So at the last he rofe agayne,

And made his mone to god almyght, And to our lady he dyd compleyne, Theyr helpe defyrynge in that fyght.

Than fterte he wyth a fayrse courage,
Unto the dragon without fayle,
He loked fo for his advauntage,

That [quyckely] he fmote of her tayle.

260

Than began the dragon for to yell,

And tourned her upon her syde,

The knight was ware of her right well,
And in her bodi made his fworde to flyde.

So that the coud nat remeve fcarcely,

The knight, that feinge, approched nere, And fmote her heed of lyghtly,

Than was he escaped that daungere.

Than thanked he god of his grace,

Whiche, by his goodnes and mercye,

270

Hym had preferved in that place,

Through vertue of hys deytè.

Than went he to a nonrye there befyde,

And there a furgean by his arte Heled his woundes that were fo wyde, And than fro thens he dyd departe,

Towarde the Rodes, for to fyght,
In bataill as he had undertake,

The fayth to fusteyne with all his might,
For his promyffe he wil not breke.

Than of Sarazyns there was a route,
Al redy armen and in araye,
That fyeged the Rodes round aboute,
Fyersly agaynft the good fredaye.

The knight was welcomed of echone,
That within the cyté were,

They provided forth batayle anone:
So for this time i leve them there,

And tourne to his lady bryght,

Which is at home wyth wofull mone, Sore morned [the] both day and night,

Sayenge, Alas! my love is gone.

280

290

Alas! fhe fayd, my gentyl knight,

For your fake is my herte ful fore, Myght i ones of you have a fyght Afore my dethe, i defyre no more.

Alas! what trefon or envye

Hath made my love fro me to go?
I thynke my lorde for ire truely
By treafon him to deth hathe do.

Alas! my lorde, ye were to blame
Thus my love for to betraye,
It is to you a right great shame,
Sythe that our love was chast alwaye.

Our love was clene in chastytè,

Without fynne ftyl to endure,

We never entended vylanye;

Alas, mooft curteyfe creature!

Where do ye dwell? where do ye byde?

Wold god i knewe where you to fynde! Wher ever ye go, where ever ye ride,

Love, ye shall never out of my mynde.

300

310

A, deth, where art thou fo longe fro me?

Come and departe me fro this paine,

For dead and buried til i be

Fro morning can i nat refraine.

Fare wel, dere love, where ever ye be,
Bi you pleasure is fro me gone,
Unto the time i may you fe,

Without comforte ftill muft i mone.

320

Thus this lady, of coloure clere,

Alone mourninge did complaine,

Nothinge coulde her comforte ne chere,
So was the oppressed with wo and paine.

So leve we her here in this traine,
For her love mourning alwaye,
And to the knight tourne we againe,
Which at Rodes abideth the day

Of bataile, fo whan the daie was come,
The knightes armed them eche one,
And out of the citie wente all and fome,
Strongly to fight with goddes fone.

330

Faire and femely was the fight,

To fe them redy unto the warre, There was many a man of might,

That to that bataile was come full farre.

The knight of curtefy came into the felde,
Well armed right faft did ride,

Both knightes and barans him behelde,

How comely he was on eche fide.

340

Above the helme upon his hede,

Was fet, with many a precious stone, The comely heare as golde fo rede, Better armed than he was none.

Than the trumpettes began to founde,
The fperes ranne and brake the raye;
The noife of gonnes did rebounde,
In this metinge there was no plaie.

Great was the bataile on everi fide,

The knight of curtefy was nat behinde, He fmote al downe that wolde abide,

His mache coulde he no where finde.

350