He let crye in every syde, Thorow hys londe ferre and wyde, Bothe in felde and towne, All that myght wepon bere, Sworde, alablaft, fchylde, or fpere, The emperour had bataylys fevyn, Be ye now redy for to fyght, Go ye and bete them downe ryght, And leeveth non on lyve. Loke that none raunfomyd bee, Nothyr for golde ne for fee, But fle them wyth fwerde and knyfe: For all hys boste he faylyd yyt, The erle manly hym mett, Wyth ftrokys goode and ryfe. 70 80 They reryd batayle on every fyde, Bodely togedur can they ryde, Wyth schylde and many a spere: They leyde on fafte, as they were wode, Wyth fwerdys and axes that were gode, Full hedeous hyt was to here. There were schyldys and fchaftys schakydd, And hawberkys all to tere; The erle hymfelfe an axe drowe, An hundurd men that day he flowe, So wyght he was yn were. Many a stede there ftekyd was, Lay burland yn hys own blode; Os hyt were a flode. Many a wyfe may fytt and wepe, And now can they no gode; Many a body and many a hevyd, Many a doghty knyght ther was levyd, That was wylde and wode. 90 100 The erle of Tollous wan the felde, The emperour ftode and behelde, Wele fafte can he flee, To a castell there befyde, But they were flayn and takyn that day, The erle tyll nyght folowed the chace, And fythen he thanked god of hys grace, There were flayne in that batayle, Syxty thoufand wythowte fayle, On the emperours fyde; Ther was takyn thre hundurd and fyfty, Wyth woundys grymly wyde. On the erlys fyde ther were flayne, So boldely they can abyde; Soche grace god hym fende, That falfe quarell cometh to evell ende, For oght that may betyde. 110 120 130 Now the emperour ys full woo, He hath lofte men and londe alfo, Sore then fyghed hee; He fware, be hym that dyed on rode, Mete nor drynke fchulde do hym no gode Or he vengedd bee. The emperes feyde, Gode lorde, Be oght that y can fee; Hyt ys grete parell, fothe to telle, Dame, feyde the emperoure, Therfore myn herte ys woo; My lordys be takyn, and some dede, Therfore carefull ys my rede, Sorowe nye wyll me floo. Then feyde dame Beulybon, Syr, y rede, be feynt John, Of warre that ye hoo; Ye have the wronge and he the ryght, And that ye may fee in syght, Be thys and othyr moo. 140 150 The emperour was evyll payde, Therfore hym lykyd ylle; He wente awey, and syghed fore, But helde hym wonder ftylle. Leve we now the emperour in thoght, So gretly can he grylle, And to the erle turne we agayn, That thanked god wyth all hys mayn, The erle Barnard of Tollous, Had fele men chyvalrous Takyn to hys prefon, Moche gode of them he hadd, Y can not tell, fo god me gladd, Was gretteft of them everychon, A lorde of many a towne, Syr Trylabas of Turky, The emperour hym lovyd fekurly, A man of grete renowne. 160 170 180 |