Xxv

At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin To meete me wandring, who perforce me led With him away, but yet could never win The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne dread; There lies he now with foule dishonour dead, Who whiles he livde, was called proud Sansfoy, The eldest of three brethren, all three bred Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy; And twixt them both was born the bloudy bold Sansloy.