XIV.

He let fall his loom on the bare

He lyftes ly3tly his lome, & let hit doun fayre,

With þe barbe of þe bitte bi þe bare nek

Þa3 he homered heterly, hurt hym no more,

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

Þe scharp schrank to þe flesche þur3 þe schyre grece,

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

& quen þe burne se3 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 schuldere3 his fayre schelde vnder,

Brayde3 out a bry3t sworde, & bremely he speke3;

Neuer syn þat he wat3 burne borne of his moder,

Wat3 he neuer in þis worlde, wy3e 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 reche3 me any mo, I redyly schal quyte,

& 3elde 3ederly a3ayn, & þer to 3e tryst,

& foo;

Bot on stroke here me falle3,

Þe couenaunt schop ry3t so,

[Sikered]¹ in Arþure3 halle3,

& þer-fore, hende, now hoo!"

¹ Illegible.