So hyt befelle upon a day The erle and he went to play, Be a rever fyde, The erle feyde to Trylabas, Telle me, fyr, for goddys grace, That Of hewe and eke of hyde: Then fayde that lord anon ryght, Ther ys none fo bryght of blee: Whyte as fnowe ys hur coloure, Hur rudde ys radder then the rose flour, Yn fyght who may hur fee; All men that evyr god wroght Myght not thynke nor cafte in thoght A fayrer for to bee. 190 200 Then feyde the erle, Be goddes grace Thou feyeft fche ys fo bryght; So that thou wylt brynge me Of hur to have a syght, An hundurd pownde wyth grete honoure, Than answeryd fyr Trylabas, Yn that covenaunt in thys place In fyght hur for to see; And therto wyll y kepe counfayle, Agayne yow to bee; Y fchall be trewe, be goddys ore, Hardely tryfte to mee. 210 220 The erle anfweryd wyth wordys hende, Y tryfte to the as to my frende, 230 Wythowte any stryfe; Anon that [we] were buskyd yare, For to fee that wyfe. Y fwere be god and feynt Andrewe, Ryches fchall be to the ryfe, They lettyd nothyr for wynde nor wedur, Wythowte any stryfe. These knyghtes never stynte nor blanne There the emperes was ynne, Thogh he were of ryche kynne; For he wolde not knowen bee, He dwellyd there dayes three, And rested hym in hys ynne. The gode erle to betray Falfely he can begynne. 240 250 Anone he went in a refe To chaumbur to the emperes, And fett hym on hys knee; He feyde, Be hym that harowed helle, He hepe yow fro all parelle, Yf that bys wylle bee. Madam, he feyde, be Jhefus, Y have the erle of Tollous, Our mooft enemye ys hee. Yn what manere, the lady can fay, Anone telle thou me. "Madam; y was in hys prefon, He hate forgevyn me my raunfom, Be god full of myght; And all ys for the love of the, The fothe ys he longyth yow to fee, Madam, onys in fyght. An hundurd pownde y have to mede, And armour for a nobull ftede ; For fothe y have hym hyght, That he schall fee yow at hys fylle, Ryght at hys owne wylle, Ther to my trowthe y plyght. 260 270 Lady, he ys to us a foo, Therfore Ꭹ rede that we hym floo, He hath done us grete grylle." The lady feyde, So mut y goo, Thy foule ys lofte yf thou do fo, 280 Thy trowthe thou schalt fulfylle. To-morne, when they rynge the mas-belle, And thynke thou on no false flouthe. Y rede the holde thy trowthe. Syn thou haft made hym othe; Me thynkyth hyt were rowthe. The knyght to the erle wente, For hys wyckyd thoght; 290 300 |