Through all the host they have their drums sounded, And their bugles, and, very clear trumpets.
Pagans dismount, that they may arm themselves.
Their admiral will stay no longer then;
Puts on a sark, embroidered in the hems, Laces his helm, that is with gold begemmed;After, his sword on his left side he's set, Out of his pride a name for it he's spelt Like to Carlun's, as he has heard it said, So Preciuse he bad his own be clept;Twas their ensign when they to battle went, His chevaliers'; he gave that cry to them.
His own broad shield he hangs upon his neck, (Round its gold boss a band of crystal went, The strap of it was a good silken web;)He grasps his spear, the which he calls Maltet; --So great its shaft as is a stout cudgel, Beneath its steel alone, a mule had bent;On his charger is Baligant mounted, Marcules, from over seas, his stirrup held.
That warrior, with a great stride he stepped, Small were his thighs, his ribs of wide extent, Great was his breast, and finely fashioned, With shoulders broad and very clear aspect;Proud was his face, his hair was ringleted, White as a flow'r in summer was his head.
His vassalage had often been proved.
God! what a knight, were he a Christian yet!
His horse he's spurred, the clear blood issued;He's gallopped on, over a ditch he's leapt, Full fifty feet a man might mark its breadth.
Pagans cry out: "Our Marches shall be held;There is no Frank, may once with him contest, Will he or nill, his life he'll soon have spent.
Charles is mad, that he departs not hence."AOI.
