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As unto Rodes for to fight,

The chriften fayth for to mayntayne,
To Thewe by armes your force and myght,

In Lumbardy, Portyngale, and in Spayne.

Than spake the knyght to the lord anone,

For your fake wyl i aventure my lyfe, Whether ever i come agayne or none,

And for my ladyes fake, your wyfe.


If i dyd nat i were to blame.

Than fighed the lady with that worde, In dolour depe her herte was tane,

And fore wounded as wyth a sworde.

Than after dyner the knight did go

His horse and harneyse to make redy, The woful lady came him unto,

And to him sayd right pyteously:

Alas! yf ye go, i must complayne
· Alone as a woful creature,
If that ye be in batayle Nayne,

On lyve may i not endure.

Alas, unhappy creature !

Where shal i go, where shal i byde ? Of dethe sothely nowe am i sure,

And all worldly joye i hal fet assyde.

A payre of theres than dyd she take,

And cut of her here bothe yelowe and bright; Were this, than fayd the, for my fake,

Upon your helme, moche curteyse knight. 180

I shall, dere lady, for your fakę,

This knyght sayd, with styl morninge : No comforte to him coude he take,

Nor absteine him fro perfounde syghinge.

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For grete pytè i can not wryte

The forowe that was betwene them two; Also i have to small respyte

For to declare theyr payne and wo.


The wofull departinge and complaynt

That was betwene these lovers twayne Was never man that coude depaynt,

So wofully did they complayne,

The teres ran from theyr eyen twayne,

For doloure whan they did departe; The lady in her castell did remayne,

Wyth langour replenyfthed was her herte.

Now leve we here this lady bryght,

Within her castel makinge her mone, And tourne we to the curteys knyght,

Whyche on his journey forth is gone.


Unto hymself this knight fayd he,

Agaynst the chryften i wyl not fyght, But to the Rodes wyl i go

Them to fusteyne with all my myght.

Than did he her heere unfolde,

And one his helme it fet on hye, Wyth rede thredes of ryche golde,

Whiche he had of his lady.

Full richely his shelde was wrought,

Wyth afure stones and beten golde, But on his lady was his thought,

The yelowe heare whan he dyd beholde.


Than forth he rode by dale and downe,

After aventures to enquyre,
By many a castel, cyté and towne,

All to batayl was his desyre.

In every justyng where he came

None so good as he was founde, In every place the pryce he wan,

And smote his adversaryes to the grounde. 220

So whan he came to Lumberdye,

Ther was a dragon theraboute, Whyche did great hurt and vylanye,

Bothe man and befte of hym had doubte.

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Than as he loked hym aboute,

Towarde a hyll that was so hye, Of this dragon he harde a shoute,

Yonder is a feast, he fayd, truly.

The knight him blefsyd, and forthe dyd go, . And sayd, I shall do my travayle, Betyde me well, betyde me wo,

The fyers fynde i shall asfayle.


Than wyth the dragon dyd he meate,

Whan she him fawe The gaped wyde, He toke good hede, as ye may wete,

And quyckely sterted a lytle afyde.

He drewe his fwerde like a knyght,

This dragon fyersly to asfayle, He gave her strokes ful of myght,

Stronge and mortall was the batayle.

The dragon gave this knight a wounde,

Wyth his tayle upon the heed, That he fell downe unto the grounde,

In a fowne as he had ben deed.


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