He feyde, Syr, fo mote y the,

To-morne thou fchalt my lady fee,
Therfore dysmay the noght.
When ye here the mas-belle,

Y fchall hur brynge to the chapelle,
Thedur fche fchall be broght.

Be the oryall-fyde stonde thou stylle,
Then fchalt thou fee hur at thy wylle,

That ys fo worthyly wroght.

The erle feyde, Y holde the trewe,
And that schall the nevyr rewe,

As farre forthe as y may.
Yn hys herte he waxe gladd,

Fylle the wyne, wyghtly he badd,

Thys goyth to my pay.

There he reftyd that nyght,

On the morne he can hym dyght,

Yn armytes array;

310

When they ronge to the masse,

To the chapell conne they paffe,

320

To fee that lady gay.

They had ftonden but a whyle,

The mowntaunfe of halfe a myle,

Then came that lady free;

Two erlys hur ladd,

Wondur rychely fche was cladd,

In golde and ryche perrè.
Whan the erle fawe hur in fyght,
Hym thoght fche was as bryght

Os blosfome on the tree:
Of all the fyghtys that ever he fye
Rayfyd never none hys herte fo hye,
Sche was fo bryght of blee.

Sche ftode ftylle in that place,
And fchewed opynly hur face,
For love of that knyght;

He behelde yuly hur face,
He fware there, be goddys grače,

He fawe never none fo bryght.

Hur eyen were gray as any glas,

Mowthe and nofe fchapen was

At all maner ryght;

Twyes fche turnyd hur abowte,
Betwene the erlys that were ftowte,

For the erle fchulde hur fee;

330

340

When fche fpake wyth mylde stevyn,

Sche femyd an aungell of hevyn,

So feyre fche was of blee.

Hur fyde longe, hur myddyll small,
Schouldurs, armes, therwythall,

Fayrer myght non bee;

Hur hondys whyte as whallys bonne

Wyth fyngurs longe and ryngys upon
Hur nayles bryght of blee.

When he had beholden hur welle,

The lady wente to hur chapell

Maffe for to here;

The erle ftode on that odur fyde,

Hys eyen fro hur myght he not hyde

So lovely fche was of chere.

He feyde, Lorde god, full of myght,
Leve y were fo worthy a knyght

That y myght be hur fere;

And that sche no husbonde hadd,
All the golde that evyr god made

To me were not fo dere.

350

360

When the maffe come to ende,

370

The lady, that was feyre and hende,

To the chaumbur can fche fare;

The erle fyghed, and was full woo,

Owt of hys fyght when sche schulde goo,

Hys mornyng was the mare.

The erle feyde, So god me fave,

Of hur almes he wolde crave,

Yf hur wylle ware; Myght y gete of that free

Eche a day hur to fee,

380

Hyt wolde covyr me of my care.

The erle knelyd down anon ryght,

And afkyd gode for god allmyght,
That dyed on the tree,
The emperes callyd a knyght:
Fourty floranfe, that ben bryght,
Anone brynge thou mee.

To that armyte sche byt payde,
Of on hyr fyngyr a rynge the layde

Amonge that golde fo free;

390

He thankyd hur ofte, as y yow fay,

To the chaumbyr wente that lady gay,

'There hur was leveste to bee.

The erle went home to hys ynnys,

And grete yoye he begynnys.

When he founde the rynge;

quene,

Yf evyr y gete grace of the
That any love betwene us bene,
Thys may be oure tokenyng.

The erle, al fo foone os hyt was day

Toke hys leve, and wente hys way,

Home to hys cuntrè;

400

Syr Trylabas he thanked fafte,

Of thys dede thou done me haste,

410

Well qwyt fchall hyt bee.

They kyfsyd togedur as gode frende,
Syr Trylabas home can wende,

There evell mote he thee!

A traytory he thoght to doo,

Yf he myght come thertoo,

So fchrewde in herte was hee.

Anon he callyd two knyghtys,

Hardy men at all fyghtys,

Bothe were of hys kynne;

420