All my brode landys and me,
That y welde yn Cryftyante!

Ther myght no man hur stylle.
Lordys and ladyes that there ware
Tyll hur chaumbur can they fare,
Lorde that them lykyd ylle;
Kuyghtes and fquyers that there was
Wrange ther hondys and feyde, allas!
For drede fche fchulde hur spylle.

Dewkys and erles ther hondys wronge,
And lordys forowe was full ftronge,

Barons myght have no roo;

"Who fchall us now geve londes or lythe,

Hawkys, or howndes, or ftedys ftythe,

As he was wont to doo ?"

Syr Garcy went crowlande for fayne,
As rampande eyen do in the rayne,

When tythynges came hym too,

He bad hys men fchulde make them bowne,
And haftelye go ftroye up the towne,

"My byddyng that ye doo:

830

840

Slo them down where

ye

them mete,

850

And fyre faften in every ftrete,

Loke now that taste :

I fchall wyrke, as have y yoye,

As kyng Maynelay dud be Troye,
And ftroye hyt at the lafte."

When they harde that were wythynne,
To the yatys can they wynne,

And barryd them full fafte,

And they wythowte yngynes bende,

And stones to the walles they fende,
And quarels wyth alablaste.

860

They wythynne wolde have gone owte,
Ther fovereygn marred them for dowte,
And made them to kepe ther holde,
They fygned to the yatys of the towne,
An hundurd men in armes bowne,

That hardy were and bolde.
The pope came wythowten delyte,
And enteryd the emperowre tyte,

They wepte bothe yonge and olde. The boke feyth, god that us boght Many myrakyls for hur he wroght,

Many a oon and thyck folde.

So longe logyd the fege there,

That they wythynne nere famyfched were,

Evyll lyfe can they lede;

870

They were not ordeygned therfore,
They had golde in warme store,

But mete was them full nede.
All they cowncelde Florence to take
Oon of thes lordys to be hur make,

That doghty were of dede;

For to mayntene and upholde
Agayne fyr Garcy that burne bolde,
The towne levyth all in drede,

And Awdegone hur cowncelde foo

Oon of thes lordys for to too,

Syr Mylys or fyr Emere;

"And let hym wedde yow wyth a rynge;

Ther fadur was a ryche kynge,

Knowyn bothe farre and nere."

Ye, but now ys fyr Emere tane,

And Garcys men have hym slayne,

Seyde that maydyn clere.

"Ye behove to have a nodur,

Take Mylys, that ys hys eldyst brodur,

Hyt ys my cowncell wythowten were."

To fyr Mylys Awdegon went,

880

890

And afkyd yf he wolde asfent

To wedde that maydyn free,

900

That ys whyte as lylly-flowre,

And be lorde and emperowre,

The grettyft yn Crystyante.

"But god for bede, and feynt Myghell,

That thou undurtake hyt but thou do well,
And trewe man thynke to bee."

To hys fpeche answeryd he noght,
But ftylle he stode and hym be thoght,
And feyde, Y fchall avyfe me.

Avyfe the, feyde that maydyn feyre,

For to be my fadurs heyre?

Lyghtly may y thynke.

Be hym that fuffurde woundys fyve,

I fchall nevyr be thy wyfe,

To fuffur dethys dynte.

Kyngys and dewkys have me askyd,

910

And all ther londes wolde have geve me at the laste,

And many a ryall thynke.

Forthe he yede wyth fyghyng and care,

That he had gevyn that fowle anfware,

For forowe nere wolde he synke.

Thys whyle had Synagot takyn Emere,
And broght hym before fyr Garcy in fere,

And feyde, We have tane a knyght

920

Agenfte yow fyghtyng in the ftowre,
We refte hym hors and armowre,

But he ys an hardy wyght.

Felowe, he feyde, what dyd thou there? 66 Syr, wyth my lorde on the to were,

That now to dedd ys dyght; As fowdears, my brodur and y, We have noght ellys to leve by,

Owre fadur fordyd owre ryght.

Syr Phelyp of Hungary owre fadur was,
Now ys he dedd, therfore allas!

Owre modur weddyd ys newe,

In to Surry to fyr Justamownde,
That
ys abowte us to confownde,
And owre bytter bales to brewe.

930

He hath dysheryted us, wythowt lees,

940

That we had levyr warre nor pees,

Per chawnce that may hym rewe."

Syr Synagot cowncelde fyr Garcy foo,
Syr, delyver hym qwyte, and let hym goo,
He femyth covenawnt and trewe.

Than answeryd fyr Garcy,

When y toke trewage of Turky

Thy fadur in ftede ftode me,