University of Virginia Library

“God For Hys grace sschylde vs from schame!”
her basnettys and her helmys they lacydyn well:
And her gode swerdys that were made of stell;
her noble targys they gonne fonge:
y dar say that thay dwelleden nouȝt longe.
so coraious and wyȝt the gode knyhtys all
To and to to-gedyr wentyn into the halle.
ware hem nowe the saresynys & kepe hem well
fro the scharpe swordys y-makyd of stel!
for they nar neuer to fere, y dar say,
As thay thanne were atte mete that daye.

Thanne by-gonne the knyȝtys to go to hem ryȝt
oute atte dore fful coraious and wyȝt,
To & to to-gedyr in gode Accordement:
Roulond ȝede byfore as maystyr of the couent.
Also sone as Rowland come in-to the halle,
“Mon ioye!” he cryed amonge the lordys all.
they lystyn her gode scharp Swerdys
And leydyn on the sarsyns and schoven here berdys.
they leyden on hande in euery halue:
ther-at Dorinydale dovn glode ther nedyd no salue.
Syr Olyuer ful sone the kynge of perce slowe:
he smote hys body ato wyth-out ony bowe:
ther nas non of the knyhtys that they ne dyden wel,
with gode scharpe swordys y-grovnden of stel.
where ther neuer sarsyns sythe the world be-gan
bettyr y-seruyd at mete of so fewe men.
they were so hampred that Ioye was to se,
and chacyd aboute the halle, & thay gonne fle.
some lepe oute at the wyndows wyth grete durst
And fyllen adown fro so hye that here nekkys to-brost.
Balam by-gan to fle: nas he nouȝt blythe:
And Whenne Rowland that say he folowyd hym swythe,
An gan to crye on hye: “sey, thou horyson!
ȝelde the, traytour, thy lyfe-dayes bene y-don.”
when balam that herd, he was sore aflyȝt,
And lepe oute at wyndowe as he hadden ben lyȝt:
Syxty fote of heyȝte, y wene, he lepe adown.
And Rowland hym folowyd as egre as eny lyoun,
hym to haue y-take, y wote wel, thare;
And smote in-to the marbylston a fot & mare.
“ffelowe,” seyd Oliuer, “ys he alyue ous fro?”
“ȝe, for god,” sey Rouland, “ther-fore me ys who.”
they gaderden vp that ther was and token the tour.
Ihesu for hys mercy so sende hem socour!
the brygge they vp-drowe: the barres forthe they pyȝt:
the sarsyns layn with-oute al redy for to fyȝt.
But god hem kept & hys modyr marye,
And Charlys come hem to helpe wyth hys chyualrye,
To ben her warant and bryng hom socour,
Ne schulde they neuer ellys olyve come oute of the tour.
Nowe praye whe to ihesu cryst for hys holy name
to saue oure knyhtys and schelde hem from schame!
lordyngys, wyl ȝe lyth, for saynt charite,
More of thys gest, ȝyf yt ȝour wylle be,
Off the kyng balam that ys falle so lowe
fful dep in a dyche vndyr the castell vowe?
he swovned thryes & keuered at last
And stode vp & in grete tene gan to crye fast:
“wher er my knyghtys? cometh to me blyve
but I haue ȝour helpys, y schall lese my lyfe.”
with that come to hym burlyaunt de Marmorye
An sokebronde de membrys hys counceyl most priuye.
theyn h[e] tokyn hym by the hond & holpedyn him blyue.
“Allas,” sayd balam, “ys Lucafer alyfe?
My noble Covnselour & my help I haue forlore.
Allas, that ylke tyme that euer y was bore!”
“lorde,” sayd socebrond, “the sothe for to mene,
thyn own cownsayl hyt hath y-do & that ys well sene;
ȝe cast all ȝour wyll and ȝour hert thouȝt
at ȝour taylend that schall vs brynge to nought.”
“suche yt ys to tryst in wommans lore!
Allas, that ilke stovnd that euer sche was bore!
but ȝyt here fourty dayes beȝt ful gone,
we schull be a-vreke of hem euerychone.
Myn hornes & my bemes, doȝth hem swythe blowe!”
“syr,” sayd sakebrond, “hyt schall be don a-throwe.
the day ys passyd, the sonne ys at declyne,
Dwellys styll tyl to-morwe, that ys cownsell myn.
by that ȝour sarsyns wyl bene come that beyth fer & ner.”
“Sokebrand,” sayd balam, “of Covnseyll thou art cler.”
“Allas, Allas, [for] Lucafer,” sayd the Ameraunt,
“for he was my socour & my waraunt;
thoruȝ thes sory knyghtys y haue hym lore.
Allas, tha wyle that euer they were bore.
By the soule that y owe to my god Mahoun to ȝelde,
schall y neuer hennys to tovne ne to felde,
Tyl the tour be take & with strenthe y-nome
And the knyghtys don to the foulest deþ that men conne,
And fflorype for her loue schall be brent.”
“by Mahoun,” sayd sakebrond, “god omnipotent,
lord, ȝour covnsell schall be don & the tour y-take,
with ȝour owne chyuallrye er he hennys schake.”
thay went to her logges for hyt was ner nyght,
tyl apon the morowe the sonne schone bryght.
when the sarsyns were y-come, so last the route
fyue myle on eche halfe aboute.
Nowe help oure cristyn knyhtys, the kyng that best may,
that ben assaylyd with sarsyns bothe nyht & day!
y no canne se in no skynnes wyse
howe they mowe askape withouten any queyntyse.
Balam had a Maystyr, for-sothe as y telle the,
the queyntyst nygramancer that euer myght be.
“Mambyn,” sayd balam, “alse euer mostowe sclepe,
ffecche me my gyrdyll that my doughtyr hadde to kepe.
Ellys schull the knyghtys haue al her wylle,
whyles that they hyt haben schull they not spylle.
ȝyf that thou myȝht that gyrdyl gete to me
syker of thy warysoun thanne schal thou be.
for wyle they haue the gyrdyll syker, y tel the,
Mete & drynke schul they haue grete plente,
Coraious and hardy batayl to make.”
“syr,” sayd manby, “y hyt vndurtake,
Er thys nyȝt y-passyd be and the day y-come,
y schall haue the gyrdyl fro the mayden y-nome.”
“Manby,” sayd Balam, “y am glad and blythe:
y pray to Mahoun that thys day were y-passyd swythe.
whenne the nyght was kome & the day laft,
the thef went to the tour with hys wycchecraft.
with chaynys and barrys the dyche lay wyde & depe:
the thef with hys wycchecraft ouer hem all he lepe.
Nowe ys that schrewe thare-Inne at hys own wylle.
A kandell he lyȝt & stalkyd ful styll:
To chambyr he come, hys wycchecraft to sayn:
the dores that weren loke and-vpponed hym agayn.
he put in hys honde; the charme was sayde;
and the knyghtys aslepe as they were dede.
tho was a burgayn knyght, y-kyd ful wyde,
that was in a chambyr a lytyl ther by-syde;
and stode & lokyd oute at wyndows, as y tell the,
the schyppys to & fro, he sey, sayle in the see.
Nolde that thef manby neuer blynne
Tyl he com to þe bed that the mayde was Inne.
The thyf ate fyrst the gyrdyl tok on honde
And dude hit a-bouten hym and fast to hym bond.
He turned ful sone to that mayde bryȝt;
To haue for-lore the damesel he hadde tyȝt.
So hard he hur grypte to don hys vylonye
That the mayde waked and lowde gan to crye.
Tho sayde the lady that lay in the tour:
“Where beȝt my knyȝtes that schulde be my socour?”
ffor thys thyf schal dylyuer me out of my wytte.”
“By mahoun,” sayde manby, “so artou nouȝte quite!
Suffre me my wylle, & do by my rede,
Ere y schal magre the byreue the thy maydenhede.”
Tho by-gonne the maydenes a-wake & a-ryse:
the neȝer they com the lady, the sorer the gonne gryse.
Whenne they seye the thyf in here lady bedde, [OMITTED]
The thyf dude hys wyȝt & hys strengthe faste,
That nere he hadde conquered the mayde at þe laste.
Ne had oure lord the soner hys grace sent,
The floure of here madenhod hadde with hym went.
Syre Gy herde þe noys, þere that he stode,
And com in-to þe chambur as man that were wode.
And whenne he sey þat thyf he cast vp a crye,
“Lemman, ne drede the nouȝt, for y am here fast by!”
Whenne the thyf seyȝe Gy, fro þe lady he lepe.
Syr Gy tok out hys sword & toke of hym gode kepe.
The hed by the schulderys he smot of þat stounde:
And þan quenched the candel & he fyl doun to grounde.
Thus was þe theues craft & hys charmyng
Whenne the Candyl was oute nouȝt worth a ferthyng.
The knyȝtes gonne to wake and tho vp stert,
As man þat weren flyȝt with Swordes gerte.
Whenne syr Gy hem say, he set vp a crye,
And told hem of þe tresoun & of þe vylonye.
The thyf with þe gyrdel, þo þey toke vp ful blyue,
And kesten hym into þe se and reuedyn hym of hys lyue,
ffor neuer in all here lyf, sythe thay ware y-bore,
Ne gete þe sweche a Iuel as þey haue y-lore.
In-to þe see he was kast, þouȝ it were dere y-holde,
Hem hadden leuer haue y-lore y toure ful of golde.
Thanne toke they þe lady hem by-twene,
ffor sche was ney out of wytte, y wene.
Moche was þe ioye they gonne to make
The knyȝtes euerychon for þat ladyes sake.
Now pray we for þe knyȝtes þat beth in þe tour
That god of hys grace bryng hem out of dolour!

Now Speke we Off Balam, þat sory hethen kyng,
That herkeneth after manby to here tyþyng!
The day gan to spryng and þe sonne to ryse hyȝe
The sarsins cryden, “as armes,” bothe fer & neye.
Balam by-gan to hym take burlyaunt of marmorye,
Sokebrant de membres, hys conselers mest preuye.
“Lordyngys,” sayde balam, “what ys youre rede?
Manbyn dwellyt so long, y trow he be dede.
Were þat thyf on lyue, he wolde come a-gayn.”
“Syr,” sayde sokebrant, “þe soȝth y schal you sayne.
youre trompes and youre Claryouns, doȝth hem now blow
And Comaundeth youre sarisins bothe heyȝe & lowe
The tour to Assayle bothe nyȝt and day aboute,
Wyth engynys to caste: thanne wolle the knyghtys doute
that they neuer lynne whyle they beȝt on lyue.”
“haue I-do!” sayd Balam, “that hyt were do as swythe!”
tho by-gan the grete saute sone a-none,
with engynys to cast many a grete stone.
Off Stel and bras, quarels they let fle,
Many thousandys at onys with-oute lye.
sa last that saut by day & be nyȝt,
seuen dayes & more, y dar well say aplyȝt,
with stokkys & stones fast thrown heye
with arblastrys an bowes fast schette they.
thus with power & bost & with moche pride,
Seuene dayes last that sauȝt, that euyl mote hem betyde.
Now helpe oure knyghtys, ihesu hewn kynge,
that [beȝt] byset in the tour with-oute mete & drynk!
y ne wite nouȝt these noble men, thouȝ they lese myȝt,
that were with-oute mete seuen dayes & seuen nyȝt.
Rowland wex ful pale & so dud Olyuer,
And eythyr made hys mone that routhe was to huyre.
Dame florype couthe here nothynge be-mene,
She feld down to grownd & wex pale & grene:
And whanne gye that sey, ful wo was that knyght,
he toke her in hys armys an dressyd her vp-Rygȝt,
And gan to crye and sayd tho ful subythe,
“lordyngys & felows, wyl ȝe to me lythe!
the sarsyns ous assaylyth faste echon,
And mete & drynke vs faylyth, seuen dayes ben gon!
And thys mayde dye in oure companye,
hyt schall tourne vs to schame and vylonye.
For that ilke lordys loue that deyde on a tre,
For vs synful wrecchys that sore agreuyd be,
Me had leuer for her loue, that scho hole betydde,
To suffyr on my body An C Wovndys wyde.
but swythe ‘as armes!’ and to batayll vs dyȝt,
And lepe we on oure destrers that gode ben & lyȝt,
And wende we to her logge with scheld & with spere,
and oure payement schall be redy with Swerdys cler!
For vs ys bettyr in batayll our scheldys to welde
thanne to dye in thys fermorye ere Ravnsom to ȝelde!”
the knyghtys sayden tho al ful sone,
“Syr gye, what wyl ȝe that we done?”
“lordyngys,” sayd floryp, and knelyd hem byfore,
“Me thenkyn that ȝe thynkyth longe, ȝoure lyues ner y-lore;
Best yt ys that ȝe knowe of oure goddys myȝht,
Mete & drynke y-nowe he woll sende ȝou aplyȝt.
Ne thruft ȝe noȝt drede the toure schulde be nome
Ne neuer in batayll to be ouercome.”
“Dame, fecche hem vs forthe & letyth vs nowe se
ȝyf thay ben as ȝe sayn of so grete pouste;
Mete & drynke ous to ȝeue ay at oure nede
And ous to kynge Charlys of Fraunce safely lede.
thouȝ we schulde suffyr deth, euerychon on Rowe,
thanne wol we gladly in ȝour goddys leve.”
She ȝede & openyd a dore that ryche was wrought,
the keyes of the synagog forȝate she noȝt.
ther-inne was so grete leme of the florys bryght
that the knytys, tho thay hyt say, where sore aflyȝt.
ther-inne stode her god Mahoun & so dyd Iouyne,
Termegaunt, and Iubiter, and also platyne,
Margog, platyne, and the thef Astrotte,
Dame daryoun the bolde, y schrewe al the floke.
Off fyn golde & noble they weren euerychon
Emayled & be-set with many a ryche ston.
“lordyngys,” sayd Gye, “cometh ner & se!
Whennes cometh thys golde that ys here so gret plente?
Wolde it oure Lord cryst þat syttyth in mageste,
That charlys hadde thys gold at home in hys pouste,
he myȝt þere-with a-mende al cristiante!”
“lordynges,” sayde floryp, “lettyth suche worde be,
And cometh forth hyder in gode dyuocyoun,
And kneleth & cryeth to my lord mahoun,
To termegaunt, and a-polyn, and to oþere mametrye.”
“Madame,” seyde Oger, “leteth be þys folye.”
Oger let flye a strok at here good mahoun,
That he to-brest in peces, þat he þere fyl adoun;
Roulond smot margog; and Richard, apolyn;
Olyuer smot termagaunt; and nemes, Iouyn;
Syr Gy de burgoyne hym gan to meve,
was þere neuer a mamet þat he ne ouerþrewe.
“Damysel,” sayde Roulond, “cometh nere and se,
Off þese ylke deuelyn þat nou y-falled be,
þat ere were myȝtful & goddys gret & wyse
And now þey beȝth a-doun no strengthe haue to ryse.
Thay ne mowe neyþer here ne se.”
“Syr,” sche seyde, “þat y se and so thenketh me:
Thay ne be but metal and stynkke as an honde:
I be-take hem to þe deuyl þat lyȝth in helle y-bounde.
But pray we to god þat ys in mageste,
þat y-bore was of a mayde in clene virginite;
That charlys mote come sone with hys chyualrye,
Ous to socure & help fro schame and vylonye,
And þat he sende ous mete þat we nouȝt ne spylle,
Ne þat we dye for defaute, lord, ȝyf it be þy wylle!”
“ffelawes,” sayde Olyuer, “what help ys thys y-tyȝt?
Ne ys Better in batayle vnder schyld to fyȝt
And suffre on my body an C. woundes wyde,
Thanne here for defaute my deth to abyde?”
“By god,” sayd Rouland, “and be my cristyante,
Syr Olyuer, ȝe sey soȝt, y-blessed mote ȝe be.
y ne schal neuer faute ne fayle at nede,
þouȝ y schold suffre deþes wounde to blede.
Lete we oure helmys & oure schyldys dyȝt,
And lepe we on oure destreres þat beȝt gode & lyȝt,
To wende to here logges and fonde to spede,
ffor to gete ous som mete for we haue nede.”
Off þe grees they dyscendeden ful coraious in yere:
Syr Roulond calyd nemes as wod as any fyre.
“Syr nemes,” sayde Roulond, “and syr terry, we seyn,
ȝe schule kepe the brygge tyl we com a-gayn,
þat the sarisins ne comen Inne in no companye!”
“Syr,” sayd Neymes, “ȝe doth me vylonye!
ffor y am hor and olde and my lokkys whyte,
To make me youre porter, hyt ys for dyspyte.
ȝut y am of power an hauberk to bere
My gode schylde to were and my swerd to bere,
wyȝtly at wylle to lepen on a stede,
A-mong all þe sarisins wel to do my dede.”
“By god,” sayd Roulond, “þat sytteth ous a-boue,
y ne sayde it for wrathe but for gret loue!
we ne forsok you neuer for wrathe ne for drede.
Syr terry, we pray you to kepe it at þys gret nede.”
Whenne syr terry þat word vnderstode
Hym þouȝt þat hys hert flamd al on Blode.
“Syr Rowland,” sayd Terry, “ȝe segge vylonye,
that y am a coward and schulde lygge in fermorye!
And that schame me be-tydde in eny skynnes wyse
all the wyde vorlde wold speke of my cowardyse.
ffor that ilke lordys loue that bore was of marye
why forsake ȝe me nowe in ȝour companye?
but y be the furst, saue duke Rowlande,
that on the sarsyns smyte with myn hande,
y praye to Ihesu that syttyth in Maieste
Neuer of my soule haue mercy & pyte.”
“By god,” sayd Rouland, “that syttyth vs all aboue,
Syr bawsyn, we pray ȝou for our aldyr loue
To kepe thys tour that we haue dere a-bouȝt,
for ȝyf whe hyt lese to dethe we be brought.
“syr,” sayd bavsyn, “ȝyf it be goddys wylle,
y schall kepe the brygge bothe loude & stylle.”
the knyghtys, wenne they hyt herdyn, they castyn vp a crye,
In ful grete ire & noyse, ful carful & sorye.
thay dyȝten hor stedys sone wonderlyche well
and kesten hem by-fore with bokels of stelle;
with sperys euerychon al redy to fyȝt,
with launces to Rooyse and gonfaucvns bryght.
the brygge was avaled, the gates were vndon,
and blessyd ham in goddys name & vente forthe a-non.
the day was fayr & clere, the sonne ganne to schyne,
the knyghtys token the meddeys & the valeys grene,
ful noble and vaylant and hardy to fyȝt.
the sarsyns schuld abye with grace of god Almyght!
the Ameravnt balam in hys pleyng sone
he be-helde in the valeye and sey the knyghtys kome,
dryuande on her destrers, wel armyd and dyȝt,
with sperys scharpe & longe, & schyldys bryȝt.
Swythe he be-went and cleped hym to
Burlyaunt of Marmorye and othyr many mo.
Sokebrond de membrys and othyr come swythe.
“lordyngys, of ȝour cownsell nowe to me that ȝe lythe.
ffor ȝe arn my knyhtys and my socour,
And ȝendyr comen the knyghtys that weron in the tour,
Prycande on her stedys ful wel armed and dyȝt;
for hem fayleth mete, y trowe they woll fyȝt.
Clarions & bemes bothe dothe hem blowe on hyȝe:
they dwellyn ouer longe, they nyȝen vs to nyȝe.”
“lord,” sayd sokebrond, “we schul don as ȝe sayn,
And sone in hyȝe we schull ryde hem a-geyn.”
And so sayd burlyaunt: & all that ther stode
Anon tokyn her aduys as they were wode.
Nowe ar the knyghtys al redy to fyȝt
With launces to aryse and gomphanouns bryȝt.
Now pray we to ihesu crist þat þay most wel spede,
for neuer in here lyf ne hadde þey so gret nede.
Roulond was þe fyrst þat by-gan to ryde
And “monioye, lordyng!“ þanne he cryde,
“Spede ous þys ylke day in ihesu cristes name,
And þat oure dedes mowe turne þe sarsins to schame.”
At the fyrst gynnyng, þey gonne Iuste of warre:
And roulond slow alle þat neyȝed hym ner,
Many was þe sarsin þat þoruȝ þe hals was hewen. [OMITTED]
Alle rennyng on blode were þe feldys wyde:
Tho dorundale adoun glode nolde no sarsin abyde.
So þay hem bar þe knyȝthes þoruȝ here strengthe,
That þay dryuen a-ȝen þe sarsins a furlong in lengthe.
Many a lyfles body on þe grounde lay:
And many an hauberk to-broke of þe sarsins þat day.
Roulond held dorundale, þe pomel on gylt;
Many was þe sarsin þere-with hys lyf he hadde spylt.
Nas þere no sarsin þat wolde hym abyde,
That he ne clef hys heued into þe chyn þat tyde.
So wel duden oure knyȝthes in that ylke stounde,
That the fyrst scheltrom thay felt hem to grounde.
And with that come claryoun, dryuand as fere,
(A tyraunt ful coraious and of ful grete power,
The ryche kyng balam was hys cosyn:
he was the most schrew in alle paynym.)
wyth twenty thousand sarsins wel armed and dyȝt,
That folwedyn hys baner al redy to fyȝt.
Roulond thus criede on gerarde de mountendre
And on gy de burgoyne and on denys oger:
“Lordynges, for goddys loue, fond we ous to spede,
ffor neuer in alle oure lyf-tyme ne hadde we more nede!
And make we now the sarsins red blod to swete,
And gete we ous som mete or that we lete.
ffor thay that louyn thys, with damesels in chambyr [to] pleye,
ffonde we thys ylke day to gete the maystrye.”
Roulond hent dorundale with a freche wylle:
Moche blode of the sarsins that day gan he spylle.
he ȝaf terry of perce suche a benediccioun,
that he clef hys body a-doun in-to the arsoun.
Nas none of oure knyȝthes that they ne deden wel,
with gode scharp Swerdys, y-groundyn of stel.
here strokys were scharp and made woundes wyde:
Was there so sarsin that hem durst a-byde.
Where olyuer smot, to the grounde it wente a-doun,
And made hem to fle on eche half as partrych the faucoun.
Whenne oure knyȝthes hadden fauȝt in that ylke stounde—
What wounded and slayn and layde to grounde—
So that the place was y-heled alle
Off bodyes and of red blod, ȝyf y ne lye schalle,
Wyth schame deyde the sarsins, wounded and slayn,
Wyth sorw to tho that a-skepeden and turned a-gayn.
Now pray we for these knyȝthes that ioye hem bytyde.
Well haue they y-don and homward gonne ryde.
fful mery it is to here the harpe,
Dysours and mynstrels to synge and to carpe.
“fful mery it is,” thouȝt roulond,
“To fyȝt a-ȝen the sarsins and to don hem schond.”
A gret anger thay hadden and that was al here care,
ffor mete and drynke, ne fond thay none thare.
But whenne god wyl helpe and hys grace sende,
Whenne bale ys aldermest, bote ys ful hende.
Ne hadde they but o myle, sechyng on the playne,
A welle fayre aduenture come dryuyng hem agayne,—
xxti someres, y-trossed alle ful ryȝt,
With brede and wyn and lardyr, al redy y-dyȝt.
A sarsin of egremoyne come, dryuande by-fore.
To wrotherhayl that tyme that euer he was bore!
fful sone they hym perceyued and neȝeden ful ner,
The ryche duk neymes and the skot gylmere.
What helpeth hit to telle or more to say,—
Thay smyten of the heuedes and leddyn forȝth the pray.
Wyth that com claryoun, dryuande blyue,—
Many a cristen man he hade brouȝt of lyue,—
And gan to crie that men myȝten se:
“hennes, ȝe traytours, or ȝe schulle dede be!
And swythe ȝeldeth to me, as traytours recreaunt,
here ȝe schulle deye ryȝt here thourȝ myn hand.”
Gy de burgoyne that woord vndyr-name
And turned hys schyld whenne that he came.
Ere euer myȝt syre Gy hym a-reche in that stounde,
hys gode stede was slayn and brouȝt to grounde.
Tho twenty thousand there come with that deuyl claryoun,
Be-setten oure knyȝthes, and tho to Gy that nobyl baroun [OMITTED]
The sone syr Gy was adoun y-falle
There come xxti sarsins and fellyn on hym alle:
hys helm they vnlaced, wolde they nouȝt a-byde.
The helm fylle in the feeld a-doun tho ful vnredy.
“Allas,” sayde syre Gy, and syked sore,
“Now schal y neuer se charlys, my cosyn, more!”
“By mahoun!” sayde claryoun, and rode fast by hym,
“Y here by the wordys that thou art of hys kyn.
To-day thou scha[l]t be honged with ful muche sorw.”
“Nay, thourȝ the grace of heuene kyng that schal me borw!”
In gret yre were the knyȝthes eft
ffor that syre Gy was ham be-reft.
Thay lefden the pray and nold hit no lenger lede,
And olyuer hym be-thouȝt as man that hadde nede.
Sone he rauȝt to hym a pece ful of wyn,
And to swannes that were y-bake wel and fyn,
ffyue white loues; and turned hys destrer:
And wenten in-to the tour the knyȝthes al in fer.
The brygge was a-valed, the knyȝthes lyȝten doun,
And alle they madyn here mone for the good Gyoun.
Whenne floryp that herde, that they nere y-come alle
Anone sche went here doun in-to the halle.
“ffor goddys loue,” seyde floryp, “where ys Gyoun,
That went in ȝowre companye? haue the sarsins hym y-nome?”
Whenne sche seye roulond, loude she gan to crye.
The good knyȝt roulond with hert sory,—
The teres of hys eyȝen gloden a-doun hym bye,—
“Damysel,” he sayde, “for godys loue that sytteth on hye,
Ne greueth ȝow nouȝt moche, y crye ȝow mercy!
he hys in hethen hond and therefore ar we alle sory.
he hys take with sarsins, and to balam lad, y wene.”
Thryes sche swowened and wex pale and grene.
The knyȝthes to here stert and areyseden here on loft,
and holpen here vp fayre and setten here soft.
Whenne sche was a-ryse, sche turned here agayn:
“Syre roulond,” sche cride, and gan to sayn:
“By that ylke lord that tholed woundes fyue,
ȝow ne schal waraunt no man on lyue!
But ȝe feche a-ȝen my lord that ȝe haue lore,—
To wrotherhayl the tyme that euer ȝe ware y-bore!—
I schal ȝelde the tour with-Inne the thrydde day
And ȝe to be don to deth the foulyst that man may.”
Tho by-gan Roulond hys hert to quake
ffor hys felow Gy and that maydenes sake.
“Damysel, y pray ȝow at ȝowre owen wylle,
Taketh to ȝow hert and hold ȝow stylle.
By that ylke blod that god tok of oure ladyes syde,
I schal suffre on my body a thousand woundes wyde,
But I haue hym on lyue, syre Gy my cosyne,
And bryng hym to-morw ere the sonne schyne.”
“by that ylke oth that thou hast sworne & plyȝt,
but thow holde me couenaunt to-morwe or hit be nyȝt,
Ne schal neuer kyng charlys, ne none of hys lynage
Come in thys toure, ne none of hys baronage!”
“Lordynges,” sayde roulond, “my counsayl y wyl to ȝow sayn,
with-oute sorw and tene ne gete we hym neuer agayn.
There ys none of us alle so vaylant in fyȝt,
And he fayle mete, that he ne scholde lese hys myȝt.”
“Lordynges,” sayde olyuer, “lateth be ȝoure mone!
Of a dyner y am ferst of vchone.”
he tok forth hys pray and let hem alle se.
Roulond sayde to olyuer, “y-blessed mot thou be!”
The bordes were layde and the clothes sperd.
The knyȝthes and the ladyes made hem blythe glad.

Now prey we for Gy that god be hys waraunt,
That ys blyue fecched before the amaraunt!
Thanne sayde balam and called hym on heye,
“Telle me thy name with-outen eny lye!”
“Syre,” sayde Gy, “y wyl it nouȝt for-sake,
Syre Gy the burgoyne y am, that ȝe haue y-take.
I com of charlys kynde and to hym y-swore and plyȝt,
And cosyn to syre roulond that ys so noble a knyȝt.”
“by mahoun,” sayde balam, “y know the wel!
hyt is gon a month and more somedel
That my douȝteryes loue on the was lent,
Thoruȝ whom my toure ys takyn and my men y-schent.
ffor a lytyl of thyng, y schal blyue
lete fle of thy skyn whyles thou art on lyue.
Sey me the soth and nouȝt that thou lye,
As thou wylt be saf fro schame and vylonye!
Whyche ben thy felawes that ben in the tour,
And in whom ys here trust to bryng hem socour?”
Syre Gy hym answered ful sone a-gayn,
“ȝyf ȝe wylle me lesten, the soȝth y schal ȝow sayn.
There ys duk roulond, and syre olyuer,
Syre Aubry de burgoyne, & denys oger,
Richard of normandye, & the skote, gylmer,
The ryche duk nemes, & Gerrard de mountender,
Syre terry of peytres, & Sauffras de nauerne,
Syre bausyn de senek, the noble bachiler,
And y, my self, the twelft, that stond now here.
Wrother-hayle the now, balam, and charlys come were!”
Whenne balam that herde, he was wroth in mode,
And drow hym-self by the top and ferth as he were wode.
Whenne the sarsins wysten that balam was in yre,
A sarsin sterte forth as sparkyl doth on fyre,
A strok he sette hym on the hed, there that he stode,
That al a-boute hys schuldrys hit ranne on rede blod.
“So god me help, thou dost me vylonye,
Ne holde me for no knyȝt, but thou it a-beye!”
In hys berd hys fyggers he fest,
And breyde hys chyn to hys brest that hys nekke brast.
Balam thanne cryed, “What ys ous to bote?
Taketh thys thef, and byndeth hym hond and fote!”
Whenne thay herde that ameraunt so sayn,
Al that myȝt on hym hondes gonne layn.
Wel was hym on lyue that myȝt smyȝt fyrst
Eyther pylt hym ere byte with anye skynnes fest. [OMITTED]
With hornes, and bemes, outhas, & crye,
Schamely & fowly thay ledden forth syre Gy,
On the galowes to honge and there-on to be ded.
A-boute hys neck, a cord was y-spred.
“Allas,” sayde Gy, “that euer thys scholde be-tyde,
That y scholde thys day thys schenful deth a-byde!
Now pray we to oure lord and to oure lady,
Syȝth that y schal to deth, on my Soule haue mercy!
Where artou charlys with thy chyualry,
That sufferyst me to haue thys felonye?
And my cosyn roulond that y haue loued dere,
Al to long ȝe dwellyn, ȝyf goddys wyl were.”
Now stondeth Gy alone with-oute socour
Of hym vyst hys felawes that weren in the tour.
Syre roulond vp stertt and to a wyndow ȝede [OMITTED]
And sey the galwes al-redy areysed vp on hye,
And the sarsins a-bowte to honge syre Gy,
The galwes and the noyse,—what it myȝt be?—
And cleped hys felawes & bad ham com Se.
“Parfay,” sayde nemes, “schal y telle ȝow why?
In dyspyt of ous, they wyl hong syre Gy.”
was neuer bryd on morw so redy to flyȝt,
Ne half so wod as roulond was to fyȝt.
Whenne floryp that herde sche made a rewful crye.
“The best knyȝt on lyue, y crye ȝow mercy!
Schulde ȝe suffre my lord by-fore ȝowre syȝt
To haue suche a deth (why wyl ȝe nouȝt fyȝt?),
hit ne schal neuer be in no maner wyse,
But alle thys world schal speke of ȝowre cowrdyse.”
ffloryp fyl a-doun by-fore the knyȝt roulond,
hys fot sche kest, the teres fro here wond,
And sayde, “thou ryche and hende, the best knyȝt on lyue!
ffor godys loue,” sayde floryp, “he that me schal haue to wyue!
Eche man schal haue a stede good & lyȝt,
And armin at ȝowre wylle al redy for to fyȝt.”
“Damysel,” sayde roulond, “y syker ȝow a-plyȝt,
ffor to suffre al deth we schulle do oure myȝt.”
At that ylke word the mayde forth went,
And fette the croune with wel god entent
And sayde to hem alle in good deuocyoun,
“here hys the croune of goddys passyoun.
Lo, here ys the spere and the nayles also
That longes pyt in hys hert, the blod ran there-fro.”
The knyȝthes on here knees, they fyl to grounde
And blessedyn hem a-none in that ylke stounde,
And criden to ihesu crist for hys holy name,
That he schulde spede hem that day & schylde hem fro schame,
Glad was that mayde whenne sche sey in that tyde
And fette hem alle stedes there-on for to ryde.
here stedys they asayeden, they lyked hem ful wel,
Thay castyn here schyldes hem by-fore,—the bokeles of stel.
Coraious as a lyoun, y dar wel say a-plyȝt,
ffor to sle the sarsins, they dedyn al here myȝt.
“Lordynges,” sayde roulond, “for saynt charyte,
Better ys a word by-fore thanne afterward thre.
We ne beȝt but xi to go ne to dwelle,
And there ben of the sarsins mo thanne y can telle.
And ther-for for goddys loue, fond We ous to spede,
And with oure gode sverdys to make here sydes blede!
By that ylke lord that y my soule ȝelde schale,
y ne schal spare whyles me lesteth Dorundale.
And the sarsins ben so wod ous to a-byde
There ne schal fro the galwes none go ne ryde!”
The maydenes sone led the brygge a-doun,
The knyȝthes wenten forth in cristes benysoun.
They wenten to the galwes, the knyȝthes sone a-none,
ffor to helpe Gy to a-venge hym on hys fone.
To wrother-hayle hem they cast vp a crye,
“The glotons of ffraunce comen ous faste by,
They wene with strengthe here felow to Wynne.
Thay schulle honge euerchon er that we blynne.”
Whenne duk roulond that word vndyrstode,
he chaunged hys vysage, and al tremeled hys blod,
And with the spores of gold, he smot the stede good.
And oger smot hys in wel gret mod.
Of graue haunchecler, for-ȝat he nouȝt,
That good was, & trenchaunt, and wel y-wroȝt.
Many was the sarsin that proud was and kene,
That lay woundyd & slayn þat day in þe grene.
There were heuedes to-rent and schyndred schyldes,
fful ryche hauberkys y-rent þat leye in þe feldes.
The sarsins þat were by þe wode syde
Comen out of eche half, that sorw mote hem be-tyde.
balagoun, a sarsin, That proud was & kene,
Come out of that wode formest, y wene.
he gan to crye & also to sayn,
“What seke the glotons, here on thys playn?
Me thenketh, be ȝowre wyl and ȝowre semblant,
ȝe wolde haue ȝowre felaw there that he stant,
ȝende atte galwes, y-bounde and y-blynt.
ȝe schulle with hym haue the same Iugement.”
Whenne roulond that word vndyrstode,
Dorundale he grypte as man that were wod:
he sprong to the sarsin as spark doȝth of glede:
with hys scharpe sporys, he smot hys gode stede:
And at the fyrst drauȝte he made so hys pes,
That the body by the schuldrys ryȝt there he les.
That sarsin ded fyl vppon the playn
And hys soule a-deuylway, ȝyf y durst it sayn.
Roulond by the brydel tok hys gode stede
And ladde it to syre Gy, there-of he had gret nede.
The bondys fro hys eyȝen, sone he vnbonde
And syre Gy ful wyȝthly in-to the sadyl sprong.
“Cosyn,” sayde roulond, “holde the by me fast!
Tyl ȝow be armed, be nouȝt agast!”
Vnnethes hadde they these wordys y-spoke
That there com a sarsin, he felaw to haue wroke.
“Sarsin,” sayde roulond, “y schall the telle my wylle,
That neuer in al thy lyf schal thou speke ylle.
“By that ylke lord,” sayde he to Gy, “that made sonne & mone,
I ȝeue the thys armour that he haȝth vppone!”
hys scheld he kast hym by-fore & dorundale he hent,
And smot hys stede with the spores & to hym went.
Ere euer myȝt the sarsin kast vp hys schelde,
He was wounded and slayn & layd in the feld.
“Cosyn,” sayd roulond, “there-inne thou the dyȝt!
Thys ys good armur to the now a-ryȝt.”
Syre Gy ful sone of the best he hym dyȝt,
And armed hym there-inne for it was good & wyȝt.
And whanne he was on hys hors, he gan to crye,
“ffelawes, for goddys loue, mercy, y ȝow crye!
Ne fayne ous no-thyng, dede al dou[n] to smyte,
On the proud sarsins with swerdys that wyl byte!”
Also swythe, y dar wel the soth sayn,
A bow-drauȝte & more they dryuyn hem agayn.
And so oure noble knyȝthes fouȝten in that stounde,
That—what woundyd and slayn & brouȝt to grounde—
That there myȝt no man go thorwe that playn,
So thykke it lay of sarsins woundyd and slayn.
And whenne oure noble knyȝthes wende hem haue a-skape wel,
ȝut there com a-nother, y-armed in yre[n] and in stel,
With mo than twenty thousand al redy to fyȝt,
With swerdes and launces and scheldes bryȝt.
Now ben owre noble knyȝthes in ful gret doute
They ben with-sette, the playn with-Inne and With-oute.
So bare hem oure knyȝthes that wel mote hem be-tyde,
That alle were wounded and slayn that in batayle wolde abyde. [OMITTED]
Mayde floryp loked out at the tour,
So red as any rose was here colour.
The teres for here lemman, sche let renne stylle.
Thanne sey she where he com, y-armed at wylle.
Tho sayde floryp, “my ioye wexeth blyue,
ȝut schal y haue my lemman to me a-lyue.
ȝut for al the ameraunt, hym schal y nouȝt mysse,
That y schal my dere lemman bothe cleppe & kysse.”
These wordys herde Gy, and sayde to oger denys,
“The mayde of here wordis ys ful curtays.
By swete god of heuene, now y wyl asay,
y wyl for here loue a lyte strokes paye!
y schal fonde, ȝyf y may in any skynnes maner,
To gete here som mete thouȝ hit be bouȝt dere.”
fforth hym went swythe in cristes benysoun,
A-ȝeyne alle the deuelys that comen with claryoun.
Wheder so roulond turned hys destrer,
fful harde were the strokys that he dalte there.
Syre Gy de burgoyne stert as he were wod:
Many was the sarsin that day he let blod.
hys gode swerd of stel in hys hond he fong,
To wrekyn hym of the sarsins hym thouȝt ful long.
Was there no sarsin that durst hem a-byde,
That he ne feld to grounde and made woundys wyde.
Syre daryel, the kyng of durent,
he clef in-to the teth with a strok that he sent.
Thanne sayde roulond, “me thenk that thou canst wel
To schastise the sarsins with thy swerd of stel.” [OMITTED]
home-ward, as they went, they by-held in a playn.
Thenne seye thay a pray, comand hem a-gayn,
A presaunt that was sent to balam the kyng,
ffoure skore somers y-scharged with mete and drynke.
Hastely duk nemes was war of that dede,
And gerard de montendre that was good at nede,
Oger denys, and duk terry also,—
On foure half thay be-sette the sarsins tho.
The sarsins they slow, and ledde forth the pray,
And to that hye tour they tok the way.
The bryge was a-valed, they ȝeden in swythe,
The maydenes that weren ther-Inne, glad were & blythe.
ffloryp the curtays, here tyme sche wyste
And went to here lemman and swythe sche hym kest.

Now speke we of balam, that wycked thef,
That was in gret yre,—god ȝeue hym euyl pref!
Sokebrant de membres, he cleped to hym sone:
“Lordynges, ȝowre counsayl, what ys best to done!
ȝyf that charlys come, and bryng hem socour
And passe mautryble, we lese oure honour:
And conquere ous in batayle, and sle ous echon.
Lordynges, ȝowre consayl, what ys best to don!”
“Alle ȝowre sarsins, doth hem come sone,
To wrother-hayl these glotons, er that it be none!
And ȝowre hornes and bemes, doth hem blowe faste,
And al ȝowre sarsins, doth hem come in haste!
The cristen knyȝthes, with sorw schulle be by-stadde,
That they schulle ȝelde vp the tour, my heued dar ywedde.”
“Sokebrant,” seyde burlyaunt, “thou seist ous schame!
Thou art wode of thy wyt, thou woldyst ous moche grame!
And thow knewe roulond that ys so stark and grym;
And hys felaw olyuer that ys there-Inne with hym
(He conquered firumbras in batayle thys ȝendyr day.
He hys strong and hardy, the soȝth y dar wel say.);
Gerard de mountendre; and the erlys sone terry,
That had ous ful oft greued and made ous sory.
And oger denys, y-know ys ful wyde,
hys strok in batayle ne dar no man abyde.
And the ryche duk nemes, ȝe know euerchon,
I-preued in batayle as egre as any lyoun.
Syrre terry of peyteres, cruel and feloun,
And ful of venym as any dragoun,—
That ylke thef hath strangeled and slayn
A M men hym-self in þe forest d'ardayn! [OMITTED]
And syre Gy de burgoyne, of hym wyl y speke,
As egre as any lyoun on ous to be a-wreke;
And other that ben a-sayled, vaylant and wyȝt,
And whenne thay come to batayle, prest for to fyȝt.
Thouȝ there were syxty thousand in oure company
We schulde be [y-schent], and they haue the maystrye.
fful Welle waketh for hem god þat thay louen ay,
And oure falce mametrye slepyn nyȝt and day.
Thorow the trust þat we han on hem, we ben schent;
ffalsely they ous swyke and they ben worthy to be brent.”
Balam gan to crye, nas he noþyng blyþe,
“Thyf burlyaunt, fle fro me Swythe,
That þu neuer after ne come in no plas!”
He stert to a sarison, and tok of hym hys mas,
ffor to sle burlyaunt þo he hadde ment.
But the knyȝt sokebrond, the stok for hym hent;
And gan to crye and sayde to hym sone:
“Ameraunt balam, what þenke ȝe to done?
Ne hys he ȝowre consayl and youre best socour?
Off alle þe knyȝtes that ȝe haue he bereth þe flour.
Youre hornys and youre bemes doth hem blowe in hye
And doth after my counsayle and leteth be thys folye.
That youre sarisins were come, boþe fer and ner!”
Balam bade hyt schulde be don with alle hys power.
Whenne the sarisins weren com hym a-boute,
ffyue myle large last þat route.
Tho with her gynnes gonne þey to cast,
In eche syde of þe tour, þe kyrneles þey brast.
After þe sarsyns were so wod in yre,
That þe mayster pyler of þe tour flamed alle on fyre,
The knyȝtes in þe tour þay gonne to crye,
“Here to dwelle lenger, hyt were gret maystrye!
Thanne for to ȝelde vp þe tour, as knyȝtes ouercome,
Raþer we wyllyn deye, þanne here-Inne to be y-nome!”
“lordyngys,” Sayd florype, “beȝth of gode chere!
Ne hath eche man but o lyffe, selle ȝe hyt dere!
y schall turne the fyr and the flames that ben lyȝt
Aȝen on the sarisins to brenne well bryght,
thorow crafte that ȝe couthe and queyntyse of gynne.”
And the fyr sche turnyd on the sarisins with-Inne.
the pauylons and the tentys, they stoden on the grownde,
al to-brent in Colys, in frenche as hyt ys fownde.
“Syr balam, what ys nowe thy rede? [OMITTED]
thorugh here tresoun ys thy tour lorne.”
“wrotherhayle,” sayd balam, “that tyme that sche was borne!
y commawnd ȝou sarisins, bothe hye & lowe,
vppon lyf and lyme, all men on rowe,
To assayll the tour with-oute and wyth-Inne.
ȝe schull se sone by my god Appolyne,
that they schuld ȝelde the tour by the sonne schyne. [OMITTED]
y commawnd alle men for to schete fast,
quarells to schete and engynys to cast!”
the pylers weren of marbyll, ful rychely y-wrought,
Endentyd with stel that it ne fayled nouȝt.
thay kaste so engynes in that ylke stownd
that the wallys to-broston & fellen a-down to grovnde.
Euery knyght ther-Inne made grete mone:
“here ys a febyl comfort for vs euerychone:
longe to dwelle here, hyt were grete folye.
Go we to batayle ere we ȝelde the maystrye!”
“lordyngys,” sayd floryp, “what ys ȝour thouȝt?
the tour ys stronge y-nowe, ne dowte ȝe nouȝt.
My fadyr hath her-Inne all hys tresorye,
that he brought with hym out of barborye.
whe schall cast it abrod amonge al the rowte.
therwhyle thay gaderyn the golde, dar ȝe not douȝt.
And whan my fadyr sethe hys golde so spendy,
he schall that saute sone defendy.”
Sche ranne to her maydens, nolde sche not lette,
And bade hem swythe of þat gold for to fette.
And whanne sche sey the sarsins wodest & kene,
They þrewen out þe gold, þat bryȝt was & schene.
And whenne þey sey þe gold þat was so bryȝt,
Thay gonne al to lete be here fyȝt.
Thre dayes and more for here couetyse
That ȝaf as-saut for here queyntyse.
whenne balam þat seye,—he stode with-oute,—
Hys gold so y-sprede and y-cast a-boute,
he by-gan for to crye and eke for to calle:
“Lordynges, leteþ be þys saute, y comaunde ȝow alle!
Thus to spend my gold and my tresorye
That y haue long y-gedered, it is gret folye.”
Anone þay wythdrow þe saut and þe fyȝt
And weryn ful fayne to gedyr þe golde bryȝt. [OMITTED]
Nowe ben oure knyȝthes vp in þe tour,
Þay ne wenten of whome to haue socour.
But oure lord helpe, and hys modyr marye,
That charlys come sone with hys chyualrye,
hem to waraunt and helpe & brynge hem socour,
Ne schulle oure knyȝthes come out of the tour.
“Lordynges,” sayde floryp, “ne haue ȝe no doute:
The tour hys strong y-now, with-Inne and with-oute.
There whyle þat ȝe hit hald, schal no man it wynne.
Take we it alle in myrþe þat we haue here-Inne!
ffyftene maydenes we beȝt now here.
Eche man chese hym a mayde þat hym lyketh to fere!
y haue y-chose þere me lykeþ, my lemman Gy.”
“Damysel,” sayde Roulond, “ye sey Curtesi;
Thys ys a noble confort of suche a lady.
Welle auȝt ȝe to be a lady & welle y-tolde bye!” [OMITTED]
“By god, nemes, and by sent marye,
Al to longe dwelle we in thys fermorye!
Sende we after charlys þat ys of hye lynage,
That he come ous to helpe with hys baronage.”
“Syr,” sayde terry, “y wyl ȝow nouȝt lye,
Alle þe wordys þat ȝe sayn, hyt nys but folye.
þer ys none so hardy of ous y-chone,
þat wolde take on honde, þat mesage to done.
Ere he went a forlong out of þe playn
Hym wer leuer þanne alle fraunce þat he were here agayn.”
“By god,” sayde Roulond, “y it vndertake!
y schal don þat message, ere euer y slake,
As erly as eny daye, to-morow whenne it ys come.”
“Mercy,” sayde neymes, “Roulond, grysly gome!
Be ȝe slayn or nome, by eny maner chaunce!—
Ne schal neuer þe croune be douted in ffraunce!”
Syre Gy de burgoyne so vp sprong,
“By sent denys, ȝe segge alle wrong!
y wyl do þat message, so euer mote y thryue!”
“Nay,” sayd floryp, “so euer broke y my lyue!
Wende who-so wende, for y nyl nouȝt þe mysse,
þat y ne wylle haue my lord on armes to kysse.”
þenne by-spak þe noble duk, Ricer of normandye,
“lordynges, for godys loue, y you mercy crye,
y am þe best of you alle to don þys message!” [OMITTED]
“Sarsyn,” sayde Richard, “let be þy foly!
y ne haue mysdo ne seyd no felonye.
Syre, suffre me to passe þys playn!
Thy trauel schal be ȝelde whenne y come agayn.”
The sarsin answared, and gan to crye:
“Thou ne a-skapyst nouȝt for þy felonye.
I nolde the suffre to gon on lyue,
Thouȝ þu woldyst ȝeue me kyngdomes fyue.”
Whenne Ricer þat herde, he turned hys destrer
Aȝeyne þat felle claryoun, with alle hys power.
So þat claryoun smote Ricer suche a dynt,
That fyr flewe out as sparche of flynt.
In a cantel of hys scheld ys tok þe spere long,
That the double hauberk al to-sprong.
Thoruȝ-out hauberk and al hys gode wede
The poynt at þat tyme in-to þe bar flech ȝede.
Ne hadde oure lord gode helpe at þat ylke stounde,
Richard hadde ben slayn and brouȝt to grounde.
Richard drew hys gode swerd al of stel,
And smot to þat sarsin,—hym lykede it wel.
The helm was good & wel y-wrouȝt,
That þe strok stonyede and fayled nouȝt.
Tho was richard no-thyng blythe,
A-nother strok [he] smot to hym swythe.
By þat o syde of þat helm sumdel it trauercede,
ffaste by þe schuldrys þe goode swerde perced.
The helm and hood of þe kyng claryoun
ffley of with þat strok in cristes malyson.
The foule body of þat thef felle into þe place,
And richard tok hys stede, so god ȝaue hym grace.
hys owyn he let go vppon the playn.
And whenne he was vppe men myȝt sayn,
That he was to a-lowe in batayle and in fyȝt,—
So good a stede conquered and slayn so good a k[n]yȝt.
Rychard hym by-went to hys stede bausyn,
Well sore he syked and sayde, “stede, thou were myn.
By god,” he sayd, “thou art a noble stede,
And ofte thou haste me holpe at my nede.
Nowe thou schalt brydeles away fro me reche,
Ihesu crist of hewn! y the by-teche!”
he blessyd hys stede, and aftyr let hym go:
the terys of hys eyȝen ronne to his to:
he turnyd hym, hastly & blyue.
with that come the sarisins dryuyng ryue:
they fonde syr Claryoun, wowndyd and slayne,
the hed fro the body lay on the playn.
the sarisins tho cryed, and sydon blyue,
“Alas, Claryoun ys ded, the best knyht on lyue!
wy thus hathe do the messanger? whor ys he by-come?
ȝendyr renneth hys stede. go we! he were nome!”
well was hym on lyue that swyftyst hadde a stede.
Ac hit halpe hem lyte, ere that they ȝede.
So that stede smote in that stowunde,
that fourty sarisins he Slowe & brought to the grovnde.
hym ne myȝt take of the sarisins no man,
To the tour of Egremoyne the gode stede ranne.
the Ameraunt Balam be-held in the playn
And sey Richardys stede go dryuyng ageyn.
tho he clepyd a sarisin of grete power,
Syr Grandoun, the kyngys son, beschere:
“lordyngys, beȝt nowe blythe of that I schall ȝou sayn!
y-slayne ys the messynger, the stede comyth a-gayn;
well owt whe to thonke and to preyse our god Mahoun
that so well hath wrought for the gode Claryoun.
Swythe that the stede were to me brouȝt!”
They ronne there-after, it ne a-vaylet nouȝt.
Now pray we for these knyȝthes that ben in the tour,
That Ihesu hem confort of here dolour!
ffor ȝerne thay lokeden, sorwful and sory,
ȝyue god send eny grace of Ricer of normandye.
Ac nemes hym be-went, & loked in the playn,
And sey Richardys stede come rennyng a-gayn,
And sarsins to lacche hym, ȝyf that they myȝt.
But none myȝt hym take so wod he was to fyȝt.
A-none he called to hym Roulond and olyuer,
“Lo, where comyth a-ȝen Ricer destrer!”
“Allas, he went out of oure companye!
I-slayn ys that noble knyȝt, Ricer of normandye!”
with sykyng and sorwe they made here mone.
Roulond and olyuer wepte, and so dede echone.
“Lordyng,” sayde floryp, “holdeth ȝow stylle!
ȝyf it is so be-tydde that god haȝth don hys wylle,
ffor to make saw thus, to wepe & to crye,
There no bote may be, y holde it folye.
ȝut wot none of ous alle the sothe to say . . .” [OMITTED]

Nowe wylle y dwelle and speke furþurmore
Of balams folk that were a-greued sore.
vppon a schylde they layden that sory claryoun,
And for hym they prayden to here god Mahoun.
And as balam be-helde vndyr the sonne bryȝt,
He saw hem bryngge a-mong hem a ded knyȝt.
Swythe vp he sterte and renne hem a-ȝayne.
“Lordynges,” he sayde, “hath claryoun the messanger slayn?”
“Nay,” thay sayde, “be oure god mahoun,
Owre gode knyȝt ys dede, the noble claryoun!”
who was wo but balam in that ylke stounde?
“Allas,” he seyde, “that euer thys sorw schulde be founde!”
Now lete we be thys sarsin wyth maysauntour,
And speke we of oure knyȝthes that god hem socour!
The wyndowes were heyȝe, al of marbyl cler:
The knyȝthes stoden ther-Inne and loked fer and ner.
They sey the sarsins come in grete companye.
Ranpand and galyand, [they] makeden moche crye.
Thanne sayde floryp, “y can ȝow telle why
That the sarsins make al thys sory cry.
The ryche kyng claryoun, myn owyn cosyn,
Saue ffirumbras, my brother, the beste paynym,—
The douȝty rychard as douȝty knyȝt
Hath slayn claryoun thys ylke day in fyȝt,
And hathe wonne of hym, for-sothe certayn,
Hys noble stede, vailand, ther-of ȝe mow be fayn.
Now y pray to ihesu crist, sent maryes sone,
So saue duk richard in world where he be come!”
“Damysel,” sayde roulond, “the kyng in trinite
ȝelde ȝow the tythyng that ȝe haue told me!
Take we now confort, that ere was for-lorn,
ffor we beȝt now more syker thanne we were to-forn!
fful wel hath ricer y-do, god was hys waraunt
That he hath conquered in batayle suche a tyraunt.” [OMITTED]

Now herkeneth alle, y pray ȝow paramour,
And speke we of Richard, god be hys socour!
The sarsins hym chased,—for-warry hem god!—
Vn-to the ryuer that men calle flagot.
As rychard hym by-wente and loked hym by-syde,
And sey the sarsins come,—that sorw mote hem betyde!—
Alle they swere by mahoun, here god,
Thay wold sle Richard and cast hym in-to þe flagot.
“Now god,” sayde Ricer, “that syttyth in trinite,
My socour and my waraunt to-day that þu be!
ȝif y do me to-day to the sarisins alle,
To the deth y schal go, it may none oþere falle:
And ȝyf y ryde in-to thys water that ys smart & kene,
Y drenche me þere-Inne, it may none oþer be, y wene.
By god þat ys my lord, þe kyng full of myȝt,
Ere y drenche me to-day, ȝyt schal y fyȝt!”
with þat com a sarisin, duk Ricer to dryue,
That was clarions cosin whylys he was on lyue.
“A-byde, traytour! þu hast slayn my cosyn claryon!
þou schalt dey thys ylke day, by my god mahoun!
Swythe ȝeld þe to me, þu traytour recreaunt!”
“ffyrst,” sayde Ricer, “þu schalt haue a strok of myn hond!”
Rychard blessede hym sone, and turned hym a-gayn,
And smot þe sarisin with alle hys mayn,
þ[r]ouȝȝ helm and schylde and haberioun,
Thorow scheld and bak þe strok glod a-doun,
That þe swerd, as it ȝede, it made a wyde wounde,
That þe sarisin myȝt no lenger sytte a-down.
Ther he fel ded, a-non in þe playn
And hys soule a-deuylway, y dar wel sayn.
Tho gonne þe sarisins to crye on mahoun,
Bemes gonne they blowe, and hornes of laton,
Speres to braundische and fast for to schake,
To assayle Ricer nolde þey nout slake.
And, whenne he hem sauȝ so irous and felle,
ffast for to fle, nolde he no langer dwelle.
he hyd hys eyȝen, and leyde hym a-doun,
And to þe fader of heuen he made an oryson.
“lor, þat alle þys world weldest at wylle,
and madyst Adam by-fore under an hylle,
of a mayde thou were bore, that moche was of myȝt,
to saue hem that were forloren thoruȝ Adams vnryȝt,
And aftyrward were on Rode streynyd euery lyth,
And out of thy syde ran the blod ther-wyth,
As wysly, lord, thou be my warant,
And let neuer the sarisins aȝen me stant!”
And ryght in hys prayer and in hys gode entent,
herkeneth wyche a grace god hathe hym sent!
An hert shewyd hym Richard by-fore,
as wyte as mylke vppon the more.
whenne he hym perceyuyd so louely y-core,
wheder so he ȝede the hert ȝede by-fore.
ther that the water was dep, brod, & wyde,
the hert ȝede al esyly to the myd syde.
the way was perilous, the knyght myȝt drede,
the hert knewe the way, and by-fore ȝede.
And, tho he was ouer, he gan to sayn,
ful Iolye & blythe, he turnyd hym ageyn,
And thonkyd “that ilke lord that syttyth in trone,
that to-day thorugh thy grace hast herd my bone!
wel auȝt y to loue hym that of sorowe me hath nome.”
but he ne wyst where the hert was by-come.
A bowe drauȝt, wel y wote, was that water brode,
the depnesse of four spere lenthe that the hert ȝede.
wel auȝt we to loue Ihesu crist a-boue,
that so redy ys to helpe for cristenmannys loue.
Nowe ys duk Richard ouer that grete flode,
And the sarisins in that othyr syde in grete ire & mode.
whenne they com to flagot, loude they gonne to crye,
“Allas, we comen to late! wat don oure mametrye?
nowe ys the messenger [gon], ne may he nouȝt by cauȝt!”
whenne they sey the sothe, eche with othyr fauȝt.
Now let we be the sarsins—that sorw mote hem betyde!—
And speke we of richard, that forth gan ryde.
hys good swerd he bar hym by-fore,
he strayned hys styrapys, nere thay nouȝt y-lore.
By hylles, and valeys, and cleues, grete & strong,
Tyl he com to charlys, Ricer thouȝt long.
Ere euer myȝt richard come to charlyoun,
Atrechered was here mete and ful of tresoun.
Off oure good barones that werne in the tour in prisoun
And weren dampned to the deth thoruȝ falce gwylyoun.

Now y wyl make my dwellyng,
And speke forth of charlys the kyng,
That was in gret anguys and in gret dolour,
ffor hys good knyȝthes in egrymoyne tour,
That he ne myȝt here of none er[th]ly gome
Of lyf ne of deth where they were by-come.
Sory and so[r]w-ful was kyng charlyoun.
he sent after hys steward gwylyoun;
Syre Amery de Serbn, that was good knyȝt;
And the erle aubry, that moche was of myȝt;
The duk reynere of grane, that noble bachyler,
That ful carful was for hys sone olyuer;
And othermo that weren hym most priue.
“Lordynges,” sayde charlys, “lysteneth to me!
Telleth me ȝowre counsayl, as ȝe be to me sworne,
Of my gode barons that y haue thus y-lore!
But y mowe on lyue haue hem agayn,
By sent Denys now y schal ȝow sayn,
y schal to-day for-sake myn heritage,
And ȝyld vp þe croun a-mong my baronage!
God and oure lady,” sayde þe Emperour,
“So saue hem, bothe Roulond & Oliuer, & send hem socour!
And ȝyf hem myȝt and strengthe with-Inne a lyte space
To ouer-come her care þoruȝ þyn holy grace!
ffor by þat ylke lord, god omnipotent,
Be Roulond and Olyuer ouercome, cristendom ys y-schent!
y ne schal suffre in fraunce, no bellys ryng,
In Chyrch ne in chapel, no prest mas to synge,
Ne in none oþer plas halywater to spryng,
No non bokes, godys name worchipyng.
The vygours and þe autar, þat in holy chyrche beȝth found,
I schal hem adoun falle and bete to þe grounde.
Be my dussepers ouercom, to god a ȝyfte y ȝeue,
Ne schal I neuer worschyp god, whyles þat y leue.”
Syr ffyrumbras answard hym a-gayn,
“Syr, let be þese wordes, for þey be nouȝt slayn.
Pray we for hem to god þat sytteth in mageste,
As he ys ful of mercy, on hem he haue pyte!
And sche þat fayled neuer, heuene quene marye,
Sche be here gouernour & schylde hem fro vylonye!”
Charlys þo graunted after hys rewful mone,
To Ihesu cryst, of heuen kyng, ful rathe he made a bone,
As he ys kyng in trinite, and lord ouer all þyng,
“Off my dusseperes haue pyte and out of care hem bryng!”
Off all þe men þat þere were, nas þere none blyþe,
But þat thyf Gwylyoun, he answarde swyþe:
“Syre emperour charlys, y ne schall nouȝt lye.
Doth after my counsayl and let be þys folye,
And y schall ȝou rede to do wysly for eny maner chaunce.
ȝoure pauylons doth trusse and wendyth in-to ffraunce,
To saue ȝour Crowne and ȝour erytage
And al-so ȝour-self and ȝour baronage.”
Tylle syr Gylyoun hadde spoke, Charlys sat stylle.
the wordys of that traytour hym lyked ylle.
“lordynges,” sayd Charlys, “ȝe hered alle here
the cownseyll of Gwylyoun that ys my conceller,
That y schulde in-to fraunce turne ȝow aȝeyn.
Than myȝt it be-tyde, that alle men myȝt sayn—
To lese thus my dussypers, that in batayle ben wyse,
Alle the wyde world wolde speke of my cowardyse!”
Syre Aubry vp stert and tok vp a crye,
And gryffyn de Serbn and other that stode hym by,
wel a-boute a thousand that weren of hys kyn,—
Al were sworne to Gwylyoun and no man to hym.
Syre charlys hym thonketh, that it hys best reson
ffor to don after the counsayl of syre Gwylyoun.
There were ten thousand, y dar wel say,
That were swore to turne hem agayn.
“Now roulond hys ded and al hys companye,
Thyder for to wend it were but foly!”
“Lord,” sayd charlys, “god omnipotent,
And whenne y am in care and in mautalent,
Thus to lese my knyȝthes that were my socour,
who-so redeth me that rede, he loueth nouȝt myn onour.”
God, for mary loue, curse Gwylyoun and hys kyn,
The fadyr and the modyr that he was fyrst In!
ffor thoruȝ hys falce counsayl, y dar wel sayn,
charlys was in wylle to turne hom agayn. [OMITTED]
In the way of morymond lay charlys, the emperour,
In moche sorw and care and in gret dolour.
hym thouȝt as he sat, ȝyf godys wylle were,
that the erthe hadde opened that he myȝt haue sonke in there.
but ther our Lord woll helpe, ne dar no man doute.
In alle the sorowe that he was he lokyd aboute.
Donwarde in a mountayne with well grete spede,
he sey come a knyght apon a fayr stede.
And as charlys hym sette on ihesu crist to crye
Euer hym þouȝt þat it schulde be Ricer of normande.
fforth he gan to calle, nolde he no lenger a-byde,
Thay þat wyst hys counsell stode by hys syde.
“Lordyngys, lysteneth to me, y pray you a-ryȝt!
Dounward in þe mountayne, ȝende y se a knyȝt:
y do you to wete and nouȝt for to lye,
he semeth wel for to be, Ricer of normandye.
I pray to Ihesu cryst for hys woundes fyue,
he send me tyþyng, ȝyf my knyȝtes ben a-lyue.”
with þat com Richard of normandye wyl swyþe,
And whanne charlys hym se he was glad & blythe.
Oure emperour charlys, with hym a nas no dwellyng,
he cleped to hym rychard, and asked hym tyþyng:
“As þu art my gode knyȝt and my Bacheler,
How faren my cosyns, roulond and Olyuer?
And all my knyȝtes? for hem y am in care,
Be þe quyk or ded, tel me how þey fare?
“Syr,” sayd Ricer, þey ben all on lyue,
Vyalent and hardy, batayle to dryue.
In þe tour of Egremonye þey byn be-seged a-bowte,
with an C M sarisins þat ben fers and proute.
The Ameraunt ys a wondurfull tyraunt,
he hath swore by mahoun and termegaunt,
þat þey schull o þennes on lyue neuere gon,
þat they schulle be honged and drawe euerychon.
Thay haue me sent hedyr as a messenger,
That ȝow schulde come hem to helpe with ȝowre power,
ffor thay haue to helpe an heye in the tour
The kynges douter, balam, that hys here socour,
floryp the curtays that ys so fayre a may.
The relykes thay hauen that ȝow desyred ay.”
“Sey now, richard, as thou art a trewe knyȝt,—
Nowe they it holde foure dayes and foure nyȝtys,—
ȝyf they mow endure so long, be marye?
To wrother-hayl balam and al hys companye!”
“Syre, to smyte on eche half, y dar wel say a-plyȝt.
So ben the sarsins redy for to fyȝt.
The passage that men passyn hys hedyous and oryble.
The water hatte flagot, the brygge mautryble.
The walles ben of marbyl & ȝow sey a-boute,
I-baytaled redy with-Inne and with-oute.
The porter ys a geaunt; the sothe to telle,
he ys lyche a deuyl that were broke out of helle.
Ten thousand sarsins wel armed & dyȝt,
whenne he wyl blowe hys horn, [ben] al redy to fyȝt.
There ne may no man passe in no wyse,
But in the gyse of marchaundyse.
Tak we oure copes and oure haberions,
And with copes there-Inne of gold, and sy[k]latons,
with good swerdes, wel & scharp y-grounde,
To take and to grype and make many a wounde,—
Someres by-fore with oure marchaundyse.
That there be an houndryd in oure company!
And ȝe schul come after with ȝowre companye.
And whenne ȝe here my horn blowe, loke þat ye be ny!
Mow we þe fyrst gate entre with-Inne,
Thorow þe grace of god, more schul we wynne!”

“Now, lord,” sayde charlys, “yf yt be thy wylle,
As Richard hath sayd, help to ful-fylle!”
The kyng dude hym arme double, & dyȝt
(fful erly in þe morow þe sonne schone bryȝt),
þe someres to trusse in gyse of marchaundye,
And dude hem toward mautryble in fayre gyse.
Rychard yede beforn as he hadde ben a grome.
Ihesu cryst of heuene kyng, hem socour sone!
Whenne þe geaunt sey al the knyȝtes come,
he went it hadde byn a pray þat sarisins hadde y-nome.
ffor to wete what it was, he dude ys entent.
A-ȝens hem swythe, he toke þe gate and went.
he sette hym with-oute on a marbel ston.
A fowler deuyl þan he was, sey þey neuer none.
he held an ax in hys hond, muche and vnryde,
þe byt y-grounde scharp,—to fot it was of brede.
he was brod and thykke in bale and in bak. [OMITTED]
Brod were hys eyȝen, hys browes euyl y-schape,
hys nose Brod and Croked, hys schyn as a nape,
hys schulders, wonder thyk,—a gloten to fede.
To large elne, y wot, he was of Brede.
Swart teþ: and blo and ȝolw was hys swyre:
Bothe blak, and lothely, and grysly of chere.
In alle maner wyse, euyl was he schaped:
he semed a deuyl of helle þat out was a-schaped.
Constable was he, and hadde in kepyng
þe Brygge of mautreble vnder balam þe kyng,
þat no man schulde passe, neyþer loude ne stylle,
But it were at hys grace and hys wylle.
Now oure knyȝtes þe way haue y-nome.
Rychard was þe fyrst þat to þe brygge come.
Gulfagor hym be-went, and kast vp hys syȝt,
“whennes artou, page, and whedyr art thou tyȝt?”
Ricer was queynte and torned hys langage,
“we beȝt marchauntes of aragoun to passe thy passage,
with sykelatoun and sendal and purpur of prys,
with ryche clothys off gold that ben of gret prys,
To honour oure mahound and oure mamotrye
And oure ryche feste that ȝe haue don crye,
To schewe and to selle to oure ameraunt.
we pray ȝow of leue to be oure waraunt,
Thre dayes to dwelle, the forthe to come agayn.”
“Blythely,” sayde Golfagor, “y it graunte for certayn.”
he bredde vp the brygge, and down he let it falle,
he ne let In no mo thanne foure of hem alle.
“here ne passe na mo, but goth and do ȝowre beste!”
The brygge vp he cast and schyt it faste.
“By god,” sayde Ricer, “here ys none other help
But that we ben y-presond, but god be oure help.
ȝyf euer were we knyȝthes, kythe we and fond we!
That thys deuyl were slayn, fayn wolde y se.
Thay kesten of here capys, and here swerdys gonne fong.
ffor godys loue, heye we, and dwelle we nouȝt long!”
They smytyn to golfagor, the knythes alle a-boute:
he was so y-armed, ne thurft he no man doute.
he was y-laced in a skyn of a dragoun,
That no swerd ne myȝt come there-Inne, ne no skathe don.
The by-gan golfagor for to pekke mod.
he went an hax in hys hond, as a man that were wood.
ffor to sle Ricer, he turned hym to,
But god Hym saued, he dude nouȝt so.
The geaunt fayled of hys strok, and by hym it glynte,
ffer in-to þe marbyl-ston, or it wolde stynte.
Tho smot þe sarsin, with so egre yre,
þat richardis heued flamed al on fyre:
þe precious stonis and þe gold schene
Broston al in pecys, & flowyn in þe grene.
“lord,” sayde Renere, “ihesu, almyȝty kyng,
þat we mowe ouer-come thys deuyl in fyȝtyng!”
He lyȝt adovn swyþe of hys gode stede,
And a gret leuer sone vp he breyde.
he let fle a strok at þat thef with hys hond:
hyt fyl a-doun by þe knees of þat geaunt.
he ȝaf hym a strok in þat ylke stounde,
þat bothe hys schuldrys brest and fly doun to grounde.
Richard ful sone let þe brygge falle,
And ȝaf hys felowes entres and bad hem come alle.
Richard tok hys horn and blew also Swyþe,
whenne charlys þat herde, he was glad and blyþe.
“Monioye!” he cryde, and loude gan to calle.
Well was hym þat to mautryble come fyrst of alle!
þat day dude Gwylyon a ful good dede:
lite whyle it last, y-schent worth he to mede. [OMITTED]
Charlys was þe fyrst: er euer wolde he blynne,
he wan þe brygge hym by-fore & entred with-Inne.
he hyede hym swyþe, nold he nouȝt a-byde,
And sey golfagor stray on hym wyde.
“Euyl þryst on þey heued, with þy foule vice!
þu hast ben a moche schrew in thyn offyce.”
And al hol as he was, the foule tyraunt,
Charlys kest hym ouer the brygge with hys on hand. [OMITTED]
hys wyf lay in Chyldbed by-syde in a kaue,
of too knaue chyldren,—that sorowe most they haue!
four fet of brede in the brest, y-tolde,
And of to fethem hey, [hey] were a monthe olde,—
ffycoun with beryl,—that sorowe mote hem betyde!
And he ȝede to the gate and opened it wyde,
And by-gan to crye in a sory part:
“where artou, charlys, thou sory fabelart?
wenestou so lyȝthly oure relykes to wynne?
I schal do the to wete, ere thou come here-Inne!”
whenne charlys that herde, he kast vp hys scheld,
hys noble swerd, trenchaunt, in hys hond he helde.
he let it fle to fycon in that ylke stounde,
And clef hys heued in-to the teth, þat he felle to grounde.
Thanne þe gode kyng charlys by-gan to crye,
“Be now of good confort, ricer of normandye!”
To erl, baron, and to goode lordys, and hys knyȝthes,
And many good bachiler, þat þere was in fyȝtes.
A strenger saut þen þere was, ne myȝt none be,
Thanne þere was at mauutryble to men þat myȝt it se.
Many an helm of stel fly to þe grounde,
And scharp y-grounde speres made many a wounde.
So muche blod was spylt and lay on eche syde,
Many a sarsin hys deth loste þere-Inne þat tyde. [OMITTED]
whenne amyet þat herde, þere sche lay in here bedde,
That here lord, fycoun, was brouȝt to dethe,
Sory sche was and nothyng blythe.
Dwelled sche no lenger, but went forth swythe,
And brayde vp a tre, moche and vnryde,
And as a deuyl of helle to þe gate sche ȝede,
That was of yren wrouȝt with ful gret gynne,
The barrys endentyd with stel with-oute and with-Inne.
Sche brayde vp a vyket and hente vp a tre,
“who ys now so hardy for to come to me?”
was þere none douȝty in þat ylke stounde,
And sche hym rauȝte, þat he ne scholde go to grounde.
“Lord,” quod charlys, “þat alle hath in hande,
Thys quene ys a deuyl, as y vndyr-stonde
Sche hath slayn of my knyȝthes many one.
ffecche me an arblast and bryng me a ston!”
Charlys hent an arblast, and a quarel he let flen,
And in-to here heued, it wente thoruȝ þe brayn.
Damysel amyet fyl a-doun to grounde.
ffyftene thousand hadde þere deþes wounde.
Now hath charlys with strength & with maystrye
y-wonne þe brygge of mautryble with vyctorye.

“Lordynges,” sayde charlys, “ȝowre counsayle ȝe moste sayne!
who schal kepe þe brygge, tyl we come a-gayn?”
“Parfay,” sayde firumbras, “doth as y ȝow rede!
Raoul ys a good knyȝt to kepe it at nede,
And Hoel of Nauntes, a good knyȝt in dede,
with fyue thousand in here felarede.”
“By god,” sayde charlys, “and by my cristyante,
ffirumbras, as þu hast sayd, so schal it be!”
Oure noble kyng charlys forth gynneth to ryde
forthe in-to Egremoyne,—that Ioye hym betyde!—
with Erlys and barons in hys companye,
And an hundred thousand of noble chyialrye. [OMITTED]
Charlys hathe wonne Mavtryble with maystrie
And slayn the porter and the gate y-take.
ffycoun & Amyet ganne hij to quake. [OMITTED]
“Allas, Mahoun, and oure mametrye,
theues and traytours that ȝe beth, sore ȝe schull abye!”
he toke a mase in hys hende & went to hem faste,
And ȝede to the synagoge, the dore vp he braste.
“ffy on the, traytour Mahoun, thou falce wycked theef!”
And smote hym on the heued that was hym nouȝt lef,
he that hadde all paynym in kepyng,
he set Appollyn on the heued, with-oute more dwellynge.
Tyl syr Sokebrond by-gan for to crye,
“Syr,” he sayde, “letteth be! ȝe doth gret folye!
ȝe wete well that Mahoun ys of grete poste
to venge at hys wylle bothe the & me.”
whan the Ameraunt was oute of ire y-brouȝt,
Off that he hadde mysdo, mercy he be-souȝt:
he fel a-dovn to Mahoun & by-gan to crye,
“Nowe, lorde, that thou haue on me mercye!”
And on knees he sette hym a-down & gan to Mahoun crye,
hym to amende of hys trespas & of hys felonye.
Ryght of the best gold of all hys tresour,
he made Mahoun Riccher thanne euer he was or.
“Syr,” sayd sokebrond, “dothe as y schall ȝou sayn!
ȝour engynes dothe sette to the tour ageyn,
And leteth hem neuer blynne ne neuer slake,
tyl the tour be ȝelde and with strenthe y-take!”
wel sone was the belfray y-wynched & y-bounde,
with ten thousand sarisins in a lyte stounde:
with pykes and with ord neuer nolde they late:
they broken A pese oute of the walle of a kart-gate. [OMITTED]
Syr nemes stert forth with humilite
And fette forthe the Crowne & the naylys thre,
And so he dyd the spere that was in goddys syde
the voluper & the sudary nolde he nouȝt abyde.
the sarysins that gonne clyme, in that ilke stovnde,
ther-wyth weren blent & fyl to the grownd.
“Nowe, lorde,” seyd neymes, “nowe y thonke the!
nowe we be sykyr, the sothe may we se,
that these beth the naylys of goddys passioun.”
And for gret Ioye on knees he fyl a-down. [OMITTED]
as Rouland hym went, & syr Olyuer,
and Oger denys, the gode bacheler,
the sey in a kaue, a lytyl hem bysyde,
Termagaunt & Appollyn with moche pride.
Rouland tok termegaunt, & Oger, Appolyn,
And Olyuer, Margot, that were of gold fyn.
In dyspyt of Mahoun, that the sarisins myȝt se,
thay kesten hem in-to a slowe, here goddys all thre.
“Allas,” sayd balam & by-gan to crye,
“that suche a dispyte scholde be don to oure mametrye!
ne neuer schall y ete mete, ne glad ne blythe be
Tyl that y on ȝon traytours mowe a-wreke be!”
A strangyr sauȝt thanne ther was, myȝt non be,
with engynys to caste, that hydous was to se. [OMITTED]
As neymes hym be-wente & loked be-syde,
he sey a semble, y-sprad ful wyde,
with lavnces areryd: hym thouȝt in hys wyse,
“Charlys baner of frawnce, the kynge of sent denys!”
“lordyngys,” seyd nemes, “pur saynt charite,
beyth nowe glade & blythe & letyth sorwe be!
for out in the valeye, y se in the playn,
I wene ous cometh to helpe, kyng charlemayn.
Scheldys schyne bryȝt, of lordys many a launce,
The noble syne of sent denys, þe kynges baner of fraunce.
[thay] haue y-wone mautryble and þe contre al aboute.
Now schulle þe sarsins boþe drede and doute!”
whenne balam herde þat charlys come ny,
he be-gan to wary and to wep sory.
“Syre ffirumbras,” quod charlys, “y wolde now wete.
whenne þese ylke batayles ben to-gedyr y-smyte,
And thy balam ther-in be slayn,
Schalle hyt ouȝt the greue, wyltou me sayn?”
“Syr,” sayd fyrumbras, “ȝe sayn none outrage.
Takyth a good knyght to do ȝour message.
sendyth hym to sayn, to wyte hys talent,
ffyrst of ȝour prayer, & sythe of ȝour commaundement:
that Mahoun & hys mametrye al clene he for-sake,
And to by-leue on Ihesu crist, & crystondom to take,
In holy chyrche to be crystenyd a[n]d cristenman to become,
And ȝe schull graunt hym lyf, thouȝ he be nome;
And but he do ȝour wyll & ȝour commawndement
he schall be don to dede, thys ys my Iugement.”
Charlys hym be-went to the duk Reyner,
And to Richard of normandye, the gode bachyler.
“lordynges, seyeth me nowe, wat ys best to done!
Off thys ilke message, segge me sone!
who may best wende to balam the kynge,
And thus for to don hym vndyrstondynge:
that he for-sake Mahoun and hys lawe,
And Byleue on ihesu cryst be nyȝt and be dawe,
And ȝelde me vp my knyȝtes þat ben in hys preson,
The croune & nayles of goddys passyoun;
And y schal suffre hym in pes and al hys baronage,
And to nouȝt hauen a fot of hys herytage?”
“Syre,” sayde Gwylyoun, “that y vndyrtake.
I schal don the message, ere euer y slake.
y pray the now, syre, graunt me thys thyng!”
“Go now and do thy message in godys blessyng!”
Gwylyon went to chambyr and armed hym wel,
In ful noble wede of yron and of steel,
The helm to lace that was bounde strong.
he lep on hys stede and dwellyd nouȝt long.
hys schelde he kest hym by-fore wyth a lyoun
And hys spere in hys hond with a good gomphanoun.
By the weye of pees, he gan to ryde,
The sarsins comen hym a-gayn with wel moche pride.
“whennes artou, and whedyr artou tyȝt?”
“In message to balam ys my wyl ryȝt!
Sent y am fro charlys and hys baronage,
Maugre of echon to passe thys passage.”
he smot the stede with hys sporys with al hys myȝt,
And sprong forth to balam, as a noble knyȝt.
By-fore hym he houed with hys helm bryȝt
And ful wel spak to balam as a good knyȝt.
“Thou sarsin balam, thou cursed kyng!
Thus comaundyth charlys, and sendeth the tythyng:
That thou for-sake Mahoun and al hys mametrye,
And by-leue on Ihesu crist and on hys modyr marye,
And ȝelde vp the relykes that thou hast in kepyng,
And alle hys knyȝthes with-oute more dwellyng;
And he schal suffre thy londe in pees and in gryþe;
And thy self be so bold to seye nay þere with,
þu schalt ben honged and afterward to-brent.
Thef, traytour, þys ys thy Iugement!”
“Gwylyon,” sayde Balam, “þere-of þu schalt lye,
And þe wordys that þu hast sayde, sore thou schalt a-bye!
I Comaunde,” seyd Balam, “that ȝe hym take,
And hew hym al to peces, ere þat ȝe slake.”
whenne Gwylyon þat herde, he by-gan to quake,
hys launce to brandysche and fast to schake.
fful Coraious of wyl, þe spere he let fle,
And smot a knyȝt þat ther was, þat ioye it was to se.
Ryȝt a-doun in-to the hert, the good swerd glent,
þoruȝ-out alle þe bryste, ere hyt wolde a-stynte.
The sarisins þo fel also swyþe,
And Gwylyon tho hym went, the soþe to kyþe.
A-gayne þoruȝ al þe ost, he smot hys destrer,
Was þer neuer a sarisin þat neȝede hym ner. [OMITTED]
Whenne he Com to charlys, he tolde hym a blyue,
“Syr Emperour so ryche, þe best kyng on lyue,
Syre, y was at Balam in hys pauylon,
(God that ys in heuene, ȝyf hym hys malysoun!)
here y hadde haluendel my wordys y-spoke,
he Comaunded swythe on me to be a-wreke,
And Bad al hys sarisins, þe falce schrewen,
þat in-to smale pecys þey schuld me hewen.
My gode spere y grypte, tho y hard þat,
And smot a knyȝt þourȝ, þere þat he sat.”
Charlys also swyþe dude ordeyne and take,
Twenty schyltroms in batayle he gan make.
In Euery schyltrom were, coraious and wyȝt,
Mo thanne ten þousand in Batayle to fyȝt.
The proud sarisin Balam, the Emperour of Nubye,
Come with twenti thousand sarisins in hys Companye,
And gonne to crye as wood as any fer,
And sone callyd to hym, hys mayster consaler.
“Burlyaunt,” he sayde, “þu art myn owyn fer,
To helpe me and socour with all þy power.
Tow schalt wende by-fore, þu art my dere
And an C M schulle folowe thy Banere.
And ȝyf þu fynde charlys or euer þu slake,
Saue hym quyk on lyue and to preson hym take!
And my sone, ffyrumbras, ȝyf thou myȝt hym neme
A-none do hym to hewe in pecys euery lyme!”
fful Coraious and wyȝt, they be-ganne to ryde.
Burlyaunt went to Batayle, þat sorow mote hem be-tyde.
Launces to ryse, and gomphanouns a-rowe,
hornes and bemes, faste gonne they blowe.
fful ferly and loud, burlyaunt de marmorye,
Vppon the Crystenmen he gan to Crye:
“where art thou, Charlys, darstou no whare be sayn?
To wroþer-hayle the tyme þat þu come in thys playn!
Swythe ȝeld vp thy Croun to Balam the Ameraunt
Ere thys day thou schalt þoruȝ myn hande . . .” [OMITTED]
whenne Charlys þat herd, he gan to quake,
hys launce to Braundysche and fast gan to schake,
And “Monioye!” he gan fast to Crye
To ffyrumbras and to Ricer of normandye.
was þat word but of hys mouþe sayde
That Bothe partys fast on oþer leyde.
Many was the douȝty man in þat ylk stounde,
That dyden on both half and felt were [to] ground.
ffayre was þe wedyr, the sunne schon Bryȝt,
Tyl hyt was passed myd-day and thoruȝ to the nyȝt.
Many was þe modyr sone that lay in þe feld,
And many cast here spere and her schyld.
The Batayle on neyþer half nolde not blynne.
whenne ffyrumbras com, it was to by-gynne.
ffor also swyþe as he cam in-to þe place,
he spared no man: y sey by my face,
That he slow and woundyd in þat ylk stounde
Mo than twenti thousand þat layn on the ground.
Oure cristenmen,—y-blessed mote þey be!—
ffouȝten so faste þat wery weren he,
Tyl þe dussyperes þat weren in þe tour
Come to help and bryng hem socour.
The brygge was a-walyd, the ȝates were vn-don,
They blessydyn hem in godys name & wentyn out echon.
They seyn sone, y-woundyd hem by-fore,
Many a stede y-steked and many a sarisin þoruȝ bore,
Scheldes and launces, and fauchouns also.
helmes and heuedes leyen in peces þo,
That were woundyd and slayn and to grounde þrowe,
As poudre þat were brent & with wynde y-blowe.
with ful good speres þat were scharp y-grounde
The knyȝtes þat comyn out of þe tour made many a wounde.
Oure noble kyng charlys, ful coraious in yre,
Sprong as sparcle doth of þe fyre.
And after oure knyȝtes speres weren in peces y-broke,
They drouȝ here goode swerde, wel to ben a-wroke.
The dyntes off dorundale ne dorst no man a-byde:
ffirumbras smot with florent and made woundes wyde.
y-scomfited were the sarisins and alle here companye.
And whenne balam that y-seye, loude he gan to crye,
“Allas, mahoun and alle oure mametrye,
That ȝe suffryn ous to dye and haue thys vylonye!”
he smot hys stede with alle hys power,
hys noble swerd he hent, as wood as any fyre.
he slow a noble knyȝt, Gauter of tardys,
And syre maugys, and Geffrey of parys.
whenne kyng charlys that sey, and it be-helde,
“Monioye!” he cryede and kest vp hys schylde.
hys good swerd he held, in hys hond ful faste,
A-ȝeyne balam he went tho in haste.
By balames schuldres, the good swerd glynt,
And smot of the stedys nekke, ere it wold a-stynt.
That the sarsin balam to erthe fyl adoun.
Ne lay he nouȝt long, y swere by sent symoun!
he stert vp lyȝtlyche and hente hys good brond,
That the stede vndyr charlys to the grounde wond.
fful sone charlys stert vp as a lyoun,
And schamed sore that he fyl a-doun:
Neuere by-fore in batayle ne in fyȝt
Ne made hym no sarsin of hys stede a-lyȝt.
Ryȝt in the place there they bothe stood,
The sarsin hew on charlys as he were wood.
So he hew on charlys in that ylke stounde,
That in fyue places of hys body, he made hym a wounde.
Oure noble kyng charlys, ful coraious in yre,
A strok he let fle at balam, as sparcle on fyre,
Ryȝt a-boue on hys helm that was so strong,
That the flames of fyer brosten out a-mong.
So glynt that swerd that hit withstode,
And sone a-doun of balam ran the rede blod.
And so euen a-doun the gode swerd went,
ffer in-to the erthe er it wolde a-stynt.
Thanne by-gan the sarsin to pek mode,
And stared with hys eyȝen as he were wode;
Hys grete thycke targe by-forn hym [he] cast,
And brayde on an anelas and helde it faste.
Ne hadde oure lord Ihesu holpen that stounde,
Ne hadde neuer charlys go more on grounde.
And ere euer myȝt charlys a-reche hym with a dynt,
So come Roulond, as sparkyl doth of flynt,
And aubery de nantes, and syre olyuer,
Syre bernard de mountendre, and Denys oger,
Duk nemes, and the skot gylmere,
Syre bausyn de senyk, and terry de peytere,
Syre Gerard de orlyaunce, & Ricer of Normandye,
And syre ffirumbras with alle hys chyualrye.
Syre ffirumbras, hys fadyr adoun he gan caste;
And syre olyuer to a stede hym bond faste.
fful sone ffirumbras kest vp a crye,
“Syre ameraunt so ryche, y crye ȝow mercy!
ffor-saketh mahoun and ȝowre mametrye,
And byleueth on ihesu crist and hys modyr marye!”
“A thef, glotoun!” sayde balam of Nubye,
“hastou for-sake mahoun and hys mametrye?”
“By mahoun, my lord, y wyl nouȝt leye!”
“And y hadde now the in my bayle,
y schulde do the sorw, by mahoundys face,
Ryȝt be-fore myn eyen in a cawdryn of bras!”
The ryche kyng charlys comaunded a-none,
“Bryng to me balam, by-fore me sone!”
Duk terry, with-oute more dwellyng,
kest hym on a mule ful softe beryng.
To the tour of egrymoyne al the ost went,
Mo thanne tweynty thousand in good entent.
whenne the sarsins y-sey the ameraunt y-take,
They that myȝt fle a-wey they gonne to schake.

“Lordynges,” sayde charlys, “y comaunde that there be
A funstone y-halwede In the name of the trinite,
That balam be cristened and cristenman to be,
And to by-leue on ihesu crist as do now we.”
Kyng charlys after balam sone gan sende:
Roulond and olyuer after hym gonne wende.
To bryng hym to charlys thay were ful fayn.
“Balam,” sayde charlys, “do as y schal sayn.
By-leue on ihesu crist that sytteth ous alle aboue,
And vppon the rode deyde for oure alder loue:
And by-leue on ihesu crist and cristendom to take.
Mahoun and alle thy mametrye, thowe most for-sake.
y be-hote the an hest & my trouthe ther-with,
that thou schalt haue thy londe in pes & in gryth.”
whenne balam that herde, he gan it for-sake,
And to Mahoun, Appolyn, hys soule he gan take.
“y schall holde with Mahoun and all oure mametrye,
ther-whyle my lyf wyl last to lybbe & to dye!”
Syr firombras felle to hys fader fot on knelynge,
and cryed hys fadyr mercy, sore wepynge.
“Leue fadyr, I am thy son, haue mercy and pyte!
let me nouȝt se that soruȝe that y se by the!
and swythe do the cristen, as y dyd me!”
“Blythely,” sayd balam, “whanne y it se!”
Rowland and Olyuer hym [tok] hem by-twene,
and laddyn hym to the founston that was of marbyl clene.
“wyltou forsake the deuyl,” sayd the bosschope tho,
“And by-leue on ihesu crist, as we nowe do?”
wenne balam that herde, he ne blanne no more,
But al-so swythe as he myȝt he sayd to the bosschope thore . . . [OMITTED]
he ran to the boschope, and smote hym ther he stode,
that he flye to the erthe, hys nose brast on blode.
“Syr fyrumbras,” sayd Charlys, “howe lyke ȝou thys gle,
the dyspyte that thy fadyr dothe to al cristyante?”
thanne sayde ffyrumbras to the Emperour blyue,
“suffyr ȝyt a whyle for goddys wowndys fyue!
ffounde y wyll and proue to turne hys thouȝt.”
“I graunt,” sayd Charlys, “that ȝe haue by-souȝt.”
“My dere fadyr, y am thy son! haue mercy & pyte!
do aftyr my cownseyl, and let thys soruȝe be!
And for-sake Mahoun and thy mametrye,
ffor they ne byth but dyuelyn and full of trecherye!
by-leue on Ihesu crist that syttyth ous aboue,
that tholyd pyne and passioun for our alder loue!
Crystenyth ȝou in thys fonte, that ȝe be nouȝt forlore,
and ȝe schulle blesse the tyme that euer ȝe were bore!”
thanne sayd balam, “thou art of wyckyd thouȝt:
thou beleuyst in a wyckyd craft that helpyth the nouȝt.
ffyue hundred wyntyr, yt ys for-sothe a-gon,
Sythe ȝour god was ded and buryed vndyr a ston.
Ne schalle y neuer on hym byleue,
thouȝ y schuld brenne, ere hyt were eue!”
whenne firumbras herd that he nolde nouȝt
Cristendom to take, ne turne hys thouȝt,
he turnyd hym aȝen to Charlys, the kynge:
“lorde, dothe ȝour wille and make no dwellynge!”
“lordynge,” sayd Charlys, “swythe dothe me telle,
who schall thys paynym sle? he ys a fende of helle.”
“parfay,” sayd Oger, “that was wel y-sayde!
Curtays ys a noble swerd!” and Swythe out hyt brayde:
And with balam he dude hys wyl sone.
ffirumbras hyt hym for-ȝaf, as hym fyl to done.
ffloryp the curtays kest vp a crye,
“Syr Rowlond, holdeth me couenant vppon ȝour mercy!”
“So god me helpe, that ys skylle!” sayd Rouland,
“Syr Gy, thys mayde, take thou by the hande!”
“blythely,” sayd Gye, “& by my lewte,
ȝyf my lord Charlys wel apayed wyl be!”
“by god,” sayd Charlys a-non to syr Gyoun,
“y ne schall be ther-agen in felde ne in town!”
Whenne floryp that herde, nolde sche not slake,
that Cristendom sche wolde anone at the funston take.
She kest of her Clothys, all folke a-forne,
and stode ther naked as sche was borne.
the good byschope that was of grete pryse
Crystenede the mayde & dude the seruise.
tho for-soke florype Mahoun and hys lay,
Toke sche to here ihesu to serue bothe nyȝt & day.
Of Ciclatoun and purpre, so was al her wede,
And to her thay were brouȝt in dede.
And al here othyr maydens that were in the tour,—
All they weren cristynyd with grete honour.
Charlys toke by the honde that fayr lady:
Rouland, and Olyuer, and Duk Terry
ledden her with grete mekenesse
to-fore the boschope to huyre hys messe.
To haue & to worchype by day & by nyȝt,
Syr Gy and the lady were trowthe plyȝt.
The Crown that was balams with many a ryche ston,
Charlys sende ther-aftyr, and hyt come anon:
ffirumbras went a-non vp to the tour
And brouȝt hyt fayre to the Emperour.
Nowe hath Charlys y-crownyd syr Gyoun:
the byschop hym sacryd and ȝafe hym hys benysoun.
Of that kyngdom Ryche that balam helde,
he ȝaf to syr Gyoun bothe town and felde.
whenne the londe was stabled at syr Gyes wylle,
tho ne durst no man do hym aȝeyne neythyr loude ne styll.
hyt was apon a soneday in the mornynge,
Charlys herd messe in goddys blessynge.
whenne messe was don, Charlys sayd blyue
To quene floryp, the fayrest lady on lyue:
“To-morwe wyll y wende in-to fraunce agayn.
why beth ȝe so vncurteyse as y schall ȝou sayn?
Shewe me the Relykes that I desyre to se!”
“Syr,” sche sayd, “blythely, be my lewte!”
Sche ȝede vp in-to the tour, and brouȝt hem a-down,—
the crowne and the naylys of goddys passioun,
And hys spere also that was in hys syde,
there-with longens made hym a wounde wyde,
And othyr Relykys mo that were in her kepynge.
Sche made a Ryche presaunt to Charlys the kynge.
kynge Charlys vppon hys knees fel ful swythe
And cryed god mercy an was gladde & blythe.
Charlys hem be-tauȝt, er euer wolde he slake,
And to the byschope swythe he gan hem take.
In a clothe of gold they were layde a-down
The byschope hem resceyueden in gode deuocioun.
the crowne of oure lord whenne he on rode henge,
the byschop ther-of made hys schewynge.
To crye oure lord mercy ther kneled many a knyght,
And alle for loye of that ylke syȝt.
the holy byschope preued in hys prechyng:
‘lorde, of hys grace sende vs sum tythyng!
ȝyf hyt be the Crowne of Goddys passioun
hyt for to worschype, y haue deuocyoun.”
In the worschyp of god, he reysed yt on lofte,
fful heye aboue hys heued, ful fayr & soft:
he withdrowe hys hondys & let hys hondys go,
they hynge stylle in the eyre that no man com hem to.
“lorde,” sayd the boschop, “god omnipotent!
the grace of hys myȝt he hathe nowe ous y-sent.
Nowe we haue preuyd, the sothe wete we mown,
that thys ys the Crown of goddys passyoun,
that was on hys heued there that the blode out ran.”
they token ther hyt heng & agayn leyden it than.
And they token the naylys of goddys passioun
And the spere also, and maden her orysoun:
“lord Almyȝty, ihesu heuen kynge,
Of ȝour holy grace, sende me som tokenyng!”
he let hys hondys therfro, & let hem haue hor wylle:
bothe the naylys & the spere hongen full stylle.
“lordynges,” sayd the byschope, “for seynt charite,
the grace of our lorde, here mowe ȝe se.”
In Ryche sendel, he toke hem fayre a-down,
And toke hem ther they hengen with gode deuocyoun,
And schytte hem in a Coffyr of golde & perre,
and thonkyd ih[es]u crist & hys modyr fre.
the lyte smale thornys gedryd the kynge,
that were broke with the remeuyng.
he putte hem in a gloue with wel gode entent
to lede with hym & bere it ther that he went.
“lord,” sayd Charlys, “for thy passyoun,
y Crye ȝou mercy with goode deuocioun.
ȝyf that y be worthy to haue thys holy thyng,
lorde of [ȝ]oure grace, so sende me tythyng!”
he held hem hye on lofte, that all men myȝt se,
he dude a-way hys hondys & let the gloue be.
Oure lord schewyd myracle for Charlys sake,
the gloue heng styll tyl Charlys wold hyt take.
whenne they hadde sayn all that ilke thynge,—
that ylke fayre myracle for Charlys the kyng,—
Charlys fro Egremoyne tho be-gan to ryde
fforthe aȝen to parys with ful moche pride,
And ledde with hym the maydens that were in the toure,
with wel grete Ioye and mychel honour.
All he hem avavnced with good possessioun.
And thus whan Charlys the Relykys of goddys passyoun.
Nowe endyth thys gest nowe here
Off firumbras de Alisavndre and syr Olyuer
and al-so of Charlemayn, that gode, holy kyng.
by-seke whe to god, that he ȝeue vs hys blessyng! [OMITTED]
God for the Rode loue ȝeue hem hys benysoun,
that hauen herd thys gest with gode deuocyoun
of the spere & the naylys and of the crovn!
Schullen [thay] haue an .C. dayes vnto pardoun!
Our lord graunt that it so be,
seyth all amen pur Charite!