"Than mai, withouten letting,
Min himpe jolifliche spring."
Nou ben hise bowes awai i-sschore,
And mochel of his beauté forlore.

The ympe had roum, and wexeth fast.
The olde tre his vertu gan acast :
For no wonder hit n'is,

Of the maister-rote hit is

Out i-sprong, and out i-sschet,

And his bowes awai i-kett;

Tharfore that olde tre les his pride,

And asered bi that o side.
The gode burgeis, on a dai,
His ympe thriuende he sai,
Fair i-woxe and fair i-sprad,
But the olde tre was abrad.
He clepid his gardener tho,

And asked whi the olde tre verd so.
He answerede, als he wel couthe,
"Sikerliche, ich telle thè nouthe,
The yonge impe that wide springes,
Had large roum in alle thingges,
And, for the elde tre is so i-hewed,
Hit [is] so wikked and so sschrewed."

600

610

The burgeis seide, "Seththe the elde
Biginneth so to unbelde,

Hewe him to the grounde dounright;
Lat the yonge tre atire, aplight.

Thous was the olde tre doun i-thrawe,
And the yonge tre forht i-drawe.

"Gode sire, gent and fre,
That olde tre bitokneth the.
The yonge bitokneth thi sone wode,
That is i-spronge out of thi blode.
He sschal be sone forht i-drawe,
And maister; and thou his knaue.

Hit wil wel sone ben i-do,

And thou take kep therto :

And but thou do, thou ne hast no might.
That I biseke to oure dright,

That als hit mote fare bi thè,
As dede bi the pinnote-tre."

"Certes, dame, thou seist for nowt;
I ne schal neuere so bin bicaught.
Ich the bihote, sikerliche,

He schal, tomorewe erliche,

To deth be don; and that is right."
And thous passede the ferste night.
Amorewe aros the emperour,
And mani baroun of gret honoùr.

620

630

640

Men vndede the gates of the palèis,
In com goende mani burgèis.
Sone was fild paleys and tour,
In com goind th' emperour,

Goht, he seigh, to the prisone,
And fechcheth forht mine sone,
And quik that he war an-honge,
On heghe galewes and on stronge."
The boies gede anon doun,

And fesched the child out of prisoùn,
And ladde him forht thour the halle,
Among the erles and barouns alle.
For that schild, that naked was,
Mani bade th' emperice evel gras!
Than com ridend Bancillas,

(The childes firste maister he was)
And segghe his deciple harde bistad ;
Tharfore he was in herte vnglad.
He rod to th' emperour's halle,

And lighte, and passede the knightes alle,
And fint sone th' emperour,

650

660

And, "Sire," saide, " Deu vous doint bonjour!"

Th' emperour saide, "God the defende

Fram god dai and fram god ende !"

Than seide maister Bancillas, "Whi artou wroht, and for what cas? Wil tou sle thin owen child?

Ne were thou wone be god and mild."

670

"Hit n'is no wonder, saide th' emperour;

Thou schalt ben an-honged, thou losenjour !
For, to the and thine fere,

I bitok mi sone to lere,

For to haue i-taught him god,
And ye have i-mad him wod.

Mi wif he wolde have forleyn :

Hit n'is no wonder though I have trayn! 680

He schal therfore ben i-slawe,

And afterward al to-drawe."
Than seide maister Bancillas,
"Sire, that were now a sori cas.
Thei he had i-wraththed your wif,
Yit had he nowt agelt his lif.
Sauue youre grace, wene ich hit nowt,
Hit euere com in his thout."

Th' emperour saide," I fond hire to-rent :
Hire her, and hire face i-schent;
And who is founde hond-habbing,
Hit n'is non nede of witnessing!"

Saide Bancillas, " Hit n'is non hale

To leue stepmoderes tale.

Yif thou him slest, bi hire purchas,

On the falle swich a cas,

As fel upon a gentil knight, /

And of his graihond that was to wight."

"O maister, for Godes mounde,

Hou bifel the knight of his grehonde ?"

690

700

"Therwhile, sire, that I' tolde this tale, Thi sone mighte tholie dethes bale; Thanne were mi tale forlore !

Ac, of-sende thi sone therfore,

And yif him respit of his bale,

And thou schalt here a foul fair tale."

Th' emperour saide, "Respit I graunt ;
Fech him hider a serjaunt."

With god semblant and glade cher,

He louted his maister that com him bi,

As he was lad to prisonn sti;

"Maister, seide th' emperour, tel this cas." "Blethliche," saide sire Bancillas.

710

"SIRE, whilom was in this cité,

In a dai of the trenetè,

A swithe noble strong burdis,

Of men that were of noble pris.