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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.
-They bonde the lady wondyr faste,
And in a depe prefon hur cafte,
Grete dele hyt was to fee.

Leve we now thys lady in care,
And to hur lorde wyll we fare,

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;
Somer-horfys he let go before,
And charyettys ftuffud wyth ftore,

Wele twelve myle and more.
He hopud wele in hys herte
That hys wyfe was not in querte,

Hys herte therfore was in care;
He ftyntyd not tyll he was dyght,

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,
For wo in herte many oon wepyd,

There teerys myght they not blynne.
They fuppofyd wele yf he hyt wyfte
That hys wyfe had seche a bryste

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?
To dethe that fche ys worthy to goo,

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;
My yoye begynnyth to keele.

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.

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Then befpake an olde knyght,"
Y have wondur, be goddys myght,
That fyr Antore thus was bestedd ;
In chaumbyr thogh they naked were,
They let hym gyf none answere,
But flowe hym, be my hedd.

Ther was nevyr man, fekurly,
That be hur founde any velany,
Save they two, y dar wele fay;
Be fome hatered hyt may be,
Therfore doyth aftur me,

For my love y yow pray.

No mo wyll prove hyt but they twoo,
Therfore we may not fave hur fro woo,

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

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