XXI.
Than schir Spynagrose with speche spak to the king:
"Yone lord haldis of nane leid, that yone land aw, [lordis.]
Bot euer-lesting but legiance, to his leving,
As his eldaris has done, enduring his daw."
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"Hevinly god!" said the heynd, "how happynis this thing?
Herd thair euer ony sage sa selcouth ane saw!
Sal neuer myne hart be in saill na in liking,
Bot gif I loissing my life, or be laid law,
Be the pilgramage compleit I pas for saull prow,
Bot dede be my destenyng,
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He sall at my agane cumyng
Mak homage and oblissing,
I mak myne avow!"
XXII.
"A! lord, sparis of sic speche, quhill ye speir more,
For abandonit will he noght be to berne that is borne.
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Or he be strenyeit with strenth, yone sterne for to schore,
Mony ledis salbe loissit, and liffis forlorne.
Spekis na succeudry, for Cristis sone deir!
Yone knicht to scar with skaitht ye chaip nocht but scorne.
It is full fair for to be fallow and feir
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To the best that has bene brevit you beforne.
The myghty king of Massidone, wourthiest but wene,
Thair gat he nane homage,
For all his hie parage,
Of lord of yone lynage,
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Nor neuer none sene,
XXIII.
"The wy that wendis for to were quhen he wenys best,
All his will in this warld, with welthis I wys,
Yit sall be licht as leif of the lynd lest, [he licht.]
