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“ Doughter, let be all thy mournynge,
Thou shalt be wedede to a kynge.”
“ I wys, father, that shall not be
For all the golde in Christente;
Nor all the golde that ever god made
May not my harte glade.”
My doughter, he fayde, dere derlynge,
I knowe the cause of your mournyng:
Ye wene this body your love should be,
It is not so, so mote i the.
It was my stewarde, fyr Maradofe,
That ye so longe have kept inclose.
" Alas! father, why dyd ye fo ?”
“ For he wrought you all thys wo;
He made revelation unto me,
That he knewe all your pryvytė;
And howe the squyer, on a day,
Unto your chambre he toke the way,
And ther he should have lyen you bi,
Had he not come with company;
And howe ye hyght hym golde and fe,
Strengthe of men and royaltè;
And than he watched your chambre bryght,
With men of armes hardy and wyght,

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For to take that fquyer,
That ye have loved this seven yere ;
But as the stewarde strong and stout
Befeged your chambre rounde about,
To you your love came full ryght,
All alone about mydnight,
And whan he came your dore unto,
Lady, he fayde, undo;
And soone ye bade hym wende awaye,
For there he gate none other praye:
And as ye talked thus in fere, -
Your enemyes drewe them nere and nere,
They smote to him full soone anone,
There were thyrty agaynft hym one:
But with a baslarde large and longe
The squyer presed into the thronge ;
And so he bare hym in that ftounde,
His enemyes gave hym many a wounde.
With egre mode and herte full throwe,
The stewardes throte he cut in two;
And than his meyné all in that place
With their swordes they hurte his face,
And than they toke him everichone
And layd him on a marble stone

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Before your dore, that ye myght se,
Ryght as your love that he had be;
And fone the fquier there they hent,
And they dyd of his good garment,
And did it on the stewarde there,
That ye wift not what he were:
Thus ye have kept your enemy here
Pallyng more than seven yere :
And as the squyer there was take,
And done in pryson for your fake,
And therfore let be your mourning,
Ye shal be wedded to a kyng,
Or els unto an emperoure,
With golde and fylver and great treasure.
Do awaye, father, that may not be,
For all the golde in Chrystentè.”
Alas! father, anone she sayde,
Why hath this traytour me betraid ?
Alas! The fayd, i have great wrong
That i have kept him here so long.
Alas ! father, why dyd ye so ?
Ye might have warned me of my fo;
And ye had tolde me who it had be,
My love had never be dead for me :

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Anone she tourned her from the kyng,
And downe she fell in dead sownyng.
The kyng anone gan go,
And hente her in his armes two;
Lady, he fayd, be of good chere,
Your love lyveth and is here ;
And he hath bene in Lombardy,
And done he hath great chyvalry ;
And come agayne he is to me,
In lyfe and health ye shall him se.
He shall you wede, my doughter bryght,
I have hym made fquier and knyght;
He shal be a lorde of great renowne,
And after me to were the crowne.
Father, she fayd, if it so be,
Let me soone that squyer se.
The squyer forth than dyd he brynge,
Full fayre on lyve and in lykynge.
As fone as she sawe him with her eye,
She fell in sownyng by and by.
The squyer her hente in armes two,
And kyssed her an hundreth tymes and mo.
There was myrth and melody
With harpe, getron and fautry,




With rote, ribible and clokarde,
With pypes, organs and bumbarde,
With other mynstrelles them amonge,
With fytolphe and with fautry fonge
With fydle, recorde, and dowcemere,
With trompette, and with claryon clere,
With dulcet pipes of many cordes,
In chambre revelyng all the lordes,
Unto morne that it was daye,
The kyng to his doughter began to saye,
Have here thy love and thy lyking,
To lyve and ende in gods blessinge ;
And he that wyll departe you two,
God geve him forow and wo.
A trewer lover than ye are one
Was never fleshe ne bone ;
And but he be as true to thee,
God let him never thryve ne thee.
The kyng in herte he was full blithe,
He kissed his doughter many a fithe.
With melody and muche chere,
Anone he called his messengere,
And commaunded him foone to go
Through his cities to and fro,


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