Lines 1–441

As ferre as men ryde or gone
A more chyvalrous town then Troy was oon
In londe was never seen ;
Nor better knyghtys then came of hyt
In all thys worlde was never yyt,
For bothe hardy and kene.
Then came oon hyght Awdromoche,
The furste byger of Anteoche,
And enhabyted cuntreys clene ;
Antenowre was of that barme-teme,
And was fownder of Jerusalem,
That was wyght withowtyn wene.

Helemytes hyght the thryd Troyon,
And was a stronge man of blode and bone,
That fro Troy came to Awfryke ;
Eneas be schyp gate to Rome,
The chefe cyte of Crystendome,
Then was ther none hyt lyke.
Unto the tyme that the emperowr sir Garcy
Werryd on hyt, and herkenyth why,
That many a oon sore can syke
Of Costantyne the nobull was he,
A doghtyar knyght thar not be
In batell for to stryke.

Another emperowre reygned at Rome,
Syr Otes the grawnt hyght that gome,
That wyght was undur-schylde ;
A feyre lady he had to wyfe,
That on a day loste hur lyfe,
That worthy was to welde,
And dyed of a maydyn chylde,
That aftur waxe bothe meke and mylde,
So fayre was seen but selde.

Whan the emperys was dedd.
The Emperowre was wylde of redd,
He gart crysten thys chylde bryght,
And callyd hur Florens thys maydyn feyre,
Bothe hys doghtyr and hys heyre,
In thys worlde was not soche a wyght,
Wolde ye lythe y schoulde yow telle
Of the wondurs that there befelle
Abowte in cuntreys ryght :
For thre dayes hyt reyned blode,
And bestes faght as they were wode,
Bothe wylde and tame with myght ;

Fowlys in the fyrmament
Eyther odur in sondur rente,
And felle dedd to the grownde,
Hyt sygnyfyed that aftur come
Grete trybulacions unto Rome,
Schulde many a man confownde ;
As was for that maydyn small,
Owte-takyn Troy and Rownsevall,
Was never in thys worlde rownde.
Syr Otes, the nobull emperowre,
Gart norysch the chylde with honowre,
And kept hur hole and sownde.

He set to scole that damysell,
Tyll sche cowde of the boke telle,
And all thynge dyscrye,
Be that sche was fyftene yere olde,
Wel sche cowde, as men me tolde,
Of harpe and sawtrye ;
All hur bewteys for to nevyn
Myght no man undur hevyn,
For sothe no more may i.
To mykyll bale was sche borne,
And many a man slayn hur forne,
And in grete batels can dye.

When syr Garcy herde seye
That the emperowre of Rome had soche a may
To hys doghtur dere,
He waxe hasty as the fyre,
And gart sembyll the lordes of hys empyr,
That bolde and hardy were.
He seyde, Ofte have ye blamed me
For y wolde not weddyd bee,
Y have herde of a clere,
Florens that ys feyre and bryght,
In all thys worlde ys not soche a wyght,
Y wyll hur have to my fere.

As the romans trewly tolde,
He was a hundurd yerys olde,
And some boke seyth mare.
He was arayed in ryche parell,
Of sylke and golde wythowtyn fayle,
All whyte was hys hare.
He seyde, Syrs, wendyth ovyr the see,
And bydd the emperowre of Rome sende me
Hys doghtur swete and sware,
And yf he any gruchyng make,
Many a crowne y schall gar crake,
And bodyes to drowpe and dare.

Hys flesche trembylde for grete elde,
Hys blode colde, hys body unwelde,
Hys lyppes blo for-thy ;
He had more mystyr of a gode fyre,
Of bryght brondys brennyng schyre,
To beyke hys boones by,
A softe bath, a warme bedd,
Then any maydyn for to wedd,
And gode encheson why,
For he was bresyd and all to-brokyn,
Ferre travelde in harnes, and of warre wrokyn :
He tolde them redylye ;

When ye have the maydyn broght,
That ys so feyre and worthely wroght,
Sche schall lygg be my syde,
And taste my flankys with hur honde,
That ys so feyre y undurstonde,
Yn bedde be me to byde.
Sche schall me bothe hodur and happe,
And in hur lovely armes me lappe,
Bothe evyn and morne tyde ;
Byd hur fadur sende hur to me,
Or y schall dystroye hym and his cyte,
And thorow hys remes ryde.

A prowde garson that hyght Acwrye,
He was borne in Utalye,
The emperowre aftur hym sende ;
And forty lordes wryttes withynne,
That were comyn of nobull kynne,
In message for to wende ;
And forty stedes with them he sente,
Chargyd with golde for a presente,
"And, say hym as my frende,
That y grete wele sir Otes the graunt.
And byd hym sende me his doghter avenaunt,
That ys curtes and hende.

He cawsyd them to hye as they were wode,
Wyth schyppes soone into the flode,
They rechyd ovyr the depe ;
Spaynysch stedys with them they ledd,
And clothys of golde for back and hedd,
That men myght undur slepe.
Aye the wynde was in the sayle,
Over fomes they flett withowtyn sayle,
The wethur them forthe can swepe.
The furste havyn that ever they hente
Was a towne they calde Awtrement,
That folke them feyre can kepe.

Soon ther tresowre up they drowe,
And ther stedys strong ynowe,
And made theyr schyppys tome ;
They lefte a burges feyre and wheme,
All theyr schyppys for to yeme,
Unto ther gayne-come.
They passed thorow Pole and Chawmpayn,
Evyr speryng ther gatys gane
Unto the cyte of Rome
They entyrde yn at the yatys wyde,
Full ryally thorow the cyte they ryde,
And dredyd no wrang dome.

The fourti messengerys, as y yow say,
Every con rode in seyre array,
Ther sadyls schone full bryght ;
Ther brydyls glyteryng all of golde,
Ther was never frescher upon molde,
Made be day nor nyght.
A stede of Spayne, y undurstande,
Every lorde ledd in hys hande,
Bothe full prest and wyght ;
All was covyrde wyth redd sendell,
The caryage behynde, as y yow telle.
Came wyth the tresur ryght.

Thorow the towne the knyghtes sange,
And ever ther bryght brydyls range,
Makeyng swete mynstralcy ;
Lordys and ladyes of grete astate,
And odur many, well y wate,
At wyndows owt can lye ;
And ever the formast speryd the wayes
Unto the emperowrs paleys,
Full ryall was that crye ;
Feyre they were resseyvyd there
Wyth him that was full wyse of lore,
Hys doghtur sate hym bye.

In a robe ryght ryall bowne,
Of a redd syclatowne,
Be hur fadur syde ;
A coronell on hur hedd sett,
Hur clothys wyth bestes and byrdes wer bete,
All abowte for pryde.
The lyghtnes of hur ryche perre,
And the bryghtnes of hur blee,
Schone full wondur wyde.
There were kynges in that halle,
Erlys and dewkys, who rekenyth all,
Full a hundurd that tyde.

Thes fourti messengerys at ones
Entyre into thes worthy wones,
And came into the halle :
Syr Acwrye haylsed the emperowre,
And hys doghtyr, whyte as floure,
That feyrest was of all.
He askyd of whens that they myght bee.
" Of Costantyne the nobull are we,"
"Feyre, syrrys, mote yow befalle."
"A present we have broght in hye,
Fro owre emperowre, syr Garcy,
Stedys into thy stalle,

And fourty horsys chargyd ryght,
Wyth clothys of golde, and besawntes bryght.
Into thy tresory.
He byddyth, wythowte avysement,
That thy doghtur be to hym sent,
For to lygg hym by ;
Hys body ys bresyd, hys bones are olde,
That sche may kepe hym fro the colde,
Have done now hastelye.
In comely clothyng sche schall be cledd,
I have grete hope he wyll hur wedd,
Sche ys a feyre lady :

And yf thou sende hur not soone,
Hastelye, wythowten wone,
Then ryseth ther a stryfe :
Ellys wyll he nygh the nere,
Wyth hys ryche powere,
And feche hur as hys wyfe.
He wyll dystroye thy bygly landys,
And flee all that before hym standys.
And lose full many a lyfe.
Have done, he seyde, hastelye in hye.
An answere muste we gyf Garcy,
At home when we can ryve."

The emperowre seyde, as a man hende,
Ye schall have an answere or ye wende,
And calde the steward hym tylle :
"The yonder knyghtes to chawmbur ye lede,
Of all thynge that they have nede
Serve them at ther wylle ;
They are syr Garcys messengerys,
And go we to oure cowncell perys,
And leve them bydyng stylle,
To loke what beste ys for to doo,
Soche tythyngys ys comyn us too,
Loke whedur we wyll fulfylle."

The emperowre hys doghtur be the hande hent,
And to a chaumber they wente,
Hys cowncell aftur hym yede,
And askyd yf sche wolde sent ther-tylle,
For to be at syr Garcyes wylle.
And sche seyde, Jhesu forbede !
Sche seyde, Be god, that boght me dere,
Me had levyr the warste bachylere
In all my fadurs thede,
Then for to lye be hys bresyd boones,
When he coghyth and oldely grones,
I can not on hys lede.

Hur fadur lykyd hur wordys wele,
So dud hys cowncell every dele,
And blessyd hur for hur sawe.
They seyde, Yf that Garcy come,
In evyll tyme he hedur nome
Hedurward for to drawe.
The garsons be not so doghtye,
But mony of them soone schall dye,
Yf we togedur plawe ;
Go we hens, owre redd ys tane,
Odur cowncell kepe we nane,
Be ryght nodur be lawe.

The emperowre came into the halle,
The messengerys had etyn all,
And stode to byde an answare :
He seyde, Syrs, wendyth hame,
For here schall ye have no game,
God forbede hyt so ware !
Take the tresowr that ye broght,
But my doghtur gete ye noght,
For all yowre bostefull fare ;
We schall stonde owre chawnce unto,
Whedur he come, or not so do,
Full mekyll we schall not care.

Then Acurye can say,
In the begynnyng of Maye,
My lorde will buske hym to ryde,
And take the somer before hym clene,
And dystroye thy londys all be deene,
Who ys he that schall hym byde ?
Then answeryd syr Egraveyne,
We schall founde to knok ageyne,
For all hys grete pryde.
The emperowre comawndyd no man schulde do
Harme the messengerys unto,
They toke ther leve that tyde.

Then the messengerys all togedur,
Wyth the tresowre that they browght thedur,
Went home agayne,
Al so tyte as syr Garcy sawe,
Wyt ye wel he lyste not to lawe,
But mornyd in mode and mayne ;
Alther furste he toke hym come
To spere the estyrs of Rome,
To telle hym Acurye was fayne :
"Syr, hyt ys feyre bygged with halles and bowrys,
We tolde the seven hundurd towrys,
So Cryste me save and sayne ;

And ther lorde syr Otes the graunt,
Wyth mekyll worschyp they hym avaunt,
Of curtesye he ys the welle ;
And therto trewe as any stele,
For thy, sir, men love hym wele,
Mony wyth hym to dwelle ;
He ys bothe ware and wyse,
And gevyth them gyftys of pryce,
The certen sothe to telle;
And hys doghtur, the feyrest thynge,
That ever was seen wolde or yynge,
Made of flesche and felle.

Thogh a man sate on a wyght palfray
All the longe somers-day,
Avysyd myght he be
For to ryde Rome abowte,
And come yn wher he wente owt,
Hyt were a grete yurne.
Every day in the yere
The feyre ys there lyke playnere,
Amonge the folke so free ;
Syxty dewkys are calde hys perys,
And twenty thousande bachyleres
Longyth to that cyte.

Of the emperowrs pales y wyll yow say,
Ther ys no soche in the worlde to-day
Stondyng undur hevyn ;
The pyllers that stonde in the halle,
Are dentyd wyth golde and clere crystalle,
And therto feyre and evyn.
They are fyllyd wyth sylver, as Criste me cover,
And ther ys peynted wythynne and over,
The dedly synnes sevyn ;
There was peyntyd wyth thynges sere,
That men myght mewse on many a yere.
Or he hyt scryed wyth stevyn.

There comyth watur in a condyte,
Thorow a lyon rennyth hyt,
That wroght ys all of golde,
And that standyth in the myddys of the halle ;
A hundurd knyghtes and ladyes smalle
Myght wasche there and they wolde
All at ones on that stone ;
Many othur waturs come thorow the town,
That fresche are upon folde ;
In myddys the cyte ys oon rennande,
Tyger hyt hyght, y undurstande,
As men there us tolde,

The effect of Rome y have yow tolde,
And of the best barons bolde,
That lygge there-wythynne ;
But of the feyrenes of the maye
I can not telle mony a day,
Ne noght y wyll begynne,"
But, sir, he seyde, al so mote y the,
Thyn eyen mon sche never see,
To welde yyt nodur to wynne.
Full grete othys Garcy hath sworne :
" Many a thousand schall dye therforne.
Or y of my brethe blynne ;

Or thre monythys and a halfe be gone,
I shall dystroye hys landys everychon,
And wynne hys doghtur with were."
Then he made to sende owt wryttes wyde.
In hys londe on every syde,
Messengerys can them bere ;
And Florence fadur at hame
Ordeygned hys men on the same,
With armowre, schylde, and spere :
And thus begynneth a bale to brewe.
Many a man therfore myght rewe,
And wemen hyt dud grete dere.

Syxty thousand sembelde then
Of garsons, and of odur men
To Garcy in that stownde,
They set up seylys, and forthe they rode,
And ay hymselfe, wythowten bode,
The formaste forthe can fownde,
Syxty myle fro Rome ryved they,
Hyt went nere on the thrydd day,
Ther was not oon drowned ;
They tyght ther pavylons in a stede.
The brode felde waxe all redd,
So glemed golde on the grownde.

The medowe was called Narumpy,
The water of Tyber rennyng by,
There Garcyes pavylon stode ;
All the clothys were of sylke,
The ryche ropys were ryght swylke,
The boosys were redd as blode.
Ther was no beest that yede on fote
But hyt was portreyed there, y wote,
Nor fysches swymmyng in flode ;
Fyftene pomels of golde there schoon,
An egyll and a charbokull stone,
Wyde the lyghtnes yode.

The emperowre of Rome lay on his walle,
And hys doghtur gente and small,
Florence the feyre sche hyght ;
And sye the garsons assay ther stedys,
Sterne men in stele wedys,
The medow all can lyght.
He seyde, Y have golde ynogh plente,
And sowdears wyll come to me,
Bothe be day and nyght ;
Now schall y never my golde spare,
But faste upon thys warre hyt ware,
God helpe me in my ryght.

The kynge of Hungary that tyme was dedd,
And lefte hys sonnes wylde of redd,
Syr Mylys and syr Emere ;
Ther modur was weddyd to a stedd,
Agenste all the baronage redd,
As ye schall further here.
To a lorde that wonnyd thereby,
Syr Justamownde of Surry,
That Sterne was to stere.
The kynge of Naverne toke thes chyldur two,
And made them knyghtys bothe tho,
And manhode can them lere

Tyll hyt felle oones on a day
They wente to a medowe to playe,
To lerne them for to ryde :
Syr Emere bare in hys schylde
A whyte dowve, whoso behelde,
A blakk lyon besyde :
The whyte dowve sygnyfyed
That he was full of knyghthedd,
And mekeness, at that tyde ;
The lyon, that he was ferse and felle,
Amonge hys enmyes for to dwelle,
And durste beste in batell byde.

A wery palmer came them by,
And seyde, Syrrys, y have ferly
That ye wyll not fare.
I have bene at grete Rome,
To seke seynte Petur, and thens y come,
Straunge tythyngys harde y thare.
Ther ys an emperowre, that hyght Garcy,
Is logyd in the Narumpy,
Wyth syxty thousande and mare,
He seyth the emperowre of Rome schall not leve
But yf he to hym hys doghtur geve,
That ys so swete of sware.