All the lykyng of hys longe travayle
Was away wythowten fayle,

In forowe was he stadde.

All the lordys that were hym by,
Recowmforde hym full kyndely,
And bad hym not be adradd
Tyll we the fothe have enqueryd,
Bothe of lewde and of lernydd ;

Thes wordys yyt made hym gladd.

Then came Egravayne, wythowten lees,

Fafte prekynge into the prees,

The fothe he wolde have tolde,

But Mylys owte, wyth a fwyrde kene,
And wolde Egravayne tene,

But he a mantell can folde

Ofte fythys abowte hys arme.

And kepyd hym wele fro any harme,

That hardy was and bolde.

The emperowre bad put them in fondur,

And of yow fchall bye thys blundur

Whych hath the wronge in holde.

Syr Egravayne feyde, Syr, now y schall

Tell yow a full fekyr tale,

And ye wyll here hyt wele.

1320

1330

Syr, when ye went unto the fee,

Ye lefte an hundurd men, and us thre,

Armed in yron and stele,

To kepe Florence tyll ye came agayne;

And that made my brodur Sampson slayne,
And wroght hath myn unhele.

Unnethe were ye on the fee

When Mylys feyde, here ftandyth he,
That ye for evyr were gone.

He feyde he wolde be emperowre,

And wedde yowre lady whyte as flowre,

That worthy ys yn wone;

He had an hundurd at hys asfente,
And hyght them londys and ryche rente;
That made fyr Sampfon flone:
And broght hym home on a bere-tree,
And tolde Florence that hyt was ye,

Thon made fche full grete moone;

And when he wolde hur have wedde,
Fafle away fro hym fche fledde,

And wolde have stolyn awaye.

Then Mylys made to arme twelve knyghtes,
To kepe the place day and nyghtys,

And wach abowte hur lay;

1340

1350

And certys y was to them fworne,

And ellys had my lyfe be lorne,

The certen fothe to faye.

I went to the pope and tolde hym fa
And he asfoyled me a pena et culpa
Wythowtyn any delay.

Then he gart ame an hundurd clerkys,
Doghty men and wyse of werkys,
To the palés he can them brynge,
They bonde the false bothe hond and fote,
And in pryfon cafte them, god hyt wote,

And ther yn can them thrynge;
And Florence let owt Mylys nowe,
For to wende agenste yow,

Be Jhefu, hevyn kynge;

Thys wyll wytnes pope Symoud,

He wolde not for a thousand pownde,

Telle yow a lefynge;

Ye schall come home, as y yow say,
Be to-morne that hyt be day,

And thys was at the none.

The emperowre in thys whylys,
Drewe a fwyrde to fyr Mylys,

But lordys helde hym foone;

1360

1370

1380

He badd, Falfe traytur, flee!

That thou nevyr thy brodur fee,

For wykkydly haft thou done. Evyn to Rome ageyne he rode, Haftely wythowten bode,

Or evyr he wolde awey gone,

To feyre Florence can he faye,
A lefyng that hur wele can paye,

My lorde byddyth that ye fchall
Come agayne hym in the mornynge.
Blythe therof was that maydyn yynge,

And trowed hys falfe tale.

Sche fente to the pope over nyght,
And bad he fchulde be tymely dyght,
Wyth mony a cardynale;

And fche ordeygned hur meyné als,
And went wyth hym that was falfe,

And pafsyd bothe downe and dale.

When they came wythowte the cytè
Mylys feyde, My lady free,

We two mufte ryde faste,

And let the pope and hys meynè
Come behynde the and me,

For thus then ys my cafte;

1390

1400

That thou may fpeke wyth my lorde thy fylle,

And wyth Garcy wykkyd of wylle,

And be nothynge agafte.

For when the emperowre the pope can fee, 1410 Mekyll fpeche wyll ther bee,

And that full longe wyll laste.

Mylys, fche feyde, god yylde hyt the,

That y

foone my lorde may fee,

Thou makyft me full fayne.

The ryght wey lay evyn efte,

And he lad hur fowthe-wefte,

And thus he made hys trayne,

Tyll they came downe in a depe gylle;
The lady feyde, We ryde ylle,

Thes gates they are ungayne;

I rede we lyght unto the grownde,

And byde owre fadur the pope a stownde.
He feyde, Nay, be goddys payne,

Thou fchalt hym fee nevyr mare.

Tho the lady fyghed wondur fare,

And felle of on hur palfray.

He bete hur wyth hys nakyd fwyrde,

And fche cafte up many a rewfull rerde,

And feyde ofte Wele a faye!

1420

1430