The king feyd, It is for nought,
Traitour, thou haft trefoun wrought,
To-morwe yf y the finde,

Bi mi croun thou fchalt be flawe,
With wilde hors al to-drawe,

And feththen on galwes hing...

To Rimneld he com withouten lefing,
And sche bitaught him a ring

The vertu wele fche knewe:
"Loke thou forfake it for no thing,

It schal ben our tokening,

The fton it is wel trewe. When the fton wexeth wan,

Than chaungeth the thought of thi leman,

Take than a newe;

When the fton wexeth rede

Than have y lorn mi maidenhed,

Oyaines the untrewe.

Horn feyd, In thine erber is a tre,
Ther under is a wel fre,

Ygrowen al with yve,

Rimnild, for the love of me,

Everi day that thou ther be,

To fe the water lithe,

And, when thou feft mi fchadu thare,

Than trowe thoù me na mare,

Than am y bon to wive,

And, while thou fest mi schadu nought,

Than chaungeth never mi thought,
For no woman olive.

Houlac king wald nere wede,
There he fat opon his fede,

And feyd, Traitour, fle!
Horn tok his leve, and yede,
With him he toke his gode stede,

And grehoundes bot three;

And alle his harneys, laffe and mare,
Hatherof durft nought with him fare,
So wroth the king was he.
Maidens in the boure gan crie,
And feyd Rimnild wald dye,
"Now fwoneth that fre."

When Horn com fer out of that fight,
He feyde, Godebounde he hight,
When he gan ani mete;
Wiard rode after, day and night,
Al fo faft as he might,

Horn for to feke.

Of Godebounde herd he speke,

Horn no might he never gete,

Bi way, no bi ftrete.

Wiard rode fouthe, and Horn rode west,

To Wales Horn come attéleft,

Wel long er thai so mete.

Thurth a forest as he schuld fare
An armed knight mett he thare,

And bad Horn fchuld abide,

To yeld his harneise lesse and mare,
Other jufte, whether him lever ware,

The lawe is nought to hide ;

And Horn of justing was ful fain,
And feyd to the knight oyain,

Ful leve me were to ride.
The knight toke a schaft in hand
And Horn wele under fand

That he couthe ride.

Horn tok on al fo long

A ful tough and to so strong,
Oyaines him that tide;

The knightes scheld he cleve atuo,
And of his plates he brac tho,

And frufsed alle his fide.

Out of his fadel he bar him than,

He brac his arm, and his fchulder ban,
He hadde a ful unride.*

When he of fwoning bicam
He asked after Hornes nam,
Whider he wald gang:

"In Walis lond is ther nan
Man ymade of flesche no ban,
Oyain the may stand.”
Horn answered onan,
Godebounde is mi nam,

Į cham comen to fand.

For to win gold and fe,

In fervife with your king to be,

That lord is of this land.

* Either this or the precedeing flanza is defective by the omisfion of three lines.

"Our kinges name is Elidan,

In al Wales is ther nan

So strong a man as he;
While the feven days began
Everich day with fundri man
Justing bedes he the.

The eighten day, be thou bold,
Yif thou the feven days mai hold,
The king than schaltow se
Com rideand on a stede broun,
With a foket o feloun,

For to win the gre."

Horn feyd, withouten lefing,
For to fpeke with the king,
For nothing wil y bide.
The knight teld him na mare
The king at Snowedoun he fond thare,
Sir Elydan that tyde.

He jufted al that seven night
Everi day with sundri knight,
He gat the fairest pride;
The eighten day with Elidan,
And wan her stedes everilk an,
In herd is nought to hide.

He fmot the king opon the fcheld,
Of his hors he made hira held,

And feld him to the grounde,
Swiche on hadde he founde feld,
That fo had feld him in the feld,

Bi for that ich stounde.

The king asked him what he hight,
And he him answerd anon right,

My name is Godebounde.

"Y wil the yif gold and fe,
Yif that thou wil duelle with me,
Bi yere a thoufend pounde."

Mesfangers com out of Yrland,
And toke the king a letter in hand,
And bad he fchuld rede,

Fro a king, that men dede wrong,
His owhen fone ich understond,
That axed help at nede.

He lete write a letter oyain,

He fchuld han help is nought to layn,
With knightes ftithe on stede.
Horn to batayl was ful boun,
And folwed the mesfangers out of toun,
Into Irlond thai him lede.

Hem com an haven wele to hand,
That Yolkil is cleped in Irland,

The court was ther bifide.
Finlawe king ther thai fande,
For to here titheande

Oyain hem gan ride.

The letter told that he brought,
Help schuld him faile nought
Oyaines thilke tide.

King Finlak dede to Malkan fay,
Whether he wold bi night or day,

The bataile wald he bide.