To the lordys of the towne,

And bad they fchulde be redy bowne,

590

Tymely to the fyght.

They fet ther ftandard in a chare,

And feele folke with hyt can fare,

That hardy were and wyght, Syxe lordys and fyr Egravayne To be all ther chefetayne,

And kepe hyt well and ryght.

The standarde was of whyte yvore,

A dragon of golde ordeygned therfore,

That on the ouyr ende ftode;

600

That fygnyfyed that Otes ware

In the felde as bolde as any bare,

And a fterne man of mode.

The vawe-warde and the myddyll foone,
And the rere-warde owte of Rome

The grete ooft removyd and yode;
Be then had Garcy takyn hys place,
And foone wythynne a lytyll space,
Ranne bowrnes all on blode.

Than fyr Otes the graunt can calle
On herawde and hys knyghtys all,
In myddys of the prees,

610

Whofo beryth hym befte to-day,

Ageyne fyr Garcy, as y yow fay,

That wyrkyth me thys unpees,

I fchall geve hym a feyre flowre,

Of grete Rome to be emperowre,
Aftur my dysfees,

And wedde Florens my doghtur bryght,

As y am trewe cryften knyght,

Certen wythowtyn lees.

Syr Emere afkyd hys lorde the kynge,
Yf he myght have the furfte rydynge,
And he grauntyd hym tylle.

Owt of Garcyes ooft came oon,
A prowde garfon, hyght Brefebon,
A wykkyd man of wylle;
When fyr Emere with hym mett,
A ftronge dynte on hym he fett,

Thorow hys armowre stylle.

He fonde no focowre at hys fchylde,
But dedd he felle downe in the fylde,

Hys harte blode can owte spylle.

Be that the grete ooft began to fembyll,
Trumpes to blowe, and ftedys to trembyll,
Harde togedur they yede.

620

630

Ryche harburgens all to-rufched,

And stele helmes all to-dufched,

And bodyes brake owt to blede;

Hedys hopped undur hors fete,

As haylestones done in the ftrete,

Styckyd was many a stede.

For Florence love, that feyre maye,
Many a doghty dyed that day,

In romance as we rede.

Then fyr Garcy, with mekyll pryde,
Made knyghtys on hys own fyde,

Syxty yonge and feyre;

The warfte of ther fadurs were barons,

And oght bothe towres and townes,

And all were they ryght heyre.

When Emere and hys men with them mett,
Stronge dyntys on them he fett,

Among them can they store;

At the furfte wynnyng of ther fchone,
So tyte of lyvys were they done,
That all deryd not a pere.

Then Garcy yede nere wode for yre,
And arayed hys batels in that bere,

And fared as he wolde wede;

640

650

660

He bad ther dyntes fchulde be wele wared,
That no Roman on lyve be fpared,

Thowe they wolde rawnfome bede.
Ageyne hym came fyr Otes the graunt,
A doghty knyght and an aveaunt,
On Bondenore hys stede;

When Garcy fye that hyt was hee,
He feyde, Syrrys, al fo mote y the,
We two mufte do owre dede.

Thou art wele ftrekyn in age, y trowe,
But y am ferre elder then thou,
We two mufte jufte in werre;

Hyt ys fethyn y armyd ware
Sevyn yere and fome dele mare:

And eyther toke a spere.

So harde togedur can they ryde,
Owt of ther fadyls they felle befyde,

And grafpyd to odur gere;

With fcharpe fwyrdys faght they then,
They had be two full doghty men,

Gode olde fyghtyng was there.

Garcy hyt Otes on the helme,

That upon hys hedd hyt can whelme,

Hyt fate hym wondur fare.

"Syr, with thys dynte y chalenge Rome, And thy doghtur bryght as blome,

That brewyd hath all thys care.

When that y have leyn hur by,
And done hur fchame and vylenye,

Then wyll y of hur no mare,
But geve hur to my chaumburlayne."
Tho wordys made Otes unfayne,

And tyte he gaf an answare :

God and feynt Petur of thys towne,

Let never Rome come in thy bandoune,
And fave my doghtur fownde;

Owre fyghtyng ys not endyd yyt.
On the helme Garcy he hyt,

That he felle to the grownde.
There had fyr Garcy bene tane,
But ther came garfons many oon,

1

And rescowd hym in that flownde. Syr Emere horfyd hys lorde agayne, And loovyd god he was not flayne,

And fafte to fyght they fownde.

Syr Emere lokyd a lytyll hym fro,
And fawe hys brodur fuffer woo,

In a ftowre fyghtande:

690

710