Lines 253–500

So at the last he rose agayne,
And made his mone to god almyght,
And to our lady he dyd compleyne,
Theyr helpe desyrynge in that fyght.

Than sterte he wyth a fayre courage,
Unto the dragon without fayle,
He loked so for his advauntage,
That [quyckely] he smote of her tayle.

Than began the dragon for to yell,
And tourned her upon her syde,
The knight was ware of her right well.
And in her bodi made his sworde to slyde.

So that she could nat remeve scarcely,
The knight, that seinge, approched nere,
And smote her heed of lyghtly,
Than was he escaped that daungere.

Than thanked he god of his grace,
Whiche, by his goodness and mercye,
Hym hath preserved in that place,
Through vertue of hys deyte.

Than went he to a nonrye there besyde,
And there a surgean by his arte
Heled his woundes that were so wyde,
And than fro thens he dyd departe,

Towarde the Rodes, for to fyght,
In bataill as he had undertake,
The fayth to susteyne with all his might,
For his promysse he wil not breke.

Than of Sarazyns there was a route,
Al redy armen and in araye,
That syeged the Rodes round aboute,
Fyersly agaynst the good freydaye.

The knight was welcomed of echone,
That within the cyte were,
They provided forth batayle anone
So for this time i leve them there,

And tourne to his lady bryght,
Which is at home wyth wofull mone,
Sore morned [she] both day and night,
Sayenge, Alas ! my love is gone.

Alas ! she sayd, my gentyl knight,
For your sake is my herte ful sore,
Myght i ones of you haue a syght
Afore my dethe, i desyre no more.

Alas ! what treson or envye
Hath made my love fro me to go ?
I thynke my lorde for ire truely
By treason him to deth hathe do.

Alas ! my lorde, ye were to blame
Thus my love for to betraye,
It is to you a right great shame,
Sythe that our love was chast alwaye.

Our love was clene in chastyte,
Without synne styl to endure,
We never entended vylanye
Alas, moost curteyse creature !

Where do ye dwell ? where do ye byde ?
Wold god i knewe where you to fynde !
Wher ever ye go, where ever ye ride,
Love, ye shall never out of my mynde.

A, deth, where art thou so longe fro me ?
Come and departe me fro this paine,
For dead and buried til i be
Fro morning can i nat refraine.

Fare wel, dere love, where ever ye be,
Bi you pleasure is fro me gone,
Unto the time i may you se,
Without comforte still must i mone.

Thus this lady, of coloure clere,
Alone mourninge did complaine,
Nothinge coulde her comforte ne chere,
So was she oppressed with wo and paine.

So leve we her here in this traine,
For her love mourning alwaye,
And to the knight tourne we againe,
Which at Rodes abideth the day

Of bataile, so whan the dale was come,
The knightes armed them eche one,
And out of the citie wente all and some,
Strongly to fight with goddes sone.

Faire and semely was the fight,
To se them redy unto the warre,
There was many a man of might,
That to that bataile was come full farre.

The knight of curtesy came into the felde,
Well armed right fast did ride,
Both knightes and barans him behelde,
How comely he was on eche side.

Above the helme upon his hede,
Was set, with many a precious stone,
The comely heare as golde so rede,
Better armed than he was none.

Than the trumpettes began to sounde.
The speres ranne and brake the ray
The noise of gonnes did rebounde,
In this metinge there was no plaie.

Great was the bataile on everi side,
The knight of curtesy was nat behinde,
He smote al downe that wolde abide,
His mache coulde he no where finde.

There was a Sarazin stronge and wight,
That at this knight had great envye,
He ran to him with all his might,
And said, Traitour, i thee defie.

They ranne together, with speres longe,
Anone the Sarazin lay on the grounde,
The knight drewe out his sworde so stronge,
And smote his head of in that stounde.

Then came twelve Sarazins in a rought,
And the knight did sore assaile,
So they beset him rounde aboute,
There began a stronge bataile.

The knight kest foure unto the grounde,
With foure strokes by and by,
The other gave him many a wounde,
For ever they did multiplie.

They laide on him on every side,
With cruell strokes and mortall,
They gave him woundes so depe and wide,
That to the grounde downe did he fall.

The Sarazins went, and let him lye,
With mortall woundes piteous to se,
He called his page hastely,
And said, my time is come to die.

In my herte is so depe a wounde
That i must dye without naye,
But, or thou me burye in the grounde,
Of one thinge i thee praie :

Out of mi body to cut my herte,
And wrappe it in this yelowe here,
And, whan thou doest from hence departe,
Unto my lady thou do it bere.

This promisse thou me without delay,
To bere my lady this present,
And burie mi body in the crosse waie.
The page was sory and dolent.

The knight yelded up the goost anone,
The page him buried as he had him bad,
And towarde Faguell is he gone.
The herte, and here, with him he had.

Somtime he went, somtime he ran,
With wofull mone and sory jest,
Till unto Faguell he came,
Nere to a castell in a forest.

The lorde of Faguell, without let,
Was in the forest with his meyne,
With this page anone he met
Page, he said, what tidinges with thee ?

With thi maister how is the case ?
Shew me lightly, or thou go,
Or thou shalt never out of this place.
The page was afearde whan he said so.

The page for feare that he had,
The herte unto the lorde he toke tho,
In his courage he was full sad,
He toke the heere to him also.

He tolde him trothe of everi thinge,
How that the knight in bataile was slaine,
And how he sent his lady that thinge,
For a speciall token of love certaine.

The lorde thereof toke good hede,
And behelde the herte, that high presente ;
Their love, he said, was hote in dede,
They were bothe in great torment.

Than home is he to the kechin gone
Coke, he said, herken unto me ;
Dresse me this herte, and that anone,
In the deintiest wise that may be ;

Make it swete and delycate to eate,
For it is for my lady bryght,
If that she wyst what were the meate,
Sothely her hert wolde not be lyght,

Therof sayd the lord full trewe,
That meat was doleful and mortall,
So thought the lady whan she it knewe,
Than went the lorde into the hall.

Anone the lorde to meate was set,
And this lady not farre him fro,
The hert anone he made be set,
Wherof proceded muche wo.

Madame, eate hereof, he sayd,
For it is deynteous and plesaunte.
The lady eate, and was not dismayde,
For of good spyce there dyd none want.

Whan the lady had eaten wele,
Anone to her the lorde sayd there,
His herte have ye eaten, every dele.
To whom you gave your yelowe here,

Your knight is dead, as you may se,
I tel you, lady, certaynly,
His owne herte eaten have ye,
Madame, at the last we all must dye.

Whan the lady herde him so say,
She sayd, My herte for wo shall brast
Alas, that ever i sawe this day !
Now may my lyfe no longer last.

Up she rose, wyth hert full wo,
And streight up into her chambre wente,
She confessed her devoutly tho,
And shortely receyved the sacrament.

In her bed mournyng she her layde,
God wote, ryght wofull was her mone :
Alas ! myne owne dere love, she sayd,
Syth ye be dead my joye is gone.

Have i eaten thy herte in my body ?
That meate to me shal be full dere.
For sorowe, alas, now must i dye :
A, noble knight, withouten fere !

That herte shal certayne with me dye,
I have received theron the sacrament,
All erthly fode here i denye.
For wo and paine my life is spente.

My husbande, full of cruelte.
Why have you done this cursed dede ?
Ye have him slaine, so have ye me,
The hie god graunte to you your mede !

Than sayd the lord, My lady fayre,
Forgive me if i have misdone,
I repent i was not ware
That ye wolde your herte oppresse so sone.

The lady sayd, I you forgive,
Adew, my lorde, for evermore ;
My time is come, i may not live,
The lorde sayd, I am wo therfore.

Great was the sorowe of more and lesse,
Bothe lordes and ladyes that were there,
Some for great wo swouned doubtelesse ;
All of her dethe full wofull were.

Her complaynt pyteous was to here,
Adieu, my lorde, nowe muste we discever,
I dye to you, husbande, a true wedded fere,
As any in Faguell was found ever.

I am clene of the knight of curtesy,
And wrongfully are we brought to confusion ;
I am clene for hym, and he for me,
And for all other save you alone.

My lorde, ye were to blame truely,
His herte to make me for to eate,
But sythe it is buryed in mi body,
On it shall i never eate other meate.

Theron have i recyved eternall fode,
Erthly meate wyll i never none ;
Now Jesu that was don on the rode,
Have mercy on me, my lyfe is gone !

Wyth that the lady, in all theyr syght,
Yelded up her spyrit, making her mone :
The hyghe god moost of myght
On her have mercy and us echone