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 slayne.
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 had full fayne

The hounde styll by his maister dide lye

He lycked his woundes and dyde whyne and crye

This to se the quene had payne

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 yede1
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 wente1 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.

"Now of the quene lette we be
And of the grehounde speke we
That I erst of tolde

Longe seven yere so god me saue
He dyde kepe his maisters graue

Tyll that he wart olde

This grehounde Sir Roger had kepte longe

And brought him up syth he was yonge
In storyes as it is tolde

Therfore he kepte so there

By the space of seuen yere
And go from hym he ne wolde

VOL. I.

1 Ween'd; thought.

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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 what he wolde

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 ryse

The grehounde came in tho

All about there he 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 wente 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 go loke ye not spare
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 blynne1

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

1 Stop; cease.

And barked at the menne agayne
There myght no man hym fro yo 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.

2 Returned home.

3 Banished.

4 Sorrow.

i