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And taste my flankys with hur honde,
That ys fo feyre y undurstonde,

Yn bedde be me to byde.
Sche schall me bothe hodur and happe,
And in hur lovely armes me lappe,

and morne tyde;
Byd hur fadur sende hur to me,
Or y schall dystroye hym and hys cytè,

And thorow hys remes ryde.


A prowde garson that hyght Acwrye,
He was borne in Utalye,

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 fente,
Chargyd with golde for a presente,

And, fay hym as my frende,
That y grete wele fir Otes the graunt,
And byd hym sende me his doghter avenaunt,

That ys curtes and hende.


Hé cawfyd them to hye as they were wode,
Wyth schyppes foone 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 Nepe.
Aye the wynde was in the fayle,
Over fomes they fett withowtyn fayle,

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 trefowre up they drowe,
And ther stedys strong ynowe,

And made ther schyppys tome;
They lefte a burges feyre and wheme,
All ther schyppys for to yeme,

Unto ther gayne-come.
They passed thorow Pole and Chawmpayn,
Evyr fperyng ther gatys gane

Unto the cyté of Rome;
They entyrde yn at the yatys wyde,
Full ryally thorow the cyté they ryde,

And dredyd no wrang dome.


The fourti messengerys, as y yow say,
Every oon rode in feyre array,

Ther fadyls schone full bryght;


Ther brydyls glyteryng all of golde,
Ther was never


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 fendell,
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



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 thore
Wyth him that was full wyse of lore,

Hys doghtur fate hym bye.

In a robe ryght ryall bowne,
Of a redd fyclatowne,

Be hur fadur fyde;


A coronell on hur hedd fett,
Hur clothys wyth beftes and byrdes wer bete,

All abowte for pryde.
The lyghtnes of hur ryche perrè,
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 alkyd of whens that they myght bee.
“Of Costantyne the nobull are we.”

“Feyre, fyrrys, mote yow befalle." “ A present we have broght in hye, Fro owre emperowre, fyr Garcy,

Stedys into thy stalle,


And fourty horfys 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 brefyd, hys bones are olde,
That fche may kepe hym fro the colde,

Have done now hastelye.
In comely clothyng (che schall be cledd,
I have grete hope he wyll hur wedd,

Sche ys a feyre lady:


And yf thou fende 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 see all that before hym standys,

And lose full many a lyfe.
Have done, he seyde, haftelye in hye,
An answere mufte we gyf Garcy,

At home when we can ryve."


The emperowre seyde, as a man hende,
Ye fchall have an answere or ye wende,

And calde the steward hym tylle:

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