The Siege of Milan

THE SIEGE OF MILAN: FOOTNOTES


1 It behooves him to surrender it in the morning

2 He is superior to other kings

3 He quickly had a palfrey saddled for himself

4 It seemed to him an angel as bright as lightning

5 Christ's sending you this sword / makes you his warrior here on earth; / he lets you know it well.

6 He [Ganelon] wished that he [Roland] were dead, / whoever would understand the correct explanation [of Ganelon's treason].

7 So that many were ready to be buried

8 Though he knew he would die right there

9 We believe in no other [God]

10 I saw from none of them any more power / than from some other rotten tree / [lying] on the ground, as I might walk

11 Made just as He bled (i.e., the carving depicted Christ bleeding on the Cross)

12 They caused those bold men to die

13 Thought that event wondrous

14 I wonder at your way of doing things

15 And complained to Mary continuously

16 Even if I knew [I would] be slain

17 The King bared his head by undoing his helmet

18 God grant that they may fare the worse

19 For the outrage that he committed

20 They made the bold [foe] die

21 All who would stand fast there and be [slain]

22 Men rapidly loaded those machines

23 I suppose you think my heart is faint

24 He [the King] gave him [Sir Lyonelle] his [the Duke of Burgoyne's] property in his place


THE SIEGE OF MILAN: NOTES


*A note on the text: There are places where the manuscript is illegible. Herrtage reconstructed those portions in his edition and I have generally accepted his reconstructions (which are indicated by brackets). There are some places where Herrtage apparently could make out letters that are no longer visible in the manuscript. In this case, I have left his reading on the assumption that the manuscript may have deteriorated in the intervening period.


19 Here, as often in this text, `gon' or the alternate spelling `gan' (past tense of `gin,' [`to begin']) is used as an auxiliary (like `did' in more modern times) indicating the past tense of a verb. Thus `gon he wyn' means `he conquered.'

25 Herrtage places the `r' in `ther' between brackets, but it is clearly present in the manuscript.

121 I have emended `resteyne' to `reteyne' (as the MED suggests).

168 Herrtage suggests emending `worde' to `wone' to achieve something nearer a rhyme. Mills also so emends.

169 Ganelon is the traditional traitor of the Charlemagne romances. In The Song of Roland his hatred for Roland leads him to betray Charlemagne's rear guard at Roncevalles.

315 I follow Herrtage and Mills in emending the ms. reading `age' to `elde,' which restores the rhyme.

358 I have emended `Bot' (which makes no sense here) to `By.'

364 Mills emends `thay' to `thayr.'

384-85 `Passus' and `fitt' (which is an English translation of the Latin term) refer to structural units within a poem. The divisions into passus or fitts are not regularly marked in the manuscript. At this point the manuscript reads `Prymus passus the first Fytt.' This probably marks the end of the first passus and the beginning of the second. The passus beginning at line 814 is indicated in the manuscript without a number.

395 `Mahownn' is Mohammed, whom medieval Christians believed was worshipped by the Saracens as a deity.

405 `Goddis' is the singular possessive form depending on the noun `forbode' (a forbidding or prohibition). `Goddis forbode' = `God forbid!'

408 I follow Mills in emending ms. `lawe' to `laye,' which restores the rhyme.

416a Metrically this is an extra line in the stanza. Mills sees the line as another example of the `triplets' which are used instead of couplets `quite often in the Thornton text of Isumbras' (p. 193). But the line remains an aberration in the metrical pattern of The Sege of Melayne. A `bale-fire' is a blazing pile or heap kindled to consume something.

420 `So mote I gone' is one of those near meaningless expressions often used to fill out a line in the Middle English metrical romances.

471 The reference is to the elements or four substances (earth, air, fire, and water) which were believed to make up all material things.

503 I follow Mills in emending `Eeven' to `Even.'

506 On St. Denis, see the note to Sowdone of Babylone, line 26.

516 `Prime' is the canonical hour (a fixed part of the Divine Office to be sung or recited at a specific time) for the first hour of the day (6 a.m. or sunrise).

577 Herrtage notes that `syne' must be a corrupt reading `but the true reading is not clear.' Mills emends to `fyne.' `Syne' must be a form of `son,' the unusual spelling being for the sake of rhyme. It is perfectly appropriate for Charlemagne to refer to his nephew as the son of his relative.

603 If we translate `bot' as `but' in this line, `it' must refer to the cursing of the advisor, in which case the line translates: `and undoubtedly it [cursing him] is right.' Another (though less likely) possibility is to read `bot' as a form of `boute' (meaning `about') and translate: `and nothing about it [the advice] is right.'

622 I follow Herrtage and Mills in adding `care' to this line.

704 Here and again in line 989 the phrase `under thy schelde' means something like `in battle.'

773-74 If we translate the lines literally, line 774 must be taken as an almost meaningless metrical filler. It only makes sense if we extend the meaning of `tythynges' beyond the `event' or `news' (the literal meaning) to those people who represent the new event referred to. They could come `with banners raised.'

782 Herrtage notes that `on evynhaunt' is probably `a corruption of avenaunt' (meaning `gracious' or `noble' here) which appears in different forms in lines 807 and 917. Mills emends the ms. by deleting `on.'

856 This line presents some difficulty and may be corrupt. Herrtage admits in a note `I do not exactly understand this line'; and Mills glosses it only with a question mark. As it stands it seems to suggest that the sapphire presented to the Sultan is invisible.

870 The word `lede' normally means `people'; here it must mean something like `the customs of a people.' Thus the line means: `They believed in heathen customs.'

878 `Whereals' is used here in the sense of `where.'

913-16 A `kirtle' is `a man's tunic or coat which reached to the knees'; a `corset' refers here to the `corslet' which is `a piece of defensive armor covering the body'; an `acton' is `a stuffed jacket or jerkin, at first of quilted cotton worn under the mail; also, in later times, a jacket of leather or other material plated with mail'; a `hauberk' is a coat of mail; a `jazerant' or `jesserant' is `a light coat of armor composed of splints or small plates of metal riveted to each other or to a lining of some stout material.' (Definitions are from the OED.)

935 In this line I follow Mills' reconstruction rather than Herrtage's (`For[th to Mela]yne'). The line in the manuscript clearly begins with a B.

957 The OED defines `tepet' (see under `tippet,' where this line is cited) as `camail,' which is `a piece of chain-mail armour attached to the basinet or head-piece, and protecting the neck and shoulders.'

976 A `gowere pendande' is a `pendant attached to a coat of mail' (MED).

997 `Famagose' is Famagusta on Cypress.

1163 There seems to be a connective missing at the beginning of this line (e.g., `for'). Mills translates `Because of the strength of its Saracen garrison.'

1233 In this line `baners' must refer to the men assembled around the standard or the phrase `breme als bare' would be a totally meaningless filler.

1286 Herrtage takes `gones' as an alternate form of `gomes' (men). Mills emends to `gomes.'

1289 Herrtage explains `bowes of devyce' as `cross-bows worked with a rack or winch.'

1298 The suffix `-warde' is here separated from `fro' (= `from'). Thus the line translates `And they ride away from the city.' (Compare this line to line 1310: `Frowarde the cité ride.')

1303 The word `browe' does not fit the context since the spear wounded him in the side. Perhaps the correct reading is something like `brawne.' Mills emends the word to `browne' and translates the line: `Through the tough skin and unprotected flesh.'

1304 A `schaftemonde' is `the distance from the end of the extended thumb to the opposite side of the hand, used as a measure = about 6 inches' (OED).

1388 I follow Mills in emending ms. `wills' to `wille.'

1402 The definitions of `baneret' in the MED and the OED indicate that the term is generally applied to a high order of knighthood. However, the context here makes it clear that Sir Barnarde is a standard bearer who has not yet achieved such distinction. He calls himself `over symple' to refuse the task, as some other knights have, and asks to have the order of knighthood conferred on him for agreeing to deliver the message.

1459 A `fewter' is a support for a lance on a knight's saddle.

1474 A `warden' is one in charge of a division of an army.

1536 Mills emends `mekills' to `mekille.'

1597 A `hurdas' is a temporary rampart used for assault.
 
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The Siege of Milan

The Sege of Melayne*
 






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[Primus Passus: A Fitt]

All werthy men that luffes to here
Off chevallry that byfore us were
   That doughty weren of dede,
Off Charlles of Fraunce, the heghe kinge of alle
That ofte sythes made hethyn men for to falle
   That styffely satte one stede.
This geste es sothe, wittnes the buke,
The ryghte lele trouthe whoso will luke
   In cronekill for to rede.
Alle Lumbardy thay made thaire mone
And saide thaire gaummes weren alle gone,
   Owttrayede with hethen thede.

The Sowdane, Arabas the stronge,
Werreyde appon Crystyndome with wronge
   And ceties brake he downn,
Robbyde the Romaynes of theire rent,
The Popys pousty hase he schente
   And many a kynges with crownn.
In Tuskayne townnes gon he wyn
And stuffede tham wele with hethyn kyn,
   This lorde of grete renownn.
And sythen to Lumbardy he wanne;
Mighte to lett hym hade no man.
   Thus wynnes he many a townn.

The emagery that ther solde bee,
Bothe the Rode and the Marie free,
   Brynnede tham in a fire.
And than his mawmettes he sett up there
In kirkes and abbayes that there were,
   Helde tham for lordes and syre.
To Melayne sythen he tuke the waye
And wanne the cyté apon a daye,
   Gaffe his men golde till hyre.
Many a martyre made he there
Off men and childire that there were
   And ladyes swete of swyre.

The lorde of Melayne, Sir Alantyne,
Sawe the Crystynde putt to pyne.
   Owte of the townn he flede
To a cyté that was thereby;
All nyghte he thoghte therin to ly.
   He was full straytly stede.
Thay myghte it wynn with spere and schelde;
Appon the morne hym buse it yelde 1
   Or laye his lyfe in wede.
Was never no knyghte putt to mare care.
Full hertly to Criste than prayes he thare
   To knawe the lyfe he ledde.

The Sawdane sent hym messangers free
And bade hym torne and hethyn bee
   And he solde have his awenn:
Melayne, that was the riche cité,
And alle the laundis of Lumbardye,
   And to his lawe be knawenn:
`And if he ne will noghte to oure lawe be swornne,
He sall be hanged or other morne
   And with wylde horse be drawen,
His wyffe and his childire three
Byfore his eghne that he myghte see
   Be in sondre sawenn.'

He prayede the Sowdane than of grace
That he wolde byde a littill space
   Whils one the morne at daye,
And he sall do hym for to witt
If that he wolde assent to itt
   To leve apon his laye.
Bot than heves he up his handis to heven,
To Jesu Criste with mylde steven
   Full hertly gane he praye.
`Lorde,' he saide, `als Thou swelte appon the Tree,
Of Thy man Thou hafe peté
   And Mary mylde, that maye.

`If I solde Crystyndome forsake
And to hethyn lawe me take,
   The perill mon be myn.
Bot, Lorde, als Thou lete me be borne,
Late never my sawle be forlorne
   Ne dampnede to helle pyne.
Bot, Lorde, als Thou swelte on the Rode
And for mankynde schede Thi blode,
   Some concelle sende Thou me--
Whethire that me es better to doo,
The hethyn lawe to torne too
   Or my lyfe in lande to tyne.'

Than wente that knyghte unto bedde
For sorowe hym thoghte his hert bledde,
   And appon Jesu than gan he calle.
And sone aftire that gane he falle one slepe
Als man that was wery for-wepe.
   Than herde by hym on a walle
Ane angelle that unto hym gane saye,
`Rysse up, Sir Kynge, and wende thy waye,
   For faire the sall byfalle
To Charles that beris the flour-delyce--
Of other kynges he berys the pryce--2
   And he sall wreke thy wrethis alle.'

The angelle bade hym ryse agayne,
`And hy the faste to Charlemayne,
   The crownnede Kynge of Fraunce,
And say hym God byddis that he sall go
To helpe to venge the of thy foo
   Both with spere and launce.'
The Kynge was full fayne of that;
His swerde in his hande ge gatt
   And therto graythely he grauntis.
He garte swythe sadyll hym a palfraye 3
And even to Fraunce he tuke the waye.
   Now herkenys of this chaunce.

The same nyghte byfore the daye
Als Kyng Charls in his bedde laye
   A swevn than gan he mete.
Hym thoghte ane angele lyghte als leven 4
Spake to hym with mylde steven,
   That gudly hym gane grete.
That angele bytaughte hym a brande,
Gaffe hym the hiltis in his hande,
   That even was handefull mete
And saide, `Criste sende the this swerde
Mase the His werryoure here in erthe--
   He dose the wele to weite. 5

`He biddes thou sall reteyne it tyte
And that thou venge alle His dispyte,
   For thynge that ever may bee.
And sla alle there thou sees me stryke
And sythen thou birnne up house and dyke,
   For beste He traystis in thee.'
The walles abowte Melayne townne
Hym thoghte the angele dange tham downn
   That closed in that cité,
Sythen alle the laundis of Lumbardy
Townnes, borows and bayli.
   This was selcouthe to see.

When Charls wakenede of his dreme,
He sawe a bryghtenes of a beme
   Up unto hevenwarde glyde.
Bot when he rose, the swerde he fande
That the angelle gaffe hym in his hande
   Appon his bedde syde.
He schewede it thanne to his barouns alle,
And than saide his lordes bothe grete and smalle:
   `The sothe is noghte to hyde;
We wote wele that Goddis will it es
That thou sall conquere of hethennesse
   Countres lange and wyde.'

To mete than wente that riche kynge,
Bot sone come there newe tydynge
   Als he in sete was sette.
The lorde of Melayne he sawe come in,
That was his cosyn nere of kyn,
   And hym full gudely grette.
The grete lordis alle hailsede hee
And prayede tham all sesse of theire glee
   And sayse to Charls withowtten lette,
`Jesu Criste hase comannde thee
To fare to the felde to feghte for mee,
   My landis agayne to gette.'

He tolde tham alle at the borde and by
That the Sarasenes had wonn Lumbardy --
   Thay mornede and made grete mone --
And how the angelle bade hym goo.
The Kynge tolde his sweven alsoo;
   Thay accordede bothe in one.
Thane sayde the Beshope Turpyne:
`Hafe done! Late semble the folke of thyne.
   Myn hede I undirtake
That Gode es grevede at the Sarasenes boste.
We salle stroye up alle theire hoste,
   Those worthely men in worde.'

Bot alle that herde hym Genyenn
That was a lorde of grete renownn
   And Rowlande modir hade wedde.
Thare wery hym bothe God and Sayne John!
The falseste traytoure was he one
   That ever with fode was fedde.
For landis that Rowlande solde have thare
Dede fayne he wolde that he ware,
   The resone ryghte who redde.6
His firste tresone now bygynnes here
That the lordis boghte sythen full dere
   And to ladyse grete barett bredde.

`Sir,' he sayde, `that ware a synfull chaunce.
What solde worthe of us in Fraunce
   And thou in the felde were slayne?
Thyselfe and we at home will byde
And latte Rowlande thedire ryde,
   That ever to bekyre es bayne
With batelle and with brode banere.
Of his wyrchippe wolde I here,
   Witt ye wele, full fayne.'
For Rowlande this resone he wroghte;
Everemore in his herte he thoghte
   He solde never come agayne.

The kynge than sent a messangere
To grette lordes bothe ferre and nere
   And bade tham make tham yare.
Bot the peris take a concelle newe
That made alle Fraunce ful sore to rewe
   And byrdis of blyse full bare.
Thay prayede the Kynge on that tyde
That he hymselfe at home walde byde
   To kepe that lande right thare,
`And sendis Rowlande to Lumbardy
With fourty thowsande chevalry
   Of worthy men of were.'

Then Rowlande, thus his were than made,
Fares forthe with baners brade;
   The Kynge byleves thare still
Within the cité of Paressche
For to kepe that townn of pryce
   Als thay accordede till.
And if the Sowdane wane the felde
Lyghtly walde they it noghte yelde
   To thay had foughtten thaire fill.
Bot be comen was the feftenede daye
Therfore myghte mornne bothe man and maye
   And ladyse lyke full ill.

To Melayne even thay made tham bownn
And batelde tham thare byfore the townn,
   Those knyghttis that were kene.
And into the Sowdane thay sent a knyghte
And bade hym come owte with tham to fyghte,
   To witt withowtten wene.
The Sowdane grauntis wele thertill
That tornede oure gud men all to gryll
   And many one mo to mene.
Than the Sarasene come owte of that cité
Forty thowsandes of chevalrye,
   The beste in erthe myghte be[ne].

The forthirmaste come a Sarasene wyghte,
Sir Arabaunt of Perse he highte;
   Of Gyon was he kynge.
He saide ther was na Cristyn knyghte,
Ware he never so stronge ne wyghte
   To dede he [ne] solde hym dynge.
And one Sir Artaymnere of Beme
That was Sir Olyveres eme--
   Byfore the stowre thay thrynge.
And even at the first countire righte
The Sarasen slewe oure Cristyn knyghte.
   It was dyscomforthynge.

The lorde of Melayne to hym rade,
Sir Alantyne withowtten bade,
   The Crystyn knyghte to wreke;
Bot he stroke oure Cristyn knyghte that stownde
That dede he daschede to the grounde,
   Mighte no worde after speke.
Sythen afterwarde he bare down
Worthy lordes of grete renownn,
   Ay to his launce gane breke.
And sythen areste thaire nobill stedis
And to the hethyn hoste tham ledis.
   Loo thus-gates fares the freke.

Bot by that was done the grete gon mete,
Barouns undir blonkes fete
   Braythely ware borne doun.
Thay stekede many a staleworthe knyghte;
The hethen folke in that fyghte
   The moste were of renownn.
Oure knyghtis one the gronde lyse
With wondes wyde one wafull wyse:
   Crakkede was many a crownn;
Riche hawberkes were all to-rent,
And beryns thorowe thaire scheldis schent
   That many to bery was bownn. 7

The Sarasens semblede so sarely
That thay felde faste of oure chevalrye;
   Oure vawarde down thay dynge.
Righte at the firste frusche thay felde
Fyve thowsande knyghtis trewly telde--
   This is no lesynge.
Oure knyghtis lyghtede one the bent;
Thorowe thaire scheldis are they schent.
   Of sorowe than myghte thay synge.
Than oure medillwarde gane tham mete,
Thare myghte no beryns oure bales bete,
   Bot the helpe of hevens Kynge.

The medillwarde Sir Rowlande ledde;
That doghty in felde was never drede
   To do what solde a knyghte.
Fyfty lordis of gret empryce,
Of Fraunce that bare the floure-delyce,
   Hase loste bothe mayne and myghte.
Our medillwarde sone hade thaye slayne,
And Rowlande was in handis tane
   And other seven that were knyghtes.
Bot als God gaffe hym that chaunce,
Thay wende he hade bene Kynge of Fraunce
   That lyfede in thase fyghtis.

Bot of a knyghte me rewes sore
That in the felde laye wondede thore:
   The Duke of Normandy.
He lukes up in the felde,
His umbrere with his hande up helde;
   On Rowlande gane he cry:
`Rowlande, if the tyde that chaunce
That thou come evermore into Fraunce,
   For the lufe of mylde Marie,
Comande me till oure gentill Kynge
And to the Qwene, my lady yynge,
   And to all chevalrye.

``And if thou come into Normandy,
Grete wele my lady
   And Sir Richerd my sonne;
And dubbe hym duke in my stede
And bydde hym venge his fadir dede,
   Of myrthe if he will mone.
Bid hym hawkes and houndes forgoo
And to dedis of armes hym doo,
   Thase craftes for to konne
Appon the cursede Sarasens for to werre,
Venge me with dynt of spere,
   For my lyfe is nere done.

`A, Rowlande, byhaulde nowe whatt I see:
More joye ne myghte never bee
   In youthe ne yitt in elde.
Loo! I see oure vawarde ledde to hevene
With angells songe and merye stevene
   Reghte as thay faughte in the felde.
I see moo angells, loo, with myn eghe,
Then there are men within Cristyanté
   That any wapyn may welde.
To heven thay lede oure nobill knyghtis
And comforthes tham with mayne and myghtis,
   With mekill blysse and belde.'

Bot by Rowland gan a Sarasene stande
That braydede owte with a bryghte brande
   When he harde hym say soo;
And to the Duke a dynt he dryvede.
At the erthe he smate righte of his hede.
   Therfore was Rowlande woo.
And Rowland styrte than to a brande
And hastily hent it owte of a Sarasene hande,
   And sone he gane hym sloo.
With that swerde he slewe sexty,
The beste of the Sarasens chevalrye,
   Off hardy men and moo.

Than Rowlande in handis is taken agayne
And putt unto full harde payne
   That sorowe it was to see.
And foure nobill knyghtis than have thay slayne
Byfore that were in handis tane
   With Sir Rowlande the free.
The Sowdane comandis of his men
An hundrethe knyghtis to kepe tham then,
   Rowland and other three,
And to oure rerewarde sythen thay rode.
Oure barouns boldely tham abode.
   Nowe helpe tham the Trynytee!

The Duke of Burgoyne, Sir Belland,
The fadir of Sir Gy of Nevynlande,
   The rerewarde than rewlis hee.
He comforthede alle oure nobyll knyghtis,
Said, `Lordis, halde your feldes and your ryghttis
   And no Sarasene yee flee.
And thofe ye see thies lordis be slayne
Ne hope ye noghte for alle thaire payne
   That ne we sall solance see;
By the werkynge of oure wondis sare
Of the paynes of helle fele we no mare
   Bot hy to heven one heghe.'

Thay fruschede in fersely; for Goddis sake
Grete strokes gane thay gyffe and take
   With wondis werkande wyde.
Bot yitt the Sarasens with thay speris
Full ferre on bakke oure batelle berys
   And knyghtis felde undir fete.
Walde never no Crystyn knyghte thethyn flee
Thoghe that he wyste ryghte there to dye, 8
   I doo yowe wole to wytt.
Bot alle in fere thay endide righte thare
That sewede the Sarasenes sythen full sare
   For lordis that levede the swete.

Thus fourty thowsande hafe thay slayne
Safe foure that were in handis tane,
   Rowlande ande other three.
One was the gentill erle, Sir Olyvere;
Another was Sir Gawtere,
   The Kyngis cosyns nere;
The thirde was Sir Gy of Burgoyne--
His fadir in the felde laye there slone;
   The soryare myghte he bee.
They ledde thies lordes into Melayne;
With that the Sowdane turnes agayne,
   Righte gladde of his menyee.

[Secundus Passus: A] Fytt

To the Sowdane chambir many a man
Oure foure lordis ledd thay than
   To rekken of theire arraye.
Thay ette and dranke and made tham glade,
Bot littill myrthe oure lordis hadde.
   The Sowdane gane tham saye,
`Welcome be thow, Kynge of Fraunce;
The bytide a cely chaunce:
   Thi lyfe was savede this daye.
The false lawes of Fraunce sall downn;
The rewme sall leve one seynt Mahownn
   That alle the myghtyeste maye!'

And Rowlande answerde full gentilly,
`I ne rekke whethir I lyfe or dye,
   By God that awe this daye.
Kynge of Fraunce ame I none,
Bot a cosyne ame I one
   To Charlles, by my faye.
He will gyffe me golde and fee,
Castells ryche with towris heghe--
   That lorde full wele he maye.
Bot Goddis forbode and the holy Trynytee
That ever Fraunce hethen were for mee
   And lese oure Crysten laye.

`For sothe, thou Sowdane, trowe thou moste
One the Fader and the Sone and the Holy Goste.
   Thire thre are alle in one
That borne was of Marye free
Sythen for us dyede one a tree;
   In other trowe we none.' 9
Thane loughe the Sowdane withe eghne full smale
And saide, `Ane hundrethe of youre goddis alle hale
Have I garte byrne in firre with bale
   Sen firste I wanne this wone.
I sawe at none no more powstee
Than att another rotyn tree
   One erthe, so mote I gone. 10

`Goo, feche one of theire goddis in
And if he in this fire will byrne
   Alle other sett att noghte.'
Than furthe ther rane a Sarasene in that tyde
To a kyrke was there byside;
   A faire rode in he broghte
Fourmede ewenn als He gane blede. 11
Oure Cristen knyghtis bygane thaire crede
   And Rowland God bysoughte
And saide, `Thou that was borne of a may,
Schewe thou, Lorde, Thi meracle this day,
   That with Thi blode us boghte.'

They keste the rode into the fire
And layde brandis with mekill ire;
   Fayne wolde thay garre hym birne.
The Sowdane saide, `Now sall ye see
What myghte es in a rotyn tree
   That youre byleve es in.
I darre laye my lyfe full ryghte
That of hymselfe he hase no myghte
   Owte of this fire to wyn.
How solde he than helpe another man
That for hymselfe no gyn ne kan,
   Nother crafte ne gyn?'

Thay caste one it full many a folde;
The rode laye still ay as it were colde.
   No fire wolde in hym too.
All if the crosse were makede of tree
The fire yode owtt that come ther nee.
   Than wexe the Sowdan woo.
`And yif the devell,' he sayde, `be hym within,
He sall be brynt or ever I blyne';
   Of hert he was full throo.
`Thies cursede wreches that are herein
Has wethede thaire goddis that thai may not byrn;
   I wote wele it es soo.'

Than bromstone that wele walde birn
And pykke and terre mengede therin
   Thay slange in the fire full bolde.
Torches that were gude and grete
For to helpe that mekill hete
   Thay caste in many a folde.
The fire wexe owte at the laste;
Oure knyghtis made thaire prayere faste
   To Criste that Judas solde.
The rode braste and gaffe a crake
That thamm thoghte that alle the byggynge brake
   That was within that holde.

A fire than fro the crosse gane frusche
And in the Sarasene eghne it gaffe a dosche,
   Ane element als it were,
That thay stode still als any stone.
Haundis nore fete myghte thay stirre none
   Bot drery wexe in chere;
Thay wyste nother of gude ne ill.
Than Rowlande sais his felawes untill,
   `Sirs, hy us alle hethyn in fere.
This meracle es schewede thorowe Goddis grace,
For alle the Sarasenes in this place
   May nother see nore here.'

Sayde Sir Gy of Burgoyne, `Yitt or I goo
The Sowdane sall have a stroke or twoo
   That glade sall hym no glee.'
He ferkes owte with a fawchon
And hittis the Sowdane one the crownn
   Unto the girdyll welle nee.
Thay tuke the grete lordes with ire
And brynte tham in that bale fire;
   Those doughty garte they dye 12
Bot sythen the Sarasenes crouned Sir Garsy,
Thay ofte sythes chaste oure chevalry--
   A bolde Sarasene was he.

Alle that was than in that place
Thay slewe clenly thorow Goddis grace,
   Oure worthy men and wyghte.
And sythen owte at the gates they yede.
Ilkone of tham fande a whitte stede
   Sadlit and redy dighte.
Thay stirtt up on those stedis full steryn;
Thay fande no man that tham wolde warne,
   Oure ferse men, felle in fighte.
And als the cronekill yitt will saye,
Even to Fraunce thay tuke the waye;
   To Paresche thay ryde full righte.

Bot yitt thay wolde noghte come att Paresche
To thay had offerde to Seyne Denys
   And wendis to that abbaye,
And leves thaire stedis righte at the gate
And wightly in thay tuke the gate,
   Thaire prayers for to say.
And by thay hade thayre prayers made
Agayne thay come withowtten bade.
   Thaire horse than were away
And alle the bellis that in that abbaye was
Range allone thorowe Goddis grace
   Whils it was pryme of the day.

And thereby wiste those lordis of pryce
That the myghte of God and Seynt Denys
   Had broghte tham thethyn away.
Thaire horse that so there come to handes
Was thorowe the prayere of Seynt Denys--
   Thus will the cronecle say.
Bischope Turpyne than come fro Paresche townn
To Seynt Denys with grete processiownn
   For thiese lordes for to pray
That was in Lumbardy at the were.
And when he sawe Rowlande there
   He saide, `Lordis, morne we may.'

Thay mervelde why the bellis so range
And the clergy lefte theire sange,
   Thoghte ferly of that fare.13
Thay hade mervelle whate it myghte mene.
Als sone als the Byschoppe hade Rowlande sene,
   To hym he went full yare.
Sayd, `A, Rowlande, how fares Lumbardye
And all oure nobill chevallry
   That thou hade with the thare?'
`Certis, Sir Bischoppe, it is noghte to layne,
The Sarasenes hase oure gude men slayne;
   Thou seese of tham na mare.'

The Bischop keste his staffe hym fro,
The myter of his hede also.
   `I sall never were the more,
Ne other habite for to bere,
Bot buske me bremly to the were
   And lerene one slyke a lore.
A, Mary mylde, whare was thi myght
That thou lete thi men thus to dede be dighte
   That wighte and worthy were?
Art thou noghte halden of myghtis moste,
Full conceyvede of the Holy Goste?
   Me ferlys of thy fare. 14

`Had thou noghte, Marye, yitt bene borne,
Ne had noghte oure gud men thus bene lorne.
   The wyte is all in the.
Thay faughte holly in thy ryghte
That thus with dole to dede es dyghte.
   A Marie, how may this bee?'
The Bischoppe was so woo that stownnd
He wolde noghte byde appon the grownnd
   A sakerynge for to see;
Bot forthe he wente--his handis he wrange--
And flote with Marye ever amange 15
   For the losse of oure menyee.

Then come Kynge Charls appon pilgremage
Fro Paresche town with his baronage;
   To Seynt Denys he went.
Bot when the Bischoppe mett with the Kynge,
He wolde noghte say `Gud mornynge'
   Ne ones his browes blenke.
The Kynge had mervelle what that myght be;
Bot als sone als he Rowlande see,
   Wyghtly to hym he went.
Be Rowlande had his tale tolde,
The Kynge myghte noghte a tere holde.
   For bale hym thoght he brynt.

`Allas,' he saide, `cosyn syne,
Whare are alle the nobill knyghtis of myne
   That ever to fighte were fayne?'
`Sir, bi God and by Sayne John,
The Sarasenes alle bot us hase slone--
   It is no bote to layne.
Bot we were taken into holde;
Bot als that Criste hymselfe wolde
   That we wan owte agayne,
Thorowe the grace of God omnipotent
In his chambir or we went
   The Sowdane have we slayne.'

Genyonn saide, `Lorde, by my rede,
All if the Sowdane thus be dede,
   Thay will have another newe,
A more schrewe than was the tother,
Garcy that is his awenn brothir,
   That more barett will brewe.
These landes of hym I rede ye halde
Or he will kindill cares full calde;
   Yhe trowe this tale for trewe.
Or ells within thies monethes three
Als qwhitte of Fraunce sall yhe bee
   Als yhe it never ne knewe.'

`Now Cristis malyson,' quod the Bischoppe, `myghte he have
That Charls first this concell gaffe
   And noghte bot it be righte.
To make homage to a Sarasene--
Jesu kepe us fro that pyne
   And Marie His modir bryghte.
Bot at home, Sir Kynge, thou sall kepe nanne
Bot alle thy gud men with the tane
   That worthy are and wighte
Appon yone cursede Sarasenes for to were
And venge the one tham with dynt of spere
   That thus thi peris hase dyghte.

And alle the clergy undirtake I
Off alle Fraunce full sekerly
   Thay sall wende to that were.
Of the Pope I have pousté:
Att my byddynge sall thay bee,
   Bothe with schelde and spere.'
The Bischoppe sendis ferre and nere
To monke, chanoun, preste and frere
   And badd tham graythe thaire gere
And keste thaire [care] clene tham froo,
Come helpe to feghte one Goddis foo,
   All that a swerde may bere.

The clergy grauntes alle ther-to,
Als doghety men of dede solde do
   That worthy were and wyghte.
Be comen was wekes three
Thare semblede a ful faire menyhé
   In baneres burneschid bryghte.
A hundrethe thowsande were redy bownn
Of prestis that werede schaven crownn
   And fresche men for to fighte.
Thay lightede appon a lawnde so clere
Undir the Mownte Mowmartere:
   It was a ful faire syghte.

With that the Bischoppe Turpyn come
And also a cardynall of Rome
   With a full grete powere.
Thay semblede appon another syde,
Baners bett with mekill pryde,
   The clergy that was so clere.
And appon thaire knees thay knelide down;
The Bischoppe gafe tham his benyson,
   All hollyly in fere.
And thane sent he in to the Kynge
And badde hym forth his barouns brynge
   And saide, `My prestis are here.'

Bot yitt this false Genyonn
Conselde the Kynge ay with treson
   That hymselfe solde duelle ther still:
`And lette the Bischoppe wende his waye,
Doo at yone Sarasenes that he maye;
   There sall he feghte his fill.
And byde thiselfe in this citee.
Slayne in the felde gife that thou bee,
   Alle Fraunce may like it full ill.'
And with his concelle and his fare
Slyke concell he gaffe tham thare
   The Kynge grauntis thertill.

And forthe to the Bischoppe than sendis he,
And for thynge that ever myghte bee
   He solde hym never beswyke.
Bot take his nobill chevalrye
And wende forthe into Lumbardy,
   `For I will kepe my ryke.'
The Bischoppe saide, `By Goddes Tree,
Or that Charls doo so with mee
   Full ill it sall hym lyke!
I sall hym curse in myddis his face.
What! sall he nowe with sory grace
   Become ane eretyke?'

The Bischoppe leves his powere thare
And into the cité gane he fare
   And the Cardenall with hym.
And when he come byfore the Kynge,
There was none other haylsynge
   Bot stowte wordes and grym.
He saide, `Allas, Sir Charllyone,
That thou thus sone becomes a crayon!
   Me thynke thi body full dym.
Alle the false councell that touches the crown
Here gyffe I tham Goddis malyson,
   Bothe in lyfe and lyme.

And Cristis malyson myghte he have
That fyrste to the that concell gaffe;
   And here I curse the, thou Kynge!
Because thou lyffes in eresye,
Thou ne dare noghte fyghte one Goddes enemy.'
   And a buke forthe gane he brynge.
And the sertayne sothe als I yow telle
He dyde all that to cursynge felle.
   This was no manere of lesynge.
`Nowe arte thou werre than any Sarasene,
Goddes awenn wedirwyne;
   Of sorowe now may thou synge.

`If Cristyndome loste bee
The wyte bese casten one the.
   Allas that thou was borne!
Criste for the sufferde mare dere,
Sore wondede with a spere,
   And werede a crown of thorne;
And now thou dare noghte in the felde
For hym luke undir thy schelde,
   I tell thi saule for lorne.
Men will deme aftir thi day
How falsely thou forsuke thi laye
   And calle the Kynge of Skornne.'

Bot then Kyng Charls withowtten wene
At the Byschopp was so tene,
   A fawchone hase he drawen.
And the Bischopp styrte than to a brande,
Hent it owt of a sqwyers hande
   Both with myghte and mayne
And braydes owte the blade bare.
Be myghtfull God than he sware:
   `If I wiste to be slayne, 16
Charls, and thou touche mee,
Thou fares noghte forthir fete thre
   Or it be qwitt agayne.'

Than grete lordes yede tham bytwene;
The Kynge comande his knyghtis kene
   The Bischopp for to taa.
And the Bischopp said, `Sirres, I will yow no scathe
And bi my faythe it es grete wathe
   Bot if ye late me gaa.
For certis I will noghte taken bee
With nane that I now here see
   Bot if yee firste me slaa.
And whilk of yow that touches me
Withowtten harme passes noghte hee.'
   Than with his horse come thay.

`Here,' he said, `I avowe to mylde Marie
And to hir Sone, God Almyghttye,
   I sall noghte leve the soo.
For we are halden with the righte,
Clerkes appon cursede men to fighte.
   I calle the Goddes foo.
I sall gerre buske my batelle bownn
And halde the, Charls, within this townn:
   Withowt thou sall noghte goo.
Was never kynge that werede a crown
So foule rebuytede with relygyon;
   Thou sall sone witt of woo.

`Goddes byddynge hast thou broken;
Thurghe the traytour speche spoken
   Alle Cristendom walde thou schende.
When Criste sent the a suerde untill,
Thou myghte wele wiete it was His will
   That thiselfe solde thedir wende.
Therefore I sall stroye the,
Byrne and breke downn thi cité
   If thou be never so tene.
Then to yone Sarasenes wende sall I,
Fighte with tham whils I may dry,
   In Goddes servyce to ende.'

The Bischopp and the Cardynere
Appon thaire horses gatt bothe in fere;
   Owte of the townn thay rade
Also faste als thay myghte dryve
To the grete batelle belyfe
   And buskede baners full brade.
They romede towarde Paresche town
And thoghte to bete the cyté downe
   With the powere that he hade.
(Slyke clerkes beris my benysone,
For trewere men of relygyoun
   In erthe were never none made.)

Charls over the walles bihelde
And sawe the hoste come in the felde
   And drawe towardes the town.
Bot than said Duke Naymes unto the Kynge:
`Sir, yonder comes us new tythynges
   With baners buskede alle bown.
I rede ye praye yone clergy sesse
And aske the Bischoppe forgyfnesse
   And absolucioun.
And graunt hym graythely for to goo
For to feghte appon Goddis foo,
   Or loste es thi renownn.'

`In faithe,' saide the Kynge, `I graunt.'
The Bischopp es gude and on evynhaunt
   With baners bryghte of hewe
Before tham a furlange and mare.
The Kynge undid his hede alle bare--17
   The Bischopp wele hym knewe --
And appon his knees he knelid down
And tuke his absolucyoun.
   Theire joye bygane to newe.

The Kynge says: `Haly fader free,
This gilte I praye the forgyffe me
   And I will wirke your will.
And with your clergye tournes agayne;
Riste and ryott yow by the water of Sayne,
    Ay whils I come yow till.'
The Bischoppe grauntis hym in that tyde
And pyghte pavylyons with mekill pryde,
   With wyne and welthes at will.
The Kynge into the citee went
And aftir his baronage he sent,
All forwardes to fulfill.

And by the thre wekes comen were,
Charls had semblede a faire powere.
   Hymselfe come all at hande
Erles, dukes and the Twelfe Duchepers,
Bothe barouns and bachelers,
   Knyghtis full hevenhande.
Thay offerde alle at Seynt Denys
And grete lordes to armes chesse,
   And Charls tuke his hande
And thus romewes that grete powere.
The levenynge of [thair] baners clere
   Lyghtenes all that lande.


[Tertius] Passus: A Fitt

Thus Charls with his chevalrye
Unto he come at Lumbardy
   In no place wolde he hone.
And to the Sarasenes was it tolde
That Charls make werre appon tham wolde
   To venge that are was done.
The grete lordes than togedir spake:
`It is better that we Sir Garcy take
   And crownn hym the Sowdane sone.'
Than sent thay to many an hethyn knyghte;
Thay badde that alle solde come that myghte,
   By the heghten day at none.

When thay were semblede sekerly,
Thay crownnede the Sowdane Sir Garcy
   That solance was to see[ne].
Sexty knyghtis of dyverse lande,
Ilkon sent hym sere presande
   To witt withowtten wene.
Thay dressede on hym a dyademe
And made hym emperour, so hym seme,
   Those knyghtis that were kene.
Syne present hym with golde
And stones of vertu that was holde,
   The beste in erthe myghte bene.

The Kynge of Massedoyne lande
Sent the Sowdane a presande,
   The meryeste one molde:
Sexty maydyns faire of face
That cheffeste of his kyngdome was
   And faireste appon folde;
Sexty fawconns faire of flyghte;
And sexti stedis noble and wyghte
   In everilke journay bolde
And appon ilke a stede a knyghte sittande
With a fawcon appon his hande
   And a cowpe full of golde;

Sexty grewhondes unto the gamen;
And sexti raches rynnande in samen,
   The beste in erthe myghte bee.
He come hymselfe with this presande
And broghte in his awenn hande
   That was worthe thiese three:
Invisebill, a full riche stone,
A safre, the beste that myghte be one
   To seke alle Crystiantee.
The Sowdane was full fayne of this
And kyndely gan his cosyn kysse
   With mekill solempnytee.

When he his powere semblede hade,
A ryalle feste the Sowdan made
   Of worthy men in wede.
Of alle the damesels bryghte and schene
The Sowdane hade hymselfe I wene
   Thaire althere maydynhede.
By tham ilkone he laye a nyghte
And sythen mariede hir unto a knyghte:
   Thay leffed one haythen lede.
So mekill luste of lechery
Was amange that chevalry
   That thay [myg]hte noghte wele spede.

To Charls now will I torne agayne
That passes over mountayne and playne;
   At [Me]layne wolde he bee.
And when he come into that stede
Whereals the Cristyn men byfore weren dede,
   Off Fraunce so grete plentee,
There heghe appon an hill, appon highte,
Turpyn garte an awtre dyghte
   That alle the folke myghte see;
And off the Trynytee a messe he says
And hertly for the saules he prayes
   And the bodyes that thare gan dye.

The Bischopp sone gane hym revesche;
In gude entent he says a messe
   In the name of God Almyghte.
He blyssede the awtere with his hande
And a fayre oste of brede therappon he fande
   That ever he sawe with syghte.
His chalesse was so full of wyne
There myghte no more hafe gone therin--
   It come fro heven on highte.
He dide his messe forthe to the ende
And thankede Gode that it hym sende
   And Marie, His modir bryghte.

The Bischopp in his hert was fayne
And thankede God with all his mayne
   And Marie, His modir free.
He tolde the hoste with lowde steven
How brede and wyne was sent fro heven,
   Fro God of moste poustee:
`And all that ever hase sene this syghte,
Yee are als clene of syn, I plyghte,
   Als that day borne were yee.
And whoso endys in this felde
In His byggynge sall he belde,
   Evermore in blysse to bee.'

The Bischopp than keste of his abytte
And aftir armours he askede tytte;
   For egernesse he loughe.
A kirtill and a corsett fyne,
Therover he keste an acton syne
   And it to hym he droughe
An hawbarke with a gesserante;
His gloves weren gude and avenaunte.
   And als blythe als birde one boughe
He tuke his helme and sythen his brande,
Appon a stede, a spere in hande
   Was grete and gud ynoghe.

Sayse, `I praye yow, all my cleregy here,
Assembles undire my banere;
   The vawarde will I have.
Charls and his knyghtis kene
Lete erles and barouns with hym bene,
   Both sqwyers and knave
I beseke freschely for to fyghte
That the [le]wede men may se with syghte
   And gud ensample have.
Standis [now baldly f]or youre trouthe;
Appon yo[ne Sarasen]es haves no rewthe.
   For golde in erthe, none save.'

Thus Ch[arls led]eth a faire menyhé
Bifo[re Mela]yne, that riche cité,
   Braydes up baners yare.
And when the Sowdane hase tham sene,
He comandes his knyghtis kene
   That thay solde make tham yare.
And or he wolde passe owte of the townn,
He made his offerande to Mahownn--
   The wars, leve Gode, tha fare. 18
And sythen owt of that citee
Off heythen men an hugge menyhee
   That semyde als breme als bare.

Sir Arabaunt, with ire and hete,
A furlange bifore the batelle grete
   Come and askede fighte.
And byfore of oure folke had he slayne
Bothe the lorde of Melayne
   And many another knyght.
Than sayde the Bischopp, `So mot I spede,
He sall noghte ruysse hym of this dede
   If I cane rede aryghte.'
And or any knyght myght gete his gere
The Bischopp gart hym with a spere
   Appon his tepet lighte.

Turpyn strake hym so sekerly
Thurgh the breste bone all plenerly
   A lange yerde and more
That dede he daschede to the grounde
Grysely gronannde in that stownde,
   Woundede wonderly sore.
The Bischopp than lighte full apertly
And off he hewes his hede in hy
   That are was breme als bare.
His horse unto the Cristen oste gan spede;
A sqwyere broghte agayne his stede
   And one he leppe righte thare.

The Bischopp sqwyere in the place
Saw that the Kynge dede was
   That had bene of grete powere.
His helme and his hawberke holde,
Frette overe with rede golde,
   With stones of vertue dere
His gowere pendande on the grounde --
It was worthe a thowsande pownde
   Off rubys and safere.
He lowttede down, up wolde itt ta;
The Bischopp bad hym fro it ga:
   `Go fonnge the another fere.

To wyn the golde thou arte a fole;
Thou bygynnes sone for to spoyle.
   Loo! yonder comes moo.
Thou settis more by a littill golde
That thou seese lye appon the molde
   Than to fighte one Goddes foo.
Loo! yonder comes Sarasenes in the felde;
Go kill tham down undir thi schelde.
   Slyk [w]orchippes were gude to do.'
He tuke the pendande in his hande;
The Bishoppe bett hym with his brande
   [That] he keste it hym fro.

With that come girdande Sir Darnadowse,
A nobill knyghte and a chevallrouse,
   Prekande one a stede.
He was the chefe of Famagose,
A Sarasene that fayne wolde wyn lose,
   And to the Cristen oste gan spede.
He bad sende owte Charlyon
If he dare come to wynn pardonn,
   A bofett for to bede.
He wolde noghte fighte bot with a kynge;
He calde hymselfe withowt lesynge
   The chefe of hethyn thede.

Then Kyng Charls tuke his spere hym to;
The Bischopp Turpyn and other mo
   Prayede God solde hym spede.
`A, dere lorde,' said Rowlande in heghe,
`Late me fare to fighte for thee,
   For Hym that one Rode gan blede.'
Than Charls sweris by Saynt Paule:
`Sen ilke a man feghtis for his saule,
   I sall for myn do mede.
Slayne in the felde gif that I bee,
Kynge off Fraunce here make I the,
   With reghte the reme to lede.'

Than withowtten any more habade
Theis two kynges togedir rade
   With ire and grete envy.
And at the firste course that thay ranne
Thies kynges two with horse and manne
   At the grounde bothe gun ly.
Deliverly up sone bothe thay stirtt
And drewe thaire swerdis with noble hertt,
   Withowtten noyse or cry.
Thay dalt so derfely with thaire brandes
Thay hewe theire scheldis to thaire handis
   In cantells hyngand by.

So darfely bothe thaire dynttis thay driste
A littill while thay wolde tham riste;
   The Sarasene prayede hym styntt.
`Nowe certis, sir,' he saide, `me rewes of thee
A Cristynn man that thou solde bee:
   Thou arte so stronge of dyntt.
Bot torne unto oure lawes and take tham to
And I sall gyffe the rewmes two,
   And elles will thou harmes hentt.'
Bot the Bischoppe Turpyn than cryes on heghte,
`A! Charles, thynk appon Marie brighte,
   To whayme oure lufe es lentt.

`And if ever that thou hade any myghte,
Latt it nowe be sene in syghte
   What pousté that thou hase.
Latte never oure Kynge with dynt of brande
B[e] slayne with yone Sarasene hande
   Ne ende, Lady, in this place.
A [God] wote we sall be safe;
[Never] the lyk wolde we hafe
   Of oure comly Kynge of face.
[Thou Ma]kere bathe of son and see,
[Pity t]he dole w[e d]ree for Thee
   And graunte us of Thi grace.'

[Charls] saide, `Sir Bischopp, nay,
[Never sall I] forsake my lay.'
   And togedir gan thay goo.
So stiffely aythere at othere strake;
Appon his helme Sir Charles brake
   His nobill swerde in two.
Bot than the Franche folke with nobill stevenn
Thay cry up unto the Kynge of Hevenn
   And for thaire lorde were wo.
The Sarasene was curtays in that fighte
And lawses owt a knyfe full righte;
   His swerde he keste hym fro.

And Charles voydede his broken brande;
Owte he hent a knyfe in hande.
   And samen thay wente full tytte.
Thay daschede full darfely with thaire dynt.
Mighte no steryn stele tham stynt,
   So styffely bothe thay smyte.
In sondre braste thay many a mayle;
Thaire hawberghes thurgh force gan fayle.
   To see had lordis delitte.
Botte a felle stroke Sir Charls gafe hym one
Evyn at the breste bone;
   That strake his hert gan blende.

The Sarasene was dede of that strake
And Charls gan this fende up take;
   And with his awenn brande
He broches hym so boldely
That his hert blode sekerly
   Rane to oure Kynges hande.
And thare he wane the Sarasene swerde
And certis that with one the erthe
   He conquered many a lande.
The Cristen folke were never so fayne;
Bot by the Kynge was horsede agayne
   The batells were doande.

And hawberkes sone in schredis were schorne
And beryns thorowe the bodys borne
   And many a Sarasene slayne.
Knyghtis one the bent bledis;
Many lay stekede undir stedis
   In gilten gere full gay[n]e;
Other with glafes were girde thurgh evyn.
We may thanke Gode that is in heven
   That lent us myghte and mayne.
Thay sloughe tham downn with swerdis bright.
The Cristynnd faughte in Goddis righte;
   The Bischopp loughe for fayne.

Bot, als the cronakill yitt will telle,
Ther come a Sarasene fers and felle
   And to the Bischoppe glade,
And stroke hym righte thorowe the thee
And agayne to the hethen oste gane flee;
   And Turpyn after hym rade.
The Bischoppe folouede hym so ferre
That the Sarasene hade the werre
   For the maystrie that he [made]. 19
He stroke hym so in the Sowdane syghte,
He fande never man that after myghte
   Hele the hurt [he had]e.

Bot they helde in the Bischoppe in that rowtte
That he ne myghte noghte wyn owte
   And ther he [was doande].
The Kynge of Massedoyne land with a spere
The Bischop fro his horse gane bere
   And sette [on hym his hande].
The Sarasenes sware he solde be dede
And the Kynge sayde, `Naye,' in that stede
   `For no Sarasene liffande.'
And righte als thay solde oure Bischopp slo,
Thay smote the Kynge of Massaydoyne fro
   Clenly of his reghte hande.

Bot than Kynges men of Massaydoyne weren wo
When thay saughe thaire lorde was wondede soo
   And trowede he walde be dede.
Thay braydede owte swerdes full bryghte
Agaynes the Sowdane folke to fighte
   Full styffely in that stede.
For that gane fyfetene thowsandes dy
Of the Sowdans chevalry,
   Laye bledande than full rede.
And with that Turpyn gatt awaye
To Charls oste--full fayne were thay.
   A horse thay to hym lede.

Bot when the Bischoppe was horsede agayne,
Alle the cleregy weren full fayne
   And presede into the place.
So depe wondes that day thay dalt
That many on wyde opyn walt
   That wikkidly wondede was.
Thay sloughe so many an heythen kynge
That at the laste thay tuke to flyinge
   Als God us gaffe the grace.
Many a Sarasene garte thay falle,
And Turpyn with his clergy alle
   Folowede faste one the chase.

And Charls on the tother syde
Sloughe tham downn with wondis wyde;
The doughty garte thay dy. 20
The Sowdane hymselfe so harde was stedde
That with ten thowsande away he fledde,
   And faste to Melayne gatt he.
The Cristen men chasede tham to the barres
And sloughe righte there fele folke and fresche,
   All that there walde byde and bee. 21
Bot than Kynge Charls tuke the playne
And semblede all his folke agayne
   To luke how beste myghte [the].

Thay myghte noghte the cité wynn,
The strenghe of the Sarasenes that were within.
   The Bischoppe said, `I rede
Of oure knyghtes in the felde
Es many woundede undir schelde
   And also some are dede.
And yone Sarasenes full of tresone es.
There I concelle bothe more and lesse
   We stirre noghte of this stede
Ne or tomorne serche never a wounde
Bot luke than who may be sownde.
   Lat Criste wirke.' And forthe he yede.

Here to a[c]ordes everilkon;
Lordes [haf] thaire horse tone
   And comen es the nyghte.
Fo[r alle] the Sarasenes there
Th[ay ne mygh]te no forthir fare
   Bot bydis in brenys bryghte.
Ch[arles acordede] als thay rade.
All [nyghte on]e the bent thay bade
   With standardes even up streghte.
The Kynge prayede the Bischoppe fre
His wonde that he wolde late hym see
   That he hade tane in that fighte.

Bot the Bischoppe saide, `A vowe to God make I here:
There sall no salve my wonde come nere
   Ne no hose of my thee
Ne mete ne drynke my hede come in,
The cité of Melayne or we it wyn
   Or ells therfore to dye.'
He garte dele his vetells then
Furthe amanges oure wonded men,
   Bot no mete neghe wolde hee.
Bot als so sore wondede als he was,
Knelande he his prayers mase
   To Gode of moste pousté.

Oure folke hade done so doughtily
That many of tham weren ful wery--
   So hade thay foghten than.
Bot one the morne the Cristen stode,
A thowsande, over theire fete in theire blode,
   Of theire awenn wondes wane.
Othere refreschynge noghte many hade
Bot blody water of a slade
   That thurghe the oste ran.
The Sowdane sent a messangere
To Kynge Charles als ye may here;
   And that sawe many a man.

The messangere bare a wande
Of an olefe in his hande,
   In takynnynge he come of pece.
And lowde he cryede appon Charls the Kynge
And saide he myghte his handis wrynge
   Appon lyfe if that he es:
`For oure Sowdane hase by Mahownn sworne
That he salle mete hym here tomorne
   With full prowde men in prese,
With fowrty thowsande of helmes bryghte:
Was never yitt frekkere men to fighte
   Sene in hethynnesse.'

And Charles ansuerde at that tide,
`In faythe I sall tham here habyde,
   Wode giffe that thay were.
If that he brynge alle the Sarasenes
That es alle heythynnesse within,
   Hyne will I noghte fare.'
The messangere agayne than rade
And they sett wache and still habade
   Whills pryme was passede and mare.
Bot or the nonnee neghede nee,
To tham than soughte a felle semblé
   With baners breme als bare.

Bot than Sir Charles spekes full gudely
To Rowlande his nevewe that stode hym by
   And said, `Sir, so God the spede,
This day wirke thou manfully
With thi nobill chevalry
   And of the Sarasenes hafe [no dre]de.
Thou sall see that I sall noghte be sparede;
Myselfe sall have the vawarde.
   There Jesu [Crist the spe]de.'
The trumpetes trynes one righte than;
To joyne so jolyly thay bygane,
   Oure worthy men in wede.

Thay ruysschede samen with swilke a rake
That many a Sarasene laye on his bake;
   And one the lawnde righte ther thay lay
Full grisely gronande one the grete,
Stekyde undir stedis fete,
   And liste nothynge of playe.
So darfely than thay dynge tham downn
Thay saide the myghte of saynt Mahownn
   Was clenely all awaye.
`A! Mountjoye!' oure lordes gane crye,
And Charles with his chevalrye
   Full freschely faughte that day.

They hewe of hethen hedis in hye.
Oure Cristen men so sekirly
   Of tham hade littill drede
Bot brittenesse tham with brandis bare
And Sarasenes thurghe the schuldirs schare
   That to the girdill it yode.
Thay tuke none hede of gudes nore golde,
Lay never so mekill appon the molde,
   Oure worthy men in wede,
Bot beris abake the batells brade;
Fowrty thowsande in a slade
   Laye stekede under stede.

And so harde bystade was the Sowdane,
Hymselfe with ten thowsande than
   To Melayne tuke the gate.
Oure Cristen knyghtis with thaire speres
The hyndirmaste fro thaire blonkes beres
   And chacede tham to the gate.
The owte barres hew thay downn
And slewe hethynn kynges with crownn
   And thaire powere therate.
To sawtte the cité sadly thay bygann;
Off Cristyn men many a cruelle man
   The hethyn wex all mate.

With speris and with spryngaldes faste,
With dartis kenely owte thay caste,
   Bothe with myghte and mayne.
With gownnes and with grete stones
Graythe gounnes stoppede those gones 22
   With peletes, us to payne.
Our Cristyn men that were of price
Bendis up bowes of devyce
   And bekirs tham agayne.
Appon bothe the sydis so freschely thay fighte
That by it drewe unto the nyghte
   Fele folke of Fraunce were slayne.

There were of oure clergy dede
And other lordes in that stede
   Or thay of sawte walde sesse.
By than thay sawe it was no bote to byde
And fro the cité warde thay ryde,
   Oure prynces provede in presse.
The Bischoppe es so woundede that tyde
With a spere thoroweowte the syde
   That one his ribbis gan rese.
Thurgh the schelde and the browe bare
A schaftemonde of his flesche he schare--
   Lordynnges, this es no lese.

He pullede it owte, keste it hym fro,
And weryde the handis that it come fro
   And that it lete forthe glyde.
The Sowdane over the wallis byhelde
And sawe the Cristen in the felde
   Frowarde the cité ride.
And appon Kynge Charls than cryes he:
`What Charls, thynkes now to flee?
   I trowe the moste habyde.
I sall the mete tomorne in felde
With fourty thowsand under schelde,
   Sall fonde to felle thi pryde.'

Says Charls, `Thou false hethyn hownde,
Thou ne dare noghte byde appon the grounde.
   Ther evermore worthe the woo;
Bot aythire of thies dayes ilyke
Hase thou stollen awaye lyke a tyke.
   The develle myghte with the goo!
That cité bot thou yelde to me
And fully trowe and Cristyn be
   Appon one God and no moo,
In felde yif ever I see the mare
I sall by myghtfull God,' he sware,
`Hewe thi bakke in twoo.'

Then of oure Cristen men in the felde
Many semblede under schelde
   And some ware wondede sare.
Thay that were bothe hale and sownnde
Comforthed tham that were evyll wounde,
   So als Criste wolde it were.
The Kynge than of his helme tase
And to the Bischoppe swythe he gase
   And sayde, `Fadir, for Goddes are,
Thy woundes that thou walde late me see;
If any surgeoun myghte helpe thee,
   My comforthe ware the mare.'

`What! wenys thou, Charls,' he saide, `that I faynte bee
For a spere was in my thee,
   A glace thorowte my syde.
Criste for me sufferde mare.
He askede no salve to His sare,
   Ne no more sall I this tyde.
I sall never ette ne drynke
Ne with myn eghe slepe a wynke,
   Whate bale als ever I byde,
To yone cité yolden bee
Or ells therfore in batelle dye--
   The sothe is noghte to hyde.'

Als thay stode spekande of this thynge,
To Charls come a newe tydynge
   That blenkede all his blee.
Thay saide that one Sir Tretigon,
That was the Sowdane syster son
   And the best of Barbarye,
`Certys, Charls, he comes at hande
With men of armes a sexty thowsande
   To strenghe with yone cité.'

[At least one leaf of the manuscript is lost at this point. In the
missing lines, Charlemagne apparently tells one of his knights to
ride to France for help.]


`Now sone, when I hafe foughten my fill,
I sall avise me gif that I will
   One thi message to wende.'

`Now Sir Bawdwyne, buske and make the bownn.'
He saide, `Allas, thou Charelyoun,
   That ever I tuke thi fee;
For yitt myselfe es saffe and sownnde,
My body hole withowttyn wounde,
   Als thou thiselfe may see.
I walde noghte, for all thi kyngdome,
That ever that worde unto France come
   I solde so feyntly flee.
Gett the a currour whare thou may;
For, by God that awe this day,
   Thou sall have none of mee.'

`A, Sir Ingelere, for a knyghte thou art kyde.'
`Whi, Sir Charls, what walde thou that I dide?'
   `I pray the wende thi waye.'
`Bi Jesu Criste that sittis aboffe,
Me thynke thou kydde me littill luffe
   When thou that worde wolde saye.
Bot me sall never bytyde that taynte.
I hope thou wenys myn herte be feynte. 23
   I say the schortly, naye.
That I sall never so fremdly flee,
God lett me yif it his wille bee
   Never habyde that daye.'

The Duke Berarde was wondede sare:
Thurgh the schelde into the body bare
   He was borne with a brande.
Of this message thay gun hym frayne,
Bot he hade no worde to speke agayne
   Bot grymly stude lukande.
Than Turpyn gan to Charls say,
`Here arte thou servede, bi my fay,
   Thou fayles of that thou fande.
The Duke es woundede so wonder sare
It ware grete syn to greve hym mare;
   Gude Sir, thou late hym stande.'

Thay prayede a banarett than of pryce,
One Sir Barnarde of Parische,
   For grete gyftis he wolde wende.
And he saide, `Lordynges, by my faye,
I ame over symple to yow to saye
   Whereever ye will me sende.
I aske ordir of knyghte thertill.
Bot giffe your giftis where ye will;
   Elles ye be my frende.'
Thay made hym knyghte with full gud chere;
He tuke leve at the Twelve Duzepere,
   This curtayse knyghte and he[nde].

He saide than: `Have gud daye, Charls, in this stede,
For thou sall never gyffe me brede
   Ne in thy burdynge say
If I be pore of golde and fee
That I fro this grete journee
   Fayntly fledde away.'
He rydis even to the gatis of Melayne
And there with Sarasenes was he slayne.
   He dide full wele that day.
And Charls for hym in hert was woo;
Bischoppe Turpyn and othere moo
   For his dede sore mournede thay.

Thus have thay prayede everylkone,
Bot there wolde goo never one;
   The symple thay bade none sende.
The Bischoppe Turpyn cryede appon highte:
`Sen ye are so frekke for to fighte
   God of his myghte yow mende.
Yitt are we ten thowsande here
That are yitt bothe hole and fere,
   That wele for kene are kende,
And of gude men that none will flee
To fourty thowsande or we dye
   In the felde to make thaire ende.'

Bot als Turpyn lenys hym on his brande,
Over an hill he saw comande
   Ful many a brade banere.
The Duke of Bretayne, Sir Lyonelle,
That Charls was thare he herde telle
   And had mystere of powere.
He broghte hym thirty thowsande fyne,
Vetaylls gude and nobill engyne,
   This bolde with full blythe chere.
Than Turpyn gan to Charls say,
`I see a felle hoste, bi my fay,
   That sone will neghe us nere.

Yone are the Sarasenes mekill of mayne,
The full powere owt of Spayne,
   That sone sall full ill spede.
For, by Hym that swelt on tree,
This day no Sarasene sall I see
   Sall gerre me torne my stede.'
And in his hande he caughte a launce --
`Have gud day, Charls, and grete wele Fraunce!' --
   And agayne that hoste he yede.
In fewter sone he keste his spere
And thoghte the boldeste down to bere
   That batelle walde hym bede.

So blody was that Bischoppis wede
His conysaunce ne yit his stede
   The Bretons ne couthe noghte knawe.
Bot als an harawde hym byhelde
He lukede up into his schelde
   And sayde to alle one rawe,
`If Bischoppe Turpyn appon lyve be,
In faythe, lordynges, yone es he
   That ye se hedirwarde drawe.'
Thay ferlyde why he fewterde his spere.
`A Mountjoye!' cryes one that he myghte here:
   He was glade of that sawe.

The wardayne rydis hym agayne
And said, `Sir Bischoppe, for Goddis payne,
   Who hase greved the?'
He tuke his spere owt of reste adownn
And gaffe tham alle his benysoun,
   The Bretons when he tham see.
The Bischoppe tolde tham of his care;
Bot than the Bretons hertis were sare
   For the dole oure oste gun dryee.
A messangere went to telle the Kynge.
So fayne was Charles never of thynge
   With eghe that he gan see.

And or Turpyn myghte his tale halfe telle,
He sawe come hovande over a felle
   Many a brade banere,
Standardis grete with stalworthe men.
Sexti thowsande wele myghte thay ken
   In brenyes burnescht clere.
Under the cante of an hille
Oure Bretons beldis and bydis stille
   When thay wiste whate thay were.
The Bischoppe saide, `Bi Goddis myghte,
Thaym sall rewe or it be nyghte
   The tyme that thay come here.

`Go we to yone company
With ``Mountjoye'' baldly and tham ascrye;
   Late ther be no lettynge.'
An hawrawde saide, `To fewe are we
To fighte with slyke a grete menyé;
   It is better wende to the Kynge.'
`A, sir, whare thay are sexti thowsande men,
And if thay were mo bi thowsandis ten,
   [Bi] God that made all thynge,
The more powere that thay be
The more honour wyn sall we.
   We dowte noghte tham to dynge.'

The Bischoppe to the Kyng sent
And prayes hym to byde appon the bent,
   The cité for to kepe
That there no Sarasene solde come owte
To thay had rekkenede with that rowte
   Thay sawe come overe the depe.
Oure Bretonns kyndely comforthes he,
Sayse, `Alle the Sarasenes ye yonder see,
   Thaire frendis sore may wepe.
We sall wirke tham wondis full wyde;
I hete tham be thaire lemans syde
   Sowndely never sall thay slepe.'

For isschuynge owte of the cité
Kynge Charles with his menyé
   Helde his batelle still.
Oure Bretons bolde that fresche come in
Thoghte that thay wolde wirchipp wyn
   And gatt the cante of the hill.
The Sarasenes were so strange and stowte
Thay late no lede that thay wolde lowte,
   Thay were so wykkede of w[ill].
Oure Bretonns dide so doughtyly
That lange or none sekerly
   The Sarasenes lykede full ill.

Samen than strake that grete stowre
Als it were aftire the none ane houre --
   It was noghte mekills mare.
Bot many a Sarasene in that stownde
Lay grysely gronande on the grownde,
   Woundede wonderly sore.
Bot there God will helpe ther es no lett;
So stronge strokes thay one tham sett
   With burneschede bladis bare
That fourty thowsande Sarasenes kene
With brandis lay brettenyde one the grene:
   So bolde oure Bretonns were.

And to the cité the tother wolde have flede
And Rowlande thoghte he wolde tham stedde;
   Ten thowsande was with hym.
And when he with the Sarasenes mett,
Full grym strokes he over tham sett
   With growndyn speris and grym.
Charles appon the tothere syde
Sloughe tham downn with woundis wyde
   And made thaire dedis full dyme.
And thus thay chase tham here and thare
Als the howndes dose the hare
   And refte tham lyfe and lyme.

Rowlande rydis to Letygon
That was the Sowdane sister sone
   And stroke hym with a spere
That dede he daschede in the felde.
Helme ne hawberke he myghte none welde
   Ne never after none bere.
Of sexti thowsande, sothely to say,
Passede never one qwyke away;
   Bot evyll thay endide there.
The Cristenyde knelide down in that place
And thankede God that gaffe tham grace
   So worthily tham to were.

The false in the felde thus gun thay felle.
The Kynge callede Sir Lyonelle
   And avauncede hym full heghe.
The Duke of Burgoyne bifore was dede.
He sessede hym in his stede 24
   And gafe hym his doughter free.
And to the Bischoppe than swythe he gase
That wery and sore woundede was
   And fastande dayes three.
Be that tyme he myghte note wele a worde owt-wyn.
The teris rane over Charles chynn
   That sorowe it was to see:

`And thou dy, than dare I saye
The floure of presthode es awaye,
   That ever hade schaven crownn.
For there ne is kynge ne cardynere
In Cristyndome may be thi pere
   Ne man of religiownn.'
He will no man his wondes late see
Ne mete ne drynke none neghe hym ne,
   For prayer ne for pardownn.
Oure oste for the Bischoppe mournes alle
And graythes tham to Melayne walle
   With baners buskede bownn.

New vetailles the Bretons broghte than,
That refresschede many of oure men,
   Of brede, brawne and wynne.
A nobill hurdas ther was graythede
And baners to the walles displayede
   And bendis up thaire engyne.


love; hear
   knights
bold
high
oftentimes; heathen
stalwartly; steed
story; true
honest
chronicle; read
Lombardy; complaint
pleasures
Destroyed by heathen people

Sultan
Made war; wrongfully
cities
wealth
Pope's power; ruined

Tuscany; (see note)
manned

afterwards; reached
hinder
conquers

[sacred] images; should; (see note)
Cross; noble
Burned
idols
churches

Milan; then
conquered
as pay

children
lovely; neck

Milan
torture



severely; beset


stake his life
more

should lead

Sultan; noble
convert
should; own
Milan

[Saracen] faith; professed
faith
before another

children
eyes
asunder cut

Sultan
time
Until
let him know

believe; faith
raises
voice

died
pity
maiden

should
faith
must
as
Let; lost
damned; torments
died; Cross


Which

on earth to lose


it seemed to him


As; worn out with weeping



shall befall you
fleur-de-lis

avenge; injuries


hasten yourself

shall
foe

glad

quickly; obeys

directly
listen to what happened


As
dream; dream

voice
greet
entrusted; sword
hilt
That just fit the hand




possess; quickly; (see note)
injury

slay
then; wall
trusts

It seemed to him; struck

Then; Lombardy
fortresses; walls
marvelous


from




showed

truth
know; is



meal

seat

relative
greeted
saluted
stop their merrymaking
delay




table

were very sorrowful

dream
agreed

Have assembled
head; pledge
angered; boast
destroy
(see note)

(see note)

Roland's mother
curse

food



begins
paid for
distress caused


should become
If


fight; ready
army; broad banner
valor
Know; gladly
explanation

should; back



ready
peers
grievously to regret
ladies; bliss; deprived
time
would abide

Lombardy

war

trouble

remains
Paris
guard; splendor
agreed to
Sultan

Until
by [the time that]
maiden


set out
prepared for battle
bold


without doubt
agrees
grief
lament

knights


first; man
Persia he was called


bold
death; strike
Bohemia
uncle
battle; push forward
encounter



rode
without delay
avenge
time
dead; fell

struck

until
seized; steeds

in such a way; man

were meeting
horses' feet
Violently
pierced


lie
wounds; in a piteous manner
Broken; head
slashed up
men through; wounded


attacked; fiercely
struck down; knights
vanguard; strike
charge
counted
lie
fell; field
Through; wounded

main body
men; woes make better


main body
bold man; afraid
should
prowess
fleur-de-lis
strength
main body
taken prisoner


thought
participated in these battles

I grieve greatly
wounded there


visor

if the opportunity befalls you


Commend
young
knights




place

think


learn
make war
thrust


behold

old age; (see note)
vanguard
voice

more; eye

wield

strength
much; protection


drew; sword
heard
blow
To; smote; off; head
sorrowful
rushed; sword
seized
slay


more






noble

guard

rear guard
withstood


Burgundy

rear guard; leads

protect

though
expect
solace
inflicting; (see note)

hasten; high

charged

inflicting everywhere
(see note)
backwards; army pushes
felled
from there

I let you know well
together
pursued
lost their lives


Except for four; taken prisoner



Near kin to the King

slain


Thereupon
army; (see note)





evaluate; condition




befell; happy

beliefs; be overthrown
realm; believe in; (see note)
Who is most powerful


care
governs

relative
faith
fief
high
(see note)

heathen; on account of
lose; faith; (see note)

believe; must



Then

laughed; eyes

had burned; (see note)
dwelling
power

(see note)



consider worthless
time
church
crucifix



maiden
Show
redeemed

crucifix
wood; great wrath
make it burn

rotten
faith

of itself it has
come
it
itself; plan
skill; contrivance

many times
crucifix
take hold in it
Although; wood
went; near
became; aggrieved
Even if; it
It; before; stop
furious

wet
know

brimstone
pitch; tar mixed
threw

great heat
many times
burned out


crash
building
stronghold

leap
eyes; blow
(see note)

move
became sorrowful; countenance
knew

hasten; from here together
worked

hear

before

will bring him no joy
strikes; sword

belt; near




oftentimes



deftly
valorous
went
Each one
prepared
formidable
hinder
valiant

straight; (see note)
Paris; directly

to
Until; (see note)
go

boldly; made their way


delay



Until; (see note)

knew; worthy lords

from there

through




war








eagerly


there
lie



cast
off
wear
clothes; wear
arm; fiercely; war
only such

death; put
valiant
held to be




lost
blame
entirely


grieved; time
in that place
consecration [of the mass]


army






eyebrows raise


Quickly
By [the time that]
tear withhold
sorrow

(see note)

glad

slain
use; lie


made our way

before


advice
Although

cruel; the other
own
trouble
advise
stir up
You

deprived; you


curse
gave
(see note)

affliction


take
valiant
make war
yourself on them; thrust
peers; treated

pledge
surely
turn
power



clergyman; friar
prepare
from; (see note)
foe


agree


In three weeks
assembled; army
adorned
prepared
wore shaved heads
vigorous
alighted
Montmartre






ornamented; great
pure

blessing
solemnly together





always
remain

to; what
fight

if

demeanor
Such
thereto



betray


protect; kingdom



to his face

heretic

leaves; forces
he went


greeting
menacing

coward
sinful
advisors; affect
curse
limb

curse
you; advice

heresy
against

certain truth
pertained
lying
worse
own enemy



blame

grievously



(see note)
count; lost
judge
faith


hesitation
angry
sword
rushed; sword
Seized

draws
By

if

repaid

went

take
I wish you no harm
danger
Unless; go


slay
whichever








foe
I shall have my army readied

Outside

rebuked
know about sorrow



destroy
sent a sword to you
know
thither go
destroy you

angry

endure


Cardinal
together

As . . . as
quickly
raised
advanced
batter

Such; have; blessing







(see note)

advise; cease


quickly
foe


agree
(see note)

furlong




be renewed

generous



Rest; refresh yourselves; Seine
until; to
agrees with; time
pitched pavilions
luxuries


agreements

by [the time that]
assembled
came to him
peers

worthy

resolved upon

leads off
flashing; bright






Until
delay


formerly


quickly


eighteeenth; noon

assembled securely

joy

Each; different gift
Indeed; hesitation
placed
as it seemed fitting for him


that were held to have power


Macedonia
gift
earth


earth
falcons
horses; swift
every battle
each horse
falcon
cup

greyhounds; hunt
hunting dogs; together

gift
own

(see note)
sapphire; best one that might be
If all Christendom were searched
glad

much solemnity


feast
armor
beautiful
suppose
The maidenhead of them all
each one

(see note)
much

prosper




place
(see note)

high
had an altar prepared

of; mass



put on his vestments
mass

altar
fairer host
Than
chalice

high
mass



glad
strength

voice

power

pledge

dies; field
dwelling; find shalter


cast off; habit
immediately
laughed
(see note)
then


beautiful

sword

enough



vanguard


page


example

pity


army
(see note)
Raises; quickly


should; ready




army
fierce; boar

hatred
furlong; army




prosper
boast


struck
(see note)

surely
completely

dead; fell
Terribly groaning; place

boldly
cuts; instantly
formerly; bold; boar

back



(Kynge = Sir Arabaunt)

dependable
Adorned
rare power
(see note)

sapphires
bent; take
go
get; companion

fool
[too] soon; despoil


earth
against


honorable deeds
pendant

So that; cast

charging
chivalrous
riding
(see note)
fame



blow; offer

lie
people






Cross

each; soul
duty


realm; lead

delay
rode
hatred


On; both lay
Nimbly; leaped


struck; valiantly
cut
segments; hanging

valiantly; blows; struck
rest
stop
I regret



realms
receive


whom; given



power






sun; sea
suffering; endure



faith




voice

sorrowful
courteous
draws


threw away
took
together; quickly
struck; valiantly
pain-inflicting; stop

Asunder burst; metal ring
hawberks
delight


reached


fiend
own
pierces
surely





by [the time that]
doing [i.e., being waged]

shreds; cut
men; stabbed


pierced
excellent
spears; pierced

gave


joy


ferocious
went
thigh
back


worse



Heal

company
get away
fighting





living

slay




believed
drew




bleeding







gave
many a one gaped wide


fleeing

they made fall






pressed


barriers
many


assembled
thrive


(see note)
perceive



treachery


Nor before; probe

went

agrees everyone
taken



abide; coats of mail
agreed; advised
field; waited

noble
wound
taken



from; thigh



had his rations divided

food; come near

makes
power






leaden-hued wounds

stream
encampment




branch
olive tree
As a token that


If he is alive


battle

bolder
Seen


await
Mad if


Hence

waited
Until
before noon approached
Towards; moved a fierce army
(see note)


nephew



fear

vanguard

strike up

armor

charged; such a rush
back
field
groaning; ground
Pierced
took no pleasure from battle
valiantly; strike




eagerly

cut off
surely

cut to pieces
cut
went
heed; goods
ground
armor
force back the scattered battalions
valley


pressed

made his way

rearmost; horses knock off

outer barriers

forces
assault; valiantly
fierce
became; distraught

catapults


engines of war
(see note)
missiles; harm
worthy
(see note)
shoot; back


Many



assault; cease
no use to abide
(see note)
battle


struck against his ribs
(see note)
cut off; (see note)
lie

cast
cursed



Away from


believe you must abide
tomorrow

try; bring down



may sorrow come to you
alike
cur

unless; yield
believe







wounded

wounded

off; takes
quickly; goes
mercy




think
thigh
small wound




eye
pain
Until; yielded



speaking

made pale; complexion


the Saracen world


reinforce






consider
mission

prepare; ready

became your vassal

without



should
courier
governs


renowned



show; love

befall


unnaturally
(see note)
live to see



struck
they asked him




try




asked then a worthy knight; (see note)
Paris


of too low a degree

thereto

In another manner


noble



joking
property
siege






death



The people of the lower class

bold
help

uninjured and strong
boldness; known




leans


Brittany

need of troops
good men
Provisions; machines of war


fierce
draw near to us




died

make me turn
grasped
greet
went
(see note)

Who would do battle with him

armor
heraldic device; rank

herald

all together


hither
marveled; leveled
hear
saying

(see note)



blessing



distress; endured


eye


rising; hill



mail burnished bright
slope
take shelter






challenge
delay
herald







fear


stay in the field
guard

Until; dealt; host




inflict on
pledge; lovers'






honor
side

acknowledged; people; bow to







much; (see note)



where; hindering

burnished

cut to pieces



stop



sharpened


deaths; dismal


deprived them of




fell
use


alive



make war

strike down

advanced



goes


By; utter



If
has passed away
shaved; head
cardinal
equal


come near


prepares to go
raised



meat
prepared; (see note)

aim

[The manuscript ends at this point.]


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