Long berd he hadde & sterne siȝt;
A man he semed of michel miȝt.
Biforn him anon Gij him dede, [folio 144a:b]
& feir he gret him in þat stede.
Line 6840
'Sir,' quaþ Gij, 'vnderstond to me: [C line 6535]
He þat þe warld made he blisce þe.
Icham a kniȝt as ȝe may se:
Y bid þe mete par charite.
A meles mete ȝif þou me,
Line 6845
& seþþen hennes ichil te.'
'Leue frende,' he seyd, 'sikerly,
Þou schalt it haue gladly.'
Þe water he axed þo anon,
To wasche his honden Gij is go[n].
Line 6850
To mete he sett him in þat stede,
Bred & win biforn him þai dede,
& gret plente of oþer mete.
When he hadde sumdele y-ete
In þe toun he herd belles ring,
Line 6855
& loude crie, & miche wepeing,
Cloþes to-tere, her to-te:
More sorwe no miȝt non be.
'God,' quaþ þerl, 'lord fre,
Þis gret sorwe whi it be?'
Line 6860
Into þe halle come þere
Tvai men, & a bodi bere:
Amid þe flore þai it leyden, y-wis.
Quaþ þerl Florentin, 'mi sone þis is,'
Torent his here, his cloþes he drouȝ:
Line 6865
In his hert was sorwe anouȝ.
'Leue sone,' he seyd, 'who slouȝ þe?
Now wold god, þat is so fre,
Þat he were here in mi beylie!
Nold ich it lete for al Romanie,
Line 6870
Þat he no were anon y-slawe,
For-brent, & þat dust to-blowe.'
