Ayeyn to Rome as men may lythe, Nine thowfand pownde y fchall geve the 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, Ther ys not, y undurftonde, 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, Many a chylde left thou thore And wedows in cuntreys fere. There they openyd ther yatys wyde, Wyth a drawyn fwyrde in hys hande, 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, Then he gaye londys to knyghtys kydde, 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, Forthe they wente in fere. Soche a navé as ther was oon 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; Sche was comyn of gentyll kynne. Sche gafe hym, for hys newe tythandys, 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, The lady went up to a towre, 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, Of Florence feyre and bryght. Syr Egravayne fadylde hys stede, 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, Of Florence that he hadd, 1290 1300 1310 |