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,
Of a thyng that spryngyth wyde;
youre emperour hath a wyfe,
The fayreft woman that is on lyfe,

That

Of hewe and eke of hyde:
Y fwere by boke and by belle,
Yf sche be fo feyre as men telle,
Mekyll may be hys pryde.

Then fayde that lord anon ryght,
Be the ordre y bere of knyght,
The fothe y fchall telle the,
To feeke the worlde more and leffe,
Bothe cryftendome and hethynneffe,

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.

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Then feyde the erle, Be goddes grace
Thys worde in mornyng me mas,

Thou feyeft fche ys fo bryght;
Thy raunfom here y the forgeve,
My helpe my love whyll y leve,
Therto my trowthe y plyght,

So that thou wylt brynge me
Yn fafe garde for to bee

Of hur to have a syght,

An hundurd pownde wyth grete honoure,
To bye the horses and ryche armoure,
Os y am trewe knyght.

Than answeryd fyr Trylabas,

Yn that covenaunt in thys place
My trowthe y plyght thee,
Y fchall holde thy forward gode,
To brynge the, wyth mylde mode,

In fyght hur for to see;

And therto wyll y kepe counfayle,
And never more, wythowte fayle,

Agayne yow to bee;

Y fchall be trewe, be goddys ore,
To lofe myn own lyfe therfore,

Hardely tryfte to mee.

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The erle anfweryd wyth wordys hende,

Y tryfte to the as to my frende,

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Wythowte any stryfe;

Anon that [we] were buskyd yare,
On owre jurney for to fare,

For to fee that wyfe.

Y fwere be god and feynt Andrewe,
Yf hyt be fo y fynde the trewe

Ryches fchall be to the ryfe,

They lettyd nothyr for wynde nor wedur,
But forthe they wente bothe togedur,

Wythowte any stryfe.

These knyghtes never stynte nor blanne
Tyll to the cyté that they wan,

There the emperes was ynne,
The erle hymfelfe for more drede
Cladd hym in armytes wede,

Thogh he were of ryche kynne; For he wolde not knowen bee,

He dwellyd there dayes three,

And rested hym in hys ynne.
The knyght bethoght hym on a day

The gode erle to betray

Falfely he can begynne.

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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,
Ys he comyn? y the pray,

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.

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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,

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Thy trowthe thou schalt fulfylle.
Sythe he forgaf the thy raunfom,
And lowfydd the owt of prefon,
Do away thy wyckyd wylle;

To-morne, when they rynge the mas-belle,
Brynge hym in to my chapelle,

And thynke thou on no false flouthe.
There fchall he fee me at hys wylle.
Thy covenaunt to fulfylle,

Y rede the holde thy trowthe.
Certys, yf thou hym begyle,
Thy foule ys in grete peryle,

Syn thou haft made hym othe;
Certys hyt were a traytory,
For to wayte hym velany,

Me thynkyth hyt were rowthe.

The knyght to the erle wente,
Yn herte he helde hym foule fchente,

For hys wyckyd thoght;

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