Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,
Layd itt on the porters arme:
And ever we will thee, proud porter,
Thow wilt saye us no harme.
Sore he looked on king Estmere,
And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,
He lett for no kind of thyng.
King Estmere he stabled his steede
Soe fayre att the hall bord;
The froth, that came from his brydle bitte,
Light in kyng Bremors beard.
Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper,
Saies, Stable him in the stalle;
It doth not beseeme a proud harper
To stable 'him' in a kyngs halle.
My ladde he is no lither, he said,
He will doe nought that's meete;
And is there any man in this hall
Were able him to beate
Thou speakst proud words, sayes the king of Spaine,
Thou harper, here to mee:
There is a man within this halle
Will beate thy ladd and thee.
O let that man come downe, he said,
A sight of him wold I see;
And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,
Then he shall beate of mee.
Downe then came the kemperye man,
And looketh him in the eare;
For all the gold, that was under heaven,
He durst not neigh him neare.
And how nowe, kempe, said the Kyng of Spaine,
And how what aileth thee?
He saies, It is writt in his forhead
All and in gramaryè,
That for all the gold that is under heaven
I dare not neigh him nye.
Then Kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe,
And plaid a pretty thinge:
The ladye upstart from the borde,
And wold have gone from the king.