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The Song of Roland · Chapter 181CLXXXII
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That Emperour hath chosen his bivouac; The Franks dismount in those deserted tracts, Their saddles take from off their horses' backs, Bridles of gold from off their heads unstrap, Let them go free; there is enough fresh grass— No service can they render them, save that. Who is most tired sleeps on the ground stretched flat. Upon this night no sentinels keep watch.