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He feyde, Syr, so mote y the,
To-morne thou schalt my lady fee,

Therfore dysmay the noght.


here the mas-belle,
Y schall hur brynge to the chapelle,

Thedur sche schall be brogbt.
Be the oryall-fyde stonde thou stylle,
Then schalt thou see hur at thy wylle,

That ys fo worthyly wroght. .


The erle seyde, 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 ;
When they ronge to the masse,
To the chapell conne they passe,

To see that lady gay.

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They had stonden but a whyle,
The mowntaunse of halfe a myle,

Then came that lady free;

Two erlys hur ladd,
Wondur rychely sche was cladd,

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

Os blossome on the tree :
Of all the fyghtys that ever he fye
Rayfyd never none hys herte so hye,

Sche was so bryght of blee.


Sche ftode ftylle in that place,
And schewed opynly hur face,

For love of that knyght;
He behelde yuly hur face,
He fware there, be goddys grace,

He fawe never none so bryght.
Hur eyen were gray as any glas,
Mowthe and nofe fchapen was

At all maner ryght;
Fro the forhedd to the too,
Bettur fchapen myght non goo,

Nor none femelyer yn fyght.


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

For the erle schulde hur fee;


When fche fpake wyth mylde stevyn,
Sche femyd an aungell of hevyn,

So feyre sche 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

Masse 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 so 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 so dere.


When the masse come to ende,
The lady, that was feyre and hende,

To the chaumbur can sche fare ;

The erle fyghed, and was full woo,
Owt of hys fyght when sche schulde goo,

Hys mornyng was the mare,
The erle seyde, 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 see, Hyt wolde

my care.


covyr me of

The erle knelyd down anon ryght,
And alkyd gode for god allmyght,

That dyed on the tree,
The emperes callyd a knyght:
Fourty floranse, that ben bryght,

Anone brynge thou mee.
To that armyte fche hyt payde,
Of on hyr fyngyr a rynge she layde

Amonge that golde so free;
He thankyd hur ofte, as y yow say,
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 ;


Yn hys herte he waxe blythe,
And kyssyd hyt fele fythe,

And seyde, My dere derlynge,
On thy fyngyr thys was,
Wele ys me y have thy grace,

Of the to have thys rynge ;
Yf evyr y gete grace of the quene,

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;
Syr Trylabas he thanked faste,
Of thys dede thou done me haste,

Well qwyt schall 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 schrewde in herte was hee.

Anon he callyd two knyghtys,
Hardy men at all syghtys,

Bothe were of hys kynne ;


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