It took fifteen to bring the club,
And they strain’d all their might;
The monk took it up with fingers two
And swung it round so light.
He takes the club upon his back
And into the wood he’s gone,
And there met him the Kempions twelve
Would fain set him upon.
They drew a circle on the ground,
And each one troll’d a song;
I tell to ye for verity
He silenced them all ere long.
First slew he four, then slew he five,
At length he all has slain;
It was the monk of the shaven crown
Would gladly fight again.
It was the monk of the shaven crown
Would seek for another fray,
So out of the wood across the wold
He blythely took his way.
So blythely out of the good green wood
He sped across the hill,
And there met him a hoary Trold
Whose name was Sivord Gill.
“If thou art the monk of the shaven crown
Who scath’d the warrior band,
Thou either from me shalt shamefully flee
Or manfully ’gainst me stand.”
“I am the monk of the shaven crown
Who slew the warrior band,
And never from thee will I shamefully flee
But like a man will stand.”
The first blow gave the Trold, it fell
Upon the monk’s shoulder down,
’Midst of his shoulder broke the skin,
Bebloodied was his gown.
The next blow gave the monk, it struck
The Trold to the verdant sward:
“Now shame befall thee, shaven Monk,
The blows of thy club are hard.