Part 2: Lines 411–818

Tho was the Sowdon̄ more þan̄ wod,
He cried to Ferumbras,
“For Mahoundes loue, þat is so good,
Destroye vp bothe man and place.

Spare no thinge that is alyve,
Hows, Toure ner Walle,
Beest, ner man, Childe nere Wife,
Brenne, slo and distroye alle.”

Tho Ferumbras ordeynede anone
To bende the Engynes to the town̄
And bete down̄ botħ Toure and stoon̄.
He cleped fortħ Fortibraunce and Mavon̄

And saide “be youre Engynes goode?
Shewe forth here nowe your crafte
For Mahoundis love, þat gevith man foode,
That ther be no Toure lafte.”

Tho the grete gloton̄ Estagote
With his myghty mace sware
On the Gatis of Rome he smote
And brake hem alle on thre thare.

In he entrid at the Gate
The Porte-Colis on him thai lete falle.
He wende, he hade come to late,
It smote him through herte, lyuer and galle.

He lai cryande at the grounde
Like a develle of Helle;
Through the Cite wente the sowne,
So lowde than gan he yelle.

Gladde were al the Romaynes,
That he was take in the trappe,
And sorye were al the Sarsyns
Of þat myschevos happe.

Sory was the Soudon̄ than̄
And Ferumbras and Lukafer.
Thai drowe hem tille her tentes than̄,
Thai left him ligginge there.

Mahounde toke his soule to him
And broght it to his blis.
He loued him wel and al his kyn,
Of þat myghte he not mys.

Anone the Pope dide somon̄ alle;
The peple of the Cite came,
To Seinte Petris he dide hem calle,
And thidere came every man.

He saide on hie “my Children dere,
Ye wote wel, howe it is;
Ayenst the Sarisyns, þat nowe be here,
We mowe not longe endure I-wis.

Thay brekene oure walles, oure Toures alle
With caste of his Engyne.
Therefore here amonge yoᶙ alle
Ye shalle here counsaile myne.

Thai bene withdrawe to here Oost,
And on-armede thay ben alle.
Therfore, me thenketh, is beste
To-morowe erly on hem to falle.

We have xxxti thousande men;
Twenty thousande shal go witħ me,
And in this Cite leve ten
To governe the comynalte.”

The Senatouris assentede sone
And saide, beter myghte no man seyne.
On the morowe this was it done;
God bringe hem wele home agayne.

The Pope did display than
The hie baner of Rome,
And he assoiled every man̄
Througħ gracious god in Dome.

He praide of helpe and socour
Seinte Petir and Poule also
And oure lady, þat swete floure,
To saue the Cite of Rome from woo.

Forth thai riden̄ towarde the Oost.
Ferumbras romede a-boute;
He saw the Romaynes comen̄ by the Cost,
Thereof he hade grete dowte.

He blewe an horne, of bras it was;
The Sarsyns be-gon̄ to wake.
“Arise vp” he saide in aras,
“We bene elles alle I-take,

And Armes anone, every wight,
To horse with spere and shelde!
Ye may se here a fereful sighte
Of oure enemyes in the felde.

Astopars, goo ye biforne vs,
For ye be men of myghte;
Ethiopes, Assayneȝ and Askalous,
Go nexte afore my sighte.

My Fadir and I with Babyloynes,
Ho shal kepe the rerewarde.
King Lukafer with Baldeseynes,
To venge alle, shalle have the Fowarde.”

The Romaynes aspied, þat thai were ware
Of here comynge than̄,
And therfore hade thay moche care.
Natheles on hem thai gon̄—

Seinte Petir be here socoure!—
And laiden on side, bake and bon̄.
There bigan a sturdy shoure
Sire Ferumbras of Alisaundre oon̄,

That bolde man was in dede,
Vppon a steede Cassaundre gaye,
He roode in riche Weede.
Sire Bryer of Poyle a Romayne to fraye

He bare through witħ a spere,
Dede to the grounde ther he lan̄
Might he no more hem dere!
That sawe Huberte, a worthy man,

Howe Briere was I-slayn̄,
Ferumbras to qwite than̄
To him he rode ful even̄.
With a spere vppone his shelde þan̄

Stifly ganne he strike;
The shelde he brake I-myddis the feelde;
His Hawberke wolde not breke.
Many goode strokes were delte.

Ferumbras was a-greved tho,
He smote with mayne and mygħte
The nekke asonder, the ventayle also,
That dede he sate vprighte.

There was bataile harde and stronge;
Many a steede wente ther a-straye,
And leyen at the grounde I-stonge,
That resyn never aftyr that day,

IX thousand of the payens pride
That day were slayn̄,
And viij thousande of the Romaynes side,
That in the feelde dede layne.

Lukafere, þat paynym proude,
Slough Romaynes eyȝtene,
Of werr moche sorowe he coude,
His strokes were over alle sene.

Gyndarde, a Senatoure of Rome,
Had slayne Sarsenys ten̄,
Tille he met with the cursed gome,
Lukifere slough him than.

Tho come the Pope with grete aray,
His baner to-fore him wente.
Ferumbras than gan̄ to assaye,
If he myght that praye entente,

Supposynge in this thoughte,
Ther was the souerayne;
He spared him therfore rigħt nogħt,
But bare him down̄ ther in þe playn̄.

Anoon̄ he sterte on him all ane
His Ventayle for to onlace,
And saugh his crown̄ newe shafe,
A-shamed thanne he was.

“Fye, preest, god gyfe the sorowe!
What doist thou armede in the feelde,
That sholdest saie thi matyns on morwe,
What doist thoᶙ witħ spere and shelde?

I hoped, thoᶙ hadiste ben̄ an Emperoure,
Or a Cheftayne of this Ooste here,
Or some worthy conqueroure.
Go home and kepe thy Qwer!

Shame it were to me certayne
To sle the in this bataile,
Therfore turne the home agayn̄!”
The Pope was gladde þer-of certayne,

He wente home to Rome that nyght
Witħ Five thousande and no more,
XV thousande lefte in the feelde aplight,
Full grete sorowe was therfore.

NOWE telle we of the messanger,
That wente to Charlemayne,
Certyfyinge him by lettres dere,
Howe the Romaynes were slayne,

And howe the Contrey brente was
Vnto the Gate of Rome,
And howe the people song ‘alas,’
Tille socoure from him come.

“Who” quod Charles, that worthy kinge,
“The Sowdon̄ and Ferumbras?
I nyl lette for no thinge,
Till I him oute of Cristendome chace.

Therefore Gy of Burgoyn̄,
Mynne owen nevewe so trewe,
Take a thausande pounde of Frankis fyne,
To wage wytħ the pepul newe.

Take this with the nowe at this tyme,
And more I wole sende the,
Loke that thou spare no hors ne shelde,
But þat he dede be;

And faste hye the thyderwarde,
For I drede thay haue grete nede,
And I shalle come aftirwarde
As faste, as I may me spede.”

SPEKE we of Sir Laban̄
And let Charles and Gy be,
Howe he ordeyned for hem than̄
To Distroye Rome Citee.

“Sir Lukafer, thou madiste thi boost
To conquer the Romaynes
And to bringe me the Ooste
Of the xij peris and Charlemayne.

Vppon̄ a condicion̄ I graunte the
My doghter, dere Dame Floripas.
Wherefore, I aske nowe of the
To holde covenaunte in this cas.”

“That I saide” quod Lucafere,
“To Mahounde I make a vowe
To done al þat I hight the ther,
Ye and more than for Florip love.”

He ordeyned assaute anone in haste
With x thousande men and moo;
And Ferumbras at that oþer side faste
Assailed hem with grete woo.

The saute endured al þat daye
From morowe, tille it was nyght,
To throwe and shete by euery waye,
While that hem endured the light.

Tho wente thai home to thair tentys,
Tille it were on the morowe.
Isres in his fals ententes
Purposed treson̄ and sorowe.

He was chief Porter of the Town̄,
By heritage and fee so he shulde be.
He wente to the Sowdan̄,
For the riche Cite betraye woolde he,

And saide “lorde, gife me grace
For my goodes and for me,
And I wole delyuer the this place
To haue and holde for ever in fee.

The keyes of this riche Cite
I haue in my bandon.”
“That graunte I” quod Laban “the
To be free withoute raunson̄.”

Ferumbras made him yare,
With xxti thousand men̄ and moo,
With this Isres for to fare,
And to wynne the Cite soo.

As sone as he entred was
The chief Gate of alle,
And alle his men in aras,
He lete the Portcolys falle.

He smote of the traitourus hede
And saide “god gife him care!
Shal he never more ete brede,
All traitours evel mot thai fare!

If he myght leve and reigne here,
He wolde betraye me;
For go he west, soutħ or Nortħ,
Traitour shalle he never be.”

He dide lete bere his hede on a spere
Througħ-oute this faire Citee.
‘Treson, treson̄’ thai cried there,
Pite it was to here and see.

The people fled by every waye,
Thai durst no-where a-bide.
The hye wey ful of dede men laye,
And eke by every lanys side.

Ferumbras to Seinte Petris wente,
And alle the Relekes he seased anoon̄,
The Crosse, the Crown̄, the Nailes bente;
He toke hem with him everychone.

He dide dispoile al the Cite
Both of tresoure and of goolde,
And after that brente he
Alle þat ever myght be toolde.

And alle the tresoure witħ hem þai bare
To the Cite of Egremour.
Laban the Sowdon̄ soiourned there
Thre monþes and thre dayes more

In myrtħ and Ioye and grete solas.
And to his goddes offrynge he made,
He and his sone Sir Ferumbras
Here goddis of golde dide fade,

Thai brente Franken̄sense,
That smoked vp so stronge,
The Fume in her presence,
It lasted alle alonge.

Thai blewe hornes of bras,
Thai dronke beestes bloode.
Milke and hony ther was,
That was roial and goode.

Serpentes in Oyle were fryed
To serve þe Sowdon̄ with alle,
“Antrarian Antrarian” thai lowde cryed
That signyfied ‘Ioye generalle.’

Thus thai lived in Ioye and blis
Two monþes or thre.
Lete we now be alle this,
And of Gye nowe speke we.

NOW speke we of Sir Gȳe
That toward Rome hied witħ his Oost.
Whan̄ he approched there-to so nyȝe,
That he myght se the cooste,

Alle on a flame þat Cite was,
That thre myle al abowte,
Ther durst no man̄, þat ther was,
Come nyȝe the Cite for grete dowte.

That was a sory Cite than,
Sir Gye was in grete care,
Ther was nowhere a soryer man̄,
For sorowe he sighed ful sare,

And saide “welallas” the while
“For we come ar to late,
For by some treson or some gyle
Thai entred in at some Gate.

There is no more but for to abyde,
Tille Charles come, the kinge,
In this mede Vnder grene wode side,
To telle him of this tithinge,

Howe Laban hath the Cite brente
And bore the Religes a-waye,
And howe he hath hem to Spayne sente
With Shippes of grete aray,

To Egremour his chief Cite,
Ther to live and ende;
And manassitħ Charles and his baronye.
God gife hem evelle ende!”

Kinge Charles he forgate nought
To come to reskowe Rome,
Alle his Doȝypers were I-sought,
Fulle sone to him thay come.

Thre hundred thousande of Sowdeoures
Kinge Charles with him dide lede,
They were doughty in all stourys
And worthy men of dede.

Sir Roulande þat worthy knighte,
He ladde the Fowarde,
And Sir Olyuer, that was so wighte,
Gouerned the Rerewarde.

The Kinge himselfe and his Baronye,
With Dukes And Erilles roialle,
Gouerned alle the medil partye.
By commaundemente generall

He ordeynede grete plente
Of Flessh and Fissh, brede and wyne,
In shippes to saile by the see,
To serven him ful wel and fyne.

Sir Gye aspied his comynge,
He knewe the baner of Fraunce,
He wente anoon̄ ayen the kinge
And tolde him of þat myschaunce,

Howe that the cursed Sowdan̄
Hath brent Rome and bore the Relekis awaye,
And how he hath slayn̄ alle and some,
That he hatħ founde of Cristen̄ faye.

And more-over he made his a-vowe,
To seke kinge Charles in Fraunce
And do him wo ther I-nowe.
“God gif him moch myschaunce!”—

“A” quod Charles “þat neditħ noght,
He shal fynde me nere.
By god, þat dere me bogħt,
He shal by it ful dere.

I shalle him never leve I-wis
Withinne walle ner witħoute,
I swere by god and seinte Denys,
Tille I have sought him oute;

And but if he will Baptised be
And lefe his fals laye,
Babyloyne shal he never see
For alle his grete aray.”

Anoon to shippe every man̄
With vitaile and with store,
Euen towarde the proud Sawdan̄
With-outen̄ any more.

Wynde him blewe ful fayre and goode
Into the Ryver of Gaȝe,
Even over the salte flode
And ouer the profounde rase.

XXX legeeȝ from Egremour
By londe for south it is,
And ther withoute any more
To londe thai wente I-wis,

And brente and sloughen̄ al þat thai fonde,
And stroyed both Toure and town̄.
Thai lefte no thinge on grounde,
That thai ne bete it down̄.

Tithinggis were tolde to Laban,
Howe Charles was I-come
And slough bouth childe, wyfe, man
And brente and stroyed alle and some

With thre hundred thousand of Bacheleris,
That were both stoute and gaye,
And with him al his Dosyperis,
Pepul of grete araye.

“And but ye ordeyne remedy,
He wole you brenne and sloon̄,
Youe and youre riche Baronye,
He wole leve a-life neuere oon̄.”

Whan Laban herde these tidyngys,
His herte woxe alle coolde
And saide “this is a wonder thinge!
Howe durste he be so boolde?

Litill kennyth he what I may doo,
He dredith me litil nowe.
But certes he shalle, er he goo,
To Mahounde I make a vowe.

Sir Lucafer and Ferumbras
To him dide he calle
And Mavon̄ and Sortebras
And his Barons alle.

I charge you vppon̄ youre legeaunce,
That ye bringe me that gloton,
That clepeth himselfe kinge of Fraunce,
Hidere to my Pavilon̄.

Kepe him a-live, the remenaunte sle
The xij Peris ychoon̄!
I shalle tech him curtesye,
I swere by god Mahounde.”

Ferumbras anoon̄ than
Arrayed him for to ride
With proude Sarasyns many a man,
That boldely durst a-bide.