Lines 1–417

Jhesu Cryste, yn trynyte,
Oonly god and persons thre,
Graunt us wele to spede,
And gyf us grace so to do,
That we may come thy blys unto,
On rode as thou can blede !
Leve lordys, y schall you telle,
Of a tale some tyme befelle,
Farre yn unkowthe lede ;
How a lady had grete myschefe,
And how sche covyrd of hur grefe ;
Y pray you take hede.

Some tyme ther was in Almayn
An emperrour of moche mayn,
Syr Dyaclysyon he hyght ;
He was a bolde man and a stowte,
All Crystendome of hym had dowte,
So stronge he was yn fyght.
He dysheryted many a man,
And falsely ther londys wan,
Wyth maystry and wyth myght ;
Tyll hyt be felle, upon a day,
A warre wakenyd, as y yow say,
Betwene hym and a knyght ;

The erle of Tollous, syr Barnard,
The emperrour wyth hym was harde.
And gretly was hys foo ;
He had rafte owt of hys honde
Thre hundurd poundys worth be yere of londe,
Therfore hys herte was woo.
He was an hardy man and a stronge,
And sawe the emperour dyd hym wronge,
And other men also ;
He ordeyned hym for batayle,
Into the emperours londe saunfayle,
And there he began to brenne and sloo.

Thys emperour had a wyfe,
The fayrest oon that evyr bare lyfe.
Save Mary mekyll of myght ;
And therto gode in all thynge,
Of almesdede and gode berynge,
Be day, and eke by nyght.
Of hyr body sche was trewe,
As evyr was lady that men knewe,
And therto moost bryght ;
To the emperour sche can say,
My dere lorde, y you pray,
Delyvyr the erle hys ryght.

Dame, he seyde, let that bee,
That day schalt thou nevyr see,
Yf y may ryde on ryght ;
That he schall have hys londe agayne,
Fyrste schall y breke hys brayne,
As y am trewe knyght.
He warryth faste on my londe,
I schall be redy at hys honde,
Wythyn thys fowretenyght.
He sent abowte every whare
That all men schulde make them yare,
Agayne the erle to fyght.

He let crye in every syde,
Thorow hys londe ferre and wyde,
Bothe in felde and towne,
All that myght wepon bere,
Sworde, alablast, schylde, or spere,
They schoulde be redy bowne.
The erle on hys syde also,
Wyth forty thousand and moo,
Wyth spere and schylde browne,
A day of batayle there was sett,
In felde when they togedur mett,
Was crakydd many a crowne.

The emperour had bataylys sevyn.
He spake to them wyth sterne stevyn,
And sayde, so mote he thryve,
Be ye now redy for to fyght,
Go ye and bete them downe ryght,
And leeveth non on lyve,
Loke that none raunsomyd bee,
Nothyr tor golde ne for fee,
But sle them wyth swerde and knyfe :
For all his boste he faylyd yyt,
The erle manly hym mett,
Wyth strokys goode and ryfe.

They reryd batayle on every syde,
Bodely togedur can they ryde,
Wyth schylde and many a spere :
They leyde on faste, as they were wode,
Wyth swerdys and axes that were gode,
Full hedeous hyt was to here.
There were schyldys and schaftys schakydd,
Hedys thorogh helmys crakydd,
And hawberkys all to tere ;
The erle hymselfe an axe drowe,
An hundurd men that day he slowe,
So wyght he was yn were.

Many a stede there stekyd was,
Many a bolde baron in that place
Lay burland yn hys own blode ;
So moche blode there was spylte
That the felde was ovyr hylte,
As hyt were a flode.
Many a wyfe may sytt and wepe,
That was wonte softe to slepe,
And now can they no gode ;
Many a body and many a hevyd,
Many a doghty knyght there was levyd,
That was wylde and wode.

The erle of Tollous wan the felde,
The emperour stode and behelde,
Wele faste can he flee,
To a castell there besyde,
Fayne he was hys hedd to hyde,
And wyth hym erlys thre :
No moo forsothe scapyd away,
But they were slayn and takyn that day,
Hyt myght non othyr bee ;
The erle tyll nyght folowed the chace,
And sythen he thanked god of hys grace.
That syttyth in trynyte.

There were slayne in that batayle,
Syxty thousand wythowte fayle,
On the emperours syde ;
Ther was takyn thre hundurd and fyfty,
Of grete lordys sekyrly,
Wyth woundys grymly wyde.
On the erlys syde ther wer slayne,
But twenty, sothely to sayne.
So boldely they can abyde ;
Soche grace god hym sende,
That false quarell cometh to evell ende,
For oght that may betyde.

Now the emperour ys full woo,
He hath loste men and londe also,
Sore then syghed hee ;
He sware, be hym that dyed on rode,
Mete nor drynke schulde do hym no gode
Or he vengedd bee.
The emperes seyde, Gode lorde,
Hyt ys better ye be acorde,
Be oght that y can see ;
Hyt ys grete parell, sothe to telle,
To be agayne the ryght quarell,
Be god thus thynketh me.

Dame, seyde the emperoure,
Y have a grete dyshonoure,
Therfore myn herte ys woo ;
My lordys be takyn, and some dede,
Therfore carefull ys my rede,
Sorowe nye wyll me sloo.
Then seyde dame Beulybon,
Syr, y rede, be seynt John,
Of warre that ye hoo ;
Ye have the wronge, and he the ryght,
And that ye may see in syght,
Be thys and othyr moo.

The emperour was evyll payde,
Hyt was sothe the lady sayde,
Therfore hym lykyd ylle ;
He wente awey, and syghed sore,
Oon worde spake he no more,
But held hym wonder stylle.
Leve we now the emperour in thoght,
Game ne gle lyked hym noght,
So gretly can he grylle,
And to the erle turne we agayn,
That thankyd god wyth all hys mayn,
That grace had sende hym tylle.

The erle Barnard of Tollous,
Had fele men chyvalrous
Takyn to hys preson,
Moche gode of them he hadd,
Y can not tell, so god me gladd,
So grete was ther raunsome.
Among them had he oon
Was grettest of them everychon,
A lorde of many a towne,
Syr Trylabas of Turky,
The emperour hym lovyd sekurly,
A man of grete renowne,

So hyt befelle upon a day
The erle and he went to play,
Be a rever syde,
The erle seyde to Trylabas,
Tell me, syr, for goddys grace,
Of a thyng that spryngyth wyde ;
That youre emperour hath a wyfe,
The fayrest woman that is on lyfe,
Of hewe and eke of hyde :
Y swere by boke and by belle,
Yf sche be so feyre as men telle,
Mekyll may be hys pryde.

Then sayde that lord anon ryght,
Be the ordre y here of knyght,
The sothe y schall telle the,
To seeke the worlde more and lesse,
Bothe crystendome and hethynnesse,
Ther ys none so bryght of blee :
Whyte as snowe ys hur coloure,
Hur rudde ys radder then the rose flour,
Yn syght who may hur see ;
All men that evyr god wroght
Myght not thynke nor caste in thoght
A fayrer for to bee.

Then seyde the erle, Be goddes grace
Thys worde in mornyng me mas,
Thou seyest sche ys so bryght ;
Thy raunsom here y the forgeve,
My helpe my love whyll y leve,
Therto my trowthe y plyght,
So that thou wylt brynge me
Yn safe garde for to bee
Of hur to have a syght,
An hundurd pownde wyth grete honoure,
To bye the horses and ryche armoure,
As y am trewe knyght.

Than answeryd syr Trylabas,
Yn that covenaunt in thys place
My trowthe y plyght thee,
Y schall holde thy forward gode,
To brynge the, wyth mylde mode,
Yn syght hur for to see
And therto wyll y kepe counsayle,
And never more, wythowte fayle,
Agayne yow to bee ;
Y schall be trewe, be goddys ore,
To lose myn own lyfe therfore,
Hardely tryste to mee.

The erle answeryd wyth wordys hende,
Y tryste to the as to my frende,
Wythowte any stryfe ;
Anon that [we] were buskyd yare,
On owre jurney for to fare,
For to see that wyfe.
Y swere be god and seynt Andrewe,
Yf hyt be so y fynde the trewe
Ryches schall be to the ryfe,
They lettyd nothyr for wynde nor wedur,
But forthe they wente bothe togedur,
Wythowte any-stryfe.

These knyghtes never stynte nor blanne
Tyll to the cyte that they wan,
There the emperes was ynne,
The erle hymselfe for more drede
Cladd hym in armytes wede,
Thogh he were of ryche kynne ;
For he wolde not knowen bee,
He dwellyd there dayes three,
And rested hym in hys ynne.
The knyght bethoght hym on a day
The gode erle to betray
Falsely he can begynne.

Anone he went in a rese
To chaumbur to the emperes,
And sett hym on hys knee ;
He seyde, Be hym that harowed helle,
He kepe yow fro all parelle,
Yf that hys wylle bee.
Madam, he seyde, be Jhesus,
Y have the erle of Tollous,
Our moost enemye ys hee.
Yn what manere, the lady can say,
Ys he comyn ? y the pray,
Anone telle thou me.

" Madam, y was in hys preson,
He hate forgevyn me my raunsom,
Be god full of myght ;
And all ys for the love of the.
The sothe ys he longyth yow to see,
Madam, onys in syght.
An hundurd pownde y have to mede,
And armour for a nobull stede ;
For sothe y have hym hyght,
That he schall see yow at hys fylle,
Ryght at hys owne wylle,
Ther to my trowthe y plyght.

Lady, he ys to us a foo,
Therfore y rede that we hym sloo,
He hath done us grete grylle."
The lady seyde, So mat y goo,
Thy soule ys loste yf thou do so,
Thy trowthe thou schalt fulfylle.
Sythe he forgaf the thy raunsom,
And lowsydd the owt of prison,
Do away thy wyckyd wylle ;

To-morne, when they rynge the mas-belle,
Brynge hym into my chapelle,
And thynke thou on no false slouthe.
There schall he see me at hys wylle.
Thy covenaunt to fulfylle,
Y rede the holde thy trowthe,
Certys, yf thou hym begyle,
Thy soule ys in grete peryle,
Syn thou hast made hym othe
Certys hyt were a traytory.
For to wayte hym velany,
Me thynkyth hyt were rowthe.

The knyght to the erle wente,
Yn herte he helde hym foule schente,
For hys wyckyd thoght ;
He seyde, Syr, so mote y the,
To-morne thou schalt my lady see,
Therfore dysmay the noght.
When ye here the mas-belle,
Y schall hur brynge to the chapelle,
Thedur sche schall be broght.
Be the oryall-syde stonde thou stylle,
Then schalt thou see hur at thy wylle,
That ys so worthyly wroght.

The erle seyde, Y holde the trewe,
And that schall the nevyr rewe,
As farre forthe as y may.
Yn hys herte he waxe gladd,
Fylle the wyne, wyghtly he badd,
Thys goyth to my pay.
There be restyd that nyght,
On the morne he can hym dyght,
Yn armytes array ;
When they ronge to the masse,
To the chapell conne they passe,
To see that lady gay.

They had stonden but a whyle,
The mowntaunse of halfe a myle,
Then came that lady free ;
Two erlys hur ladd,
Wondur rychely sche was cladd,
In gold and ryche perre.
Whan the erle sawe hur in syght,
Hym thoght sche was as bryght
As blossome on the tree :
Of all the syghtys that ever he sye
Raysyd never none hys herte so hye,
Sche was so bryght of blee.

Sche stode stylle in that place,
And schewed opynly hur face,
For love of that knyght ;
He behelde fully hur face,
He sware there, be goddys grace,
He sawe never none so bryght.
Hur eyen were gray as any glas,
Mowthe and nose schapen was
At all maner ryght ;
Fro the forhedd to the too,
Bettur schapen myght non goo,
Nor none semelyer yn syght.

Twyes sche turnyd hur abowte,
Betwene the erlys that were stowte,
For the erle schulde hur see ;
When sche spake wyth mylde stevyn,
Sche semyd an aungell of hevyn,
So feyre sche was of blee,
Hur syde longe, hur myddyll small,
Schouldurs, armes, therwythall,
Fayrer myght non bee ;
Hur hondys whyte as whallys bonne
Wyth fyngurs longe and ryngys upon
Hur nayles bryght of blee.

When he had beholden hur welle,
The lady wente to hur chapell
Masse for to here ;
The erle stode on that odur syde,
Hys eyen fro hur myght he not hyde
So lovely sche was of chere.
He seyde, Lorde god, full of myght,
Leve y were so worthy a knyght
That y myght be hur fere ;
And that she no husbonde hadd,
All the golde that evyr god made
To me were not so dere.

When the masse come to ende,
The lady, that was feyre and hende,
To the chaumbur can sche fare ;
The erle syghed, and was full woo,
Owt of hys syght when sche schulde goo,
Hys mornyng was the mare.
The erle seyde, So god me save.
Of hur almes he wolde crave,
Yf hur wylle ware ;
Myght y gete of that free
Eche a day hur to see,
Hyt wolde covyr me of my care.

The erle knelyd down anon ryght,
And askyd gode for god allmyght,
That dyed on the tree,
The emperes callyd a knyght :
Fourty floranse, that ben bryght,
Anone brynge thou mee.
To that armyte sche hyt payde.
Of on hyr fyngyr a rynge she layde
Amonge that golde so free ;
He thankyd hur ofte, as y yow say,
To the chaumbyr wente that lady gay,
There hur was levyste to bee.

The erle went home to hys ynnys,
And grete yoye he begynnys.
When he founde the rynge ;
Yn hys herte he waxe blythe,
And kyssyd hyt fele sythe,
And seyde, My dere derlynge,
On thy fyngyr thys was,
Wele ys me y have thy grace.
Of the to have thys rynge ;
Yf evyr y gete grace of the quene.
That any love betwene us bene,
Thys may be oure tokenyng.

The erle, al so soone os hyt was day
Toke hys leve, and wente hys way,
Home to hys cuntre ;
Syr Trylabas he thanked faste,
Of thys dede thou done me haste,
Well qwyt schall hyt bee.
They kyssyd togedur as gode frende,
Syr Trylabas home can wende,
There evell mote he thee !
A traytory he thoght to doo,
Yf he myght come thertoo,
So schrewde in herte was hee.