CXLII

　　The man who knows, for him there's no prison,

　　In such a fight with keen defence lays on;

　　Wherefore the Franks are fiercer than lions.

　　Marsile you'd seen go as a brave baron,

　　Sitting his horse, the which he calls Gaignon;

　　He spurs it well, going to strike Bevon,

　　That was the lord of Beaune and of Dijon,

　　His shield he breaks, his hauberk has undone,

　　So flings him dead, without condition;

　　Next he hath slain Yvoerie and Ivon,

　　Also with them Gerard of Russillon.

　　The count Rollanz, being not far him from,

　　To th'pagan says: "Confound thee our Lord God!

　　So wrongfully you've slain my companions,

　　A blow you'll take, ere we apart be gone,

　　And of my sword the name I'll bid you con."

　　He goes to strike him, as a brave baron,

　　And his right hand the count clean slices off;

　　Then takes the head of Jursaleu the blond;

　　That was the son of king Marsilion.

　　Pagans cry out "Assist us now, Mahom!

　　God of our race, avenge us on Carlon!

　　Into this land he's sent us such felons

　　That will not leave the fight before they drop."

　　Says each to each: "Nay let us fly!" Upon

　　That word, they're fled, an hundred thousand gone;

　　Call them who may, they'll never more come on.

　　AOI. The Song of Roland