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Oon came prekyng owt of the prees,

To fyr Emere evyn he chefe,

But foone was fellyd hys pryde.

Syr Emere reyfyd hys fpere on byght,
Thorow the body he bare the knyght,

And downe he felle that tyde.
Than they faght hand ouyr hedd,
Many oon there ther lyvys levydd,
That came on Garcyes fyde.

The

emperowre of Rome lay on hys wall, And hys doghtur gent and small,

Florence feyre and free;

Sche feyde, Fadur, with mylde stevyn,

To us ys comyn helpe fro hevyn,

Fro god in magestè;

Yondur ys a nobull knyght,

That ftyrryth hym ftyfly in the fyght,

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Wyth the whyte dowve and the blak lyon,
The beste that cometh he ftryketh down,

Helpe that he rescowde bee.

470

480

The emperowre calde fyr Egravayne,
And fyr Sampfon, that was hym gayne,

4.90

Armed well and ryght,

A hundurd men with them he toke,

Up they lepe, fo feyth the boke,

On ftedys ftronge and wyght.

All that were lefte onslayne,

Fledd unto ther strenkyth agayne,

Hyt was a femely syght.

Then fwere Garcy, in full grete yre,

That he wolde brenne all Rome with fyre,

On the morne yf that he myght.

Then fyr Mylys and fyr Emere,
Wyth ther forty felows in fere,

Come the emperowre beforne;

They falutyd hym full ryally,
And hys doghtur that ftode hym by:
He afkyd where they were borne.
They answeryd hym full curteslye,
We were the kynges fonnes of Hungary,

Owre fadur hys lyfe hath lorne,
And hedur are we come to the,

As fowdears, yf mystyr bee;

We speke hyt not in skorne.

God, and feynt Petur of Rome,
Yylde yow yowre hedur-come,

The emperowre can fey;

500

510

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Sche thoght hym a full curtes knyght,
Feyre, yonge, femely, and wyght,
Hur harte to hym can yylde.

Syr Mylys feyde the emperowre too,

And

ye wolde at my councell doo,

Ye fchoulde not fyght in fylde,

But close the yatys, and the brygges up drawe,

And kepe us clene owt of ther awe,

And owre wepons wyghtly welde:

And kepe the town bothe nyght and day,

Tyl they be wery and wende away:

Syr Emere hym behelde.

Emere feyde Mylys unto,

So myght a fympull grome do,

Kepe an holde wythynne;

530

540

But we wyll manly to the felde,

And fyr Garcy batell yelde,

To morne or that we blynne.

Then they made crye thorow the cytè,
That no man fchoulde fo hardy bee,
That waryfon wolde wynne,

But folowe the standard wher hyt goys,
And freschly fyght upon owre foys,
Bothe the more and the mynne.

Than fyr Garcy, wyth mekyll pryde,
Made to crye the fame on hys fyde,

Amonge the barons bolde;

The kynge of Turkay he seyde than,
Thou art a fulle madde man,

And fayleste wyt for elde;

Syr Otes the graunt hath noght gylte,
Let therfore no blode be spylte,

For hym that all fchall welde;

Nay he warnyd me hys doghtur fchene,
And that hath tymberde all my teene,
Full dere hyt fchall be selde.

A Roman ftode befyde and harde,
To the towne full foone he farde,

And tolde the emperowre;

550

560

The maydyn mylde up sche rafe,

With knyghtes and ladyes feyre of face,

And wente unto a towre.

There fche fawe ryght in the feldys

Baners brode and bryght scheldys

Of chevalry the flowre,

They nowmberde them forty thousand men,

And a hundurd moo then hur fadur had then,

That were ryght ftyffe in ftowre.

Allas! feyde that maydyn clere,
Whedur all the yonde folke and there
Schoulde dye for my fake,

And y but a fympull woman!

The terys on hur chekys ranne,
Hur ble beganne to blake.

"Put me owt to olde Garcy,

Yf all thes men fchulde for me dye,

Hyt were a dolefull wrake."

Hur fadur feyde hyt fchulde not bee;
Hors and armowre afkyd hee,

And foone hys fwyrde can take.

He lepe on hys ftede Bandynere,
And in hys honde he hent a fpere,

And rode abowte all nyght.

570

580

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