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Thorowe the mede, the mede, the mede, Rideth a Knyght uppen hise stede, Straghte inne air he holdeth hise launce. Thorowe the medewe he dooth praunce, Dooth praunce. Under the wode, the wode, the wode, Wandreth Gergrundehyde the Gode; Ferles hise eyen, noble hise staunce, Fressh from the batailfelds of Fraunce, Of Fraunce. Serchyng the realme, the realme, the realme, A pecok ploume uppen hise healm, Serchying the realme for his lady fayre, Floures al laced among hire heire, Hire heire. "Namore have fere, have fere, have fere, Eow I shal save thoh yt tak a yer." "I fere ne longer, my galaunt knight. My fate ys al uppen thy might, Thy might.". The dragoun ys spered, ys spered, ys spered, Spitted uppen the knyghtes broodswerd The bataile lastes thorowe the nyght Untill the dragoun ys putte to flyght, To flight "Curteis, gode knight, gode knight, gode knight, My trowthe to the I heer doe plight." "Pardonne me, lasce, preye pardonne me, Ne woldest eow rather tak some te, Some te?" Thorowe the mede, the mede, the mede, Rideth the knyght uppen hise stede Beryng hise mayden noble borne, Crompids uppen the sadel horne, Dul horne. Under the wode, the wode, the wode, Wandreth Gergrundehyde the Gode; "Pardonne me, lasce, might I trouble eow?" "Certes gode sire. Oon lumpe or two, Or two?" Wesli Court |
