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,
They schoulde be redy bowne.
The erle on hys fyde alfo,
Wyth forty thousand and moo,
Wyth fpere and fchylde browne.
A day of batayle there was fett,
In felde when they togedur mett,
Was crakydd many a crowne.

The emperour had bataylys fevyn,
He spake to them wyth fterne stevyn,
And fayde, fo mote he thryve,

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.

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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,
Hedys thorogh helmys crakydd,

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,
Many a bolde baron in that place

Lay burland yn hys own blode;
So moche blode there was spylte
That the felde was ovyr hylte,

Os hyt were a flode.

Many a wyfe may fytt and wepe,
That was wonte fofte to slepe,

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.

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100

The erle of Tollous wan the felde,

The emperour ftode and behelde,

Wele fafte can he flee,

To a castell there befyde,
Fayne he was hys hedd to hyde,
And wyth hym erlys thre:
No moo forfothe fcapyd away,

But they were flayn and takyn that day,
Hyt myght non othyr bee;

The erle tyll nyght folowed the chace,

And fythen he thanked god of hys grace,
That fyttyth in trynytè.

There were flayne in that batayle,

Syxty thoufand wythowte fayle,

On the emperours fyde;

Ther was takyn thre hundurd and fyfty,
Of grete lordys fekyrly,

Wyth woundys grymly wyde.

On the erlys fyde ther were flayne,
But twenty, fothely to fayne,

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,
Hyt ys better ye be acorde,

Be oght that y can fee;

Hyt ys grete parell, fothe to telle,
To be agayne the ryght quarell,
Be god thus thynketh me.

Dame, feyde the emperoure,
Y have a grete dyshonoure,

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.

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150

The emperour was evyll payde,
Hyt was fothe the lady fayde,

Therfore hym lykyd ylle;

He wente awey, and syghed fore,
Oon worde fpake he no more,

But helde hym wonder ftylle.

Leve we now the emperour in thoght,
Game ne gle lyked hym noght,

So gretly can he grylle,

And to the erle turne we agayn,

That thanked god wyth all hys mayn,
That grace had fende hym tylle.

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,
So grete was ther raunsome.
Among them had he oon

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