And many a ladye there was sette Then manye a knighte was mickle of might But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, His acton it was all of blacke, His hewberke, and his sheelde, 60 65 Ne noe man wist whence he did come, And now three days were preftlye past When lo upon the fourth morninge A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, 70 75 And at his backe five heads he bare, E 2 80 Sir, Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, They are kings which he hath flain. The Eldridge knight is his own cousine, But yette he will appease his wrath Thy daughters love to winne: And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd, Thy head, fyr king, must goe with mee; Thou must finde him a peere. The king he turned him round aboute, And in his heart was woe: Is there never a knighte of my round tablè, Is there never a knighte amongst yee all For hee shall have my broad lay-lands, But every knighte of his round tablè For whenever they lookt on the grim soldan, 110 All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè, 115 Up then sterte the stranger knighte, Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd: Thoughe he be unmacklye made. And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde, I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende Thoughe he be ftiff in stowre. Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde, 120 125 The kinge he cryde, with speede : Nowe heaven afsist thee, courteous knighte; My daughter is thy meede. 130 The gyaunt he stepped into the lifts, I sweare, as I am the hend soldàn, Then forthe the stranger knight he came "That this were my true knighte!" And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett And now with swordes foe sharpe of steele, The foldan strucke the knighte a stroke, The foldan ftrucke a second stroke, And made the bloude to flowe: The foldan ftrucke a third fell stroke, 135 140 145 150 The Quoth hee, But heaven be now my speede, He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte, And spying a secrette part, He drave it into the foldan's fyde, And pierced him to the heart. 155 160 Then all the people gave a shoute, 165 And nowe the kinge with all his barons But he for payne and lacke of bloude And there all walteringe in his gore, Lay lifelefsse on the grounde. Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 175 Thou art a leeche of skille; Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes, Than this good knighte sholde spille. |