XIV.

He let fall his loom on the bare

He lyftes lyȝtly his lome, & let hit doun fayre,

With þe barbe of þe bitte bi þe bare nek

Þaȝ he homered heterly, hurt hym no more,

Bot snyrt hym on þat on syde, þat seuered þe hyde;

Þe scharp schrank to þe flesche þurȝ þe schyre grece,

Þat þe schene blod over his schulderes schot to þe erþe.

& quen þe burne seȝ þe blode blenk on þe snawe,

He sprit forth spenne fote more þen a spere lenþe,

Hent heterly his helme, & on his hed cast,

Schot with his schuldereȝ his fayre schelde vnder,

Braydeȝ out a bryȝt sworde, & bremely he spekeȝ;

Neuer syn þat he watȝ burne borne of his moder,

Watȝ he neuer in þis worlde, wyȝe half so blyþe:—

"Blynne, burne, of þy bur, bede me no mo;

I haf a stroke in þis sted with-oute stryf hent,

& if þow recheȝ me any mo, I redyly schal quyte,

& ȝelde ȝederly aȝayn, & þer to ȝe tryst,

& foo;

Bot on stroke here me falleȝ,

Þe couenaunt schop ryȝt so,

[Sikered]¹ in Arþureȝ halleȝ,

& þer-fore, hende, now hoo!"

¹ Illegible.