batayle.
For þe walles so strong were,
He no miȝt haue non entre þere
Wiþ outen ani fayl,
Þer were mani strong gines,
& fele þousand of sarazines,
Swiþe heyȝe of parail.
18
Þan praid charls to god of heuen,“Lord, he seyd, here mi steuen,
Astow art ful of miȝt,
Sende me grace þis cite to winne,
& sle þe sarrazins her inne,
Þat don oȝain þe riȝt.”
Þo felle þe walles of þe cite,
Charls entred wiþ his meyne,
Als a douhti kniȝt,
& þurch þe miracle þat was þere,
Ten þousand sarrazins cristned were,
In þat ich niȝt.
43
19
& þo þat nold nouȝt cristned be,He lete hem hong opon a tre,
Er he þennes pase.
Þus charls þurch spayn gan gon,
& wan þe cites eurichon,
Al þurch godes grace.
Where he com in ani erd,
Ich man was of him aferd,
Þat loked on his face.
Þe names of eueri cite
Þat he wan, y schal tel ȝe
Er ich hennes pase.
20
Visim, lameche, & sumy,Colomuber, luche, & vrry,
Brakare & vimaraile,
Compostel, a cite grete,
Aurilian & tullet,
Þat strong is to asayl;
Golddelfagar & salamencha,
Vline, canayls, madris, al swa
Calatorie & lestoyl,
Medinacel, an heiȝe cite,
Segouus þe grete, & salamenche,
Gramie & sturgel,
21
Godian & emerite,Bourg in spaie, þt nis nouȝt lite,
A swiþe noble toun;
Nasers & maþed,
Carion & vrpaled,
& oche of gret renoun;
Burbagalle, a castel al so,
Costant, petros, & oþer mo,
Bayet & pampiloun,
Ventos in þe grene vale,
Caparre, eustorge, & entale,
Gascoine & bayoun,
44
22
Toutor, a strong castel,Landulif & portingal,
Burnam & saragouns,
Granad & satyne,
Costaunce & deine,
Teragon & valouns,
Leride, acoun, & siuile,
Charls wan in a while,
Agabie & vrens,
Quaramelide, gibalderie,
Barbaster, vice, & almarie,
Agabie & sisens.
23
Acoun, þat y spak of ere,Seyn Iames deciple liþ þere,
Þat hat seyn torquas;
A swiþe fair oliif tre
Beside his toumbe men may se,
Þat springeþ þurch godes grace;
Opon his fest in mid may,
Þer on is front of gret noblay,
Boþe more & lasse;
& who þat sekeþ hem verrament,
At þe day of iuggement,
Schal se godes face.
24
Alle þe londes þat were in spayne,Wiþ dint of swerd wan charlmain,
Portingale & lauers;
Landuluf & chastel,
Bigairs, bastles, & londes fele,
Moys & nauers.
Alle þe londes he wan ȝern,
Til he com to lucern,
So stout he was & fers,
& tvelmoneþ he it bilay apliȝt,
& noþing win he it miȝt,
For al his dusse-pers.
45
25
Þo preyd charls to god abone,Þat he him sent grace sone,
Þe cite for to winne.
Þo fel þe walles adoun riȝtes,
King charls entred wiþ his kniȝtes,
Þurch þat ich ginne;
Charls acurssed þat cite,
& ventos, & caparre, & deneye,
For her dedeli sinne;
Deserd þai were after þan,
Þat neuer seþþen no cristen man,
No durst com þer inne.
26
For charls curssed þo lucern,Also tite þe toun ganbern,
& schal don euer mo;
& of þe smoc of þat toun,
Mani takeþ þer of pusesoun,
& dyeþ in michel wo:
& þer þe oþer þre cites stode,
Beþ waters red of helle flode,
& fisches ther in al blo;
& who þat wil nouȝt leue me,
In spaine men may þe soþe y-se,
Who þat wil þider go.
27
& while charls was in þat stede,A fair miracle god for him dede,
Er he gan þennes wende;
Braunches of vines charls sett,
In marche moneþ wiþ outen lett,
As was þe riȝt kende;
& amorwe grapes þai bere,
Red & ripe to kerue þere,
For paners þai gun sende;
And for paners þai crid þo,
ȝete men clepeþ þe cite so,
& schal to þe warldes ende.
46
28
Clodonius þe first cristen king,& clotayrs wiþ outen lesing,
King dagabers & pipin,
Won mani tounes in spaine,
Ac þe gode charlmain,
Wan it al wiþ gin:
Alle þe maumetes in spaine were,
Þat were þe sarrazins leue & dere,
King charls & turpin,
Þai destroyd þurch godes miȝt,
Sum þurch miracle & sum þurch fiȝt,
So seyt þe latin.
29
& an image of gret pouste,Stode on a roche bi þe se,
In þe gilden lond;
His name was salanicodus,
As a man y-schapen he wes,
& held a glaive an hond,
Mahoun maked him wiþ gin,
& dede mani fendes þer in,
As ich vnderstond,
For to susten þe ymage,
& sett him on heiȝe stage,
For no man nold he wond.
30
Þe face of him was turned souþe riȝt,In her lay the sarrazins founde apliȝt
Of iubiter & mahoun;
Þat when y-born were þe king,
Þat schuld spaine to cristen bring,
Þe ymage schuld falle adoun;
Charls dede þat ymage falle,
& wan in spaine þe cites alle,
Boþe tour & toun;
& wiþ þe tresour þat he wan þere
Mani a chirche he lete arere,
Þat was of gret renoun.
47
31
Þe first chirche for soþ y-wis,Was seyn Iames in galis,
Þat he lete arere,
Wiþ an hundred chanouns & her priour,
Of seynt ysador þe confessour,
For to serui þere:
& in aise a chapel,
Of lim & ston y-wrouȝt ful wel,
Of werk riche & dere,
& seyn Iames at burdewes,
& on at tolous, anoþer at anevaus,
& mo as ȝe may here.
32
Charls duelled siker apliȝt,Þre mones & fourten niȝt,
In bayoun wiþ his ost,
Þer fel a miracle of a kniȝt,
Wiche þat was to deþ y-diȝt,
Þurch þe holy gost;
Sir romain for soþe he hiȝt,
Er he dyd he hadde his riȝt,
Wiþ outen ani bost;
On of his frendes he cleped him to:
“Y schal dye it is so,
Ful wele þou it wost.
33
Mine cloþes þat ichaue,Þer wiþ þat y be brouȝt in graue,
Wiþ mete & drink & liȝt,
& sel min hors on heiȝeing
Pouer clerkes sauters to sing,
Þer to þat it be diȝt;”
& when he hadde y-seyd þus stille,
Also it was godes wille,
Þan died þe kniȝt,
Þe hors was seld wiþ outen duelinges,
For to hundred schillinges,
& put it vp apliȝt.
48
34
& at þe nende of þritti niȝt,To his seketour com þe ded kniȝt,
& seyd in þis maner:
“Mi soule is in heuen blis,
For þe loue of min almis,
Þat y sett here;
& for þou hast at-hold min,
Þritti days ichaue ben in pin,
Þat wel strong were,
Paradis is graunted me,
& in þat pain þou schalt be,
Þat ich was in ere.”
35
Þe ded þus in his way went,& he awaked verrament,
& wonder hadde apliȝt;
& amorwe his sweuen he told,
To erls & to barouns bold,
To squiers & to kniȝt:
& amonges hem alle,
As þai stoden in þe halle,
Þer com a windes fliȝt,
& fele fendes þt were swift,
& beren him vp in to þe lift,
& held him þere four niȝt.
36
Seriaunce þe bodi souȝt,Ac þai no miȝt it finde nouȝt,
Four dayes no more.
Fro bayoun he went wiþ his ost,
& þurch nauern wiþ miche bost,
Þe bodi þai founde þore,
Þer þe fendes had let him felle,
& bere his soule in to helle,
To hard paines sore.
So schal eueri sekatour,
Þe dedes gode abigge wel sour,
Þat hye bi-nimeþ þe pore.
49
37
No[w] late we be of þis þing,& speke of charles þe king,
Þat michel was of miȝt,
Of his lengþe & his brede,
As þe latin ous sede,
Ichil ȝou rede ariȝt;
Tventi fete he was o lengþe,
& al so of gret strengþe,
& of a stern sight,
Blac of here & rede of face,
Whare he com in ani place,
He was a douhti kniȝt.
38
Four times in þe ȝere,On his heued he bere,
Þe holy croun of þorn,
At ester, at wissontide,
& at seyn iames day wiþ pride,
& in ȝole as god was born.
& atte þe mete in þe halle,
Among his kniȝtes alle,
A drawe swerd him biforn,
Þis was þe maner ay,
& schal be til domesday,
Of emperour y-corn.
39
& whare he slepe aniȝt,Wel wise he was & wiȝt,
& douted of tresoun,
An hundred kniȝtes him kept,
Þat non of hem no slept,
Þat were of gret renoun,
& eueri duȝti kniȝt
Held a torche liȝt,
& a naked fauchoun.
Þus king charls lay,
Wiþ his ost mani a dai,
In þe cite of pampiloun.
50
40
& on a day com tiding,Vnto charls the king,
Al of a douhti kniȝt,
Was comen to nasers:
Stout he was & fers,
Vernagu he hiȝt;
Of babiloun þe soudan
Þider him sende gan,
Wiþ king charls to fiȝt,
So hard he was to fond,
Þat no dint of brond,
No greued him apliȝt.
41
He hadde tventi men strengþe,& fourti fet of lengþe,
Þilke panim hede,
& four fet in þe face,
Y-meten in þe place,
& fiften in brede,
His nose was a fot & more,
His browe as brestles wore,
He þat it seiȝe it sede,
He loked loþeliche,
& was swart as piche,
Of him men miȝt adrede.
42
Charls com to nasersWiþ his dusse pers,
To se þat painim.
He asked wiþ outen fayl,
Of king charls batayl,
To fiȝt oȝaines him:
Charls wonderd þo,
When he seiȝe him go,
He bi-held him ich alim,
For seþþen he was y-bore,
He no hadde y-sen bifore,
Non þat was so grim.
51
43
Sir oger þe danais,A kniȝt ful curtays,
To him first was y-sent;
& at his coming,
Vernagu an heyȝeing,
Vnder his arm him hent,
Y-armed as he was,
He toke him in þe plas,
& to þe castel he went:
Sir oger schamed sore,
Him o-þouȝt þat com þore,
& held him foule y-schent.
44
Reynald de aubeþpineWas sent to þat sarrazin,
He serued him al so;
& seyd to charlmain,
“Sir, þo þou won spain,
Hadestow non better þo?
So mahoun me ȝiue rest,
Oȝain ten swiche þe best,
To fiȝt ich wold go.”
Sir costentin of rome,
& þerl of nauntes come,
To fiȝt wiþ boþe to.
45
& vernagu bar boþe,No were þai neuer so wroþe,
To nassers castel,
Vnder aiþer arm on,
As stille as ani ston,
Miȝt þai nouȝt wiþ him mele.
Þo charls sent ten,
Al so he serued his men,
Miȝt no man wiþ him dele.
Charls bi-þouȝt þo,
ȝif he sent mo,
It were him wroþer hele.
52
46
Roland þe gode kniȝt,Þo bad leue to fiȝt,
Oȝain þat painim,
King charls seyd, “nay,
Þou no schalt nouȝt bi þis day,
He is to stout & grim.”
So long he him bad,
Þat leue of him he hadde.
Rouland armed him,
& com anon riȝt
In to þe feld, to fiȝt
Oȝain þat sarrazin.
47
& at his coming þare,Sir vernagu was ware
& tok him vnder his hond,
Out of his sadel he gan him bere,
& on his hors swere
He set roulond:
& rouland smot him so,
Þat vernagu þo
Vnto þe grounde wond.
& when þe cristen seiȝe þis,
Þat vernagu fallen is,
Þai þonked godes sond.
48
Þai lopen opon her stede,& swerdes out þai brede,
& fiȝt þai gun þo.
Rouland wiþ durindale,
Brewe him miche bale,
& carf his hors ato:
When vernagu was o fot,
He no couþe no better bot,
To rouland he gan go,
In þe heued he smot his stede,
Þat ded to grounde he ȝede,
O fot þan were þai bo.
53
49
A fot þai tok þe fiȝt,& vernagu a non riȝt,
His swerd he had y-lore.
Rouland wiþ al his miȝt,
He stired him as a kniȝt,
& yaf him dintes sore.
Til it was ogain þe none,
Þus þai layd opon,
Ay til þai weri wore:
Douk rouland sone he fond,
Þat wiþ no dint of brond,
He slouȝ him neuer more.
50
When it com to þe neue,Vernagu bad leue,
To resten of þat fiȝt:
Rouland him trewþe ȝaf,
So he most bring a staf,
After his wil y-diȝt;
Vernagu graunted wel
& went to her hostel
When þat was niȝt.
Amorwe wiþ outen fail,
Þai com to þe batayl,
Aiþer as douhti kniȝt.
51
Sir rouland brouȝt a stafÞat king charls him ȝaf,
Þat was long & newe,
Þe bodi of a ȝong oke,
To ȝif þer-wiþ a stroke,
He was touȝ & trewe.
& wiþ þat gode staf,
Wel mani dintes he ȝaf
Vernagu þe schrewe.
& at þe non apliȝt,
Þai gun anoþer fiȝt,
& stones to gider þrewe.
54
52
Gode rappes for þe nones,Þai ȝauen wiþ þe stones,
Þat sete swiþe sore;
Þat helme & heye targe,
Þurch her strokes large,
Þer wiþ þai broken wore.
& vernagu at þat cas,
So sore asleped was,
He no miȝt fiȝt no more:
At rouland leue he toke,
Þat time, so seyt þe boke,
For to slepe þore.
53
Roland ȝaf leue him,For to slepe wele afin,
& rest him in þat stounde,
& seyd þat he nold,
For þe cite ful of gold
Be þer wiþ y-founde,
Slepeand to slen a kniȝt,
Þei þat he had in fiȝt,
ȝif him deþes wounde.
Þo vernagu lay adoun,
To slepe he was boun,
Þere opon þe grounde.
54
& vernagu rout þore,As a wild bore,
Þo he on slepe was:
To him rouland gan gon,
& tok þe gretest ston
Þat lay in þat place,
He leyd vnder his heued y-wis
For him þouȝt it lay amis,
To lowe at þat cas.
& vernagu vp stode,
He stard as he were wode,
When he awaked was,
55
55
Vernagu asked anon,“Who leyd þis gret ston,
Vnder min heued so?
It no miȝt neuer be,
Bot ȝif he were a kniȝt fre.
Wist ich who it were,
He schuld be me leue & dere,
[OMITTED]
Þei þat he were mi fo.”
Quaþ rouland, sikerly,
“Certes it was y,
For þat þou rot so.
56
& when þo me louest miche,Now tel me sikerliche,
Whi þou art so hard,
Þat no þing may þe dere,
Knif, no ax, no spere,
No no dint of sward.”
Quaþ vernagu sikerly,
“No man is harder þan y,
Fram þe nauel vp ward,
For-þi y com hider y-wis,
To fiȝt wiþ king charlis,
Wiþ þe hore bard.”
57
Vernagu to rouland sede,“Al so þi god þe spede,
Whare were þou y-born?”
“In fraunce, bi seynt austin,
King charls cosyn,
Our kinde lord y-corn.
We leueþ opon ihū,
Þat is ful of vertu,
Þat bare þe croun of þorn.
& ȝe leueþ in þe fende,
For-þi wiþ outen ende,
ȝe schul be for lorn.”
56
58
& when þat vernaguY-herd speke of ihū,
He asked wat man he was.
Sir rouland seyd, “he is
Þe king of paradys,
& lord ful of gras,
In a maiden he was bore,
To bigge þat was forlore,
As sonne passeþ þurch þe glas,
& dyed opon þe rode,
For our alder gode,
& nouȝt for his gilt it nas:
59
& suffred woundes fiue,& ros fram ded to liue,
Þan þridde day;
& fet out adam & eue,
& mo þat were him leue,
Fram helle for soþe to say,
& sitt in trinite,
O god in persones thre;
Swiche is our lay.”
Vernagu seyd þo,
“It no miȝt neuer be so,
Þer of y sigge nay.
60
Hou miȝt it euer be,Þat he were on & thre?
Tel me now þe skille.”
Rouland þan sede,
“Al so god me spede,
ȝis wiþ a gode wille.
As þe harp has þre þinges,
Wode & soun & strenges,
& mirþe is þer tille,
So is god persones þre,
& holeliche on in vnite,
Al þing to ful-fille.
57
61
& as þe sonne haþ þinges þre,Hete & white on to se,
& is ful of liȝt,
So is god in trinite,
Vnite & mageste,
& lord ful of miȝt.”
Quaþ vernagu, “now y se,
Hou he is god in persones þre,
Now ich wot þat riȝt,
Ac hou þat he bicom man,
The lord þat þis world wan,
Þer of no haue y no siȝt.”
62
Quaþ rouland, “he þat ous bouȝt,& al þing maked of nouȝt,
Wele miȝt he be so hende,
Þat he wald sende his sone,
In a maiden for to wone,
Wiþ outen mannes kende.”
Quaþ vernagu, “saunfayl,
Þer of ichaue gret meruail,
Hou miȝt he fram hir wende,
Hou miȝt he of hir be bore,
Þat was a maiden bi fore,
Y no may nouȝt haue in mende.”
63
Rouland seyd to vernagu,“Mi lordes fader ihū,
Is so michel of miȝt,
Þat he made sonne & se,
& fisches in þe flod to be,
Boþe daye & niȝt:
Wele may he þan, as y þe er seyd,
Ben y-bore of a maide,
Wiþ outen wem apliȝt.”
Quaþ vernagu, “it may wele be,
Ac hou he dyed y no can nouȝt se,
Tel me now þat riȝt.
58
64
For i nist neuer no man,Þat aros after þan,
When þat he ded was,
& ȝif he godes sone were,
He no miȝt nouȝt dye þere:
Tel me now þat cas.”
Quaþ rouland, “y schal tel þe.
His bodi slepe vpon þe tre,
& þe þridde day aras,
His godhed waked euer & ay,
& to helle tok þe way,
& bond satanas.
65
So schul we al arise,& of þe dome agrise,
Atte day of iuggement,
& answerey for our dede,
Þe gode & þe quede,
Hou we our liif haue spent.”
Quaþ vernagu, “now ichot wel,
Hou he aros ichadel,
& haue in min entent
Ac hou he steyȝe to heuen,
Y no can nouȝt neuen,
No wite verrament.”
66
Þan seyd rouland,“O vernagu, vnderstand,
Herken now to me.
Þat ich lord þat wiþ his miȝt,
In a maiden a-liȝt,
Y-born for to be,
As þe sonne aros in þe est,
& decended in þe west,
Astow miȝt now se,
Riȝt so dede god almiȝt,
Mounted in to heuen liȝt,
& sit in trinite.”
59
67
Quaþ vernagu, “now ich wot,ȝour cristen lawe eueri grot,
Now we wil fiȝt.
Wheþer lawe better be,
Sone we schul y-se,
Long ar it be niȝt.”
Rouland a dint him ȝaf,
Wiþ his gode staf,
Þat he kneled apliȝt,
& vernagu to him smot,
& carf his staf fot hot,
Euen ato ariȝt.
68
Þo rouland kneld adoun,& maked an orisoun,
To god in heuen liȝt,
& seyd, “lord vnder stond
Y no fiȝt for no lond,
Bot for to saue þi riȝt,
Sende me now miȝt & grace,
Here in þis ich place,
To sle þat foule wiȝt.”
An angel com ful sone,
& seyd “herd is þi bone,
Arise rouland & fiȝt,
69
& sched þe schrewes blod,For he nas neuer gode,
Bi lond no bi se:
Þei alle prechours aliue,
To cristen wald him schriue,
Gode nold be neuer be.”
When rouland herd þat steuen,
He stirt him vp ful euen,
& fauȝt wiþ hert fre;
Strokes bi sex & seuen,
Togider þis kniȝtes ȝeuen
Þat mani man miȝt y-se.
60
70
Rouland wiþ outen dueling,Þurch miȝt of heuen king,
Vernagu he smot,
Þat þe left arm, & þe scheld
Fel forþ in to þe feld,
Fram þat painim fot hot:
His arm þo he had lore,
Swiþe wo him was þer fore
& fast he fauȝt y wot.
He smot rouland on þe croun,
A strok wiþ his fauchoun,
Þat þurch þe helme it bot.
71
No hadde ben þe bacinet,Þat þe strok wiþ sett,
Rouland hadde ben aqueld.
Þe sarrazin sayd aswiþe,
“Smite ich eft on siþe
Þi liif is bouȝt & seld.”
Rouland answerd, “nay,
Mine worþ þe raþer pay,
Bi god þat al þing weld;”
& wiþ a strok ful large,
He clef þe sarrazins targe,
Þat half fel in þe feld.
72
& at anoþer venov,Roland smot vernagu,
Þat he fel doun to grounde,
& rouland wiþ durindale
ȝaf him strokes fale,
& his deþes wounde.
Þe paynem crid, “help, mahoun,
& Iubiter of gret renoun,
Þat beþ so michel of mounde,
As ȝe beþ miȝt-ful helpeþ me,
Þat ich miȝt y-venged me
Of þis cristen hounde.”
61
73
Rouland louȝ for þat cri,& syd, “mahoun, fikerly,
No may þe help nouȝt:
No Iubiter, no apolin,
No is worþ þe brust of a swin,
In hert no in þouȝt.”
His ventail he gan vn-lace,
& smot of his heued in þe place,
& to charls it brouȝt:
Þo þonked he god in heuen,
& mari wiþ milde steuen,
Þat he so hadde y-wrouȝt.
74
& al þe folk of þe lond,For onour of roulond,
Þonked god old & ȝong:
& ȝede a procesioun,
Wiþ croice & gomfaynoun,
& salue miri song,
Boþe widowe & wiif in place,
Þus þonked godes grace,
Alle þo þat speke wiþ tong.
To otuel also ȝern,
Þat was a sarrazin stern,
Ful sone þis word sprong.
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