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The queen hid herself in the forest, and the brave knight after a gallant defence, fell, slain foully by Sir Marrocke, who stabbed him in the back. In vain the traitor sought his hapless prey, and finally, after thrusting her defender's dead body through, departed with the remainder of his band.

“ There passed but foure a waye :

Than the quene was ful wo
And whan she sawe that they were go
She made sorowe and crye
Than she rose and wennte agayne
To Syr Roger and founde hym slaync.
His grehoande by his fete dyde lye
Alas she sayde that I was borne
My true knight now haue I lorne
They haue hym here slayne
Full pyteously she made her mone
And sayd nowe must I go alone
The grehunde she wolde haue bad full fayne
The hounde styll by his maister dide lye
He lycked his woundes and dyde whyne and crye
This to se the



And sayd Syr Roger this haste thou for me
Alas that ever it shoulde so be
Her heere she tare a twayne
And than she wente and toke her stede
She no lenger there abede
Leest men shode fynde her there
She sayd Syr Roger now thou arte dede
Who shal me now the ryghte waye lede
For now thou may speke no more
Ryght on the grounde there as he laye dede
She kyssed hym or she from him yede 1
God wote her herte was sore :


1 Went.

What for sorowe and drede
Fast awaye she gan her spede
She wyste not whether ne where.
The good grehounde for wele ne wo
Wolde not fro the knyght go
But laye and lycked his wounde
He wentel to haue heled hym agayne
And therto he dyde his payne
Lo suche loue is in a hounde
This knight laye tylle he dyde stynke
The grehounde than began to thynke
And scraped a pytte anone
Therein he drewe the deed corse
So he couered with erth and mosse
And from hym he wolde not gone
The grehounde laye styll there
This quene gan forthe fare
For drede of her fone."

The queen fled “ into the londe of Hongrye,” and was delivered of her child, Sir Tryamoure, by a woodside, where she was then found by a knight, who took her home with him, and trained up her son.

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Ever upon his maystres graue he lay
Ther myght no man haue hym away
For hete neyther for colde
Without it were ones a daye
He ranne aboute to gete hys praye
Of beestes that were bolde
Conyes whan he might them gete
Thus wolde he laboure for his mete
Yet grete honger he had in holde
And seuen yere he dwelled there
Tyll it befell on that one yere
Even on Christmasse daye
The grehounde as the story sayes
Came to the Kynges palayes
Withoute ony delaye
Whan the lordes were sette to mete sonne
The grehounde into thei hall ronne
Amonge the knyghtes gaye
All aboute he gan beholde
But he sawe not

Then wente he his waye full ryght
Whan he had sought and coude not fynd
He dyde full gentylly his kynde
Spede better whan he myght
The grehounde ranne forth his waye
Tyll he came where his maister laye
As faste as euer he mought
The Kinge maruayled on that dede
Frome whens he came and whyder he yede
Or who hym thyder brought
The Kynge thought he had sene hym ere
But he wyste not well where
Therfore he sayde ryght nought
Soone he bethought hym then
That he him erste ken
And sate styll in a thoughte
The other daye in the same wyse
Whan the Kynge from hys mete sholde rysc


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The grehounde came in tho
All about there be sought
But the Stuarde founde he nought
Than agayne be began to go
Than sayde the kynge in that stounde
Me thynke that it Syr Rogers hounde
That weute forthe with the quene
I trowe they be come agayne to this lond
Lordes all this I vnderstonde
It maye ryght well so be
If that they be into thys londe come
We shall haue worde thereof sone
And within shorte space
For never syns the wente ywys
I sawe not the grehounde or this
It is a maruelyous case
Whan he cometh agayne folowe hym
For euermore he wyll renne
To his maystres dwellynge place
Rynne and

loke ye not sparc
Tyll that ye come there
To Syr Roger and my quene
Than the thyrde day amonge them all
The grehounde came into the hal
To mete or they were sette
Marrocke the stuarde was within
The grehounde thought he wolde not blynne !
Tyll he with him had mette
He toke the stuarde by the throte
And asonder he it botte
But than he wolde not byde
For to his graue he ranne
There folowed hym many a manne
Some on hors and some besyde
And whan he came where his mayster was
He layde hym downe upon the grasse

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1 Stop ; cease.

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And barked at the menne agayne
There myght no man hym fro ye place
And yet with staues ye dyd hym bete
That he was almoste slayne
And whan the men saw no better bote
Than yede the home on hors and fote
With grete wonder I wene
The Kynge sayde by goddes payne
I trowe Marrocke hath Syr Roger slayne
And with treason flemed 3 my quene
Go ye and seke there agayne
For there the houndes mayster is slayne
Some treson there hath bene
Thyder the wente so god me saue
And founde Syr Roger in his graue
For that was soone sene
And there they loked hym upon
For he was hole bothe flesshe and bone
An to the courte hys body the brought
For whan the Kynge dyde him se
The teres ranne downe from his eye
Full sore it hym forthought
The grehounde he wolde not from this corse fare
Than was the Kynge caste in care
And sayde Marrocke hathe done me tene
Slayne he hathe that curteyse knyght
And flemed my quene wyth grete vnright
As a traytoure kene
The Kynge let drawe anone ryght
The stuardes body that false knyghte
With horse through the towne
Than he hanged hym on a tre
That all men myght his body se
That he had done treason
Syr Rogers body the next daye
The Kynge lette bury in good araye


1 Remedy.

· Returned home.

3 Banished.

4 Sorrow.

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