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Ayeyn to Rome as men may lythe,
Had y wetyn what schulde be fythe,

Thou schuldyst 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 schall geve the
To wende home to thy cuntre,

And wyrke me no more woo.


“ Nay, be hym that lorde ys beste, Tyll y have thys londe conqueste,

And efte be crowned newe;
And yf my men wyll fo als,
For y trowe ther be noon fals,

And yf ther be themselfe schall rewe.”
Synagot seyde, Be godys wayes,
He wyll holde that he says,

He ys hardy and trewe:
I rede we do us in hys wylle,
And yylde thys empyre hym tylle,

Or hę us more bale brewe.


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

Moo then thou haste here,

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 stremes thou madyste us to rowe,

And boght thy pride full dere; Many a chylde left thou thore Fadurles for evyrmore,

And wedows in cuntreys sere.


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

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

Hyt sygnyfyed all the lande.
They ledd yn hys baner wyth honowre,
And sett hyt on the hyest towre,

That they [in] castell fande;
And soone upon that odur day,
They crowned hym emperowre, y faye,

Ther durfte no man agenste hym stande,


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

The lande to stabull and stere :


He seyde unto fyr Garcye,
Syr, ye mufte wende home wyth me,

Yf that yowre wylle were,
For to see Rome wythynne,
That ye wende fome tyme to wynne,

And Florence that ys to me dere;
Hyt schall turnè yow to no grefe,
Whether he were lothe or lefe,

Forthe they wente in fere.


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

When hyt was on the fee;
Then Emere thoght on Mylys hys brodur,
· And on Florence feyreste of odur,

At them then wolde he bee.
He seyde 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.

A messengere to londe wanne,

1260 That some tyme rode, and some tyme ranne,

Tyll he came Rome wythynne ;


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 sche 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 treson of hys brodur,
That he dud in hys absence;
To Sampson 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 cursyd thefe,
That afturward dud hur grete grefe,

Ther was nevyr no sawe sotheyr.


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 schall hyt bee,

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

Agenste hys brodur ryght. When that he came to the fee, A false lefynge there made hee

Of Florence feyre and bryght.


Syr Egravayne sadylde hys stede,
And hyed hym aftur a gode spede,

He hopyd that he wolde lye ;
When Mylys sawe the emperowre,
He felle downe in a depe fowre,

Fro hys hors fo hye. Emere, seyde 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 smote down wyth hys hevydd,
All hys yoye was fro hym revydd

Of Florence that he hadd, . 1310

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