Part 4: Lines 1227–1634

“Better” quod Olyuer “shul we dele,
By God that is in magiste,
And of my strokes shaltow more fele,
Er I to the shalle yelde me.”

Thai smeten togeder witħ egre mode,
And nathir of othire dradde;
Thai persed her hauberkes, that were so goode,
Tille both thayr bodyes bladde.

Thay foughten̄ soo longe, þat by assente
Thai drewe hem a litil bysyde,
A litil while thaym to avente,
And refresshed hem at þat tyde.

“Generis” quod Ferumbras,
“As thou arte here gentil knighte,
Telle me nowe here in this place
Of thy kyn̄ and what thoᶙ hight;

Me thenkith by the now evermore,
Thou shuldist be one of the xij peris,
That maiste fighte with me so sore,
And arte so stronge, worthy and fiers.”

Olyuere answered to hym agayn̄:
“For fer I leve it not ontoolde,
My name is Olyuere certayn̄,
Cousyn to kynge Charles the boolde,

To whome I shalle the sende
Qwikke or dede this same daye,
By conqueste here in this feelde,
And make the to renye thy laye.”

“O” quod Ferumbras than̄ to Olyuer,
“Welcome thoᶙ arte in-to this place,
I have desyrede many a yere
To gyfe the harde grace.

Thou slough myn̄ uncle Sir Persagyne,
The doughty kinge of Italye,
The worthyeste kinge þat lyued of men,
By Mahounde, thou shalt abye!”

Tho thai dongen̄ faste to-geder
While the longe day endured,
Nowe hither and nowe thider;
Fro strokes wytħ sheeldes here bodies þai couered.

And at the laste Olyuer smote him so
Vppon̄ the helme, þat was of stele,
That his swerde brake in two.
Tho wepen̄ had he nevere a dele.

Who was woo but Olyuere than?
He saugh noone other remedy.
He saide “sir, as thoᶙ arte gentile man,
On me nowe here haue mercy.

It were grete shame I-wis,
And honur were it noon̄,
To sle a man wepenles;
That shame wolde never goon̄.”

“Nay traitour, thou getiste noon̄.
Hade I here an hundred and moo!
Knele down̄ and yelde the here anoon̄,
And eles here I woole the sloo.”

Olyuer saugh, it wolde not be,
To truste to moch in his grace.
He ranne to the stede, þat stode by the tre,
A swerde he raught in þat place,

That was trussed on Ferumbras stede,
Of fyne stele goode and stronge.
He thought he quyte Ferumbras his mede.
Almoost hadde he abyde to longe;

For in turnynge Ferumbras him smote,
That stroke he myghte welle fele,
It come on hym so hevy and hoote,
That down it made hym to knele.

Tho was Olyuer sore ashamede
And saide “thou cursed Sarasyne,
Thy proude pride shall be atamed,
By God and by seinte Qwyntyne.

Thou hast stole on me that dynte,
I shall quyte the thyn̄ hire.”
A stroke than Olyuer him lente,
That hym thought his eyen̄ wer on fir.

Kinge Charles in his pavilon̄ was
And loked towarde þat fyghte
And saugh, howe fiers Ferumbras
Made Olyuere knele down̄ right.

Wo was him tho in his herte;
To Ihesu Criste he made his mone;
It was a sight of peynes smerte,
That Olyuere kneled so sone:

“O Lord, God in Trinite,
That of myghtis thoᶙ arte moost,
By vertue of thy maieste
That alle knoweste and woste,

Lete not this hethen man
Thy seruaunte ouercome in fyght,
That on the bileve ne kan,
Ihesu, Lorde, for thy myghte!

But graunte thy man the victorye,
And the Paynym̄ skomfited to be,
As thou arte Almyghty God of glorye!
Nowe mekely, Lorde, I pray to the.”

To Charles anoone an Aungel came
And broght him tidingges sone,
That God had herde his praier than̄
And graunte him his bone.

Tho Charles thanked God aboue
With herte and thought, worde and dede,
And saide “blessed be thoᶙ, lorde almyghty,
That helpiste thy seruaunte in nede.”

These Champions to-gedir thai gone
With strokes grete and eke sure,
Eche of hem donge othir on̄,
Alle the while thai myghte endur.

Ferumbras brake his swerde
On Olyueris helme on hye.
Tho wexe he ful sore a-ferde;
He ranne for an othir redyly

And saide “Olyuere, yelde the to me
And leve thy Cristen̄ laye,
Thou shalte have alle my kingdome free
And alle aftir my daye.”

“Fye, Saresyne” quod Olyuere than̄,
“Trowest thou, that I were wode,
To forsake him, þat made me man̄
And boght me with his hert blode.”

He raught a stroke to Ferumbras,
On his helme it gan down̄ glyde,
It brast his hawberke at þat ras
And carfe hym throughe-oute his syde,

His bare guttis men mygħt see;
The blode faste down̄ ranne.
“Hoo, Olyvere, I yelde me to the,
And here I become thy man.

I am so hurte, I may not stonde,
I put me alle in thy grace.
My goddis ben false by water and londe,
I reneye hem alle here in this place,

Baptised nowe wole I be.
To Ihesu Crist I wole me take,
That Charles the kinge shal sene,
And alle my goddes for-sake.

Take myn hawberke and do it on the,
Thou shalte haue ful grete nede.
X thousande Saresyns waiten vppon̄ me,
And therfore go take my stede.

Lay me to-fore the, I the praye,
And lede me to thy tente.
Hye the faste forth in thy way,
That the Saresyns the not hente.”

A-noon̄ it was done, as he ordeynede,
And faste forth thai ryden.
The Saresyns anone assembled,
For to haue with hem foghten.

Ferumbras saugħ the feelde thore
Of Sarsynes fully filled;
Of Olyvere dradde he ful sore,
That Saresyns shulde him haue killed.

He praide, that he wolde let him down̄
“Vndir yonde Olyfe tree,
For if ye cast me down̄ here, with hors shoon̄
Alle to-treden̄ shalle I be.”

He priked forth and layde him thar,
Out of the horses trase,
And with his swerde by-gan him wer,
For amonge hem alle he was.

A Saresyn̄ smote him witħ a spere,
That it brake on pecis thre;
His hauberke mygħt he not der,
So stronge and welle I-wroght was he.

He hit þat Saresyns with his swerde
Througħ the helme in-to the brayne.
He made an other as sore aferde,
He smote of his Arme with mayne.

But than̄ come Roulande witħ Durnedale
And made way him a-bowte.
He slowe hem down̄ in the vale,
Of him hade thai grete dowte.

The prees of Saresyns was so stronge
A-boute Roulande that tyde.
Thai sloughen̄ his horsys with thronge,
And dartis throwen̄ on every syde.

Whan Roulande was on his Fete,
Than̄ was he woo witħ-alle.
Many of hem he felte yete
And dede to grounde made hem falle.

At the last his swerde brake,
Than̄ hadde he wepyn̄ noon̄,
As he smote a Saresyns bake
A-sundre down̄ to the Arson̄.

Tho was he caught, he mygħt not flee,
His hondes thai bounden̄ faste
And lad him forth to here Cite,
And in depe prison̄ they hem caste.

Olyuer sawe, howe he was ladde,
A sorye man̄ than̄ was he;
Him hadde leuer to haue bene dede
Than suffren that myschief to be.

Smertly aftire he pursued tho,
To reskue his dere brother.
The prees was so grete, he myghte not so,
It myghte be no othir,

Be he was cowþe by verr force
With LX of Astopartes.
Thai hurte him foule and slougħ his hors
With gauylokes and wyth dartis.

Yet on foote, ere he were foolde,
He slough of hem fiftene.
He was not slayn̄, as god woolde,
But taken and bounded with tene.

Tho were taken̄ to Lucafer,
The proude kinge of Baldas,
Both Roulande and Olyuer.
Gladde was he of that cas.

Kinge Charles was in herte woo,
When he saughe his neuewes so ladde,
He cried to the Frenshmen̄ tho:
“Reskue we these knyghtes at nede.”

The kynge himselfe slough many one,
So dede the Barons bolde.
It wolde not bene, thai were agon̄,
Magre who so woolde.

The Saresyns drewe hem to here Cite,
Kinge Charles turned agayne.
He saugħ under an holme tre,
Where a knight him semed lay slayn̄.

Thederward he rode witħ swerde in honde.
Tho he saugħ, he was alyve;
He lay walowynge vppon the sonde
With blody woundes fyve.

“What arte thow?” quod Charlemayne,
“Who hath the hurte so sore?”
“I am Ferumbras” he saide certayn̄,
“That am of hethen̄ lore.”

“O fals Saresyn̄” quod the kinge,
“Thou shalte have sorowe astyte;
By the I haue lost my two Cosynes,
Thyn̄ hede shalle I of-smyte.”

“O gentil kinge” quod Ferumbrase,
“Olyuere my maister me hight
To be Baptised by goddis grace,
And to dyen̄ a Cristen̄ knighte.

Honur were it noon to the
A discoumfite man̄ to slo,
That is conuerted and Baptized wolde be
And thy man bycomen̄ also.”

The kinge hade pite of him than̄,
He toke him to his grace
And assyned anoon̄ a man
To lede him to his place.

He sende to him his surgyne
To hele his woundes wyde.
He ordeyned to him such medycyn̄,
That sone myght he go and ryde.

The kinge commaunded bishope Turpyn̄
To make a fonte redye,
To Baptise Ferumbras þerin
In the name of god Almygħtye.

He was Cristened in þat welle,
Floreyne the kinge alle him calle,
He forsoke the foule feende of helle
And his fals goddis alle.

Nought for than̄ Ferumbras
Alle his life cleped was he,
And aftirwarde in somme place,
Floreyne of Rome Cite.

God for him many myracles shewed,
So holy a man he by-came,
That witnessitħ both lerned and lewde,
The fame of him so ranne.

NOWE for to telle of Roulande
And of Olyuere, that worthy wos,
Howe thai were brougħt to þe Sowdan̄
By the kinge of Boldas.

The Sowdan̄ hem sore affrayned,
What þat here names were.
Rouland saide and noght alayned:
“Syr Roulande and sire Olyuere,

Nevewes to Kinge Charles of Fraunce,
That worthy kinge and Emperoure,
That nowe are takyn by myschaunce
To be prisoneres here in thy toure.”

“A, Olyuer, arte thou here?
That haste my sone distroyede,
And Rouland that arte his fere,
That so ofte me hatħ anoyed.

To Mahounde I make a vowe here,
That to morue, ere I do ete,
Ye shulle be slayn̄ botħ qwik in fere,
And lives shalle ye bothe lete.”

Tho saide maide Florepas:
“My fader so derewortħ and der,
Ye shulle be avysed of this cas,
How and in what manere

My brothir, þat is to prison̄ take,
May be delyuered by hem nowe,
By cause of these two knightes sake,
That bene in warde here with yoᶙ.

Wherefore I counsaile yoᶙ, my fader dere,
To have mynde of Sir Ferumbras.
Pute hem in youre prison̄ here,
Tille ye haue better space.

So that ye haue my brother agayn̄
For hem, þat ye haue here;
And certeyn̄ elles wole he be slayn̄,
That is to you so lefe and dere.”

“A, Floripp, I-blessed thou bee,
Thy counsaile is goode at nede,
I wolde not leve my sone so free,
So Mahounde moost me spede,

For al the Realme of hethen Spayne,
That is so brode and large.
Sone clepe forth my gaylour Bretomayne,
That he of hem hadde his charge,

“Caste hem in your prison̄ depe,
Mete and drinke gyfe hem none,
Chayne hem faste, þat thay not slepe;
For here goode daies bene a-gone.”

Tho were thay cast in prison depe;
Every tyde the see came inne.
Thay myght not see, so was it myrke,
The watir wente to her chynne.

The salte watir hem greved sore,
Here woundis sore did smerte.
Hungir and thurste greved heme yet more,
It wente yet more nere here herte.

Who maye live withoute mete?
vj dayes hadde thay rigħt none,
Ner drinke that thay mygħt gete,
Bute loked vppon the harde stone.

So on a daye, as God it wolde,
Floripas to hir garden̄ wente,
To geder Floures in morne colde.
Here maydyns from̄ hir she sente,

For she herde grete lamentacion̄
In the Prison̄, that was ther nye;
She supposed by ymagynacion̄,
That it was the prisoners sory.

She wente her nerr to here more,
Thay wailed for defaute of mete.
She rued on hem anoon̄ ful sore,
She thought, how she myght hem beste it gete.

She spake to her Maistras Maragounde,
Howe she wolde the prisoneres fede.
The develle of helle hir confounde,
She wolde not assente to þat dede,

But saide “Damesel, thou arte woode,
Thy Fadir did vs alle defende,
Both mete and drinke and othere goode
That no man shulde hem thider sende.”

Floripe by-thought hir on a gyle
And cleped Maragounde anoon rigħt,
To the wyndowe to come a while
And se ther a wonder syght:

“Loke oute” she saide “and see a ferr
The Porpais pley as thay were wode.”
Maragounde lokede oute, Floripe come ner
And shofed hire oute in to the flode.

“Go there” she saide “the devel the spede!
My counsail shaltowe never biwry.
Who so wole not helpe a man̄ at nede,
On evel deth mote he dye!”

She toke witħ hire maidyns two,
To Britomayne she wente hir waye
And saide to him, she moste go
To viseten̄ the prisoneris that daye,

And saide “sir, for alle loues,
Lete me thy prisoneres seen̄.
I wole the gife botħ goolde and gloues,
And counsail shalle it been̄.”

Brytomayne that Iaylor kene
Answered to hir sone agayne
And saide “Damesel, so mote I then̄,
Than̄ were I worthy to be slayn̄.

Hath not youre Fader charged me,
To kepe hem from̄ every wyght?
And yet ye wole these traytours see?
I wole goo telle him Anoon̄ right.”

He gan to turne him anone for to go,
To make a playnte on Floripas.
She sued him as faste as she myghte go,
For to gif him harde grace.

With the keye cloge, þat she caugħt,
Witħ goode wille she maute than,
Such a stroke she hym ther raught,
The brayne sterte oute of his hede þan̄.

To hire Fader forth she gotħ
And saide “Sire, I telle you here,
I saugħ a sight, that was me lotħ,
Howe the fals Iailour fedde your prisoner,

And how the covenaunte made was,
Whan thai shulde delyuered be;
Wherefore I slougħ him witħ a mace.
Dere Fadir, forgif it me!”

“My doghtir dere, that arte so free,
The warde of hem now gif I the.
Loke, here sorowe be evere newe,
Tille that Ferumbras delyuered be.”

She thanked her Fadere fele sithe
And toke her maydyns, and forth she gotħ,
To the prisone she hyed hire swytħ.
The prison̄ dore vp she dothe

And saide “sires, what be ye,
That make here this ruly moone?
What yoᶙ lakkitħ, tellyth me;
For we be here nowe alle alone.”

Tho spake Roulande with hevy chere
To Floripe, that was bothe gente and fre,
And saide “lo, we two caytyfes here
For defaute of mete dede moste be.

vj dayes be comyn̄ and goon̄,
Sith we were loked in prison̄ here,
That mete nor drinke hade we noon̄
To comforte witħ oure hevy cher.