Stanzas LXI–LXVIII

A riche kynge was syr Ysambrace,
In mare welthe thane ever he was
Of haythene landes thare ;
Crystene lawes to kepe in that tyde,
Sandes he sente fulle ferly wyde
To thame that haythene ware.
Bot thay turnede alle tille ane assent,
That schortly there-to thay ne wolde conscent,
Bot to a batelle fare.
Thay sayde, and thay myghte hym hent,
That he solde come to thaire perlement,
And there be bothe hangede and brynt,
And alle that with hym were.

A daye of batelle thus was ther sett,
And alle the haythene ther was mett
Sir Ysambrace to slaa ;
Fele Sarazenes semblede that tyde,
Frafele ferre costes to that batelle thay ryde
With knyghtes many and maa.
Sir Ysambrace was fulle of care,
He hade no mene with hym to fare,
His mene awaye gane gaa :
The Sarazenes faylede hym at that nede,
Be he was horsede one his stede
Thay were alle flede hym fraa.

Sir Ysambrace was thane fulle waa,
He kyssede his lady and wolde furthe gaa
With sorow and hert fulle sare ;
A dolefulle worde thane gunne he saye,
" Nowe, certis, lady, hafe now gud daye,
For nowe and evermare !"
"A ! lorde," scho sayd, "helpe that I were dyghte
In armours, als I were a knyghte,
And with the wille I fare ;
And God that made bothe see and lande,
My saule I wyte into thy hande,
For I kepe to lyffe no mare !"

Sone was the lady dyghte
In armours, als thofe scho were a knyghte,
And had bothe spere and schelde ;
Agaynes thrytty thowsandez and maa
Come there nane bot thay twaa,
Nyne hundrethe sone hafe thay
slayne !
And righte als thay solde hafe takene bee,
There come rydande knyghttes three
Appone thre bestes wylde ;
One on a lebarde, another on a unycorne,
And one on a lyone he come by-forne,
That was thair eldeste childe !

In angells wede were thay alle clede,
An angelle thame to the batelle lede,
That semely was to sene :
Thay slewe the haythene knyghttes swa,
And of the Sarazenes many alswa,
ȝa twentty thowsandez and thre.
Sir Ysambrace prayed the knyghtes swaa,
Hame with hym that thay walde gaa,
And be of his meiȝe ;
Thay ansuerde, als the angelle tham kende,
" For the were we to the batelle sende,
Thyne awenne sonnes are wee ! "

Ofte was syr Ysambrace wele and woo,
Bot never ȝitt als he was tho,
One knees than he hym sett ;
He grett, and sayde wyth mylde stevene,
" Thankede be the heghe kyng of hevene,
My bale thane hase he bett !"
Sir Ysambrace and that lady free
Kyssed alle thaire childir three,
Ilkane for joye thay grett ;
Mare joye myghte never no mane see,
Thane men myghte one thame see,
In armes whenne thay were mett.

A ryche cete was there besyde,
And syr Ysambrace byfore gane ryde
His sonnes hame for to lede ;
Chambirs fande thay faire and bryghte,
Robys faire and redy dyghte,
And thare thay chaunged thaire
wede;
Riche metis wantted thame nane,
Nowther of wylde nor of tame,
Nor no riche brede.
Fyve landis thus gunne thay wynne,
And stabylde Crystyndome thame inne,
In storyes thus als we rede.

A fulle riche kynge thane was syr Ysambrace,
And coverde he hase alle his myscas,
He lyffes nowe fulle richely ;
Ilkane of his sonnes he gafe a lande,
Durste na mane agayne thame stande,
Whare so that thay solde fare.
Thay lyffede and dyed with gud entent,
And sythene alle tille hevene thay went,
Whenne that thay dede ware.
Praye we now to hevenes kynge,
He gyffe us alle his dere blyssynge
Nowe and evermare !
Amene. Amene.