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Horn fast after him gan ride,
And bad the begger schuld abide,

For to here his fpeche; .
The begger answerd in that tide,
Vilaine, canestow nought ride?

Fairer thou might me grete. Haddestow cleped me gode man, Y wold have teld the wennes i cam,

And whom y go to feche;. Horn to seke have i gon, Thurthout londes mani on,

And ay fchal while we mete:

And now be min robes riven,
And me no was no nother yeven, -

Of alle this seven yere ;
Y go to seke after him ay,
And thus have done mani a day,

Til that we mete yfere.
To day is Moging the king
With Rimnild at spouseing,

The kinges douhter dere ;
Mani sides schuld be bibled
Er he bring hir to his bed

Yif Horn in lond were.

Wiard schaltow calle me,
Gentil man, yif thou be fre,

Tel me thi name.
Thi knave wald y fain be.
That fair fest forto se,
Me thenke thatow hast nane.

Horn answerd him oyain,
Ich hat Horn is nought to lain,

And elles were me schame ;
Bot, yif ich held that thou hast seyd,
Er that thai ben in bed layd,

Five thousende schal be flain.

Wiard, oyain schaltow ride
To mi folk, and there abide,

Have here mi robe to mede;
And y wil to court gon,
Forio loke what thai don,

In thi pover wede.
Bring hem under yon wode-side,
Al so yern astow may ride,

The way thou canst hem lede ;
And i schal heighe me wel fone,
Y com oyain er it be done,

Yif Crist me wil fpede.

When Horn fro fer herd glewe,
With tabournes bete, and trumpes blewe,

Oyaines hem he yede ;
Muging king ful wele he knewe,
He tok him bi the lorein rewe,

Oyain he held his stede.
Wikard com, and smot him fo,
And seyd, Traitour, lat the bridel go;

The blode out after yede. '
Horn ful trewely hath him hight,
He schal him yeld that ich night,

A box schal ben his mede.

Mojoun king was ful wo,
That he had smiten the pover man so,

And seyd, Lat mi bridel be. .
Withthi thou lat mi bridel be,
What so thou wilt aski me,

Blethelich yeve i the.
< Porter,' quath Horn, thatow wilt
Yive me maiden Rimnild,

That is so fair and fre.
The king was wroth, and rewe his yift,
“ Thou askest wrong, and no thing right,

Sche may not thine be."

Horn seyd, Y sett a nett o time,
Yif ani fische is taken therinne,

Of al this seven yere,
No schal it never more be mine,
Y wold it were fonken in helle-pine,

With fendes fele on fere.
And yif it hath ytaken nought,
Y schal it love in hert thought,

And be me leve and dere.
Thus thai went alle y fame
Unto the castel, with gle and game,

A fole thai wende he were,

Of beggers mo than sexti,
Horn seyd, Maister am y,

And aske the the mete,
That y mote, and other thre,
To-day in thine halle be,

When folk is gon to sete; * The MS. evidently reads Peter ; for what reason cannot be conceive'd.

Than y wil folwe the ham,
And that y mot with the gan,

In atté castel-yete.
The king him hight fikerly,
“ Thou schalt in the halle by,

To have ther thi' mete

Ther was mani riche gest
Dight unto that frely fest

Of douhti folk in lond,
Atté yate was strong thrast,
Horn wald nought be the last,

In forto gange.
The porter cald him herlot swain,
And he put him oyain

Therout for to stand;
Horn brust upon him fo
His scholder bone he brak ato,

And in anon he thrange.

Kokes hadde the mete grayd,
The bord was sett, the cloth was layd,

To benche yede tho bold;
The trompes ' blewe,' the glewemen pleyd,
The bischopes had the grace yseyd,

As muri men of mold.
Ther was many a riche man,
Mete and drink wel gode wan

To alle that ete wolde;
Horn sat, and litel ete,
Michel he thought, and more he speke,

For fole men schuld him hold.

[graphic]

Than was the lawe, sothe to say,
The bride schuld, the first day,

Serven atté mete;
Hendeliсh than served scho,
As a maiden schuld do;

Horn bigan to speke. “ Maiden, yif thi wille be To godes men schultow se,

Thou no oughtest hem nought foryete, And seththen the knightes fchul turnay, For to loke who so may

The maistri of hem yete.

Forth sche went, that maiden fre,
And feched drink that men might se,

To that beggere:
“ For Hornes love y pray the
Go nought ar this drunken be,

Yif ever he was the dere."
The maiden by him stille stode,
To here of Horn hir thought it gode,

He lay hir hert ful nere;
Of the coppe he drank the wine,
The ring of gold he kest therinne,

Bitokening lo it here.

“ A sely man, the threftes sare, Thou schalt have a drink mare,

Gode wine schal it be; Another drink sche him bare; Sche asked yif Horn therin ware,

Ya, certes, than seyd he.

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