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I wylle wedde the yonge bryde,
He flepyd nevyr be hur fyde,

Nor hath hur not by layne.
All that wyll assent to me
Grete lordys schall they bee :

To graunt hym they were fayne. Sampson feyde, That wyll y never doo, Falsehedd my lorde unto;

The same seyde Egravayne.

All they assentyd but they two,
The todur parte was the moo,
And that was there well feen.

1080 Soche wordys among them can falle, They prefyd abowte fyr Sampson all,

And Newe hym in that tene.
They made fyr Egraveyne to swere foon,
Or they wolde wyth hym the fame have done,

To wote wythowten wene ;
Sone a bere have they ordeygned,
And the dedd corse theron leyde,

The forte was false and kene;


And fethyn to Rome they hym broght,
And tolde Florence worthyly wroght,

That Emere laye there dedd ;

When that sche had swowned twyes,
And thereaftur fyghed thryes,

Sche wepyd in that stedd.
Mylys seyde, My lady fre,
Thy cowncell wyll that y wedde the,

Hyt was my brodurs redd.
Sche seyde, Y wyll weddyd bee
To a lorde that never schall dye,

That preestys fchewe in forme of bredd.


Furfte then was my fadur sayne,
And now my lorde ys fro me tane,

Y wyll love no ma,
But hym that boght me on the rode,
Wyth hys swete precyus blode,

To hym y wyll me ta.
Then Mylys made seven armed knyghtes
To kepe the pales day and nyghtes,

Sche myght not come them fra,
And also fwythe fyr Egravayne,
Went to the pope, the sothe to sayne,

To telle he was full thra,


How that Emere was ovyr the fee,
Chasyng Garcy to hys cuntre,

And Mylys wolde have hys wyfe, .


He had a hundurd to hys assent,
And hyght them londys, lythys, and rente;

But Sampson hath lofte hys lyfe,
And broght hym home upon a bere,
And tolde Florence hyt was Emere,

All Rome he hath made ryfe; And certys y am sworne them too : Holy fadur, what schall y do,

That turned were all thys stryfe ?


Then the pope was not lothe
To assoyle hym of hys othe,

For hyt to falfehed can clyne:
« Syr, y schall telle the a sekyr tale,
Hyt ys bettur brokyn then hale,

I set my fowle for thyne.”
Than he gart arme of the spyrytualte,
And of the feculors hundurdys thre,

Or evyr wolde he blynne ;
To the palés he made them to brynge,
For to dystroyệ that false weddyng,

The matrymony was not fyne,

All that they wyth false Mylys fonde
They bonde them bothe fote and honde,

But they wolde llee not ane ;


Mylys set hys backe to a pyllere,
And seyde all schulde dye that came hym nere;

But smartely was he tane,
And put in an hye towre,
Be the reverence of the emperowre,

That was made of lyme and stane;
And twenty of thes odur ay in a pytt,
In strokkes and feturs for to sytt,

1150 Or evyr pope Symonde blanne.

Than the pope and Egravayne
To telle the lady were full fayne

Hur lorde was on the see,
To Costantyne the nobull ftrekk;
All the lasse can sche recke,

Thu all bryghtenyd hur blee.
They went to the bere wythowten wone,
And caste up the clothe and fye Sampfon,

That femely was to fee;
They dud wyth hym as wyth the dedd,
They beryed hym in a ryall stedd,

Wyth grete solempnytė.


All thys whyle was syr Emere
Chasyng Garcy, as ye schall here,
As the romans tolde;



But Garcy had getyn hys palés before,
And vetaylyd hyt wyth warme store,

Hys wylys were full olde.
Syr Emere set hys sege therto,
Full doghtely there can he doo,

That hardy was and bolde, Wyth men of armes all abowte, That he myght on no fyde owte,

But hamperde hym in hys holde :


And thus they segyd Garcy wyth strenkyth,
In hys palés large of lenkyth,

The Romaynce had ther wylle
Of Costantyne the nobull cytè
In ther pofcefcon for to bee,

That many oon lykyd ylle.
Syr Emere comawndyd every man
To brooke wele the tresur that they wan,

So myght they ther cofurs fylle.
When fyr Garcy fawe all yede to schame,
He callyd to Emere be hys name,

Downe at a wyndowe stylle:

Syr, he seyde, al so mote y the,
Thou holdyst full wele that thou hyghtyst me,
When y let the goo,


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