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, Mesfangerys, y undurftonde, 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 Thereof he thoght grete pytè; Yf he wyfte that sche had ryght, 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, Where y have fomen ryfe; He rode on huntyng on a day, 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 Brente that fche fchulde bee? 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, The marchand feyd wordys hende, Hyt wolde be for yowre prowe; There may ye felle them at your wylle. 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 tolde hym in that tyde And homeward wente hee; He feyde, Syr, go wyth mee. 960 970 Wyth them they toke stedys fevyn, As a corefur of mekyll pryde The marchand was a trewe gyde, Tyll they came to that place; A myle befyde the castell 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, Syr, when the masse ys done, Aftur mete, as y yow fay, Into an orchard they toke the way, The abbot and the knyght; For a lady bryght. Sche ys accufyd, my herte ys woo, All agayne the ryght; But fche have helpe, verrament, In fyre fche fchall be brente, 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 |