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Otuel and Roland

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OTUEL AND ROLAND.

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OTUEL AND ROLAND.

Herkenyth, lordynges, & ȝeuyth lyst
In the worchype of ihesu cryst
Off a conquerour
that was y-hote syr Charlemayne!
howe he wan Galys of spayne
with ful grete honour,
And howe that he ouer cam [OMITTED]
with full grete vygour;
And howe Rowland & othyr knytys to
Aȝeyn four knytys fouȝtyn tho,
and euer was a grete warryour.

& the kyng Ebryan
helde werre aȝeynes ham,
and greued hem ful sore;
And howe Rowland slowe vernagu
thorugh the myȝt of ihesu,
that leued in false lore;
And the caytyf Emoun
helde werre aȝens charlyoun
Thrytty wyntyr & more,
and magre hym and al hys
thorugh the myȝt of Ihesus
In the mount awbane thay wore.

And ther Rouland, the gode knyght,
Ouer-com Otuell in fyȝt,
Nowe ye schulle y-huyre. [OMITTED]
and was cristenyd with-oute fayle
and helpe Charlys in many a batayle
and was hym lef & dere;

And all the dussyperys with hym
Bothe Gwynes and syr turpyn
that was stoute in fyȝt.
And howe Charlys aftyrthan
all hys fomen ouercam
thorowe the grace of god almyȝt.
with swerdys dynt with-outen les,
hys lond he held in grythe & pes,
with-oute warre and fyȝt.
the Ercheboschope syr Turpyn
Alle those dedys wrote in latyn,
whiles he hem sauȝ in fyȝt.
Off charlys that was so grym,
nowe y wolle be-gynne of hym,
to tell ȝou aryȝt.

Nouȝt longe ther-aftyr yt was,
that ther by-fel a wondyr cas
On Chyldermasse day.
Charlys thorugh goddys grace
Out of parys toke the pas
To seynd denys the Ryght way.
hys dussypers with hym he ladde,
and other men also goode & sadde,
and knytys stoute and gay.
thenne came there a messynger
that was bothe stout & fer,
and made grete deray.

Syr Otuell he hyght,
A man of moche myght,
to batayll he was boun.
to hym he clepyd a knyȝt,
that was curteys and wyȝt,
Gawter off Amoun,
and sayd, “syr, y the beseke,
That thou woldyst me teche
To kyng Charlyoun,
And to Roulond, hys nevewe,
That hath many a vertu,
And grete of renoun.”
And tho Gawter ans-wered,
And sayde, “he with the hore berde,
That ys charlyoun;

“And the dussipers that sitten hym next,—
Tho arne the twelf that thou syxt,—
Curteysly withoute lesyng.”

Otuel ȝede the kyng nere,
And hym myssayde as ȝe now here,
And bade hym sytte stylle,
And sayde, “y am garcies messanger.
In alle thys world nys hys peer.
He hath me sent the tylle.
The wylde fyre that ys so sterne
Thyn hore lokkys there schulle berne
ffor thyn dedes ylle.
And roulond that y be the se,
And alle tho that be wyȝt the,
ȝut y hope to spylle.”

Roulond sayde, “do nouȝt ylle,
But thou haddyst eny skylle,

To none that ys here-Inne.
But ȝyf thou haddyst spylt,
Or eny thyng more mysgylt,
Harm schal tou none wynne.
Charlemayn, the conquerour,
Comaunde to every dussiper,—
What tale that he by-gynne,—
That no man leye on hym none hond,
To do the messanger no schond,—
Hys wyt hys ful thynne!”

“ȝe, charlys, ne care thou nouȝt there-fore!
That ylke man nys nouȝt y-bore
That durst me abyde.
Thouȝ he hadde my deth y-swore,
Al hys oth schulde be for-lore,
Whylys that y haue by my syde
Cursins, my goode swerde,
wher-with y was fyrst gerde
Off kyng Garcy with pride.” [OMITTED]
Roulond sayde, “styfly thou standyst,
And ful ȝelpe wel thou canst,
And wel canst chyde.
ȝyf thou wylt thyn erande bede,
Tel on and wende hom in thy nede,
No lenger that thou ne a-byde!”

Tho were the ffrenche stylle,
And otuel gan to carpe yvylle
To syre charlemayne,
And sayde, “Garcy sent me the tylle,
And sayde that he wyl thy body spylle,
ffor the wynnyng off Spayne.
By-leue on hys god mahoun,

Iubiter, & syre platoun!
Thou mayst be ful fayne.”
Charlys sayde, “so mote y the,
That ylke day schal thou neuer se,—
I telle the for certayn,—

“That y schal byleue on termagaunt.
Ne on mametrye that ȝow by-stant,
Whyle me lastyth my lyf.
But, by the kyng in trinite,
Also sone as y may garce se,
Out off londe y schal hym dryve.”
“ȝe, so thynketh me,” quod otuel,
“The frenche konne ȝelpe wel,—
fful euyl mote they thryue!
ffaynte men thay gonne a-gaste,
And off here dedys thay best vnwraste,
Suche maystrye to kythe.”

Tho sayde syre charlyoun,
“sarsin, so helpe the Mahoun,
Wyl garsye with me fyȝt?”
“ȝe, syre,” he sayde, “by my croune,
Alle the frenche to fylle a-doun,
Be thay neuer so wyȝt.
I wote he haȝt redy thare
An houndred thousand men & mare,
By day and be nyȝt.
ffor nothyng wel he flen,
Thouȝ he wyste y-slaw to ben,
ffor no maner syȝt.

“And ȝut hath my lord garcy
don a-rered in lumbardy
A burgh that ys ryche,

fful wel hyt ys walled vyterly.
The bourgh hys hote vtaly:
There nys none so ryche.
Two wateres rennen there-abowte,
That hym bytrenten sandoute,
With many a dep dyche.
ȝyf thow wylt, Charlys, vndyrfare,
Men schulle se thy sydes bare,
with many a sory tyche.

“Thow olde cherl,” otuel sayde,
“Come nouȝt there, y the rede,
But go and make a flyng
To throwe aboute in ferhede,
Pies and crowes to don to deth,
And other foules olde & ȝong;
ffor age ys stolen the vppon,
And thy lyf-dayes beȝt ny don,
And don hys alle thy werryng.
Thou nart nouȝt worthy at nede
A-ȝeynes a knyȝt to prike a stede,
And thynne arn al ȝong.”

“Schrew sarsin,” roulond sayde,
“were thow also douȝty in dede
As tou nowe seist with worde,
Alle thys lond in lengthe & brede
Myght haue of thy body drede,
withouten speres orde.
and thou into lumbardy fare,
& y may mete the there
with dorundale, my brond,

I schall wyte howe hyt can byte
ffor thy wordys and thy dyspyte,
by Ihesu crist, my lorde!”

“ȝe,” sayd Otuel & lowe,
“the brydde that syttyth on the bowe
for dred of the, fle he wyl fonde.
And y schall wete wel y-nowe
why thou makyst hyt sa towe,
ȝyf thou wylt come to honde.
the wylde best in the fryth
ther ne may no man make hys gryth,
where thou hom fynde in londe [OMITTED]
ȝyf thou wylt with me fyȝt,
Do arme the anone ryght,
And go we pley in same!
y am redy syker, y the plyȝt,
haue y helme and hauberk bryȝt,
to layke with the a game.
Men schull wyte be lyte
wetheres swerde can bettyr byte,
and that ys leuest to grame,
wethyr swyrd bettyr byte schall
of Cursins & of Dorundale,
by Mahoun swete name!”

Rouland sayd, “y wyl the nouȝt spare,
and y wyst to fynde the thare,
forthe with the wolde y fyȝt.”
and Otuel sayd, “haue thou no care,
In-to a Medowe we schull fare,
by Mahoun ful of myȝt!
and wethur of vs hym withdrawe,
Men schull thone the ryȝt sawe,

longe er hyt be nyȝt.”
And Rouland sayd with wordys bolde,
“that ilke couenaunt y schall holde
thoruȝ grace of god almyȝt!”

Gauter of Amoun, & Oger,
and Olyuer, & hys fadyr Reyner,
Charlys commaunded in fere,
And hys Chamberleyn Reyner,
“and y-fynde the messanger
all that nede were!”

Here bygynnyth A Batayle snelle
Off Rowland and off Otuel
that wondyrlyche was in fyȝt,
and howe Otuel y-cristened was.
herkenyth nowe a mery pas
and of a stronge fyȝt!

A morwe er it were day-lyȝt
and er the sonne schon bryȝt
Charlys to chyrche ȝede,
To by-seche god almyȝt
ffor roulond, that noble knyȝt,
To helpe hym at nede,
With alle the dussypers,
and the abbot of seynt Omeres,
In ryme as y rede.
The abbot song the masse
with ful moche mekenesse
And bad roulond that god schulde hym spede.

Kyng charlys brouȝt a basyn
with fflorens of gold fyn,
And ȝede to the offryng.
That he wan of a sarsin

In the lond of appolyn
with-oute eny lesyng.
Charlys offrede the basyn al,
And roulond offred dorundal
[OMITTED]n to honouryng.
[OMITTED]en pound of florens, y vndyrstonde.
[OMITTED] Dorundale, that good bronde,
[OMITTED] yn ȝaf charlys, the kyng.

[OMITTED] whenne the masse was don euerydel,
[OMITTED] com the sarsin otuel
[OMITTED] [s]ay al in hyȝyng:
“[OMITTED] ys roulond? he ys nouȝt lel!
[OMITTED] trouth nys neuer a del!
[OMITTED] deth of hys endynge.
[OMITTED] ale ȝesterday there he stode,
[OMITTED] was lete blod,
[OMITTED] wenyng,
[OMITTED] ouȝ so by-hyd,
[OMITTED] [s]chal out be kyd,
[OMITTED] [o]nge dwellyng.”

[OMITTED] kneled in a schapel
[OMITTED] e sarsin Otuel,
what bost he gan blowe.
he ȝede to hym with hert lel,
And sayde: “dogge, thou lyst by seynt mychel,
And that schal thou ben knowe!
ffor y was neuer pale ne wan,
ffor sarsin ne for no man,
so god my soule owe.”
Tho charlys, the conquerour,
Comandyd to euery dussyper
To arme roulond a-rowe.

The dussypers euerychone
ȝede to arme roulond a-none,
Alle with-oute fayle.
On hym an haketoun thay gonne done
Ouer hys hauberk that bryȝt schon,
That ryche was of mayle.
And it made y-wys
That was whylom denys prentys
Off a trewe entayle.
Estre of langares, that was lel,
brouȝt hym an helm off steel
fful strong to a-ssayle.

The helm was grene as glas.
Tha[t] whylome auȝt galyas,
And sythe kyng barbatyan.
hym gert in that plas
with dorundale that good was,
That he by-fore wanne.
Duk reyner hym brouȝt a schyld,
A fayrer myȝt haue be non in feld,
And that wel many a man telle can,
with a lyon there-Inne raumpande.
That whylome aught a geante,
That was a douȝty man.

Tho olyuer hym brouȝt a spere,
As good as any man myȝt bere
In feld to batayle,
kyng, knyȝt, or any ryder
Myȝt it ful wel were
hys enymye to assayle.
The duk terry sette a-none
The spores that of gold schone,
ffor-sothe with-oute fayle.

Oger hym brouȝt hys stede,
As good as any man myȝt lede,—
hyt was wonne in hongery.
hit ne bar neuer knyȝt at nede,
But he schulde wel spede,
And wynne the maystery.
The sadyl was wel dere worth,—
The beste a-bouen erthe,
That eny man myȝt a-speye.
Roulond in-to the sadel sprong,
And rod hym to charlys, the kyng,
hys mercy for to crye.

kyng charlys hef up hys hond,
And blessyd hys co-syn roulond
And at hym leue he tok.
And in-to the medewe he gan ryde.
There ran a water by that syde,
That was a wel dep brok.

That on leire y-cleped ys,
And that other somme, y-wys,
Also sayth the bok sure.
A-none com Otuel to the kyng,
And by-souȝt hym in hyyng
That he hym lente armur.
Spere and schyld atte by-gynnyng,
helm, hauberk, and other thyng,
That myȝt dyntes endure.
kyng charlys called belysent,
hys douȝter, so fayre and gent,
Curtayse, cler, and pure.
“Douȝter, tak to the messanger
Into thy chaumber ryȝt now here
And arme hym wel and sure!”

The mayde hym answared with hert lel,
“Y schal hym arme swythe wel,

As ȝe han me bede.”
Sche toke laumbr de monble,
And mayde resonet de rowenele,
To fette forth hys wede.
Sche went to the kynges cheste,
And tok armur of the beste
That eny knyȝt myȝt lede,
And gan to arme that hethen knyȝt,
That in batayle ne in fyȝt
Off no man hym ne drede.

ffyrst an haketon of fyn styl,
And an hauberk y-wrouȝt ful wel,
She dude on that knyȝt.
May-de Rosynet de Rowenel
An helme brouȝt to syre Otuel,
And on hys heued hyt dyȝte.
The helme was Riche for the nonys,
Off syluer, gold, and precious stones,
that schone ful bryȝtt.
Tho belysent hym gyrde
with Cursins hys gode swerde,
that felon was in fyȝt.

tho burde belysent hym brouȝt
A schylde,—no bettyr myȝt be wrouȝt,
for-sothe with-oute fable.
hyt was so wel y-wrouȝt,
that none myȝt bettyr be thouȝt,
with thre sarisins heuedys of sabyl.
In syȝte of hys schylde to lede,
thay brouȝten to hym mygrades stede
Out of the kyngys stable.

Anon the stede wyst wel,
that hys Maystyr Otuel
schuld to Batayle.
the mayde rosenet de Rouenel,
Thoo spores settyn hym, good & lel,
wyth-outen ony fable.
the sarisin spronge in-to the sadyl anone,
And preked the stede & let hym gone,
that was of fayre entayle.
Aȝen to belysent he rode:
the mayde stode & abode,
that was of hye parayle.

“Damysel, gramercy!” sayde Otuel
“Myn armure ys good & lel,
by that y se in syȝt.
And that schal Rouland fynde wel,
with my swerde y-ground of stel,
that y am a man of myȝt.”
“Syre Otuel,” quod that mayd smale,
“I rede the that thou kepe fro dorundale,—
for Rowland ys a man ful wyȝt.
and but thou kepe wel thyne heued,
Ellys hyt worthe sone a-stoned,
fful longe ere hyt be nyȝt.

“Ac thyke lorde that best may,
fro schame schylde the to-day,
ȝyf yt be hys wylle!”
Otuel went forthe hys way
Into the medewe as hyt lay.
Rowlond he thouȝt to spylle.
kyng Charlys, the conquerour,
went vp into hys toure,
An gan to crye schrylle.

“Now, lordyngys al,” he sayde,
“Gothe nowe fast oute of the mede,
that noman come hem tylle!”

And the knyȝtes with sperys tho
smyten her horsys and let hem go,
as men of moche myȝt.
In the felde to fyȝt thay were tho,
for eythyr was other foe.
that was a sely syȝt.
the gonne to ryden with grete Ravndoun.
Eyther to bere other adown,
with strengthe and fyȝt.
The speres were scharp and gode,
And thoruȝ the schyldes they wode,
Into here bryny bryȝt.

y-perced was eyther scheld,
That the speres al to-schyuered,
That were so gret and long.
Of here stedys they fellyn adoun,
So dude eyther gomphanoun.
No game was hem a-mong.
Tho sone thay wyste that thay were sounde.
And neyther of hem hadden wounde,
A-none a-ȝeyn to hors they sprong:
fful faste they gonne to-gedyr smyte,
fful sterne strokys and stryte,
The fyr ther-after out sprong.

“Now,” quod belysent, “y am sure,
That good and trewe ys Otuels armure,—
The sothe y se euery dele.
To god y make my prayer,
As he hys lord & brouȝt ous dere,

lene hym to spede wel.”
The knyȝtes eft to-gyder gonne ryde,
And fouȝten as they were wode,
With good hert and lel.
Duk roulond with dorundale,
he ȝaf strokys many and fele,
And spared neuer a del.

Roulond with dorundale so fel,
A sterne stroke ȝaf Otuel
Vppon the helm so schene,
that god, and stonys, & crystall,
To-brokyn and in-to the feeld fel,
To wetyn and nouȝt to wene.
hys honde he with-drowe aplyȝt,
And smote a dynte of muche myȝt,
that thay myȝten it sene.
the hors by-fore the knyȝt,
by the schuldrys anone ryȝt,
he smote on the grene.

Otuel fyl to grounde,
And felt hym hole and sounde,
and sayd to Rouland in dede:—
“ȝut am y hole and sounde,
and thou worse than ony hounde,—
so Mahoun me spede!
thou hast don grete vylonye,
wenne thou sparest my bodye,
And hast slayn my stede!
And er we departe at-to,
y schall do the moche wo,
and do thy sydes to blede!”

Anon syr Otuel with hys honde,
A strok ȝaf syr Roulande,

a ful styrne dynt of myȝt.
he for-carfe, y vnderstande,
A grete pese with hys honde,
of hys hauberk ful ryȝt.
the stede, he carf euen ato
by-twene the schuldrys anone ryȝt tho,
Euen in-to the erthe ryght.
Roulond fel to the grounde,
but he ne hadde no wounde,
he thonkyd god almyȝt.

tho was Rouland sore agramyd,
was he neuer so sore a-schamed,
by-fore in no batayle.
Eft they fouȝten in samen,
ne was ther no chyldys game,
so harde gan eythyr othyr assayle.
the medewe quok of her dynt,
the fyr out sprang as spark of flynt,
Oute of helme, hauberk, and mayle.
tho Roulond hastylyche a-none
Drouke to hym wel good wone
of strokys with-outen fayle.

Quod belysent to the kyng tho,
“thy batayle worthe sone y-do,
by that y se in syȝt.
the swete worchyth hem to wo,
that here hertys bothe to
bene astonyed of fyȝt.”
kyng Charlys felle doun on knees tho,
And an orysoun to god he gan tho,
that ys in heuyn hyȝt,
that he sende pes hem by-[t]wene,

and the sarisin to be cristene.
as he ys ful of myȝt.

Roulond to Otuel tho sayd,
“Sarisin, do by my Rede,
and leue on god almyȝt!
And to the kyng y woll the lede,
And he woll ȝeue the to mede,
hys douȝtyr so bryȝt:
And thou, and I, & Oliuer
Mowen wende to-gedyr in fere
In-to batayle and in-to fyȝt.
ne schulle we fynde in no londe
None that schall vs withstonde,—
neythyr kyng ne knyȝt.

Quod Otuel, “so mote y the,
that ne schalt-ou neuer se
to for-sake Mahoun,
ne turmegaunt, that ys so fre,
ne Iouyn, the goddys thre,
that beth goddys of grete renown.
By that I haue y-ment,
Erst y schall ȝeue the a dynt
with Cursins, my fauchoun!”
Erste to-gedyr they smyten a-plyȝt,
Eythyr of hem was so lyȝt,
and wode as eny lyoun.

Duk Roulond, the gode knyȝt,
smote a dynt of moche myȝt
anone to the paynym:
ther-of the sarisin hadde a syȝt
and that strok he flye a-plyȝt
that hyt fel by-syde hym.

the hauberk fro the schuldyr bone,
Rouland carf yt down anone,—
that was a stroke ful grym.
“Allas,” he sayde, “unworthy in hape!”
for ther ne fel out no blodys drepe
Out there at none lym.

the frenche cryed a-non ryȝt,
“Nowe ouercome ys thys fyȝt,
thoruȝe helpe of god & marye!”
At lyte they knewe that hethyn knyȝt,—
by god that thys world had dyȝt!—
ne nothyng of hys felonye.
Roulond on the helme he smote,
with Cursins that bytter bote,
A strok with grete enuye.
ȝyf the swerde ne hadde y-weuyd,
Rouland hys lyf ther hadde leuyd,
And Otuel wonne the Maystrye.

tho was Rouland swythe wo,
that he ne myȝt that sarsin slo,
that was so ful of pryde.
the sarisin smote efte so
hys hauberk euene a-to
Euene a-longe by the syde.
the frenche seyen that all,
And to Ihesu cryst they gonne calle,
and alle to god, helpe they cryede.
with that ther come a coluyr bryȝt,
that fro heuene tho lyȝt
In that ilke tyde.

the holy gost thoruȝ here alder prayer
a-lyȝt apon that sarisin there
thoruȝ goddys holy myȝt.

tho sayd the messanger,
“leue Roulond, come me ner,
y haue for-lorne my fyȝt.
Mahoun & Iouyn, y wyl for-sake,
and to Ihesu crist y wyl me take,
to bene hys knyȝt.”
the sarisin threwe a-wey hys bronde,
and so dude Duk Roulond,
And kust hem a-non ryght.

And Charlys went thyder anone,
& so dud the barons echone,
that weren in that Cyte.
Quod Charlys, “how ys thys y-don?”
And Rouland sayd to hym anon,
“thys sarisin criston wyl be.
but thou most sese in hys hond
Belysent with muche londe,
thy douȝtyr, fayr & fre.”
tho sayd Charlys, the kynge,
“y am glad of thys tythyng,
that y hem so schal se.”

To chyrche they went a-non Ryȝt,
And Turpyn cristened that knyȝt,
that couthe goddys lawe.
the kyng toke her by the hond,
“douȝtyr,” he sayd, “to me thou vndyrstonde
nowe a lyte throwe.
thou schalt be weddyd to thys knyȝt.”
“syr,” sche sayd, “syker aplyȝt.
ther-of y am ful fawe.”
tho sayd Charlys to syr Otuel,
“thou schalt haue thys damysel
Ryȝt as for thyn awe.”

Quod Otuel, “ȝyf ȝe loue me wel,
ȝe ne dur drede neuer a del
Off Garcins grete power.”
the mayde ȝaf aȝen andswere:
“syr,” sche sayd, “haue thou no care,
by goddys moder dere!
y loue the more in hert myn
thanne y do my fadyr and al my kyn
that me to womman bere.”

Syr Otuel to the kyng sayde:
“thou most lede with the thys mayde
withouten eny vylonye,
with knyȝtys gode, douȝty in dede,
with schyld, & spere, & many a chylde,
ffere in-to lumbardye.
whenne thou hast that londe y-nome
and all the sarisins ouercom,
And y-slawe kynge Garcye,
thenne woll we be spousyd, y-wys,
and holde fest with Ioye & blysse
In the burugh of vtalye.”

the kyng with hys knyȝtys alle
wenten to parys in-to hys halle
with moche melodye:
he held fest ryche and ryall,
for-sothe in the kyngys halle,
with myrthe and mynstrelsye.
At the fourtenyȝtys ende,
he asked ȝyf he wolde wende
forthe in-to Lumbardye,
or ellys byleue styl thare
tyl the wynter passed were,
and the wethyr were drye.

kyng Charlys of Seynt denys
In that same cyte of parys,
Somer he ther gan byde.
And whenne the fowlys songon on the rys,
the kyng sent aftyr knyȝtys of prys,
to a mownteyn gan he ryde.
for-sothe tho left the kyng,
and with hym many a gret lordyng
with Ladyes ful gret in pryde.
ther was Rowland, and Olyuer,
and syr Otuel, and Oger,—
In hert ys nouȝt to huyde,—

Esteryche of langares, and syr turpyn,
Archel, Etus, & syr Geryn,
Nemes, and syr Reyner.
tho thay were in the kyngys Inne,
they say many a paynym,
Comyng with grete power,—
lemosyns, bretons, & lumbardye,
Bayons, Gaskoynes, & pycardye,—
of londys bothe ferre & ner,—
Prouynciales, & Almaynes,
that couthen wel fyȝt on the playnes,
normans, bothe stoute and fere.

Nowe here bygynnyth A batayle,
fful fel to founde samfayle,
Off thre goode dussypers,
Rowlond, Olyuer, and Oger,—
ffor-sothe, yt were knyȝtes sampyr,
y-preued in many contres!—
howe they slowe vndyr a forest,
kynges thre, that were full prest,

to fyȝt in mede, othyr in felde,
And the furthe kynge they toke,
As hyt ys fownd in the boke,
And slowen all that with hym helde.

In averel, the thyrdde day,
whenne foules synge on the spray,
Thay wentyn fro seynt Denys.
Syre otuel with muche pryde
Sette belysent by hys syde
vppon a mule a prys.
And sone after thay for-lete
The lond that hem thouȝt swete
And leftyn parys.
fforth to burgoyne the wente,
To Vergels, verement,
That ot-ue-llys was, y-wys.

And forth they wente into lumbardye,
To that mount swythe hey,
That men callyn poyne.
And there the frensche myȝten se
The borwȝ that men calle vtale,
By-syde the water of coyne.
In a mede that grene was
Charles chese a fayre plas,
To telden on hys pauylon.
Seuene dayes he soiourned there,
And ouer the water he dude rere
A fayre brygge withoute assoyne,

That the frenche men myȝten tho
Ouer that brygge come and go,

To fleen here enymyes.
Vppon a day it by-fylle so,
The duk roulond and knyȝtes to
Spokyn wordys vn-wys,
And armeden hem in goode wys wede,
And vche of hem tok a gode stede,
That was of gret prys.
Thay by-sauȝtyn god almyȝt,
That he schulde hem fynde here fylle of fyȝt,
ffor the loue of sent denys.

kynges foure with-outen fayle
were went out to seche batayle,
Off hethynesse thay were,—
wel y-armyd syker sam-fayle.
ȝe mowe y-here gret mervayle.
Lordynges, wyl ȝe now here?
here names, y wylle that ȝow wyte,
As in frensche it ys y-wrete.
Now lesteneth to lere!
Curables, and askeward,
And balsomoun, strong and hard,—
Clarel was here fere.

The knyȝtes seyden as they gonne ryde,
ȝyf thay myȝt that tyme a-byde
That thay myȝt with roulond mete,
Thay wolde hym make blody syde,
And olyuer that was so ful of pride,
with grymly woundes and grete.
Tho sayde clarel, that ryche kyng,
“Suche res nyl helpe no thyng,
Ne no bale wyl it bete.
ȝe han herd here by-fore,

That roulond is a knyȝt y-core,
Curtays be way or strete.

“At wolde my lord termagaunt,
That y myȝt mete with roulond,
with hym wolde y fyȝt!
hyt scholde hym rewe with myn hond
The douȝty eyres of a-gelond,
That he slow with unryȝt.”
The knyȝtes vndyr the forest were,
And herden the kynges alle there,
And of hem haddyn a syȝt.
The place was called forestent,
That the knyȝtes were in went,
That weren of muche myȝt.

Roulond to hys felawes sayde,
“Now we haue that we bede,
God ous saue, hole and sounde!
But we ben douȝty in dede,
And styf syttyng on stede,
whenne we hem hauen founde!”—
he smot hys hors and let hym gone,
And kyng clarel sey hym a-none,
By hys lord mahound,
“Thre knyȝtes cristen y se.
we beth foure and thay but thre,
Go we felle hem to grounde!”

Alle foure knyȝtes with muche pride
Smyten here hors and gonne to ryde
A-ȝeynes the knyȝtes kene.
And askeward, nouȝt to hyde,
he ȝaf roulond a wounde wyde,
with A spere that was ful kene,

that thoruȝ hys schylde yt wode,
and at hys hauberk hyt withstode,
wel y wote, with-owtyn wene.
And Rowland thouȝt that strok to ȝelde,
an karfe ato the kyngys schelde,
a-non-ryȝt uppon that grene.

the stroke was scharpe that Rouland sprong,
and thoruȝ the kynges hert hyt stonge,
& thoruȝ-oute hys syde.
kyng corable so egre smot
with a spere that bytter bote
by-twene hauberk & hyde.
tho was the spere by-hynde fast,
the knyȝt sat, the sadyl brast,
with yre & muche pryde.

Oger danys hys swerde out-brayde,
And to the kynge fast he leyde.
he couthe ful wel hys craft.
A wownde he made swythe wyde,
The armur fyl down by hys syde,
the helme conne outbrast.
Balsamoun, a kyng vnhende,
to Olyuer he wolde wende,
and quelle hym with hys craft.
Oliuer he smot with hys schelde,
the launce brast in the felde,
that was a wel gode schaft.

Olyuer with-outen abode,
with that cours [he] to hym rode,
And in the schylde hym hytte.
The schaft was strong, And the heued brod,

And þoruȝ the kynges body hyt glod,
And made a wel brod flytte.
Doun he fyl dede to grounde,
Ne was he neuer afterward sonde,
No lenger myȝt he sytte.
Slaw were þe kynges thre,
But ȝyt nolde nouȝt þe ferþe fle,—
So wod he was of wytte.

hym þouȝt hys hert brast ato,
But ȝyf he myȝt Olyuer slo,
Ere he þennes wende.
he smot hys stede, and let hym go,
In hys herte hym was ful wo,
ffor slawe were al hys kynde.
But Roulond þo by-twyne rode,
And the kynges strok he a-bode,
he kydde þat he was hende.
Ac þouȝ þe strok were ful grete,
In þe schelde he it sette,
he nolde no lenger lende.

The schaft was bothe gret and long,
And the kyng was wondyr strong,
And schof as he wolde a-wede.
There nas no game hem a-mong,
The schaft was styf & nouȝt out-sprong,
and ouer-threw hys stede.
hors & man of roulonde ryȝt,
The kyng threw doun a-plyȝt.
“Mahoun ioye!” he gredde.
That was the maner of the lawe,
whenne a knyȝt were ouer-throwe,
That douȝty were of dede.

Kyng clarel wolde a-wey haue rede,
Ac oger com by that other syde,
and smot hym with a spere.
hys hynder arson gan out glyde,
Ouer the sadyl it nys nouȝt to hyde,
There oger gan hym bere.
Oger tok the kynges stede,
and to roulond gan hym lede,
and sayd, “here ys on the to bare!
thys ys an hors good an fyn,
and moche bettyr thanne was thyn,
& with gayer gere.”

Rowlond vp stert & nouȝt ne lay,
And in-to the sadyl that was so gay,
Smertelyche gan he sprynge.
Ryȝt to the place they token the way,
ther that they fouȝt, sothe to say,
with syr Clarell, the kyng.
the duk Roulond, and Olyuer,
wyȝthly they wente the kyng ner,
with-outen more dwellyng:
but kyng Clarel toke that fyȝt
Aȝens hem thre with al hys myȝt,
For-sothe with-oute lesynge,

tyl hys swerd was brost atto.
No Wondyr thowe hym were wo,
Nedes he most hym ȝelde.
he by-souȝt Rowlond tho,
he schulde hym saue from hys fo,
And from alle harme hym schylde.
that broke swerd hym by-tok
the good Rowland, so seyth my boke,
ther he yt fonde in felde.

they setten the kyng uppon a stede,
And to Charlys they thouȝt hym lede,
To mount paynt that ys teld.

Nowe here by-gynneth A batayle
off these thre knyȝtes samfayle,
that wondyr it ys to telle;
ffor cristendom they fouȝten ful sore,
with VI Ml & VII sckore
Off sarisins, stronge & felle.

And as they ȝendyrware weren,
the sey an host hem by-forn
of kyng Garcions knyȝtys,
with VI Ml & VII skore
the strengyst sarisins that ewer were.
alle they were redy to fyȝt.
ther thorugh thay most hym lede,
or ellys lese her manhede,
ȝyf that they flowyn a-plyȝt.
he herde trumpes and taboures,
hornes, chymbys, & chymours.
somdel they were aflyȝt.

the good Oger sayd tho,
“Good hyt ys to lete hym go,
Clarelle, the kene kyng!
ȝut he may saue ous fro wo.
Among the sarisins altho
he ys a grete lordyng.”
Where he wolde thay lat hym passe,
and these knyȝtys with goddys grace
assayleden bothe elde and ȝong.

Roulond made a grysly wounde
In kyng bremer for-sothe that stounde,
That he hadde hys endyng.

Tho syre Olyuer after-thanne
Slow a kyng that hyȝt blasan,
That ful strong was in fyȝt.
Syre oger, that douȝty man,
Slow a-nother that hyȝt morgan,
with cur-sable so bryȝt:
and roulond with dorundale
Deled strokes, gret and smale,—
ffor-sothe there was a semly syȝt.
Olyuer with haunchecler
Slow many a sarsin there,
with swerd that schon ful bryȝt.

Ouer alle where these knyȝtes rod
There was y-mad a way ful brod,
That waynes myȝten mete;
ffor there that dorundale glod,
There was no sarsin that abod,
That he ne lese hys swete.
There come carmele de taborye
vppon a stede of lumbardye,
And grymlyche gan to grede.
“ffyȝteþ,” he sayde, “[in] better wone,
Or Ellys we beȝth dede vchone!
Who schal oure bale bete?

“ffy-a-devlys, how may thys be,
That these crysten knyȝtes thre
Schulle bryng ous alle to grounde?
Ryȝt ful sone ye schullyn se,
Myn owyn hond schal you sle

Wyth-in a lytyl stounde.”
he smot Oger on the schylde,
That he ffelle in-to þe fylde,
And in hys Body a wounde.
Oger tho off hys stede ffelle,
And the Blod of hys Body out-welle,—
Such hap he hath þere ffounde!

Tho Roulond þat syȝt sey,
ffor wrath he was wood wel neyȝe,
And preked þo to carmele.
he smot hym on þe helm in hye,
þat in-to þe sadyl þe swerd fley.
No leche ne myȝt hym hele.
Tho come syre aufer of daubery,
The strengest with Garcy,
he þouȝt with hym to mele.
with hys spere he smot hys schylde,
þat þe hede at þe haubrek feld,—
So myche was þat steole!

Tho Roulond, worthy on wede,
he dude there a welle good dede,
þat sarisin þere he slow.
these knyȝtes bothe for certayn,
Ere they wenten out of the playn,
ffyȝtyng they hadde y-nowe.
As Olyuer sat on hys stede,
Rowlond tho to hym ȝede,
“here by-gynneth a sory plawe!”
“ther-of,” sayd Olyuer, “thou ne drede!
My strenghthe ys good & nothyng gnede,
Off hem y ne ȝeue nouȝt an hawe.”

tho thay bothe gonne to Ryde,
And slowe adown vcche syde,
Alle that before hem stode.
Off gode Oger in that tyde,
that blod ranne oute of hys wounde wyde,
and he syked sore vnsounde.
tho the sarisins hym throng
with sperys and swyrdys strong,
and made hym many a wounde;
so fast hys body gan blede,
that he for-ȝate hys gode stede,—
wel wo was hym that stowunde!

with that come Ryde an Amerel
by-sydes the kyng clarel,
that Roulond feld a-down.
for Oger sauede hym that tyde,
Amonge the sarisins of muche pryde
[he] dude Oger grete renoun.
“Come to me,” Clarel seyde,
“off nothyng ne schaltou drede,
Ne off no sarsins tresoun!
ffor-sothe there schal no man the drede,
Whyles my body may the were,—
By my god Mahoun!”

The ameraunt sayde, “so mote y the,
Thou ne schalt nouȝt his waraunt be,
That he ne schal be to-drawe!”
The kyng wel vroth tho was he:
he hewed the ameraunt in peces thre:
And so he hath hym slawe.
“lo,” he sayde, “syre ameral,
Thus men the teche schall

To sygge wycked sawe!
Now may Oger Denys
Euer more haue pes
In ernest and eke in plawe!”

he dude knyȝtes come hym ner,
And by-tok hem denys Oger,
To hys lemman hym to lede.
fforth they went, alle y-fere,
And fond that mayde in on erbere,
And thus to here thay sayde:
“kyng clarel, thyn owyn lemman,
Swythe wel the grete can,
And for hys loue he the bede,
Thou scholdyst kepe thys cristen knyȝt.
To-day he hath wonne in fyȝt
Many goode knyȝtes in dede.
Twey other and thys knyȝt
Thys day haueth slaw in fyȝt
A thousand of oure mayne.”
Thenne lowe that mayde so bryȝt,
and sayde to hym a-none-ryȝt,
“why ne hadde ȝe brouȝt al thre?”
Tho sayde to here a knyȝt douȝty,
“Good damysel Enfamy,
Ous ne lyketh syker no gle!
ffyrst mote somer come,
Ere thay tweye wyl be y-nome,
And more batayle schal be.”

The damysel tho a-none-ryȝt
Cleped seuene of here knyȝt,
And by-tok hem syre Oger.
Bothe by day & eke by nyȝt,
here-self hys woundys gan dyȝt,

And ȝaf hym drynkes der.
Sche made hym salues soft,
And as oger lay in loft
he feld hym bothe hole and fer.
whenne he waked he hadde no wounde,
But felt hys body hole and sounde,—
To god he made hys prayer.

And euer roulond and olyuer
A-ȝeynes the sarsins fouȝte there,
That were so ful of pryde.
Tho that they sey that garcy com there
with helm bryȝt and many spere
vppon here ryȝt syde,
fful loth hem was to ben y-take tho.
They smyten here hors & letten hem go,
a-way gonne thay to ryde:
an houndred sarsins and wel mo
ffaste redyn after tho
To take hem in that tyde.

Otuel a-spyede wel there
how Oger, roulond, & Olyuer
weren out y-fare,
And with hem neuer a dussyper:
Charlys, the conquerour,
þere-for was in care.
Otuel let crye thorow the oste,
“In the name of the holy gost,
as armes! lordynges ȝare!”
fflorys, hys stede, he bestrod,
and samoun by hym rode,
And hys Baner bare.

Toward the batayle he gan ryde
with ys knyȝtes by ys syde:

with roulond he gan mete.
Many a sarisin in that tyde
Sayden to roulond, and Cryde,
“Lese þu schalt thy Swete!”
Syr Otuel gan to Chyde,
and Sayde, “Roulond, for thy pryde,
Thy lyfe þu wylt for-lete!
What! wenes tou and Olyuere alone
To sle þe sarysyns euerchone,
and thus to grounde hem bete?

“Nay, þouȝ þou and y & Olyuer,
hadde ben þere al in fer
Aȝeyns þe hethyn lawe,—
And ek charlys, the conquerour,
Thouȝ he Brouȝt alle hys power,—
ȝyt schuld they be nouȝt alle slawe.
Ac turne a-ȝeyn with me a-none,
And venge we ous of godys sone,
And gynne we a new plawe!
Ther schulle a þousand for þys thyng
Thys day of hem haue here endyng
with-Inne a lytel þrawe.”

A knyȝt þere was swyþe fre,—
he was cleped emptybre,—
In the foward of þe batayle.
he come dryvyng to syr Olyuere,
Alle-most he com hym to ner,
ffor-sothe with-out fayle.
Olyuer with a good spere
þoruȝ þe hert gan hym bere,
Ryȝt ouer at hys hors-tayle.
That þe sarisin ouer-threw,

That þe soth men wel knewe,
þat weren at þat assayle.

Esterych of langars, a dussyper,
Slow a sarysin, stoute and fer,
That was of turkye:
he smot hym þoruȝ þe lyuer,
þat he ne flycted, fer ne ner,—
“Mahoun, help!” he gan crye.
Many an helme was of-weuyde,
And many a bassinet al to-cleued,
Off þe sarsin companye:
Many a spere and many a schyld
were dryuen a-down into the feld,
and many a sadyl made empty.

Olmadas of aschomoyne
he ȝaf Charlys Chamberleyne
that bar duk Reyner a-doun,
and toke the stede by the reyne,—
to wynnen it he was ful fayne,—
and lepe into the Arsoun.
But emoleres, a strong knyȝt,
hym to sle he dud hys myȝt
with hys gode fawchoun.
he smote the sarisin in the schyld,
that helm and heued flye into fylde,
and wanne hym grete renoun.

tho come Galyaun, that hethen knyȝt,
that erst hadde slayn in fyȝt
Many a crysten man.
he smote emoleres a-plyȝt,
that to grownde he fyl ryȝt:
hys stede of hym he wan:

wel nyȝe he hadde hym slawe,
and brouȝt hym of lyf-dawe.
Ac sire Artok tho cam
And sauyd hym fro vylonye,
that vnnethe he myȝt crye
that the sarisins flowen echon.

and as the sarisins flowyn in that tyde,
the cristen swed & gan to ryde;
And tho com kyng Clarel, the kyng,
and slowe by euery syde.
who-so wolde strokys abyde,
hadde there hys endyng.
He slewe the Emperour of Almayne,—
sore hyt rived Charlemayne,
that heye lordyng!
Empater ther come by-hynde,
a kyng y-come of grete kynde,
and oute of many a bekeryng.

syr bernard of Orlyaunse,
Empater ȝaf hym myschawnce,
with dynt of dethys wownde.
A-mong the dussypers of Frawnce,
Empater ȝaf hym myschaunce,
And gan to Ryde to Otuel in that stounde.
Ac Otuel of hym was ware,
And with Cursins he smote hym thare,
on hys helme that was Rownde.
he clef hys heued into the teth,
so that all men wel seth,
he grenned as an hownde.

Syr Otuel tho made alle
the dukes a-down falle,

that he myȝt hytte a-ryȝt.
To Mahoun they gonne crye & calle,
to Iouyn, & to her goddys all,
that schulde hem help in fyȝt.
tho thay flowyn with a careful crye,
tyl they com to kyng Garcy,
as fast as they euer fle myȝt.
Duk Rouland, & syr Otuel,
And Olyuer that was gode & lel,
the sarisins, slowen down ryȝt.

Here by-gynnyth A batayll felle
Off kynk Clarell and Otuel,
And wondurlyche strong,
How they fouten for the lawe.
Lystenyth to my sawe,
And thynkyth nouȝt to long!

Anone Clarel to Otuel sede,
“Sey me, knyȝt, so god þe spede,
what þat thy name now be!
Thou hast y-slaw in length and Brede
an C knyȝtes of oure ferede,
Sethe y fyrst saw the.
Wel fayn y wolde thyn name bryng
To garcy, the ryche kyng,
þat ys so fayre and fre.”
“O þu coward,” sayde Otuel,
“þu Ouȝtest my name know well,—
By good þat ys in trinite!

“ffor-sothe, my name Otuel ys;
Thou hast y-knowe or thys.

Now, mahound y haue forsake.
kyng charlys of seynt denys
Me hath y-ȝeue hys douȝter of prys,
and Crystendom, y haue take.”
“O,” quod clarel, the fayre kyng,
“Now y here a wondour thyng.
Mahound ȝeue þe wrake,
But þu by-leue on Iouyn,
Termagaunt, and appolyn,
And hem a-mendys make!”

“Cur-sed be,” otuel seyde,
“Mahound and alle hys felaw-rede!
ffor-sothe, thay beȝth alle vnwrest.
who-so hem loueth, thay mowe drede.
Off goodnesse, here lawe ys gnede,
And schal be whyle it last.”
Sayde clarel, “so mahound the spede,
were we ȝend in that mede,
we-selue to alle prest,
y wolde the teche that appolyn,
Termagaunt, and Iouyn
were goddys off the best!”

“ȝe,” sayde otuel, the good gome,
“To-morwe y wyl thyder come,
My treuthe, y the plyȝt.”
The gloue of that kyng, he had y-nome,
A-mong the knyȝtes, alle and som,
with kyng clarel to ffyȝt.
Tho the sonne to rest was gonne,
The kyng ȝede to bedde a-none,
As sone as it was nyȝt.
On morwe whanne the larke song,
And the lyȝt day, it sprong,
There rose bothe baron and knyȝt.

Clarel off hys bedde a-woke,
And cleped hys knyȝtes fote-hote,
hys wyll to don in dede,
Gamor, melyn, and memorok.
None of hem hys heste for-sok,
But duden as he hem bede.
An haketon they duden hym vppon,
And an haberioun þat bryȝt schon,
þat lyȝt was for to lete;
And þere on a corset san-fayle,—
What man so it bare in Batayle,
The lasse þrust hym drede.

Men Brouȝt hym an helm bryȝt,
þat Barnard, þe gode knyȝt,
was wont for to were.
þere-on an adderes heued aplyȝt,—
ffor-sothe it was a sely syȝt,—
In eche Batayle to bere.
and a schyld þat was vnryde,
Of garlok þat sayntes hyde,—
he was a greselyche fere!
y-paynted, it was with mahoun
Off gold, Iubiter, and yk platoun,—
and yche, y-mad with a spere.

fforth they fetton hym a schaft:
he þat it made couþe hys craft:
hyt was of a trew tre.
hys swerd, melyn, was hym be-tauȝt,
þere-with he hadde heuedes y-kauȝt
Off kynges, two or þre.
hys stede forþ was fette,

And kyng Clarel þere-on set,
þat semely was to se.
Two of þe knyȝtes also sket
Two spores off gold duden on hys fet,
And eyther sat on hys kne.

Tho thay fette here god Mahound,
And alle the sarsins of renoun,
And settyn hym a-myd the toun of Vtalye.
Than vppon here knees thay seten adown,
with alle the lordys of that toun,
And also kyng Garcye.
Thay sayden, “mahound, we the by-seche,
To-day thou be oure alder leche,
And on clarel haue mercy!
As thou art god, ful o muche myȝt,
That he mowe sle otuel in fyȝt,
That doȝth the so muche vylonye!”

Ouer that water clarel gan to ryde,
And tho sey he come on hys ryȝt syde,
Charlys, the kyng of fraunce.
The dussypers comen that tyde,
And alle here ost with muche pride,
with schyld, spere, and launce.
“Thou olde charlys,” clarel sayde,
“Swythe long thou hast ous anyede
kyng Garcy with distur-baunce.
And now thyn dayes ben agoon,
And age ys fallyn the vppon,
Thou mayst doute of my myschaunce.

“Old wrecche, what dost thou here?
Thou ne art nouȝt worth fer ne ner

Schaftys ffor to schake,
hors to stryde, ne armour to bere,
A kyng to assayle with no spere,
Crounes for to Crake,
Ne emp[t] no sadyl, ne wynne no stede,
Ne do no knyȝtes sydes to blede,—
Thyn handys gynnen to quake.
ffy-a-devylys for vylony,
þat þu thretest kyng Garcy,
Suche maystryes to make!”

þo by-spake he þat was wys,
Charlys of sent denys,
To þe kyng clarel ful ryȝt:
“þrytty kynges of prys,
y haue y-slaw or þys,
In hethynesse with fyȝt.
þoruȝ grace of almyȝty god in trinite,
Thys day þu schalt on of hem be,
fful longe ere it be nyȝt.
Make þe redy þat þu were þare,
ffor myn Olde body schal be ȝare,
þoruȝ grace of god almyȝt!”

Duk Roulond stood þe kyng by.
“Mercy, lord,” he gan to crye,
“Ne com nouȝt in batayle!
þu hast knyȝtes ful hardy,
Bothe Otuel, neymes, and y,
kyng Garcy to assayle.
y wyl fyȝt with hym, y-wys,
þat hath sayde to þe amys.
hyt ne schal hym nouȝt a-vayle!”
The dussypers euerychone,

100

Profreden thus a-none,
That weren hye of parayle.

Charlys was swythe wroth,
And to sent denys made hys oth,
That he deth he schulde be dyȝt:
“he schall wete the certayn soth
That he is to ihesu crist loth,
ȝyff he wylle kythe hys myȝt!”
Otuel gan to charlys crye,
And sayde, “for the loue of sent marye,
So leteth me with hym fyȝt!
ffor ȝesterday in the medes,
ffor hys falce wordys,
My treuthe y dude hym plyȝt.

‘y schall ȝow telle euery word,’
how it be-gan, ende and ord,
The stryf be-twyn ous to.
he sayde that oure god vas nouȝt worth a tord,
And that he wold proue with dynt of swerd,
To whom that it wolde do;
And sayde that we were thourȝ hym y-lore,
That of a womman was y-bore,
and schent for euer-more;
ffor hys lesyng and for hys sawe
vppon a cros he was y-drawe:
Alle thus sayde he me to thare.

‘y answered, and sayde, “nay,”
That He Was Bore of a may,
To saue al men-Kynde,
And ros & to helle toke þe way,—
þat byfyl vppon þe þrydde day,—
And satan brouȝt in bonde,

101

And toke þer-out ous and Adam,
And all with hym þo god nam,
And syþe þe holy gost sende,
and after hys rysyng, vp-sty
To hys fadyr vp an hy.
þys we hauen in mynde.

‘Off my wordys he ne helde no pryse,
And Cleped me, “schrew, vnwys!”
And lew me to skorne & game.’
Tho sayde Charlys of seynt denys,
“Otuel, as tou sayst, it ys.
Go fyȝt in godys name!”
þe dussyperes weren alle prest,
To arme Otuel of þe best,
Thay spedden al in same.
Duk roulond, an helm fette,
And on hys heued he hyt sette,
þat was with-owten blame.

þe helm was worþ muche þyng;
hit auȝt sumtyme an heþen kyng
Off Babylone, þe sawdan.
And syre Olyuer, on hying,
A scharp spere gan hym bryngge,
In spayne, hym-self it wan.
Thenne henged thay a-boute hys swyre
A schyld that was ryche and dere,
That hym ȝaf hys lemman;
Thre swerdys of syluer bryȝt,
and thre swerdys with gold y-dyȝt,
with many a ryche ston.

102

Men brouȝten hym a stede broun
And two spores that were boun,
On hys helys thay ham dyȝt;
he lep to hors and nouȝt abode,
Ouer the water otwel rod,
With the grace of god almyȝt.
Thanne hym spak kyng clarel,
“Artou y-come, syre otwel,
As thou me be-hyȝt?
Thou art welcome to batayle,
Thou myȝte be fayn samfayle.
Aȝens suche a kene knyȝt.

“Thou schalt wete er thou gon,
That thou haddyst beter ben at hom
Thanne hedyr come to suche a thyng.
ffor thou mayst wel wete with-oute fayle,
That y am y-come of heye parayle,
And am a gret lordyng.”
“ȝe,” quod otwel, “thouȝ thow be strong,
Alle it is in god long,
That ys alle weldyng.
ȝut to-day schulle we that se,
That god ys bettyr in trinite
Thanne Mahoun and all hys Ospryng.”

no lengyr they wolde abyde,
but to-gedyr thay gonne Ryde,
As folke that weren fone,
with grete sperys & vnryde,
so that they bothe fyllen in that tyde
Ryȝt ther to grownd anon.
But vp thay sprong, so yt ys wrete,
and aftyrsones to-gyder thay smyte,
that men hyt seyon vchone.
the schaftys were stronge and gode,
the knyȝtys scheuyn as they were wode.
ne was ther no bettyr wone!

103

heyr peytrelys broston atwo,
and the gerthys al-so,
her scheldes fellen to grownde.
the knyȝtys weren ful wo,
to grounde thay ȝede bothe two
In that ilke stownde;
and eythers stede went forthe,
that on, sowthe, that othyr, north,
that weren fayre and Rownd.
thanne sayde Roulond to belysent,
that was the kynges douȝtur gent,
“here ys a fayre fyȝt y-fownde!”

sythe, he sayd, that he was bore,
“ne sey y neuer her by-fore
suche two men of myȝtys.
thouȝ a man fouȝt syxti skore,
ne schulde he fynde none douȝtyer,
ne suche othyr to knyȝtys.”
tho sayd Oliuer, that dussyper,
And the Abbot of seynt Omer,
that yt was a fayre fyȝtys.
tho sayd belysent that may,
“God saue Otuell to-day,
ffor hys moche myȝtys!”

the knyȝtys eft to-gedyr ȝede,
to fyȝt on fote thay most nede,
here stedys weren schent.
Off helmes [and] hauberk in lenthe and brede,
the fyr sprange oute as sparcle of glede,—
so stronge was others dynt!
Clarel with hys swerd of stel,
so harde strokys he smote to Otuel,
to sle hym he hadde ment.

104

kyng Clarell was nyȝ wood,
ffor that Otuel so longe aȝen hym stode,
and for harme that he hent.

he hytte hym on the helme an heye,
that golde & stonys a-down flye,
al of hys helme so Rownde.
thouȝ Otuel were of werre sly,
he nas neuer hys deth so ny:
he fylle in swowe on the grownd.
kyng Charlys to Ihesu gan speke:
“lord,” he sayd, “thou me a-wreke
vppon thys hethen hounde,
And schyld from schame thys crystyn knyȝt,
that he be nouȝt slayn in thys fyȝt,
In the worchyp of thy wownde!”

Syr Otuel, that gode knyȝt,
stert vp tho a-none ryȝt,
and was nothyng aferd,
and thouȝt that hys body wolde brest aplyȝt,
but he myȝt be a-wreke anone ryȝt
with Cursins, hys swerde.
he smote hym on the helme anone,
that a quarter of hym away gan gone,
bothe hys schelde and hys berde.
ffor-sothe the boke wytnesseth,
that men myȝt sen hys tethe,
bothe lewed & lered.

tho lowe Otuel & sayd:
“y sawe neuer, so god me rede,
sythe that y was bore,
neuer man in knyȝtys wede,
Al-so fer as y haue rede,
a berd so clene y-schore.

105

So god me saue and sent sauour,
Now ys cursins a good rasour,
hyt were harm that it were lore!
hyt ys scharp, and that ys sene.
hyt hath y-schaue thy berd ful Clene,
That ther nyl last no more!

“Now be þou syker in alle thyng:
Nyl neuer Garcy, the kyng,
By-leue on þe after thys;
Ney-þer enfame, þat fayre thyng,
Sche nyl na more of thy playyng,
ne ffor no loue the kysse.
Now thy be-houeþ to grenne,
And to make þe to mowe on menne,
ffor thy mouth syttyth alle on mys.
Now ne helpþ the nouȝt thy god mahound,
Iubiter, ne þat lyþeren platoun,
That þou ne art syker of thys!”

kyng Clarel to hym-self sayde:
‘Allas, that y be-gan thys dede
A-ȝeynes þat cristen knyȝt!
þouȝ y sle hym in thys mede,
Alle the world in lengthe and Brede
Schal me skorne a-plyȝt.
“None fayrer knyȝt myȝt by founde,
And now he grenneȝ as an hounde,
Both day and nyȝt.”
he schall abye, be Appolyn!’
And with hys swerd, melyn,
to deth he wolde hym dyȝt. [OMITTED]
Syr Otuel his dynt wel sye,
and kept it on hys schylde.

106

kyng Clarel tho fast fly,
And clef Otuel hys targe ato ney,
that halfe fley in the felde,
And thoruȝ Otuel had be born,—
Ne hadde ben hys haberioun,
syr Otuel hadde he queld.
Off that strok Clarel was blythe,
And sayd, “ȝyf y the hytte anothyr sythe,
thy lyf hys adoun feld.”

thanne sayd Otuel, ‘y haue ment,
that myn schal be that other dent,
as y am a trewe knyȝt.
To fyȝt fast, wyl y nouȝt stent,
that feer flye out as sparkyl of flynt,
Out of helm and hauberk bryȝt.”
with Cursins that byttyr bot
to kyng Clarel he smote,
thorowe-oute the helme aplyȝt.
kyng Clarell fyl tho a-down.
tho men myȝt se that ys god Mahoun
was but of lytyl myȝt.

Syr Otuel na more ne gradde,
And the sarisins were ful madde,
for Clarel, the kyng.
the dussypers tho forthe Otuel ladde,
And thonkyd god that thay hym hadde,
And had ouercome that fytyng.
kyng Garcy and hys knytys
to the temple ȝede anon ryȝtys,
And kneleden elde & ȝong,
And cryed on Mahoun, and Appolyn,
Termagaunt, and Iouyn:
“why suffur ȝe all thys thyng,—

107

that Clarel hath lore the swete?
so ofte as hym ȝe hadde hete,
whenne he wolde by-gynne!
And kyng Charles we schull mete,
And with grysly lawnces hym grete,
All cristendom to wynne.
All thouȝ y make to the my mone,
ȝe stondyn stylle as ony stone,
No word nyl ȝe mynne.
y wene that ȝe ben domne & def,
On ȝow was all my bylef
More thanne to alle my kynne.

for longe ȝe haue for-hete,
y wene that ȝe most be bete,
howe so it euer byfalle.”
lothe hym was longe to threte;
he dud fette stonys grete
To-forn Hym in the halle.
All hys goddys he ȝaf a cloute,
he ȝaf hem strokys, styf & stoute.
“harawe!” they ganne to calle.
he brake bothe legges and swere,
And kest hem bothe in-to the fere,
Mahoun, and hem all.

Here by-gynneth a batayle sykerly
Off Charlys and of kyng Garcy,
that wondyr yt ys to here,
And howe Garcy y-cristened was.
herkeneth nowe a mery pas,—
I pray ȝowe nowe all in fere!

108

AnoneBad kyng Garcy,
“lordynges, doth arme you redy,
And Euery man redy to fyȝt!
and thus we schulle bete oure mametrye,
ffor þat thay nolde nouȝt ous socurye,
Thus we schulle hem dyȝt.”
þere were in the fyrst warde
Syxty thousand, stoute and harde,
with helm and breny bryȝt,
with pencelys of sykelatoun,
Off grene sendal and of broun,—
þere was a semely syȝt!

Syxty thousand in thys maner,
Come after with brod baner,
Alle þretyng charlys, the kyng,
And Both Otuel, and Olyuer,
And also eche dussyper,
And Rouland, hys gode derlyng.
kyng Charlys, þat was so fre,
hys ost hath partyd at thre,
Ryȝt Erlyche in the morownyng.
In Eche warde þere were þo
Syxty thousand & wel mo,
Off knyȝtes, old & ȝoung.

Ac couþe no man telle þe route
Off folk þat were goyng a-Bowte,
Spere-men and arblasteres,
wely y-armed and stoute.
Off the hethen, thay hadde no doute,
Thow þey were Cruel, and fel, & fers.
Charlys to hys borones sayde:
“lordynges, ȝe mote do by rede.
Bothe barones, knyȝtes, and squyers,

109

Bow-men, slyngers, with-oute fayle,
holdeth ȝow in youre batayle,
with ȝoure gode wynteners.”

Charlys the duk neymes hym by-þouȝt
In þat nede ne fayle hym nouȝt,
To Bere hys gode Baner,
and he answerd with word & þouȝt,
“By hym þat hath alle þys world y-wrouȝt.
y am ful redy, now ryȝt here!”
The trompes by-gonne for to blow,
ffor þat the sarisins schulde knowe,
That þe cristen men were þere.
The sarisins wenten into þe feld,
with helm, and spere, & ek with schyld,
Off kyng Garcyons power.

A torkeyes was prykyng out before. [OMITTED]
And threw hem ouer the castyll wal,
And brak hys cheynes to peces alle,
And outward faste hym drow.
So he dude in that yle,
Thoruȝ hys queyntys and hys gyle,
That hym thouȝt game y-now.

hys good stede sone he fond,
And in hys hond hys good brond,
And alle hys other gere.
he armed hym, y vndyrstande,
And in-to the sadyll a-none he wond,
with good schyld and spere.
Oger tho gan to crye,

110

“haue good day, dame enfamye!
y wyll dwelle no lenger!
And ȝyf thou fayre prayest me,
To-morwe y schall speke with the,
By Ihesu crist, y swere!

Into the ost rod Oger,
And fond roulond, and olyuer,
with many a douȝty knyȝt.
Thay cleptyn and kyssedyn alle in fer,
And askedyn ȝyf he hole were,
he sayde, “ȝe,” a-none-ryȝt,
“Neuer sythe that y was bore,
In alle my lyf here by-fore,
Ne felt y me so lyȝt,
Go we blyue in-to batayle,
The hethen houndes to assayle,
And sle we hem doun ryȝt!”

To the turkeyes þay gonne to ryde,
And leyde hem doun in yche syde,
Thay schedde here brayn an blode:
þere nas none þat myȝt hym hyde,
That thay ne lore in þat tyde,
þe balles in here hod.
Kyng Garcy þere-of tok hede,
And with hys spore he smot hys stede,
And fley as he were wood.
Syr Otuel þat gan a-spye,
And gan a country with kyng Garcy,
with welle egre mood.

“ȝelde ȝe, traytours!” Otuel gredde,
“þu lyest by hym þat for ous bledde,
Ne bost ne gynne to crake!
To-fore charlys þou schalt be ladde,
And legge þy lyf þere to wedde,

111

But þou mahoun for-sake!”
Garcy hys stede smot,
And to Otuel he rod,
hys spere he gan to schake.
hys hors stomblyd at a stone,
he felle, and brast hys arme a-none.
And Olyuer gan hym take.

þenne bede he Olyuer pur charite,
þat he ne schulde hym nouȝt sle,
hys hondys he gan wryngge,
And he wolde cristen be.
And Olyuer graunted, þat was so fre.
To court he gan hym bryng,
And kneled to-fore charlys and tolde
That he hys londys of hym wolde holde
Ryȝt into hys endyng.
Charlys of hym tok goode hede,
And to parys he dude hym lede,
with trumpes and daunsyng.

The erchebyschop, syre turpyn,
A swythe good clerk off dyuyn,
Crystened hym that day,
The soule of that sarsin
ffor to saue fro helle pyn.
he lered hym goddys lawe.
Thus charlys and hys dussypers
lyued in warre many ȝerys,
and fauȝten, the soth to say.
ffor euery batayle that he be-gan
Thoruȝ the grace of god, he it wan,
As y ȝow telle may.

112

here bygynneth a batayle grym,
Off charlys and of Ebrayn,
That was wonderlyche strong.
At Cordys how thay fouȝten same,
All for the loue of cristendom,
herkeneth and thenketh nouȝt long!

Afftyr Garcy nouȝt longe hyt nas,
to kyng Charlys told hyt was,
that Ebrayn, the stronge kyng,
wyth strenthe was come to Cordys,
with hym many a sarisin, y-wys,
And many a grete lordyng,
the Almayns saumfayle,
tha aschapeden fro the batayle,
off Angulaittes werryng.
tho Charlys thys herde,
Off that kyng how hyt ferde,
he com thydyr anon hying,

with hys knyȝtys of pris.
and tho he come to cordys,
And neȝhede the Cyte,
the sarisins com aȝeyns hym,
syxty thousand stout & grym,—
for-sothe in parties thre.
Charlys syker nadde no mo
but syxti Thousand tho,
a-ȝeynes hem all to be.
tho Charlys made thre batayl:
the furst, of knytys saumfayl,
that ryȝt symly hyt was to se;

113

that other, of fotemen tho;
the trydde, knyȝtys also,
as the fyrst were.
the kyng with grete Rawndoun
Come aȝen syr Charlemoun,
As ȝe mowe here,
with batayles stern ten.
the furst weren fot-men,
that gryslyche were of chere.
with her thay war be-hong,
and berdys swythe long,—
and hornys on hond bere.

and also, that on batayle
schulde that othyr assayle,
the bow-men weren by-forn,
And come a-ȝeyne the knyȝtys,
And tho ther anonryȝtys,
Eueryche blewe hys horn.
tho the stedys gonne here & se,
fast away thay gonne to fle,—
they ne spared thyk ne thorn.
for-sothe, the knyȝtys bolde
Myȝten nouȝt hem with-holde,
thouȝ thay hadde y-sworn.

Whenne thay that weren on fote
Ne say no bettyr bote,
A-way thay flowyn also.
for her knyȝtes gode
Aȝeyn hem nouȝt ne stode,
thay seye wel thay myȝt nouȝt don.
tho Charlys that gan se,
that hys fote-men gonne fle,

114

In hert hym was ful wo,
hys stede he turnyd a-gayn a-none,
ffor he ne seye no bettyr wone,
but faste went aftyr tho.

tho the sarisins seyen that cas,
they swed aftyr wel gret pas,
Tylle they Comyn to an hylle,
Two myle vppon that playn.
the cristened turnyd manlyche agayn,
as hyt was goddys wylle.
the sarisins seyen hem come,
And flewen a-way, all and somme,
hom to her Cyte wel stylle.
Charlys with hys knyȝtys,
setten her pauylons vpryȝtys,
and all nyȝt ther gonne dwelle.

tho on morwe whan hyt was day-lyȝt,
Charlys bad a-non-ryȝt,
that all here horsys of the Ost
with wex to stoppe here Ere,
that they myȝt nouȝt y-here
her noyse ne her bost.
for-sothe hys hest was sone y-done,
an her eyȝen y-hudde anone,
bothe lest & mest.
And Charlys prayed to god Almyȝt,
to helpe hym that day in fyȝt.
so wysser hem the holy gost!

Alle they come to-gederes on morwe,—
the sarisins to moche sorowe,—
In-to the felde to fyȝt.
And the kyng Ebrayn

115

Come ful Euyn aȝeynes hym
with hys Ost aplyȝt.
to-gedyr thay gonne smyte,
Eythyr spared other lyte,
ther was a symly syȝt.
Off the hethen lawe,
Many on-othyr was y-slawe
well longe or hyt were nyȝt.

the sarisins seyen alle,
howe her felawys down gonne falle;
ther Rose a Rufull crye.
To-gyder they gonne hem drawe,
that folk of hethen lawe,—
for-sothe they were sory!
Amyd hem was a Char,
that here banere that tyme bar
vppon a spere on hye.
with twelf Oxen yt was y-drawe.
that tyme hyt was the lawe,
that none schulde fle a-way,

the whyle her syne-stood.
Charlys [swore] by the Rode,
that the baner schulde a-down.
for-sothe, he semyt wood out-ryȝt,
so fast tho he gan to fyȝt,
As hyt were a wylde lyoun.
ther nas neythyr spere ne schyld
that dury myȝt in the feld
A strok of hys faucon.
tho Rouland, and Oliuer,
And eueryche of the dussyper,
to batayle were ful boun.

116

All tho that hey mette wyth,
for-sothe to grownd thay ȝede ryȝt,—
so fast they fauȝt thare!
kyng Charlys thon anone-Ryȝt,
thoruȝ the grace of god Almyȝt,
Euene come in-to the char:
And with hys gode fawchoun,
he smote the baner a-down,
that with hym-self were.
he smote the baner a-down ryȝt.
tho that hyt sawe, they were aflyȝt,
and in sorowe & care.

he smote tho suche a dynt,
that fyre flye out as sparke of flynt.
and tho the sarisins were in hart sare,
an gonne to fle in eche syde.
they ne durst no lengyr abyde,
of blysse they were alle bare.

tho Ebrayn, the strong kyng,
Come wyth spere keruyng
to the kynge Charlemayn,
And ȝaf hym suche a wownde,
that Charlys fylle to grownd,
of hys stede a-down.
Charlys, for-sothe, that hym ȝeld,
that helm & heued fly in the feld,
tho Ryȝt with hys fauchoun.
And many anothyr paynym,
for-sothe, ther was y-slawe with hym,
that were y-holde of grete renown. [OMITTED]

117

To Charlys they ȝeld the gode toun,
And cristened wolde he be.
Gret othes they swore thare.
“Of hym wyl we holde euer-more
Cordys, the good Cyte.”
therof Charlys was glad tho,
and all were cristened in a thro,
with grete Ioye & solempnite.

Welle sone theraftyr come tythyng
to Charlys, the Ryche kyng,
By a well trwe Messanger,
That the kyng of Nauerne
Gan to Robbe and to berne,
in hys lond bothe fer & nere.
Tho Charlys hyt wyst a-fyn,
he com to Mount Gardyn,
and ther they mette in fere.
Eythyr had othyyr be-hyȝt,
to-gedyr on morowe for to fyȝt,
In the same stede ther.

tho Charlys made an Orysoun,
with ryght gode deuocioun,
to Ihesu and to Marye:
[that] he sende hem grace with-oute fayle,
to wete who schulle in bataylle
wynne the Maystrye,
and who schull be y-slawe,
of knyȝtys of cristen lawe,
In kyng Charlys partye;
that euerych that schuld be ded
Most bere a croys Red
On hys schuldyr on hye.

118

On morwe wanne yt was day,
Charlys Rose with gret noblay,
And to hys knyȝtys cryed
to batayle for to fare.
thenne sey he moche care
Off ten hundred that tyde
then was the kyng in grete dolour,
and prayed to ten hundred paramour,
At the Chapel to abyde;
And sayde, ȝyf thay with hem went,
they schuld be de[d], verament,
with the sarisins ful of pride.

thay answerd, & askeden why.
then sayde Charlys sykerly:
“y se on ȝou the sygne of deth, with-oute drede.
loke nowe echon on othyrs schulder!
a-monge ȝou alle nys none othyr,
but beryng the croys Red.
for why, y wote thorouȝ my prayer,
that ȝe schulle be ded all in fer,
ȝyf y ȝowe with me lede.
Ac dwellyth here vith-outen stryf!
to-day y schall saue ȝour lyfe.
to spylle ȝou yt ys no nede.”

tho to batayl the kyng gan Ryde,
hys good dussypers by hys syde,
And faste the ganne to fyȝt.
Off the sarisins thay slowyn so ȝern,
that the kyng tho of Nauerne,
Aȝeyns hem, he had no myȝt.
Kyng Charlys slowe that day,
he & hys Ost, sothe to say,

119

syxty thousand tho ful Ryȝt.
and whenne he come to the mede,
he fonde hys knyȝtys al dede,
ther he hem left aplyȝt.

By the Ensampyl, whe mowe se,
that no man schall hys deth fle
for none skynnes nede.
Tho all Nauerne Charlys toke
In-to hys hende, so saythe the boke,
In trewthe, so y nowe Rede;
And ȝaf hyt hys [barownys] saumfayle,
that hadde hym holpe in batayle,
that douȝty were of dede.
and [hyt] was departyd Amonge hem vchon,
and [they] were y-feffyd ther-with anon,
to lyue in ioye & pryde.

and whenne the kyng Charlemayne
hadde y-wonne Nauerne & spayne,
and y-slawe the hethen knyȝtys,
hys Catel & hys Townys,
he ȝaf to hys barownys,
and made hem grete lordynges.
Portyngale & Nauerne,
to the brytons he ȝaf hyt ȝerne,
and thus parted hys wynnyngys.
Tandylyf, a strong Castel,
to the Iercos, he ȝaue hyt yche-a-del
Ryȝt in grete hyynges.

And the londe of Galeys,
he ȝaf the frenche men, y-wys.
but thay nolde dwelle nouȝt thare:
thay for-sokyn that ylke Londe,

120

for to haue into her honde,
for yt was so dere.
In spayne Charlys tok,
As y fynde in my boke,
all that hethen were,
that lyued in false lawe:
he dud hem honge and to-drawe,
wel fast by the swere.

Charlys stabeled for to be
An Erchebyschope in that Cyte,
ther that sent James lys.
And alle the bysschopys in spayne,
by the hest of Charlemayne,
And Eke in Galys,
schulde be vndyr hym.
Ac the byschop, syr turpyn,
halowed that stede, y-wys,
for ther nas arst no Cyte:
Charlys hote that ther schuld be
Composterne of prys.

And in the moneth of y[u]ner,
Charlys comaunded fer & nere
In Galys & ek in spayne,
þat Eche hous of power,
Schulde ȝef twelf penyes a ȝer,
By the hest of charlemayne,
To seynt Iams of Galys,
And be quyt of oþer seruys,
þat hous to sustayne.
And so þay dude with-oute lete,
ffor charlys hyt hade sette,
Durst no man be þer-a-gayne.

121

Here Bygynnyth a Rewful tale,
How Rowlond deyde at rouncyuale.

Now lete we be of þys,
And speke we of charlys,
þat muche was of myȝt.
Off hys lengthe and hys brede,
As Clerk ye doth in boke rede,
y schal ȝow telle a-ryȝt.
Twenty fot he was of lengthe,
And þer-to man of gret strength,
And a man of sterne syȝt.
Blake of here, red of face,
þere he come in many place,
he was a douȝty knyȝt.

ffoure tymes in the ȝer,
vppon hys heued he wolde ber
The holy croune of þorne:
At ester, and at Whyt-sontyde,
At seynt Iames day with pride,
And at þe tyme þat god was Borne,
At the mete in þe halle,
among hys knyȝtes alle,
with drawe swerd hym by-forne.
That ys in þe maner ay,
and schal be tyl domes-day,
Off Emperour þat ys corne.

Where-so he slepe a-nyȝt,
wyse he was as felle to hys ryȝt,
And Euer douted tresoun.
An hundred knyȝtes schulde hym kepe,
were þat euer he schuld slepe,—
knyȝtes Off grete renoun.

122

And Euerych douȝthy knyȝt
hold a torche brennyng bryȝt,
And a nakyd fachoun.
Thus þe kyng charlys lay,
with hys ost many a day
In the cite of pampuloun.

Twey sarsins tho of spayne
were y-sent to charlemayne,
with hym for to be.
The sawdan of babylonye,
he sent hem to paumpylayne,
ffram perce, the ryche cite.
Mansour, hyȝt that other,
And beligans, hys brother,
That was of gret puste.
Thay dwelled there long whyle,
kyng charlys to by-gyle,
whenne thay myȝt here tyme se.

Charlys by-thouȝt hym tho,
That thay ne scholde nouȝt dwelle so,
But thay cristen were.
He sent to hem sone
A knyȝt in-to Aragone,
Gwynes, a dussyper.
But charlys wyst nouȝt
The tresoun of gwynes thouȝt,
The wykked fals messanger.

ffor-soth he hath hys way y-nome,
To mansure that he ys come
And sayde that charlys hem grette.
he sayde that hys brother and he

123

Scholde for-sothe y-cristened be,
with-outen any lette.
Mansure was full fel,
And made a ryche Ieuel.
fforth he lete it fette,
And ȝaf the messanger;
And sette hym to the soper.
wel fayre for-sothe thay hym grette!

Mansure tok tho Gwynes
And sayde to hym thus:
“I pray the, Gwynes, lysten to me!
ȝyf thou wylt charlys for-sake,
And to my consayle take,
ffull ryche schal tou be.
Thrytty somers and ȝut mo,
Bothe of syluer and gold also,
ffor-sothe y wylle ȝeue the.”
Thoruȝ that ylke tresour,
Gwynes by-come traytour.
Euyl mote he the!

Thenne dyuysed Gwynes,
That he wolde sey thus,
To the kyng charlemayn,
That mansour and belygauns
wolde come in-to ffraunce,—
There-to thay were boun.
And mansure there-whyle
Graþed hys ost with gyle
To sle hym with tresoun.
Charlys was wel a-payede,
And to Gwynes tho sayde,
“Thow art a good baroun!”

124

Tho was mansoure glad,
That the treson was y-mad,
And ȝaf that traytour,
Thrytty somers and mo
Off gold and syluer also,
with swythe gret honour.
And thrytte stedes with gold fyn
To charlys sent that sarsin,—
Alle they were whyt a[s]flour,—
And an houndred tonne of wyn,
That was bothe good and fyn,
And swythe fayre colour.

Gwynes hys leue tok,
And went hym hom, so sayth the bok,
wyth that presaunt so ryche,
And sayde, “syre charlys,” tho,
“Mansure wylle come the to
Ryȝt wel blythelyche:
for-sothe hys brother and ek he
wyllyn bothe y-cristened be
with here folk, lytell and muche.”
ffor-sothe Gwynes tho was
A fals traytour as was Iudas,
And many mo beȝt suche.

Charlys grethed hym to wende
To fraunce with hys knyȝtes hende,
By the traytours rede.
There he fond fomen fale
In the forest off runcyvale,
That wolde hym do to dede.
The kyng bad roulond, hys cosyn,
Twenty thousand to take with hym,
Stouttelyche for to lede.
Whenne ch[arly]s hadde y-hote tho,

125

The best bodyes that were tho
with roulond, for-sothe, thay ȝede.

Twenty thousand, charlys ladde
And also fele roulond hadde,
In-to the rere batayle.
Charlys ne tok no dussyper,
But Gwynes and turpyn, y-fer,
That weren of heyȝe parayle.
Mansoure lete tho passe
Charlys folk, bothe more and lasse,
ffor-sothe, with-outen fayle:
Tho com roulond with hys ost,
And mansoure with muche bost
Hard hym gan assayle.

Syxty thousand and ek mo,
Mansoure with hym brouȝt tho,
Out of the wode a-plyȝt.
The cristen thay gonne assayle,
Many deyde in that batayle,
Or it euer were nyȝt.
To-gyder thay gonne smyte,
Neyther ne spared other but lyte,
There was a wel gryslych syȝt.
Roulond was there y-slawe,
And good olyuer, hys felawe,
And wel many a trewe knyȝt.

Syre constantyn of gret rome
A-ȝeynes belyngas, for-sothe, come
with a gret spere keruyng;
And to hym he it bare,
he brast it on peses thare,
with-outen any lesyng.

126

with swerd and with mas,
ffor-sothe, in that plas,
To-gedyr thay hem thryng.
Ihesu crist, kyng of blys,
lord with-outen mys,
here soules to heuene bryng!

whenne oger Denys seye thys,
That hys good felaw y-slawe ys,
In hert hym was full who.
he fauȝt as he were wood,
That alle a-ȝeyn hym stod,
To grounde he fylle hem tho.
Raynold of auby-despyne
Com prekyng on a stede fyne,
And fauȝt ful hard also.
wel sone the cristen were by-set,
As der that beȝth with-Inne the net,
with ten thousand and mo.

Thay fauȝten wel by the lawe,
But sone thay were alle y-slawe,
with-Inne a lytel stounde.
Men seyeth in old sawe,
That ten men in a lytel thrawe
Mowe be brouȝt to grownd.
thouȝ Oger fauȝt fast,
ȝut sone at the laste,
he hadde dethys wounde,
and Raynold wyth also,
& wel many a gode knyȝt mo,
In boke as hyt ys fownde.

tho syr bertram, the baner,
bothe Rouland, and eke Olyuer,

127

and syr Gaumfres, the kyng,
Gonne tho to fyȝt ful fast,
And al to ground tey caste,
wel many a gret lordyng.
ffor-soth, Olyuer, and roulond tho,
Cleuen men and hors a-towo,
So þay fauȝt in þat þryng.
Syre bertram, þe baner,
Bothe roulond and Olyuer
Ne spared elde ne ȝong.

fful sone after in a stounde,
Gaufres was brouȝt to grounde,
with the cursed sarisins.
þo good Olyuer was slawe þo,
and many a douȝty knyȝt also,
with þe deueles lemes.
A sarsyn, þat hyȝt laugelye,
he com with gret enuye,
As y ȝow say in rymes,
he com and smot Olyuer on þe croune,
That bothe hys eyȝen fyl a-down,
ffram hym in þat tymes.

Whenne þat Olyuer was blynd,
Bothe by-fore and Ek by-hynde,
he leyde faste a-boute;
and euer more as he rod,
he made a way Swyþe brod,
Off the sarisins þat were stoute.
And as he fauȝt wondurlyche fast,
Roulond com ate last,
To helpe hym saun doute.

128

So hard Olyuere smot roulond,
þat hys schyld from hym wond,
A-mong þe heþen route.

“allas,” sayde Roulond þo,
“Olyuer, why faryst þu so?
Artou paynym by-come?”
“Nay,” sayde Olyuer, “god it wot!
y ne wyst neuer when y smot,
My syȝt ys me by-nome.”
þo þay bothe layden on in fere,
Bothe roulond and Olyuer,
And slowyn þere many a yom.
with þat com laugelye,—
þe cours haue he of oure ladye,
þat most hath myrþes mone!

And with a spere swythe feloun [OMITTED]
þat dede he fyl to grounde.
þo roulond sey þat fyȝt,
with sorow and care he smot a knyȝt,—
That same heþen hound,—
That hors an man boþe at onys,
he euene cleued hys body and bonys.
Ne myȝt no man hym hele þat wounde!
Boþe Gaufer and gaufres,
Ryȝt be-syde Oger denys,
þere lay y-slaw þat stounde.

Anguler, and anastes þere,
And syr yuory, here gode ser,
alle quyk þay were y-nome,
and y-honged heyȝe on a tre,

129

þat grete dele it was to se,
Vppon many a cristen gom.
þere-fore mansoure was ful fawe,
þat þay were so alle y-slawe,
þe cristen, boþe alle and sum.
But roulond skaped a-way,
In a busk of an hegge for-soth to say
with hys thrydde gome.

And as roulond, þe good knyȝt,
com framward þat strong fyȝt,
A sarsin þer he fand,
þat rested hym þere vp-ryȝt,
y say for-soþe a-plyȝt,
with foure wythys bond.
so vp-ryȝt by a tre,
he ȝede forth and let hym be
styll for to stonde,
And went vppon an heyȝe hylle,
And hys horn he blew wel sch[r]ylle,
That he held in hys honde.

The cristen gonne it knowe,
That weren a-way y-flowe,
And comyn to hys cry.
wel an hundred on a drowe,
A-ȝeyneward gonne drawe,
To the sarsins sykerly.
Roulond hys swerd gan drawe,
To the sarsin, he sayde in a thrawe,
“A-none thow schalt deye,
But thow me telle, y-wys,

130

Where mansoure, thy lord, ys.
bey me hastlye! [OMITTED]
“Thenne wyl y saue the.
My treuth y the plyȝt!”
The sarsin was blythe,
To askape with hys lyue,
And sayde, “Go we a-none ryȝt!”
fforth thay went, alle prest,
Bothe to-gederes in that forest,
So faste as thay myȝt.
The sarsin sayde, “he ys thys
That bereth the schylde of prys
with a dragoun of gold bryȝt.”

Roulond mette an hathen hounde,
Suche a strok he hym founde,
That ded he fyll in that plas.
hard he layde on bothe syde.
whome roulond mette in that tyde,
hym by-fyll a sory cas.
Mansure he mette saunfayle,
In that same batayle,
As it was goddys grace.
Roulond let tho the sarsin gone,
And to the batayle he went a-none,
There mansure in was.

Strong fyȝt was hem by-twene,
They al to-hewen the helmes schene,
And here schyldes dude also.
Thoruȝ the hauberk, the blod was sene,
ffor the strokys weren ful kene,
That deled were by-twene hem to.

131

Roulond smot a strok with yre,
On the helm of syre mansure,
And clef hys body tho.
welle a thousand sarsins,
Alle of godys wytherlyngges,
Thay flowyn a-way hym fro.

whenne belyngans, hys brother,
Sey that hit was none other,
he fleye with hys ost
To saragous, that ryche cyte,
Bothe he and eke hys mayne,
with bobaunce and with bost.
Roulond had so many a wounde,—
wondyr that he ne fyl to grounde,—
And than was sorw most.
“God,” he cryed, “mercy blyue!”
lord, help hym in hys lyue,
Astou art the holy gost!

Roulond com doun a-none,
Off febelnesse he hadde gret wone.
with that come syre baudewyne,
And terry also with-outen fayle,
That weren a-skaped from that batayle.
That on was hys owyn cosyn.
he seye hys armur al to-tore,
hys body with speres thoruȝ bore,
hys lyf in poynt to tyne.
Roulond throw out dorundale,
And sayde there a rewfull tale,
And wroth was in fyn.

Tho he by-gan to make hys mone,
And faste loked there-vppone,

132

As he it held in hys hond:
“O swerd of gret myȝt,
Better bar neuer no knyȝt,
To wynne with no lond!
Thow hast y-be in many batayle,
That neuer sarsin saumfayle
Ne myȝt thy strok with-stonde!
Go, let neuer no paynym
In-to batayle bere hym,
After the deth of roulond!

O Swerd of gret power,
In thys world nys nouȝt thy per,
Of no metal y-wrouȝt!
Alle spayne and Gales
Thoruȝ grace of god & the, y-wys,
To cristendom ben brouȝt.
Thow ert good withouten blame,
In the ys graued the holy name,
That alle thyng made of nouȝt.”
Roulond smot it on a stone,
And he it karf a-to a-none.
To breke it tho was hys thouȝt.

Tho he hadde that ston y-schorne,
wel lowde he blew tho hys horne,
To haue y-had more socour.
Thre note he blew so,
That hys horn clef a-two,
That was of good yuour,
That the temple and hys vayne
Brost bothe with gret mayne,
Off roulond, the conquerour.
Syxty myle men herde the soun,

133

Tho the kyng charlys of renoun
Made gret dolour:

“ȝyue y can Roulond knowe,
Ryȝt now for-sothe y herde hym blowe,
y drede lest he mysfare.
As armes a-none, gret and smale,
To that forest of rouncyvale,
To loke ȝyf he be thare!”
Gwynes, that wyst of thys dede,
To the kyng a-none he sayde,
“Syre, haue ȝe no care!
Roulond ys so iolyf a man,
That he hys blewyng by-gan,
ffor huntyng of an hare.”

lo, thys falce traytour,
God ȝeue hym myssauntour
ffor hys falce lesyng!

Rowlond now lyth on the gras,
And Baudewyn with hym was,
And schulde hym water bryng.
To fecche hym water he gan gon,
But he ne myȝt fynde none,
ffor none skynnes thyng.
Tho he tolde that there none was,
Roulond sayde, “allas! allas!”
with swythe gret mornyng.

To fecche eft ȝede baudewyn:
with that there come a sarsin,
There that lay roulond,
And tok that swerd, dorundale,
And thus he sayde in hys tale,

134

As he it held on hond:
“O Dorundale, thou art wel founde!
wyth the hath roulond y-brouȝt t grounde,
Many a sarsin of oure lond.
Now schal many a cristen berd
wynne schame here after-ward,
Thoruȝ help of mahoundys honde.”

Whenne roulond herd hym speke so,
In hys hert hym was ful wo,
And hastylyche vp he stert.
he ȝede a-non to þat paynym,
and with hys horn he smot hym,
þat he ffelle ouer-þwart,
That blod and brayn start vp by-forn.
ffor-sothe hys lyf þere was lorn,
That he nas neuer after quart.
Ded he fel, so sayþ my tale.
ffor he wolde haue stolyn dorundale,
he hadde a stroke ful smert.

with þat cam baudewyn a-none a-gayn,
And fond Roulond on þe playn,
he leyde hym on hys stede,
Swerd and horn he tok also;
As man þat was in muche wo,
Away he gan hym lede.
Out of þat forest of rouncyvale,
In-to an oþer dep dale,
and leyde hym a-mede,
And sayde, “roulond, pur charite,
þenk on god in trinite,
þat for ous wolde blede!”

135

with þat roulond, godys knyȝt,
loked vp to heuene lyȝt,
And sayde on hys maner.
“Ihesu, þat syttyth in trinite,
O god & persones þre,
Now here my prayer!
y com to thys contre,
Lord, for þe loue of þe,
And thy moder dere,
þe hethen for to slo,
That wrouȝt þe so muche wo,
whyle þat þu were here.

lord, as þu art kyng y-corne,
let þu me be nouȝt for-lorne,
But bryng me to blys,
þere þat ys þy reynyng!
Ihesu criste, heuene kyng,
þere-of þat y ne mys,
And þylke þat ben y-slawe,
ffor þe ryȝt lawe,
And for þe stedfastnesse!”

Ryȝt in þys same prayer,
Roulond, þe very martyr,
passed out of hys lyue.
Angelys comyn fro heuene,
By syxty & by seuene,—
Off hym þay were ful blyþe,—
And brouȝten hym in-to blys,
þat neuer more schal mysse,
þere ioye ys ful ryue.
Now ihesu, mary sone,

136

Graunt ous alle, þerre to wone,
ffor thy woundys fyue!

And as þe Angel mychael,
Gabriel, and raphael,
Roulondys soule bare
Ouer charlys chapyll, y-wys,
As turpyn mes sed, y-wys,
A gret crye he gan here,
Off fendys that weryn felle,
That weren to-warde helle,
with the soule of mansur.
Turpyn bad hem a-byde,
And axed hem in that tyde,
what thyng that they beryn there.

“On that ys ous ful sure,
ffor-sothe, the soule of mansure.
he hath y-serued ous ay.
he schall haue to hys hure
The pyne of helle, sure,
None other be it ne may!
And Roulondys soule ys
y-brouȝt in-to paradys,
with ioye and with play,
There-Inne for to be,
And there hyt to se,
ffor-soth, y the say.”

whenne the masse was don,
The byschop turpyn a-non,
To charlys went, and sayde:
“Charlys syre, for-sothe y-wys,
Ryȝt now none other there nys,
Roulond ys do to deth.

137

ffor-sothe, y sey now ryȝt
Angels of muche myȝt
hys soule to heuene lede.”
wyth that com Baudewyn,
Roulondys owyn cosyn,
Rydyng on hys stede.

The swerd and the horn,
he brought the kyng beforn,
And tolde hym of that cas,
how roulond was y-slawe,
And olyuer, hys gode felaw,
And alle that euer was.
Thoruȝ mansures rede,
Alle hys folk were dede,
And y-spylt in that plas.
Tho charlys wust thys,
he was ful sory, y-wys,
And sayde, “allas, allas!”

with dwele and muche crye,
Charlys went in hye,
Roulond for to se;
And fond hym there ded,
And thus to hym he sayde,
As y schal telle the:
“O roulond, the good conquerour,
And the noblyst warryour,
That euer-more schal be!
Now y haue the for-lore,
Dey y wylle the be-fore,
But god wyl saue!”

On swowne he felle to grounde,
A-none in that same stounde,

138

As a man that was in care,
And whenne he vp stood,
he cryed as he were wood,
And wep and tor hys here.
with a rewful rage,
he cracched hys vysage,
And sayde with sykyng sore:
“Roulond, now for the loue of the,
Dede now wyl y be!
Of blys y am alle bare.

“Thow were strong as sampson,
And bolder thanne any lyon,
In batayle and eke in fyȝt.
I may wepe for thy partyng,
So dude dauid the kyng,
ffor absolon the whyte.
Best me ys my self to sle,
ffor glad ne worthe y neuer mo,
After thys ylke syȝt.
Thow were in were good and wys,
As was Iudas machabeus,
That was godys knyȝt.”

The barouns beden hym let be,
And sayde, “syre, þur charyte,
lete a-way thys ylke mornyng!
wel ȝe seth how it geth,
There nys no bote of mannys deth,
Take to the confortyng!”
The kyng let that body dyȝt,
with myrre and baume a-ryȝt,
ffor drede off Rotyng;
And sythe went to Rowncyvale,
ther the bodyes lyen be tale,
of many an heyȝe lordyng.

139

And al-so Oliuer, ther they fownde,
with foure wythes harde y-bownde,
And ded he lay vndyr a tre.
On hys body was many a wownde,
Charlys sayd tho in that stownde.
“Allas, that yche schulde thys euer se!”
her pauylons ther they pyȝt,
And waked the bodyes all that nyȝt
with swythe grete solemptnite.
the kyng swore by god Almyȝt,
that ys on heye in heuene hyȝt,
ther-of he wolde a-wreke be.

Anon-ryȝt that trewe kyng
Made there ryȝt hys prayng
to Ihesu, ful of myȝt,
that he wolde sende hym grace
Ryȝt ther in that same place,
to haue the dayes lyȝt,
for to sle hys Enemys,
And al-so to wynne the peys,
Or come the next nyȝt.
An angel come ther sone,
And sayd, “y-herd ys thy bone!
Ryse an wende to fyȝt!

“for, tylle thou haue thy wylle,
the sonne schall stonde stylle
In the firmement.”
The kyng was tho glad & blythe,
And thonked god fele sythe,
Ihesu, lord Omnipotent.
kyng Charlys, and Turpyn,

140

Terry, & Eke Bawdewyn
to batayl sone they went,
And sworyn by goddys mounde,
thay schulde neuer stynt stownde,
Tylle the sarisins were schent.

Here by-gynnyth a batayle, stronge & fyn,
Off kyng Charlys and of Turpyn,
that Ioye ys of to here,
that fauȝten aȝens the sarisins stoute,
At saragous wyth-oute dowte,
As gode men schulde and sure.

Charlys hys ost gan oute lede,
And comyn to Sadrak, so y rede,
that ys a fayre watyr & Clere,
Two myle from saragone.
Belyngas, thay fownde sone,
that was wel stoute, and fere,
Off Percy the Ryche sowdan,
that hyȝt syre Perygan.
ne wust nower hys per!
And also many a paynym,
that were bothe stoute & grym,
And of swythe gret power.

Too thowsand of Percyans,
And also fele affricans,
thay browten to the feld.
Off Babyloyn the sowdan,
he brouȝt with hym many a man,
with spere, swerde, and schylde.
Syxty thowsand and mo,
he brouȝt with hym tho,
Thus turpyn hath ous told.

141

Two hundred of percy,
Charlys ne hadde but thyrty,
Off knyȝtes that were bold.

To batayle thay were boune,
Bothe with spere and gomphanoune,
And fast thay gonne to fyȝt.
Syre turpyn and charlyoun,
with here gode swerde broun,
hewyn on the helmes bryȝt.
Many a paynym there fyl a-doun,
That weren of swythe gret renoun,
longe er it were nyȝt.
Otuel tho with hys fauchoun,
And the gode duk hugoun,
A man of muche myȝt,

In the fyrst batayle
The saudan they gonne assayle,
Of percy, that hyȝt perigoun.
Syre otuel smot hym tho,
That euene he cleft hym ato,
Syker bothe hors and man.
Byschop turpyn with hys spere,
To belyngans he gan it bere,
That thoruȝ hys body it ran:
There-whyle the kyng charlyoun
Slow with hys fauchoun
Off babylone the sawdan.

Tho turpyn was by-set,
As a der in the net,
There a-mong the paynemes,
And neyȝ y-slawe that stounde,
And hadde many a wounde,

142

Of the falce sarsins.
Off strokes hard and sore,
Turpyn suffred thare,
Off godys wytherlynges.
And turpyn and tybaut
Made a swythe noble sauȝt,
To slen the fyndes lemes.

Thay and here ost fauȝten so,
That syxty thousand and mo
Suffred there dedes wounde.
Grete peple thay gonne sle:
And wenten fele in-to the se,
ffor drede of deth that stounde.
No sarsin, syker a-plyȝt,
ffrom that Batayle skapyn myȝt,
That owher myȝt be founde.
Alle they were y-slawe,
And y-brouȝt of here lyue-dawe,
There vppon the grounde.

And euer schon the sonne bryȝt,
To ȝeue kyng charlys lyȝt,
In that fayre fyrmement,
Thre dayes of mowntans ryȝt,
tylle he hadde y-wonne the fyȝt,
thoruȝ grace that god hym sent.
And he slowe alle hys Enemys,
And worschyplyche he wan the pris,
wyth swythe gode entent.
the kyng was tho glad & blythe,
and thonked god many sythe,
for the grace that he had hym sent.

143

Anon there-aftyr, he toke the way,
ther that Rowlandys body lay,
and with hym many a knyȝt.
“for-sothe,” sayd Turpyn & Turry,
“Gwynes hath made thys sekerly,
And thys fals tresoun hath dyȝt.”
tho the kyng Charlyoun
Commawndyd swythe anone,
to brynge hym forthe anon-ryȝt.
Terry to hym anone forthe wonde,
And of the deth of Rowlond,
he hym with-clepyd aplyȝt,

And sayde, “thorugh thy false tresoun
Many a gode lorde ys brouȝt adown,
And hathe suffryd dedes wownde.”
Gwynes sayd, “nay,
thowe lyxt falsly by thys day,
And that schall be well y-fownde,
thy body anone-ryȝtys to myn!
Arme the anon wel afyn!
And y wyth a spere y-grownde,
But y me defende,
y grawnt, so god me amende,
Be honged and drawe thys stownde.”

Anone Turry, the gode knyȝt,
Armed hym wel aplyȝt,
And Gwynes dude also.
thay come bothe into the felde,
Bothe with spere & with schelde.
to-gedyr thay reden tho.
Gwynes smote turry,

144

that hys schylde sykerly
Euene Clef a-too.
Turpyn & Charlys the kyng,
Bothe thay say that fyȝtyng.
In hert hem was ful wo!

But Turry with hys half Schylde,
To Gwynes rod in the felde,
with a grete Rawndoun.
he ȝafe the Traytour suche a wownde
that down he fel to grownde,
wyth Crystys Malysoun.
ther the traytour was ouercome,
And swythe anone he was y-nome.
By the hest of Charlyoun.
And ther he was by-knowe,
By-fore heye & eke lowe,
Of that ylke false tresoun,—

the Crystyn, howe he solde
for thrytty somers of golde
to her enomys.
“for-sothe,” sayd Charlys, “hyt ys the lawe
That thow be honged an drawe,
By crist and sent denys.”
he tolde that mansure and belygans,
how thay schulde haue come in-to fraunce,
And haue y-wone the prys,
And haue y-slaw kyng charlys,
Turpyn, and alle hys barounes,
Ryȝt at here dyuys.

Tho by the heste of charlys the kyng,
The traytour was don to hongyng,
And was y-drawe thoruȝ the toun,

145

And after y-honged wel faste.
ffor-sothe tho in haste,
Alle quyk he was leten doun,
And y-bounde to a stake,
And hys bowels out y-take,
To brenne hym by-forn.
To foure stedys he was y-knyt,
By the hondys and by the fet,
At the heste of charlyoun:

On eche stede sat a knyȝt,
And thus he was to-twyt,
Gwynes, the falce traytour.
ffor-sothe, hit were skele and ryȝt
That euerych traytour were so y-dyȝt,
And hadde muche myssaunter.
Charlys tok hys knyȝtes,
And went to roulond a-none-ryȝtes
with Swythe gret dolour.
Roulondys body he let dyȝt,
with murre and baune a-none-ryȝt,
with swythe good odour.

Bothe roulond, & olyuer,
And euerych of the dussyper
with baune weren y-dyȝt.
Of some with-oute fayle,
Men duden out the entrayle,
And in lede layde hem a-ryȝt.
And tho that weren nouȝt so,
fful wel in salt men dude hem do,
To be swete bothe day & nyȝt.
Thus thay weren dyȝt a-none,—
wel ynoynted euerychone,—
with-outen any vnryȝt.

146

Thus charlys doth, that ys so hende,
To bryng hys knyȝtes to good ende,
ffor-sothe as hym thouȝt best.
Other lordys that weren there,
Men layde hem on hors bere,
And [they] were rychelyche brouȝt in cheste.

Charlys by-syde runcyvale
lete rere a chyrche good with alle,
ffor hem to rede and syng.
Now ihesu crist in trinite,
O god and persones thre,
To ioye and blysse ous bryng!
Here endeth otuel, Roulond, & Olyuer,
And off the twelf dussypers,
That deyden in the batayle off Runcyvale.
Ihesu Lord, heuene kyng,
To hys blysse ous and hem bothe bryng,
To Leuen wyth-oute bale. Amen. quod I. [Gage].