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'LORDINGES,' quoth Guy, 'y you beseche,
Yf any of you kanne me teche,
Who that slowe my lyoun to-daye.'
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All they seide, 'sir, naye.'
As sone as he to the halle come,
A maide in hir armes him nome.
'Sir Guy,' she seide, 'my leef swete,
Is thy lyon dede, or lyueth yet?
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Thurgh the body smyten y him sighe.'
Than besoughte of hir sir Guye,
That she shuld concele it nought,
But telle him, who his lyon hath to deth brought.
And she seide that Morgadour,
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That Styward was [with] the Emperour,
'Thurgh the body he him smote: [Caius MS. 107 page 113]
His deth it was, well y wote.'
Whan Guy herde that same feloun
Had sleyn his lyoun,
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Out of the halle he gan dryue,
Fro chambre to chambre seching him blyue,
With a naked swerde in his honde,
Yf he may fynde him to shonde.
To a chambre he come in a stounde:
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Morgadour he hath therin founde
With his neuyeu in counsaille faste:
Whan he sawe Guy he was agaste.
To him seide Guy: 'why hast me betrayhed,
To grounde so my lyon leyde?
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I did the neuere yet bot good,
Thou false traitour of vnkynde blood.'
Morgadour answerd to him anone,
As a stalworth knyght shuld doon:
'Thou lyest euen in thy tethe,
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And therfor haue thou euyl dethe.
Why appechest me of treeson?
I it avowe, y slowe thy lyoun.'
