The kinges fones riden bathe,

To hayles Horn when thai him sathe,
And welcomed him, that fre,
Anon thai gun to strive rathe,
Whether of hem him fchuld have
To duelle in her meinè.

Horn answerd hem than as hende,
And feyd to hem, My leve frende,
The king than wald y fe,

And afterward y wille you telle,
Where me levest is to duelle,
And femlyeft to me.

The mesfanger told Hornes dede,
Hou he hadde ywon the stede,

And hou he feighe him ride:

"Sir, mightestow hold him to thi nede, King Malkan tharf the nought drede, Batayle might thou bide.

Hour king boden him gold and fe,

With that he wil with him be,

At this ich nede;

And Horn ful trewely hath him hight,

For to stond in stede of knight,

In herd is nought to hide.

In Yrlond was ther nan,

That alle thai be to Malkan gan,'.

So michel was his pouftè,

Bot Finlak king him alan
Has the batayl undertan,
Yif Crift wil that it be.

King Malkan dede bede out here
Opon the king Finlak towere,

Now than schal we fe,

Yif he wil fight he schal be flan,
Yif he wil bide he schal be tan,
Y trowe best he wil fle.

Bot thre woukes were ther fett,
That alle this folk schal be mett
And batayle schal ther be;
The Walis king hadde gret lett,
With windes and with watres bett,

Sir Elidan the fre.

He no might into Irlond come,

For to helpen his fone,

For ftormes on the fe,

King Finlak feyd, Is nought to hide, This batayl dar y nought abide,

Mi rede is tan to fle:

And than was Horn as fain o fight, As is the foule of the light

When it ginneth dawe:

"Sir king, for to held thi right,

Y rede thou bede riche yift,

The folk wil to the drawe. Geder to the folk that thou may, And baldliche hold thi day,

Batail schal we schawe,

To fle me think it is gret schame, Ar dintes be fmiten or ani man flan, For drede of wordes awe.

The kinges fones wer knightes bold,
And feyd thai wald the batail hold,
Her lives for to lete.

Finlak king, thei he wer ald,
Bletheli he feyd fight he wald,
To hold that he bihete.
Thus thai riden out of toun,
With fpere oloft and gomfaynoun,
Malkan king to mete,

With speres scharp, and fwerdes gode,
Thai flough mani a frely fode,

So grimly gun thai grete.

Ther Horn feighe the mest thrang,

In he rides hem amang,

And lays on wel gode won;

It was no man of Yrland

Might ftond a dint of his hand,

At ich stroke he slough on.

(A leaf, at least, appears to be here wanting. It should feem that there had been a battle, in which Horn was wounded, and the kings fons were takeën prisoners.)

Maiden and wiif gret forwe gan make,

For the kinges fones fake,

That were apoint to dye.
Finlac king oyaines him come,
And his armes of him nome,

The blode ran over his eighe.

He cleped his douhter Acula,
And bad fche fchuld a plaster ta,

Of woundes was sche sleighe.

The maiden taft* Hornes wounde,

The kinges douhter, in that stounde,
Of him hye is ful fain:

"Thou schalt be fone hole and founde, Haftow Malkan brought to grounde?"

He feyd, Ya, oyain.

King Malkan was mi faders ban,

And now for fothe ich have him flan,

The fothe for to fain.

Mi fader fwerd y wan to day,
Y kepe it while y live may,

The name is Blavain.

Thai birid the folk that wer slan,
And her armour thai ladde ham,

With hors white and broun;
Finlac king him bithought,
Hou he Horn yeld mought,

To yif him his warisoun ;
He tok Malkan kinges lond,
And fefed it into Hornnes hond,
Bothe tour and toun.

Erles, barouns, everichon,

In Irlond was ther non,

That he no com to his fomoun.

The kinges douhter, Acula,
Loved hende Horn fa,

Sche durft it nought kithe;
Whether fche feighe him ride or go,
Hir thought hir hert brak atuo,
That sche no spac with that blithe.

* Tafteëd, touch'd, or felt, a Gallicism.

On a day sche made her seke,
Horn com, and with hir fpeke,

Sche might no lenger mithe;
To him spac that maiden fre,
And feyd, Horn, y love the,
Man moft olive.

Over al Horn the priis him wan,
He seyd it was for o wiman,

That was him leve and dere;
Acula wende for than

That Horn hir loved, and most gode an
Of ani woman that were.
Of another was al his thought,
Maiden Rimnild foryat he nought,
Sche lay his hert ful nere;
The ring to schewen hath he tan,
The hewe was chaunged of the stan,
Forgon is feven yere.

Horn wald no lenger abide,
He busked him for to ride,

And gedred folk everi whare;
An hundred knightes by his fide,
With stedes fele, and michel pride,
Her fchippes were ful yare.
Thai fayled over the flode fo gray,
In Inglond arived were thay,

Ther hem leveft ware;

Under a wode ther thai

gan lende,

Horn feighe a begger wende,

And after he is fare.