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Ayeyn to Rome as men may lythe,
Had y wetyn what fchulde be fythe,
Thou fchuldyft not have skapyd foo;
But fyn y qwyte-claymed the thore,
Yyt mufte thou be of mercy more,
Thou graunt that hyt be foo.

Nine thowfand pownde y fchall geve the
To wende home to thy cuntre,

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And wyrke me no more woo.

Nay, be hym that lorde ys befte, Tyll y have thys londe conquefte,

And efte be crowned newe; And yf my men wyll fo als,

For

y trowe ther be noon fals,

And yf ther be themfelfe fchall rewe."

Synagot feyde, Be godys wayes,

He wyll holde that he fays,

He ys hardy and trewe :

I rede we do us in hys wylle,
And yylde thys empyre hym tylle,
Or he us more bale brewe.

Ther ys not, y undurftonde,
An hundurd knyghtys in thy londe

Moo then thou hate here,

1200

1210

Slewe he them not up at Rome?

In evyll tyme we thedur come,

Or that thy lore can lere.

When that thou went Florence to wowe,

- Ovyr the ftremes thou madyfte us to rowe,
And boght thy pride full dere;

Many a chylde left thou thore
Fadurles for evyrmore,

And wedows in cuntreys fere.

There they openyd ther yatys wyde,
Syr Garcy came down that tyde,

Wyth a drawyn fwyrde in hys hande,
And wyth a keye of golde clere,
And yeldyd unto fyr Emere,

1220

Hyt fygnyfyed all the lande.

They ledd yn hys baner wyth honowre,

1230

And fett hyt on the hyeft towre,

That they [in] caftell fande;

And foone upon that odur day,
They crowned hym emperowre, y faye,
Ther durfte no man agenfte hym ftande,

Then he gaye londys to knyghtys kydde,
And newe men in offyce dydd,

The lande to ftabull and ftere:

He feyde unto fyr Garcye,

Syr, ye mufte wende home wyth me,

Yf that yowre wylle were,

For to fee Rome wythynne,

That ye wende fome tyme to wynne,
And Florence that ys to me dere;
Hyt fchall turne yow to no grefe,
Whether he were lothe or lefe,

Forthe they wente in fere.

Soche a navé as ther was oon
Was never feen but that allone,

When hyt was on the fee;

Then Emere thoght on Mylys hys brodur,

And on Florence feyrefte of odur,

At them then wolde he bee.

He feyde unto fyr Garcy,

And to odyr lordys that ftode hym by,

To Hungary foone wyll wee,

Justamownde for to forfare,

And crowne Mylys my brodur thare,

For kyndyft heyre ys hee.

1240

1250

A mesfengere to londe wanne,

That fome tyme rode, and fome tyme ranne,

Tyll he came Rome wythynne;

1260

He tolde Florence, bryght of hewe,

How hys lorde was crownyd newe,

And the empyre can wynne;
And wyth hym bryngyth olde Garcy,
The lady fayne was fche for thy,

Sche was comyn of gentyll kynne.

Sche gafe hym, for hys newe tythandys,
Worthe a barony of landys,

Or evyr wolde fche blynne.

Lorde, that

ys bothe god and man,

Gyf the emperowre had wetyn than

The trefon of hys brodur,

That he dud in hys abfence;

To Sampfon and to feyre Florence,
And Egravayne the todur!

The lady went up to a towre,
Be reverence of the emperowre,

And wyth hur many odur,

And toke hym downe that curfyd thefe,

1270

1280

That afturward dud hur grete grefe,

Ther was nevyr no fawe fotheyr.

The lady preyed fyr Egravayne,

And odur lordys, that they wolde layne

The trefon of the knyght,

And all that he hath done to me,

All forgevyn fchall hyt bee,

For godys love mofte of myght. Sche fet hym on a gode palfray, And bad hym wende upon hys way,

Agenfte hys brodur ryght.

When that he came to the fee,
A falfe lefynge there made hee

Of Florence feyre and bryght.

Syr Egravayne fadylde hys stede,
And hyed hym aftur a gode spede,
He hoped that he wolde lye;
When Mylys fawe the emperowre,
He felle downe in a depe fowre,

Fro hys hors fo hye.

Emere, feyde Mylys, what eylyth the? "Syr, thus thy wyfe hath dyght me,

For y feyde y fchulde hur bewrye, When y fonde Egravayne lygyng hur by, In prefon yut fche me forthy,

And forowe hath made me to drye."

The emperowre fmote down wyth hys hevydd,
All hys yoye was fro hym revydd

Of Florence that he hadd,

1290

1300

1310

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