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230

• The yonder knyghtes to chawmbur ye lede,
Of all thynge that they have nede

Serve them at ther wylle;
They are fyr Garcys messengerys,
And go we to owre cowncell perys,

And leve them bydyng ftylle,
To loke what beste ys for to doo,
Soche tythyngys ys comyn us too,

Loke whedur we wyll fulfylle.”

The emperowre hys doghtur be the hande hent,
And to a chaumbur they wente,
Hys cowncell aftur hym yede,

240 And alkyd yf (che wolde fent ther-tylle, For to be at fyr Garcyes wylle,

And sche seyde, Jhesu forbede!
Sche seyde, Be god, that boght me dere,
Me had levyr the warste bachylere

In all my fadurs thede,
Then for to lye be hys brefyd boones,
When he coghyth and oldely grones,

I can not on hys lede.

250

Hur fadur lykyd hur wordys wele,
So dud hys cowncell every dele,

And blessyd hur for hur fawe.

They feyde, Yf that Garcy come,
In evyll tyme he hedur nome

Hedurward for to drawe.
The garsons be not fo doghtye,
But mony of them soone schall dye,

Yf we togedur plawe;
Go we hens, owre redd ys tane,
Odur cowncell kepe we nane,

Be ryght nodur be lawe.

260

The emperowre came into the halle,
The messengerys had etyn all,

And ftode to byde an anfware:
He seyde, Syrs, wendyth hame,
For here schall ye have no game,

God forbede hyt so ware!
Take the tresowr that ye broght,
But my doghtur gete ye noght,

For all yowre bostefull fare ;
We fchall stonde owre chawnce unto,
Whedur he come, or not fo do,

Full mekyll we schall not care.

270

Then Acurye can say,
In the begynnyng of Maye,

My lorde will buske hym to ry de,

And take the fomer before hym clene,
And dystroye thy londys all be deene,

Who ys he that schall hym byde?
Then answeryd fyr Eyraveyne,

280 We schall founde to knok ageyne,

For all hys grete pryde.
The emperowre comawndyd no man schulde 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 agaylie.
Al so tyte as fyr Garcy fawe,
Wyt ye well he lyfte not to lawe,

290
But mornyd in mode and mayne ;
Alther furste he toke hym come
To spere the estyrs of Rome,

To telle hym Acurye was fayne : “ Syr, hyt ys feyre bygged with halles and bowrys, We tolde the leven hundurd towrys,

So Cryste me fave and sayne;

And ther lorde fyr Otes the graunt,
Wyth mekyll worfchyp they hym avaunt,

Of curtesye he ys the welle;

300

And therto trewe as any stele,
For thy, fir, men love hym wele,

Mony wyth hym to dwelle;
He

ys bothe ware and wyse,
And gevyth them gyftys of pryce,

The certen sothe to telle;
And hys doghtur, the feyrest thynge,
That ever was seen wolde or yynge,

Made of fierche and felle.

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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 owt,

Hyt were a grete yurnè.
Every day in the yere
The feyre ys there lyke playnere,

Amonge the folke so free;
Syxty dewkys are calde hys perys,
And twenty thousande bachyleres

Longyth to that cytè.

320

Of the emperowrs pales y wyll yow say,
Ther ys no soche in the worlde to-day

Stondyng undur hevyn;

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 Criste me cover,
And ther ys peynted wythyme and over,
The dedly synnes sevyn;

330 There was peyntyd wyth thynges fere, That men myght mewse on many a yere,

Or he hyt seryed wyth stevyn.

There comyth watur in a condyte,
Thorow a lyon rennyth hyt,

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;

340 Many other waturs come thorow the town,

That fresche are upon folde;
In myddys the cyté ys oon rennande,
Tyger hyt hyght, y undurftande,

As men there us tolde,

yow tolde,

The effect of Rome y have
And of the best barons bolde,

That lygge there-wythynne ;

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