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For to crye, thorow all the londe,

Bothe be fee, and be fonde,

Yf they fynde mowne

A man that ys fo moche of myght

That for that lady dar take the fyght,
He fchall have hys warefon.

Mesfangerys, y undurftonde,
Cryed thorow all the londe,
In many a ryche cytè,

Yf any man durfte prove hys myght,

In trewe quarell for to fyght,

Wele avaunfed fchulde he be.

The erle of Tullous harde thys telle
What anger the lady befelle,

Thereof he thoght grete pytè;

Yf he wyfte that sche had ryght,
He wolde aventure hys lyfe to fyght

For that lady free.

For hur he morned nyght and day,

And to hymfelfe can he fay

He wolde aventure hys lyfe:

"Yfy may wytt that sche be trewe,

They that have hur accused schull rewe,

But they stynte of ther stryfe."

910

920

The erle feyde, Be feynte John,
Ynto Almayn wyll y goon,

Where y have fomen ryfe;
I prey to god full of myght,
That y have trewe quarell to fyght,
Owt of wo to wynne that wyfe.

He rode on huntyng on a day,
A marchand mett he be the way,
And asked hym of whens he was.
Lorde, he feyde, of Almayn.

Anon the erle can hym frayne

Of that ylke cafe:

"Wherefore ys yowre emperes Put in fo grete dystreffe?

Telle me for goddys grace; Ys fche gylté, fo mote thou the ?” "Nay, be hym that dyed on tree,

That schope man aftur hys face."

Then feyde the erle, wythowte lett
When ys the day fett

Brente that fche fchulde bee?
The marchande feyde, Sekyrlyke,

Evyn thys day thre wyke,

And therfore wo ys mee.

930

940

The erle feyde, Y fchall the telle,

Gode horfys y have to felle,

And stedys two or thre;

950

Certys, myght y felle them yare,
Thedur wyth the wolde y fare,
That fyght for to fee.

The marchand feyd wordys hende,
Into the londe yf ye wyll wende,

Hyt wolde be for yowre prowe;

There may ye felle them at your wylle.
Anon the erle feyde hym tylle,

Syr, herkyn me nowe;

Thys yurney wylt thou wyth me dwelle ?

Twenty pownde y fchall thee telle,

To-mede y make a vowe.

The marchand grauntyd anon.
The erle feyde, Be feynt John,
Thy wylle y alowe.

The erle tolde hym in that tyde
Where he fchulde hym abyde,

And homeward wente hee;
He busked hym that no man wyfte,
For mekyll on hym was hys tryfte:

He feyde, Syr, go wyth mee.

960

970

Wyth them they toke stedys fevyn,
Ther were no fayrer undyr hevyn,
That any man myght fee:
Into Almayn they can ryde;

As a corefur of mekyll pryde
He femyd for to bee.

The marchand was a trewe gyde,
The erle and he togedur can ryde,

Tyll they came to that place;

A myle befyde the castell
There the emperour can dwelle
A ryche abbey ther was.

Of the abbot leve they gatt

To foyorne, and make ther horfys fatt;

That was a nobyll cas:

The abbot was the ladyes eme,

For hur he was in grete wandreme,

And moche mornyng he mase.

So hyt be felle upon a day

To churche the erle toke the way,

A maffe for to here;

He was a fayre man and an hye,

When the abbot hym fye,

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Syr, when the masse ys done,
Y pray yow ete wyth me at noone,
Yf youre wylle weré.
The erle grauntyd all wyth game,
Afore mete they wyfche all fame,
And to mete they wente in fere.

Aftur mete, as y yow fay,

Into an orchard they toke the way,

The abbot and the knyght;
The abbot feyde, and fyghed fare,
Certys, fyr, y leve in care

For a lady bryght.

Sche ys accufyd, my herte ys woo,
Therfore fche fchall to dethe goo,

All agayne the ryght;

But fche have helpe, verrament,

In fyre fche fchall be brente,
Thys day fevenyght.

The erle feyde, So have y blyffe,

Of hyr methynkyth grete rewthe hyt ys,

Trewe yf that fche bee.

The abbot feyde, Be feynte Poule,

For hur y dar ley my foule,

That nevyr gylté was fche;

1000

1010

1020

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