I've read this before, but it's a funny moment, almost as good as Sir Balyne picking up the dwarf under his arm and riding off with him.
Ryght so com in the lady on a whyght palfrerey and cryed alowde unto kynge Arthure and seyd, 'Sir, suffir me nat to have thys despite, for the brachet is myne that the knyght hath ladde away.'
'I may nat do therewith,' seyde the kynge.
So with this there com a knyght riding all armed on a great horse, and toke the lady away wyth forse wyth hym, and ever she cryed and made grete dole. So whan she was gone the kynge was gladde, for she made such a noyse.
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