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But of the feyrenes of the maye
Ne noght y wyll begynne,"
To welde yyt nodur to wynne.
Or y of my brethe blynne ;
Or thre monythys and a halfe be gone,
And wynne hys doghtur with were.
Messengerys can them bere ;
With armowre, schylde, and spere: And thus begynneth a bale to brewe, Many a man therfore myght rewe,
And wemen hyt dud grete dere.
They set up seylys, and forthe they rode, And ay hymfelfe, wythowten bode,
The formaste forthe can fownde.
Ther was not oon drowned;
So glemed golde on the grownde.
The medowe was called Narumpy,
There Garcyes pavylon stode :
The boofys were redd as blode.
Nor fysches swymmyng in flode ; Fyftene pomels of golde there schoon, An egyll and a charbokull stone, .
Wyde the lýghtnes yode.
The emperowre of Rome lay on his walle, And hys doghtạr gente and small, Florence the feyre fche hyght;
And sye the garsons assay ther stedys,
The medow all can lyght.
Bothe be day and nyght;
God helpe me in my ryght.
The kynge of Hungary that tyme was dedd,
Syr Mylys and fyr Emere;
That sterne was to stere.
And manhode can them lere;
Syr Emere bare in hys schylde
A blakk lyon befyde:
And mekenes, at that tyde;
And durste beste in batell byde.
A wery palmer came them by,
That ye wyll not fare.
Straunge tythyngys harde y thare.
Wyth fyxty thousande and mare,
That ys so swete of sware.
Than fyr.Mylys, and fir Emere,
That were comyn of gentyll kynne,
To grete Rome evyn they rode,
And there they toke ther ynne.
Or evyr they wolde blynne.
Whedur hyt were to lose or wynne.
Fyve thousande on the morne Garcy sent
Wele arayed in ther gere;
For to juste in werre.
They thoght them for to feere ;
Wyth armowre fchylde and spere.
Thes fyfty had forjusted soone,
All that wolde abyde ;