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Sche seyde, Benedycyte !.
Syrs, what men be yee?

And wonder lowde sche cryedd.
Hur enemyes mysansweryd thore,
We are here, thou false hore,

Thy dedys we have aspyedd ;
Thou haste betrayed my lorde,
Thou schalt have wonduryng in thys worde,

Thy loos schall forynge wyde.


The lady feyde, Be feynte John,
Hore was y nevyr none,

Nor nevyr thoght to bee.
Thou lyelt, they seyde, thy love ys lorne,
The corse they leyde hur beforne ;

Lo here ys thy lemman free:
Thus we have for the hym hytt,
Thy horedam schall be wele qwytte,

Fro us schalt thou not fee.
- They bonde the lady wondyr faste,
And in a depe preson hur caste,

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 :

On a nyght, wythowt lette,
In hys slepe a swevyn 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;
Hymselfe was a wytty man,
And be that dreme he hopyd than

Hys lady was in woo.

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Yerly when the day was clere,
He bad hys men all in fere,

To buske and make them yare;
Somer-horsys he let go before,
And charyettys stuffud wyth store,

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 styntyd 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,


Wythowt the cyté lordys them kepyd,
For wo in herte many oon wepyd,

There teerys myght they not blynne.
They suppofyd wele yf he hyt wyste
That hys wyfe had feche a bryste

Hys yoye wolde be full thynne. They ladden stedys to the stall, And the lorde into the halle,

To worschyp hym wyth wynne.


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Anon to the chaumbur wendyth he,
He longyd hys feyre lady to see,

That was so swete a wyght;
He callyd them that fchoulde hur kepe,
Where ys my wyfe? ys sche on slepe ?

How fareth that byrde bryght?
The two traytours answeryd anon,
Yf ye wyste how fche had done,

To dethe sche schulde be dyght.

A, devyll! he seyde, how foo?
To dethe that fche ys worthy to goo,

Telle me in what manere.
Syr, he seyde, be goddys ore,
The yonge knyght, fyr Antore,

That was hụr kervere,


Be that lady he hath layne,
And therfore we have him Nayne,

We founde them in fere.
Sche ys in preson, verrament,
The lawe wyll that sche be brente,

Be god that boght us dere.

Allas ! seyde the emperoure,
Hath fche done me thys dyshonoure, 860

And y lovyd hur so wele?
Y wende, for all thys worldys gode
That sche 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 Nayn,

And that traytour have broght owt of heele ;
For bale hys armes abrode he bredd,
And fell in swowne upon hys bedd;
There myght men fee grete dele.


On the morne, be oon assent,
On hur they sett a perlyament,

Be all the comyn rede;
They myght not fynde in ther counsayle,
Be no lawe, wythowt fayle,
To save hur fro the dede.



Then bespake an olde knyght,
Y have wondur, be goddys myght,

That syr Antore thus was bestedd ;
In chaumbyr thogh they naked were,
They let hym gyf none answere,

But Nowe hym, be my hedd.


Ther was nevyr man, sekurly,
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 (woo,
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 assentyd to the fawe,
They thoght he spake refon and lawe,

Then answeryd the kyng wyth crowne,
Fayre falle the for thyn avyse; . .
He callyd knyghtys of nobyll pryce,

And badd them be redy bowne,


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