He gave him iron, he gave him steel
Of proof and price, the hurt to heal.
“Good brown brand, wilt fight for me?
No brother have I in the world but thee.”
“Deal thou thy strokes so lustily
As I’ll be sharp and swift for thee.
“Be thou in thy blows so bold
As strongly to my hilt I’ll hold.”
Sir Peter went to the hall
Where the knights were drinking all.
To prove his sword he was so fain,
Eight of the champions there lay slain.
He struck so strong, he hewed so hard,
Neither wife nor maid he spared.
Behind the arras there he thrust—
The king and his sons they bit the dust.
Up spake the babe, in cradle lay:
“A red revenge dost thou wreak to-day!
“A red revenge for that sire o’ thine!—
God give me a day for avenging mine!”