All the lykyng of hys longe travayle In forowe was he stadde. All the lordys that were hym by, 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, 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, Unnethe were ye on the fee When Mylys feyde, here ftandyth he, 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, Thon made fche full grete moone; And when he wolde hur have wedde, And wolde have stolyn awaye. Then Mylys made to arme twelve knyghtes, 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 Then he gart ame an hundurd clerkys, And ther yn can them thrynge; 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, And thys was at the none. The emperowre in thys whylys, 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, My lorde byddyth that ye fchall And trowed hys falfe tale. Sche fente to the pope over nyght, And fche ordeygned hur meyné als, And pafsyd bothe downe and dale. When they came wythowte the cytè We two mufte ryde faste, And let the pope and hys meynè 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; Thes gates they are ungayne; I rede we lyght unto the grownde, And byde owre fadur the pope a stownde. 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 |