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There was a Sarazin stronge and wight,

That at this knight had great envye,

He ran to him with all his might,
And faid, Traitour, i thee defie.

They ranne together, with fperes longe,
Anone the Sarazin lay on the grounde,
The knight drewe out his fworde fo stronge,
And fmote his head of in that stounde.

Than came twelve Sarazins in a rought,
And the knight did fore asfaile,
So they befet him rounde aboute,
There began a ftronge bataile.

The knight keft foure unto the grounde,
With foure ftrokes by and by,
The other gave him many a wounde,
For ever they did multiplie.

They laide on him on every fide,

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With cruell ftrokes, and mortall,

They gave him woundes fo depe and wide,

That to the grounde downe did he fall.

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The Sarazins went, and let him lye,

With mortall woundes piteous to se, He called his page hastely,

And faid, My time is come to die.

In my herte is fo depe a wounde
That i muft dye without naye,

But, or thou me burye in the grounde,

Of one thinge i thee praie:

Out of mi body to cut my herte,

And wrappe it in this yelowe here,
And, whan thou doest from hence departe,
Unto my lady thou do it bere.

This promiffe thou me without delay,
To bere my lady this prefent,
And burie mi body in the croffe waie.
The page was fory and dolent.

The knight yelded up the gooft anone,

The

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page him buried as he had him bad, 390

And towarde Faguell is he gone,

The herte, and here, with him he had.

Somtime he went, fomtime he ran,

With wofull mone and fory jeft,

Till unto Faguell he came,

Nere to a castell in a forest,

The lorde of Faguell, without let,

Was in the foreft with his meynè,

With this page anone he met:

Page, he said, what tidinges with thee?

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With thi maister how is the cafe?

Shew me lightly, or thou go,

Or thou shalt never out of this place.
The page was afearde whan he said fo.

The page for feare that he had,

The herte unto the lorde he toke tho,

In his courage he was full fad,

He toke the heere to him alfo.

He tolde him trothe of everi thinge,

How that the knight in bataile was flaine, 410

And how he fent his lady that thinge,

For a fpeciall token of love certainę.

The lorde therof toke good hede,

And behelde the herte, that high prefente; Their love, he faid, was hote in dede,

They were bothe in great torment.

Than home is he to the kechin gone:
Coke, he faid, herken unto me;
Dreffe me this herte, and that anone,
In the deintieft wife that may be;

Make it fwete and delycate to eate,
For it is for my lady bryght,

If that she wyft what were the meate,
Sothely her hert wolde not be lyght.

Therof fayd the lord full trewe,

That meat was doleful and mortall, So thought the lady whan fhe it knewe, Than went the lorde into the hall.

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Anone the lorde to meate was fet,

And this lady not farre him fro, The hert anone he made be fet,

Wherof proceded muche wo.

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Madame, eate hereof, he fayd,

For it is deynteous and plefaunte.

The lady eate, and was not dismayde,

For of good spyce there dyd none wante.

Whan the lady had eaten wele,

Anone to her the lorde fayd there, His herte have ye eaten, every dele,

To whom you gave your yelowe here.

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Your knight is dead, as you may fe,
I tel you, lady, certaynly,

His owne herte eaten have

ye,

Madame, at the last we all must dye.

Whan the lady herde him fo fay,

She fayd, My herte for wo shall braft;

Alas, that ever i fawe this day!

Now may my lyfe no longer laft.

Up the rofe, wyth hert full wo,

And ftreight up into her chambre wente,

She confefsed her devoutly tho,

And shortely receyved the facrament.

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