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590

To the lordys of the towne,
And bad they fchulde be redy bowne,

Tymely to the fyght.
They set ther standard 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.

: 600

The standarde was of whyte yvore,
A dragon of golde ordeygned therfore,

That on the ouyr ende ftode;
That sygnyfyed that Otes ware
In the felde as bolde as any bare,

And a fterne man of mode.
The vawe-warde and the myddyll soone,
And the rere-warde owte of Rome

The grete oost removyd and yode;
Be then had Garcy takyn hys place,
And soone wythynne a lytyll space,

Ranne bowrnes all on blode.

Than fyr Otes the graunt can calle
On herawde and hys kryghtys all,

In myddys of the prees,

Whoso beryth hym beste to-day,
Ageyne fyr Garcy, as y yow say,

That wyrkyth me thys unpees,
I schall geve hym a feyre flowre,
Of grete Rome to be emperowre,

Aftur my dyssees,
And wedde Florens my doghtur bryght,
As y am trewe cryften knyght,

Certen wythowtyn lees.

620

Syr Emere alkyd hys lorde the kynge,
Yf he myght have the furste rydynge,

And he grauntyd hym tylle.
Owt of Garcyes'ooft came oon,
A prowde garson, hyght Bresebon,

A wykkyd man of wylle ;
When fýr Emere with hym mett,
A stronge 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.

630

Be that the grete ooft began to sembyll,
Trumpes to blowe, and stedys to trembyll,

Harde togedur they yede.

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Ryche harburgens all to-rusched,
And stele helmes all to-dusched,

And bodyes brake owt to blede ;
Hedys hopped undur hors fete,
As haylestones done in the strete,

Styckyd was many a stede.
For Florence love, that feyre maye,
Many a doghty dyed that day,

In romance as we rede.

650

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

Syxty yonge and feyre;
The warste 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 sett,

Among them can they store;
At the furste 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;

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

Thowe they wolde rawnsome bede.
Ageyne hym came fyr Otes the graunt,
A doghty knyght and an aveaunt,

On Bondenore hys stede;
When Garcy sye that hyt was hee,
He seyde, Syrrys, al so mote y the,

We two mufte do owre dede..

Thou art wele strekyn 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 sadyls they felle belyde,

And graspyd to odur gere;
With scharpe swyrdys 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.

[graphic]

“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 schame 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 aysware :

690

God and seynt Petur of thys towne,
Let never Rome come in thy bandoune,

And save my doghtur sowide ;
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 garsons many oon,

And rescowd hym in that ftownde. Syr Emere hørfyd hys lorde agayne, And loovyd god he was not Nayne,

And faste to fyght they fownde.

710

Syr Emere lokyd a lytyll hym fro,
And fawe hys brodúr suffer woo,

In a stowre fyghtande: .

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