VIII.
He spurs his horse and goes on his way.
He sperred þe sted with þe spure3, & sprong on his way,
So stif þat þe ston fyr stroke out þer-after;
Al þat se3 þat semly syked in hert,
& sayde soþly al same segges til oþer,
Carande for þat comly, "bi Kryst, hit is scaþe,
Þat þou, leude, schal be lost, þat art of lyf noble!
To fynde hys fere vpon folde, in fayth is not eþe;
Warloker to haf wro3t had more wyt bene,
& haf dy3t 3onder dere a duk to haue worþed;
A lowande leder of lede3 in londe hym wel seme3,
& so had better haf ben þen britned to no3t,
Hadet wyth an aluisch mon, for angarde3 pryde.
Who knew euer any kyng such counsel to take,
As kny3te3 in caueloun3 on cryst-masse gomne3!"
Wel much wat3 þe warme water þat waltered of y3en,
When þat semly syre so3t fro þo wone3
þat1 daye;
He made non abode,
Bot wy3tly went hys way,
Mony wylsum way he rode,
Þe bok as I herde say.
1 MS. þad.