Sche feyde, Benedycyte ! Syrs, what men be yee? And wonder lowde fche cryedd. Hur enemyes mysansweryd thore, We are here, thou false hore, Thy dedys we have afpyedd; Thou hafte betrayed my lorde, Thou fchalt have wonduryng in thys worde, Thy loos fchall fprynge wyde. The lady feyde, Be feynte John, Hore was y nevyr none, Nor nevyr thoght to bee. Thou lyeft, they feyde, thy love ys lorne, The corfe they leyde hur beforne; Lo here ys thy lemman free: Thus we have for the hym hytt, Thy horedam fchall be wele qwytte, Fro us fchalt thou not flee. Leve we now thys lady in care, That ferre was hur froo: 790 800 On a nyght, wythowt lette, In hys flepe a fwevyn he mett, The story telleth us foo: Hym thoght ther come two wylde berys, And hys wyfe all to-terys, And rofe hur body in twoo ; Hymfelfe was a wytty man, And be that dreme he hopyd than Hys lady was in woo. Yerly when the day was clere, He bad hys men all in fere, To bufke and make them yare; Wele twelve myle and more. Hys herte therfore was in care; Wyth erlys, barons, and many a knyght, Homeward can they fare. Nyght ne day nevyr they blanne, Tyll to that cyté they came There the lady was ynne, 810 820 Wythowt the cyté lordys them kepyd, There teerys myght they not blynne. Hys yoye wolde be full thynne. They ladden ftedys to the ftall, And the lorde into the halle, To worfchyp hym wyth wynne. Anon to the chaumbur wendyth he, 830 He longyd hys feyre lady to fee, That was fo fwete a wyght; 840 He callyd them that schoulde hur kepe, Where ys my wyfe? ys fche on flepe? How fareth that byrde bryght? The two traytours answeryd anon, Yf ye wyfte how fche had done, To dethe sche schulde be dyght. A, devyll! he feyde, how foo? Telle me in what manere. Syr, he feyde, be goddys ore, The yonge knyght, fyr Antore, That was hur kervere, 850 Be that lady he hath layne, And therfore we have him flayne, We founde them in fere. Sche ys in prefon, verrament, The lawe wyll that fche be brente, Be god that boght us dere. Allas! feyde the emperoure, Hath fche done me thys dyshonoure, 860 And y lovyd hur fo wele? Y wende, for all thys worldys gode That fche wolde not have turned hur mode; He hente a knyfe wyth all hys mayn; Had not a knyght ben he had hym slayn, And that traytour have broght owt of heele ; For bale hys armes abrode he bredd, And fell in fwowne upon hys bedd; There myght men fee grete dele. 870 On the morne, be oon asfent, On hur they fett a perlyament, Be all the comyn rede; They myght not fynde in ther counfayle, Be no lawe, wythowt fayle, To fave hur fro the dede. Then befpake an olde knyght," Ther was nevyr man, fekurly, For my love y yow pray. No mo wyll prove hyt but they twoo, For fothe, os y yow say, In hyr quarell but we myght fynde A man that were gode of kynde, That durft fyght agayn them tway. All they asfentyd to the fawe, They thoght he spake refon and lawe, Then anfweryd the kyng wyth crowne, Fayre falle the for thyn avyfe; He callyd knyghtys of nobyll pryce, And badd them be redy bowne, 880 890 900 |