The yonder knyghtes to chawmbur ye lede, Of all thynge that they have nede 230 Serve them at ther wylle; The emperowre hys doghtur be the hande hent, Hys cowncell aftur hym yede, And afkyd yf fche wolde fent ther-tylle, For to be at fyr Garcyes wylle, And sche feyde, Jhefu forbede! Sche feyde, Be god, that boght me dere, In all my fadurs thede, Then for to lye be hys brefyd boones, Hur fadur lykyd hur wordys wele, 240 250 They feyde, Yf that Garcy come, In evyll tyme he hedur nome Hedurward for to drawe. The garfons be not fo doghtye, But mony of them foone fchall dye, Yf we togedur plawe; Go we hens, owre redd ys tane, Odur cowncell kepe we nane, Be ryght nodur be lawe. The emperowre came into the halle, And ftode to byde an anfware: He feyde, Syrs, wendyth hame, For all yowre boftefull fare; Whedur he come, or not fo do, Full mekyll we fchall not care. Then Acurye can fay, In the begynnyng of Maye, My lorde will buske hym to ryde, 260 270 And take the fomer before hym clene, And dystroye thy londys all be deene, Who ys he that fchall hym byde? Then anfweryd fyr Egraveyne, We fchall founde to knok ageyne, For all hys grete pryde. The emperowre comawndyd no man fchulde do Harme the messengerys unto, They toke ther leve that tyde. Then the messengerys all togedur, Wyth the trefow re that they browght thedur, Went home agayne. Al fo tyte as fyr Garcy fawe, Wyt ye well he lyfte not to lawe, But mornyd in mode and mayne; Alther furfte he toke hym come To fpere the estyrs of Rome, To telle hym Acurye was fayne: 280 290 Syr, hyt ys feyre bygged with halles and bowrys, We tolde the feven hundurd towrys, So Cryfte me fave and fayne; And ther lorde fyr Otes the graunt, Wyth mekyll worfchyp they hym avaunt, Of curtefye he ys the welle; 300 And therto trewe as any stele, He ys bothe ware and wyfe, And gevyth them gyftys of pryce, The certen fothe to telle; And hys doghtur, the feyreft thynge, Made of flesche and felle. Thogh a man fate on a wyght palfraye All the longe fomers-day, Avyfyd myght he be For to ryde Rome abowte, And come yn wher he wente owl, Hyt were a grete yurnè. Every day in the yere The feyre ys there lyke playnere, Amonge the folke fo free; Syxty dewkys are calde hys perys, And twenty thousande bachyleres Longyth to that cytè. Of the emperors pales y wyll yow say, Stondyng undur hevyn; 310 320 The pyllers that stonde in the halle, Are dentyd wyth golde and clere crystalle, And therto feyre and evyn. They are fyllyd wyth fylver, as Crifte me cover, The dedly fynnes fevyn; There was peyntyd wyth thynges fere, That men myght mewfe on many a yere, There comyth watur in a condyte, That wroght ys all of golde, And that standyth in the myddys of the halle; A hundurd knyghtes and ladyes fmalle Myght wasche there and they wolde All at ones on that stone; Many other waturs come thorow the town, That frefche are upon folde; In myddys the cyté ys oon rennande, Tyger hyt hyght, y undurftande, As men there us tolde, The effect of Rome y have yow tolde, And of the best barons bolde, That lygge there-wythynne; 330 340 |