Part 6: Lines 2043–2450

And he skaped away from̄ hime,
But woo was he þerfore,
That he went awaye witħ lym̄
To worche hem sorowe more.

Roulande than̄ came rennynge
And axed, where was Laban.
Olyuere answerede moornynge
And saide, howe he was agoon̄.

Tho thai voided the Courtes at the last
And slowen̄ tho, that wolde a-byde,
And drewe the brigge and teyed it fast,
And shitte the gatis, that were so wyde.

Laban, that by the ebbe escapede,
Of harde, er he come to londe,
He alle astonyed and a-mapide,
For sorowe he wronge botħ his honde

And made a vowe to Mahounde of myght,
He wolde that Cite wynne
And never go thens by day nor nyght,
For foo, for frende, ner for kynne.

“And tho traytouris will I do honge,
On a Galowes hye with-oute the gate;
And my Doghter, þat hore stronge,
I-brente shal be there-ate.”

To mauntryble he gan sende anoon̄
Aftir men and tentis goode,
And Engynes to throwe witħ stoon̄
And goode armur many foolde.

The sege he did leyen a-bowte
On every side of that Cite.
To wallis with Engynes thai gan rowte,
To breke the Toures so fre.

Tho saide Florip̄, “lordingges goode,
Ye bene biseged in this toure,
As ye bene wight of mayne and moode,
Proveth here to saue youre honour.

The toure is stronge, drede yoᶙ nought,
And vitayle we have plente.
Charles wole not leve yoᶙ vnsougħt;
Truste ye welle alle to me.

Therefore go we soupe and make merye,
And takith ye alle your ease;
And xxxti maydens lo here of Assyne,
The fayrest of hem ye chese.

Take your sporte, and kith yoᶙ knyghtes,
Whan ye shalle haue to done;
For to morowe, when the day is light,
Ye mooste to the wallis goon̄

And defende this place witħ caste of stoon̄
And with shotte of quarelles and darte.
My maydyns and I shal bringe goode wone,
So eueryche of us shalle bere hir parte.”

On morowe the Sowdon̄ made assaute
To hem, that were witħ-Inne,
And certes in hem was no defaute,
For of hem̄ myght thay nought wynne.

Here shotte, here cast was so harde,
Thay durste not nyȝhe the walle.
Thay drowen̄ hem bakwarde,
Thay were beten̄ over alle.

King Laban̄ turnede to his tentes agayn̄,
He was nere wode for tene,
He cryede to Mahounde and Apolyne
And to Termagaunte, þat was so kene,

And saide “ye goddes, ye slepe to longe,
Awake and helpe me nowe,
Or ellis I may singe of sorowe a songe,
And of mournynge right I-nowe.

Wete ye not wele, that my tresoure
Is alle witħ-inne the walle?
Helpe me nowe, I saye therfore,
Or ellis I forsake yoᶙ alle.”

He made grete lamentacion̄,
His goddis byganne to shake.
Yet that comfortede his meditacion̄,
Supposinge thay didde awake.

He cleped Brenlande to aske counsaile,
What was beste to done,
And what thinge myght him̄ moste avayle,
To wynne the Cite sone.

“Thou wotist welle, þat alle my tresour
Is there in here kepinge,
And my doughter, þat stronge hore,
God yif her evelle endyng!”

“Sir” he saide “ye knowe welle,
That Toure is wondir stronge.
While þay haue vitayle to mele,
Kepen̄ it thay wole fulle longe.

Sende to Mauntreble, your cheif Cite,
That is the keye of this londe,
That non̄ passe, where it so be,
With-oute youre speciall sonde,

To Alagolofur, þat geaunte stronge,
That is wardeyne of þat pas,
That no man passe that brigge alonge,
But he have special grace.

So shalle not Charles witħ his meyne
Reskowe than̄ Agramoure.
Than̄ thay shalle enfamyched be,
That shalle hem rewe ful sore.”—

“Mahoundis blessynge have thoᶙ and myne,
Sortybraunce, for thy rede.”—
“Espyarde, messanger myne,
In haste thou most the spede

To my Cite Mavntreble,
To do my message there,
To Alogolofr, þat giaunte orrible.
Bydde him his charge wele lere,

And tel him, howe that the last daye
Ten fals traytours of Fraunce
Passed by that same waye
By his defaute witħ myschaunce,

Charginge him vppon̄ his hede to lese,
That no man by the brigge,
Be it rayne, snowe or freze,
But he his heede down̄ ligge.”

Espiarde spedde him in his waye,
Tille he to Mauntrible came,
To seke the geaunte, ther he laye
On the banke bysyde the Dame,

And saide “the worthy Sowdon̄,
That of alle Spayn̄ is lorde and sir,
Vppon̄ thy life commaundeth the anoon̄,
To deserue better thyn hire.

The laste day thoᶙ letist here passe
Ten trattoures of douse Fraunce.
God giffe the evel grace,
And hem̄ also moche myschaunce!

He charged the vppon̄ life and detħ,
To kepe this place sikerlye;
While in thy body lastetħ the bretħ,
Lette noon̄ enemye passe ther-bye.”

Alagolofur rolled his yen̄
And smote with his axe on̄ the stone
And swore by Termagaunte and Apolyne,
That ther-by shulde passen never one,

But if he smote of his hede,
And brought it to his lorde Laban̄,
He wolde never ete no brede,
Nere never loke more on man̄.

xxiiijti Cheynes he didde ouer-drawe,
That noo man passe mygħt,
Neyther for loue nere for awe,
No tyme by daye, nere by nyghte.

“Go, telle my lorde, I shalle it kepe;
On payne of my grete heede
Shalle ther no man̄ goo ner crepe,
But he be take or dede.”

This geaunte hade a body longe
And hede, like an libarde.
Ther-to he was devely stronge,
His skynne was blake and harde.

Of Ethiope he was bore,
Of the kinde of Ascopartes.
He hade tuskes, like a bore,
An hede, like a liberde.

Laban nolde not forgete
The saute to renewe,
To wynne the Toure, he wolde not lete.
Here trumpes lowde thay blewe.

Every man wente to the walle,
With pikeys or witħ bowe.
Thai made assaute generalle,
The walles downe to throwe.

But thay witħ-inne bare hem̄ soo,
Thay slowe of the Saresyns iij hundred.
Thay wroghten̄ hem both care and woo,
Vppon̄ her fightinge thay wondride.

Tho cryed Laban̄ to hem on hye,
“Traytours, yelde yoᶙ to me,
Ye shall be hongede els by and bye
Vppon̄ an hye Galowe tree.”

Tho spake Florip̄ to the Sowdon̄
And sayde “thou fals tyraunte,
Were Charles come, thy pride wer done
Nowe, cursede myscreaunte.

Alas! that thou ascapediste soo
By the wyndowe vppon̄ the stronde.
That thy nek hade broke a-twoo!
God sende the shame and shonde!”—

“A! stronge hore, god gife the sorowe!
Thou venemouse serpente.
Withe wilde horses thoᶙ shalt be drawe to morowe,
And on this hille be brente,

That al men may be war by the,
That cursed bene of kynde.
And thy love shalle honged be,
His hondes bounde him byhynde.”

He called forth Mavon̄, his Engynour,
And saide “I charge the,
To throwe a magnelle to yon tour,
And breke it downe on thre.”

Mavon set vp his engyne
With a stoon̄ of .vj. C wigħt,
That wente as even̄ as eny lyne,
And smote a cornell down̄ right.

Woo was Roulande and Olyuer,
That þat myschief was be-falle,
And so were alle the xij peres;
But Florip̄ than̄ comforte hem alle:

“Sires” she saide “beitħ of goode chere!
This Toure is stronge I-nowe.
He may cast twies or thries or he hit ayen þer,
For sothe I telle it yoᶙ.”

Marsedage, the roialle kinge,
Rode in riche weede,
Fro Barbary commyng,
Vppon̄ a sturdy stede,

Cryinge to hem vppon̄ the walle:
“Traytouris, yelde yoᶙ here!
Brenne you alle ellis I shalle,
By myghty god Iubyter.”

Gy aspied, that he came ner,
A darte to hime he threwe ful even̄,
He smote him throwe herte & liver in fer.
Dame Floripe lough witħ loude steven̄

And saide “Sir Gye, my loue so free,
Thou kanste welle hit the prikke.
He shall make no booste in his contre;
God giffe him sorowe thikke!”

Whan̄ Laban̄ herde of this myschief,
A sory man̄ was he.
He trumped, his mene to relefe;
For to cease that tyme mente he.

Mersadage, kinge of Barbarye,
He did carye to his tente,
And beryed him by right of Sarsenye
With brennynge fire and riche oynemente,

And songe the Dirige of Alkaron̄,
That bibill is of here laye,
And wayled his deth everychon̄,
vij nyghtis and vij dayes.

Anoon̄ the Sowdon̄, south to say,
Sente iij hundrid of knightis,
To kepe the brigge and the waye
Oute of that Castil rightis,

That noon̄ of hem shulde issue oute,
To feche vitayle by no waye.
He charged hem to wacche wel al abowte,
That thay for-famelid myght dye.

Thus thay kepte the place vij dayes,
Tille alle hire vitaile was nyȝe spente.
The yates thai pas the streyte weyes.
Tho helde thai hem with-in I-shente.

Tho spake Roulande with hevy chere
Woordes lamentable,
Whan̄ he saugħ the ladies so whiȝte of ler,
Faile brede on here table,

And saide “Charles, thoᶙ curteys kinge,
Why forgetist thoᶙ vs so longe?
This is to me a wondir thinge;
Me thinkitħ, thou doiste vs grete wronge,

To let vs dye for faute of mete,
Closed thus in a dongeon̄.
To morowe wol we asaye what we kon̄ gete,
By god, that berithe the crown̄.”

Tho saide Floripas “sires, drede noghte
For noon̄ houngr that may befalle.
I knowe a medycyne in my thoughte
To comforte yoᶙ witħ alle.

I have a girdil in my Forcer,
Who so girde hem̄ ther-with aboute,
Hunger ner thirste shal him neuer dere,
Though he were vij yere witħ-oute.”

“O” quod Sir Gy “my loue so trewe,
I-blessed mote ye be!
I pray yoᶙ, that ye wole us alle hit shewe,
That we may haue oure saule.”

She yede and set it fortħ anoon̄,
Thai proved alle the vertue,
And diden it aboute hem̄ euerychon̄.
It comforted alle both moo and fewe,

As thai hade bene at a feste.
So were thay alle wele at ease,
Thus were thai refresshed botħ moost & lest
And weren bifore in grete disese.

Laban̄ wondred, how thai myght endur
Witħ-outen̄ vitaile so longe.
He remembred him on Floripas senctur,
And of the vertue so stronge.

Tho wiste he welle, that throgħ famyne
Might he hem̄ never wynne.
He cleped to him fals Mapyne,
For he coude many a fals gynne:

He coude scale Castel and Toure
And over the walles wende.
“Mapyne” he saide “for myn̄ honoure,
Thou mooste haue this in mynde:

That hore, my doghter, a girdil hatħ she,
From̄ hounger it savyth hem̄ alle,
That wonnen may thay never be,
That foule mote hir bifalle!

Kanstowe gete me that gyrdill by craft,
A thousande pounde than̄ shal I gefe the;
So that it be there not lefte,
But bringe it hithir to me.

Thoᶙ kanste see by nyghte as welle
As any man doth by daye.
Whan thay bene in here beddes ful stil,
Than go forth thider right in thy waye.

Thou shalt it in here Chamber fynde,
Thou maist be thereofe sure.”
“Sir, there-to I wole me bynde,
If my life may endure.”

Fortħ wente this fals Mapyne
By nyght into the Tour—
God gife him evel endinge!—
Euen in to Floripas bour.

By a Chemney he wente inne;
Fulle stilly there he soughte it.
He it founde and girde it aboute him,
And aftyr ful dere he bogħt it;

For by the light of a lampe ther
Floripas gan̄ him aspye,
Alle a-frayed oute of hir slepe for fere,
But lowde than gan she crye

And saide “a thefe is in my boure,
Robbe me he wole or sloo.”
Ther-with come Rouland fro his tour
To wete of hir woo.

He founde Mapyne bysyde hir bedde,
Stondinge amased for drede,
To the wyndowe he him ladde,
And there he smote of his hedde,

And caste him oute in-to the see.
Of the gyrdille was he not war;
But whan̄ he wist, the girdel hade he,
Tho hadde he sorowe and care.

Floripe to the Cheste wente
And aspyed, hire gyrdel was goon̄,
“Alas!” she saide, “alle is it shente!
Sir, what haue ye done?

He hath my girdel aboute hym̄.
Alas! þat harde while!
A rebelle hounde dotħ ofte grete tene;
Howe be we alle begilede.”

Tho spake Roulande witħ cher boolde,
“Dameselle! beytħ noughte aferde!
If any vitaile be aboute this hoolde,
We wole hem wynne withe dinte of swerde

To morowe wole wee oute-goon̄
And assaye, howe it wole it be.
I make a vowe to god alone,
Assaile hem wole we!

And if thay haue any mete,
Parte withe hem̄ wole we.
Or elles strokes thay shal gete
By God and seynte Mary myn̄ avour!”

In the morne, er the larke songe,
Thai ordeynede hem to ride
To the Saresyns, þat hade so longe
Leyen hem besyde.

Duke Neymes and Oger
Were ordeynede to kepe the place.
The x othir of the xij peres
Wente oute to assaye here grace.

Thay founden̄ hem in logges slepynge,
Of hem hade thay no thought.
Thai slowen̄ down̄ þat came to honde,
Mahounde availed hem noghte.

In shorte tyme the ende was made,
Thay ten slough iij hundred ther.
Tho founde thai vitaile, thay were glad,
As moche as thay myghte home ber.

Duke Neymes and Oger, that kept the tour,
Say hem witħ here praye.
Thai thanked god hye of honoure,
That thai spedde so þat day.

Thay avaled the brigge and lete him yn,
Florip̄ and here maydyns were gladde,
And so were thay, that were with-yn;
For alle grete hounger thay hadde.

Thai eten̄ and dronken right I-nowe
And made myrtħ ever amonge.
But of the Sowdon̄ laban speke we nowe,
Howe of sorowe was his songe.

WHAN tidyngges came to him,
That his men̄ were slayn̄,
And howe thai hade stuffed hem̄ also
With vitaile in agayne,

For sorowe he woxe nere wode.
He cleped Brenlande and Sortybraunce.
And tolde hem̄ witħ angry mode
Of his harde myschaunce.

“Remedye ordeyne me,
Ye be chief of my counsaile;
That I of hem may vengede be,
It shalle you bouth availe.

O ye goddes, ye faile at nede,
That I have honoured so longe,
I shalle yoᶙ bren̄, so mote I spede,
In a fayre fyre ful stronge;

Shalle I neuer more on yoᶙ bileve,
But renaye yoᶙ playnly alle.
Ye shalle be brente this day er eve,
That foule mote yoᶙ befalle!”

The fire was made, the goddes were broght
To have be caste ther-inne.
Tho alle his counsaile him by-sought,
He shulde of þat erroure blynne,

And saide “Sir, what wole ye done?
Wole ye your goddis for-sake?
Vengeaunce shalle than̄ on yoᶙ come,
With sorowe, woo and wrake!

Ye moste make offrynge for youre offence,
For drede of grete vengeaunce,
With oyle, mylke and ffranken̄cense
By youre prestis ordynaunce.”