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He let crye in every fyde,
Thorow hys londe ferre and wyde,
Bothe in felde and towne,
All that myght wepon bere,
Sworde, alablast, schylde, or spere,
They schoulde be redy bowne.
The erle on hys fyde alfo,
Wyth forty thousand and moo,
Wyth spere and schylde browne.
A day of batayle there was sett,
In felde when they togedur mett,
Was crakydd many a crowne.
The emperour had bataylys fevyn,
He spake to them wyth fterne stevyn,
And sayde, so 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 le them wyth swerde and knyfe : For all hys bofte he faylyd yyt, The erle manly hym mett, Wyth strokys goode and ryfe.
They reryd batayle on every fyde,
Bodely togedur can they ryde,
Wyth schylde and many a spere :
They leyde on faste, as they were wode,
Wyth swerdys and axes that were gode,
Full hedeous hyt was to here.
There were fchyldys and fchaftys schakydd,
Hedys thorogh helmys crakydd,
And hawberkys all to tere;'
The erle hymselfe an axe drowe,
An hundurd men that day he flowe,
So wyght he was yn were.
Many a stede there stekyd 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.
The erle of Tollous wan the felde,
The emperour stode and behelde,
Wele faste can he flee,
To a castell there besyde,
Fayne he was hys hedd to hyde,
And wyth hym erlys thre:
No moo forsothe scapyd away,
But they were layn 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 syttyth in trynytè.
There were Nayne in that batayle,
Syxty thousand wythowte fayle,
On the emperours fyde;
Ther was takyn thre hundurd and fyfty,
Of grete lordys sekyrly,
Wyth woundys grymly wyde.
On the erlys syde ther were slayne,
But twenty, fothely to fayne,
So boldely they can abyde; .
Soche grace god hym sende,
That false quarell cometh to evell ende,
For oght that may betyde.
Now the emperour ys full woo,
He hath lofte men and londe also,
Sore then syghed hee;
He fware, be hym that dyed on rode,
Mete nor drynke schulde do hym no gode
Or he vengedd bee..
The emperes seyde, Gode lorde,
· Hyt ys better ye be acorde,
Be oght that y can see;
Hyt ys grete parell, fothe to telle,
To be agayne the ryght quarell,
Be god thus thynketh me.
Dame, seyde 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 noo.
Then seyde dame Beulybon,
Syr, y rede, be seynt John,
Of warre that ye hoo;
Ye have the wronge and he the ryght,
And that ye may see in syght,
Be thys and othyr moo.
The emperour was evyll payde,.
Hyt was fothe the lady fayde,
Therfore hym lykyd ylle ;
He wente awey, and fyghed fore,
Oon worde spake he no more,
But helde hym wonder stylle.
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 grettest of them everychon,
A lorde of many a towne,
Syr Trylabas of Turky,
The emperour hym lovyd fekurly,
A man of grete renowne.