Lines 814–1218

Yerly when the day was clere,
He bad hys men all in fere,
To buske and make them yare ;
Somer-horsys he let go before.
And charyettys stuffud wyth store,
Wele twelve myle and more.
He hopud wele in hys herte
That hys wyfe was not in querte,
Hys herte therfore was in care ;
He stynted not tyll he was dyght,
Wyth erlys, barons and many a knyght,
Homeward can they fare.

Nyght ne day nevyr they blanne,
Tyll to that cyte they came
There the lady was ynne,
Wythowt the cyte lordys them kepyd,
For wo in herte many oon wepyd,
There teerys myght they not blynne.
They supposyd wele yf he hyt wyste
That hys wyfe had seche a bryste
Hys yoye wolde be full thynne.
They ladden stedys to the stall,
And the lorde into the halle,
To worschyp hym wyth wynne.

Anon to the chaumbur wendyth he,
He longyd hys feyre lady to see,
That was so swete a wyght ;
He callyd them that schoulde hur kepe,
Where ys my wyfe ? ys sche on slepe ?
How fareth that byrde bryght ?
The two traytours answeryd anon,
Yf ye wyste how sche had done,
To dethe sche schulde be dyght.

A, devyll ! he seyde, how soo ?
To dethe that sche ys worthy to goo,
Telle me in what manere,
Syr, he seyde, be goddys ore,
The yonge knyght, syr Antore,
That was hur kervere,
Be that lady he hath layne,
And therfore we have him slayne,
We founde them in fere.
Sche ys in preson, verrament,
The lawe wyll that sche be brente,
Be god that boght us dere.

Alas ! seyde the emperoure,
Hath sche done me thys dyshonoure,
And y lovyd hur so wele ?
Y wende, for all thys worldys gode
That sche wolde not have turned hur mode ;
My yoye begynnyth to keele.
He hente a knyfe wyth all hys mayn,
Had not a knyght ben he had hym slayn,
And that traytour have broght owt of heele ;
For bale hys armes abrode he bredd,
And fell in swowne upon hys bedd ;
There myght men see grete dele.

On the morne, be oon assent,
On hur they sett a perlyament,
Be all the comyn rede ;
They myght not finde in ther counsayle,
Be no lawe, wythowt fayle,
To save hur fro the dede.
Then bespake an olde knyght,
Y have wondur, be goddys myght,
That syr Antore thus was bestedd ;
In chaumbyr thogh they naked were,
They let hym gyf none answere,
But slowe hym, be my hedd.

Ther was nevyr man, sekurly,
That be hur founde any velany,
Save they two, y dar wele say ;
Be some hatered hyt may be,
Therfore doyth aftur me,
For my love y yow pray.
No mo wyll prove hyt but they twoo,
Therfore we may not save hur fro woo,
For sothe, os y yow say.
In hyr quarell but we myght fynde
A man that were gode of kynde.
That durst fyght agayn them tway.

All they assentyd to the sawe.
They thoght he spake reson and lawe,
Then answeryd the kyng wyth crowne,
Fayre falle the for thyn avyse ;
He callyd knyghtys of nobyll pryce,
And badd them be redy bowne,
For to crye, thorow all the londe,
Bothe be see, and be sonde,
Yf they fynde mowne
A man that ys so moche of myght
That for that lady dar take the fyght,
He schall have hys wareson.

Messangerys, y undurstonde,
Cryed thorow all the londe,
In many a ryche cyte,
Yf any man durste prove hys myght,
In trewe quarell for to fyght,
Wele avaunsed schulde he be.
The erle of Tullous harde thys telle.
What anger the lady befelle.
Thereof he thoght grete pyte ;
Yf he wyste that sche had ryght,
He wolde aventure hys lyfe to fyght
For that lady free.

For hur he morned nyght and day,
And to hymselfe can he say
He wolde aventure hys lyfe :
" Yf y may wytt that sche be trewe,
They that have hur accused schull rewe,
But they stynte of ther stryfe."
The erle seyde, Be seynte John,
Ynto Almayn wyll y goon,
Where y have fomen ryfe
I prey to god full of myght,
That y have trewe quarell to fyght,
Owt of wo to Wynne that wyfe,

He rode on huntyng on a day,
A marchand mett he be the way,
And asked hym of whens he was.
Lorde, he seyde, of Almayn.
Anon the erle can hym frayne
Of that ylke case :
" Wherefore ys yowre emperes
Put in so grete dystresse ?
Telle me for goddys grace ;
Ys sche gylte, so mote thou the ?"
" Nay, be hym that dyed on tree.
That schope man aftur hys face."

Then seyde the erle, wythowte lett
When ys the day sett
Brente that sche schulde bee?
The marchande seyde, Sekyrlyke,
Evyn thys day thre wyke,
And therfore wo ys mee.
The erle seyde, Y schall the telle,
Gode horsys y have to selle,
And stedys two or thro ;
Certys, myght y selle them yare,
Thedur wyth the wolde y fare,
That syght for to see.

The marchand seyd wordys hende,
Into the londe yf ye wyll wende,
Hyt wolde be for yowre prowe ;
There way ye selle them at your wylle.
Anon the erle seyde hym tylle,
Syr, herken me nowe ;
Thys yurney wylt thou wyth me dwelle ?
Twenty pownde y schall thee telle,
To mede y make a vowe.
The marchand grauntyd anon.
The erle seyde, Be seynt John,
Thy wylle y alowe.

The erle tolde hym in that tyde
Where he schulde hym abyde,
And homeward wente hee ;
He busked hym that no man wyste,
For mekyll on hym was hys tryste :
He seyde, Syr, go wyth mee.
Wyth them they toke stedys sevyn,
Ther were no fayrer undyr hevyn,
That any man myght see :
Into Almayn they can ryde ;
As a coresur of mekyll pryde
He semyd for to bee.

The marchand was a trewe gyde,
The erle and he togedur can ryde,
Tyll they came to that place ;
A myle besyde the castell
There the emperour can dwelle
A ryche abbey ther was.
Of the abbot leve they gatt
To soyorne, and make ther horsys fatt ;
That was a nobyll cas :
The abbot was the ladyes erne,
For hur he was in grete wandreme,
And moche mornyng he mase.

So hyt be felle upon a day
To churche the erle toke the way,
A masse for to here ;
He was a fayre man and an hye,
When the abbot hym sye,
He seyde, Syr, come nere ;
Syr, when the masse ys done,
Y pray yow ete wyth me at noone,
Yf youre wylle were.
The erle grauntyd all wyth game,
Afore mete they wysche all same.
And to mete they wente in fere.

Aftur mete, as y yow say,
Into an orchard they toke the way,
The abbot and the knyght ;
The abbot seyde, and syghed sare,
Certys, syr, y leve in care
For a lady bryght.
Sche ys accusyd, my herte ys woo,
Therefore sche schall to dethe goo,
All agayne the ryght ;
But sche have helpe, verrament,
In fyre sche schall be brente,
Thys day sevenyght.

The erle seyde, So have y blysse.
Of hyr methynkyth grete rewthe hyt ys,
Trewe yf that sche bee.
The abbot seyde, Be seynte Poule,
For hur y dar ley my soule.
That never gylte was sche ;
Soche werkys new sche wroght,
Neythyr in dede, nor in thoght,
Save a rynge so free,
To the erle of Tullous sche gafe hyt wyth wynne,
Yn ese of hym, and for no synne,
In schryfte thus tolde sche me.

The erle sayde, Syth hyt ys soo,
Cryste wreke hur of hur woo,
That boght hur wyth hys bloode !
Wolde ye sekyr me, wythowt fayle,
For to holde trewe counsayle,
Hyt myght be for youre gode.
The abbot seyde, be bokes fele,
And be hys professyon, that he wolde hele,
And ellys he were wode,
" Y am he that sche gaf the rynge,
For to be oure tokenynge,
Now heyle hyt for the rode.

Y am comyn, lefe syr,
To take the batayle for hyr,
There to stonde wyth ryght.
But fyrste myselfe y wole hur schryve,
And yf y fynde hur clene of lyve,
Then wyll my herte be lyght.
Let dyght me in monkys wede,
To that place that men schulde hyr lede,
To dethe to be dyght ;
When y have schrevyn hyr wythowt fayle,
For hur y wyll take batayle,
As y am trewe knyght."

The abbot was never so gladd,
Nere for yoye he waxe madd,
The erle can he kysse ;
They made mere, and slewe care,
All that sevenyght he dwellyd thare,
Yn myrthe wythowt mysse.
That day that the lady schulde be brent
The erle wyth the abbot wente,
In monkys wede, y wys ;
To the emperour he knelyd blyve,
That he myght that lady schryve,
Anon receyved he ys.

He examyned hur wyttyrly,
As hyt seythe [in] the story,
Sche was wythowte gylte,
Sche seyde, Be hym that dyed on tree,
Trespas was never none in me,
Wherefore y schulde be spylte ;
Save oonys, wythowte lesynge,
To the erle of Tollous y gafe a rynge ;
Assoyle me yf thou wylte
But thus my destanye is comyn to ende,
That in thys fyre y muste be brende,
There godd wylle be fulfyllyt.

The erle assoyled hur wyth hys honde,
And sythen pertely he can up stonde,
And seyde, Lordyngys pese !
Ye that have accused thys lady gente,
Ye be worthy to be brente.
That oon knyght made a rees,
Thou carle monke, wyth all thy gynne,
Thowe youre abbot be of her kynne,
Hur sorowe schalt thou not cees ;
Ryght so thou woldest sayne,
Thowe all youre covent had be hyr layn,
So are ye lythyr and lees.

The erle answeryd, wyth wordys free,
Syr, that oon y trowe thou bee
Thys lady accused has ;
Thowe we be men of relygon,
Thon schalt do us but reson,
For all the fare thou mas.
Y prove on hur thou sayst not ryght,
Lo here my glove wyth the to fyght,
Y undyrtake thys case ;
As false men y schall yow kenne,
Yn redd fyre for to brenne,
Therto god gyf me grace.

Al that stoden in that place
Thankyd god of hys grace,
Wythowte any fayle.
The two knyghtys were full wrothe,
He schulde be dedd they swere grete othe :
But hyt myght not avayle.
The erle wente there-besyde.
And armyd hym wyth mekyll pryde,
Hys enemyes to assayle ;
Manly when they togedur mett,
They hewe thorow helme and basenet,
And martyrd many a mayle.

They redyn togedur wythowt kick,
That hys oon spere on hym brakk,
That othyr faylyd thoo ;
The erle smote hym wyth hys spere,
Thorow the body he can hym here,
To grounde can he goo.
That sawe that odyr, and faste can flee,
The erle ovyrtoke hym undyr a tre,
And wroght hym mekyll woo.
There thys traytour can hym yylde,
As recreaunt yn the fylde,
He myght not fle hym froo.

Before the emperour they wente,
And ther he made hym, verrament,
To telle for the noonys ;
He seyde, We thoght hur to spylle,
For sche wolde not do oure wylle,
That worthy ys in wonnys.
The erle answeryd hym then,
Therfore, traytours, ye schall brenne
Yn thys fyre, bothe at onys.
The erle anon hym hente,
And in the fyre he them brente,
Flesche, felle, and boonys.

When they were brent bothe twoo,
The erle prevely can goo
To that ryche abbaye,
Wyth yoye and processyon
They fett the lady into the towne,
Wyth myrthe, os y telle may.
The emperoure was full gladd,
Fette me the monke, anon he badd,
Why wente he so awaye ?
A byschoperyke y wyll hym geve,
My helpe, my love, whyll y leve,
Be god that owyth thys day.

The abbot knelyd on hys knee,
And seyde, Lorde, gone ys hee
To hys owne londe ;
He dwellyth wyth the pope of Rome,
He wyll be gladd of hys come,
Y do yow to undurstonde.
Syr, quod the emperoure.
To me hyt were a dyshonoure,
Soche wordes y rede thou wonde ;
Anone yn haste that y hym see,
Or thou schalt nevyr have gode of me,
And therto here myn honde.

Lorde, he seyde, sythe hyt ys suo,
Aftur hym that y muste goo,
Ye muste make me sewrte,
Yn case he have byn youre foo,
Ye schall not do hym no woo,
And then, al so mote y thee,
Aftur hym y wyll wynde,
So that ye wyll be hys frende,
Yf youre wylle bee.
Yys, seyde the emperoure full fayne,
All my kynne thogh he had slayne,
He ys welcome to mee.

Then spake the abbot wordys free,
Lorde, y tryste now on thee,
Ye wyll do os ye sey ;
Hyt ys syr Barnard of Tollous,
A nobyll knyght and a chyvalrous,
That hath done thys jurney.
Now certys, seyde the emperoure,
To me hyt ys grete dyshonoure ;
Anon, syr, y the pray,
Aftur hym that thou wende,
We schall kysse and be gode frende,
Be god that owyth thys day.

The abbot seyde, Y assente ;
Aftur the erle anon he wente,
And seyde, Syr, go wyth mee ;
My lorde and ye, be seynt John,
Schull be made bothe at oon,
Goode frendys for to bee.
Thereof the erle was full fayne,
The emperoure came hym agayne,
And sayde, My frende so free,
My wrath here y the forgeve,
My helpe, my love, whyll y leve,
Be hym that dyed on tree.

Togedur lovely can they kysse,
Therof all men had grete blysse,
The romaunse tellyth soo ;
He made hym steward of hys londe,
And sesyd agayne into hys honde
That he had rafte hym froo.
The emperoure levyd but yerys thre,
Be alexcion of the lordys free
The erle toke they thoo,
They made hym ther emperoure,
For he was styffe yn stoure,
To fyght agayne hys foo.

He weddyd that lady to hys wyfe,
Wyth yoye and myrthe they ladd ther lyfe,
Twenty yere and three ;
Betwene them had they chylder fyftene
Doghty knyghtys all bedene,
And semely on to see.
Yn Rome thys geste ys cronyculyd, y wys,
A lay of Bretayne callyd hyt ys,
And evyr more schall bee.
Jhesu Cryste to hevyn us brynge,
There to have owre wonnyng
Amen, amen, for charytee !