They loovyd god bothe more and leffe,

That they had getyn the emperes,

That longe had bene awaye.

Soche a brydale as there was oon

In that lande was nevyr noon,

To wytt wythowten wene;

There was grete myrthe of mynftrals stevyn,

And nobull gyftys also gevyn,

Bothe golde and robys fchene;

Soone aftur, on the fowretenyth day,

They toke ther leve and went ther way,

And thankyd kynge and quene.
They loovyd god wyth myght and mayne
That the lady was comyn agayne,

And kept hur chaste and clene.

They gate a chylde the furfte nyght,
A fone that fyr Otes hyght,

As the boke makyth mynde;

A nobull knyght, and a ftronge in ftowre,

That aftur hym was emperowre,

As hyt was full gode kynde.

Then the emperowre and hys wyfe,
In yoye and blyffe they lad ther lyfe,
That were comyn of gentyl ftrynde.

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Pope Symonde thys story wrate,

In the cronykyls of Rome ys the date,
Who fekyth there he may hyt fynde.

For thy fchulde men and women als

Them bethynke or they be false,

Hyt makyth fo fowle an ende.

Be hyt nevyr fo flylye cafte,

Yyt hyt fchamyth the mayftyr at the laste,
In what londe that ever they lende.

I meene be thes four fekyll,

That harmed feyre Florence fo mykyll,

The treweft that men kende:

And thus endyth thys romance gode.
Jhefu, that boght us on the rode,

Unto hys blyffe us fende.

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[93]

THE ERLE OF TOLOUS.

JHESU Cryfte, yn trynytè,
Oonly god and persons thre,
Graunt us wele to fpede,

And gyf us grace fo to do,
That we may come thy blys unto,

On rode as thou can blede!
Leve lordys, y fchall you telle,
Of a tale fome tyme befelle,

Farre yn unkowthe lede;

How a lady had grete myschefe,

And how fche covyrd of hur grefe ;

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Syr Dyaclyfyon he hyght;

He was a bolde man and a stowte,

All Crysténdome of hym had dowte,

So ftronge he was yn fyght. He dysheryted many a man, And falfely ther londys wan,

Wyth mayftry and wyth myght;
Tyll hyt be felle, upon a day,

A warre wakenyd, as y yow fay,
Betwene hym and a knyght;

The erle of Tollous, fyr Barnard,

The emperrour wyth hym was harde,

And gretly was hys foo;

He had rafte owt of hys honde

Thre hundurd poundys worth be yere of londe,

Therfore hys herte was woo.

He was an hardy man and a stronge,

And fawe the emperour dyd hym wronge,

And other men alfo ;

He ordeyned hym for batayle,

Into the emperours londe faunfayle,

And there he began to brenne and floo.

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30

Thys emperour had a wyfe,

The fayreft oon that evyr bare lyfe,

Save Mary mekyll of myght;
And therto gode in all thynge,
Of almesdede and gode berynge,
Be day, and eke be nyght.
Of hyr body fehe was trewe,
As evyr was lady that men knewe,
And therto mooft bryght;

To the emperour sche can say,
My dere lorde, y you pray,
Delyvyr the erle hys ryght.

Dame, he feyde, let that bee,

That day schalt thou nevyr fee,

Yf y may ryde on ryght;

That he fchall have hys londe agayne,
Fyrfte fchall y breke hys brayne,

Os y am trewe knyght.
He warryth faste on my londe,
I fchall be redy at hys honde,
Wythyn thys fowretenyght.

He fent abowte every whare

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50

That all men fchulde make them yare,

Agayne the erle to fyght.

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