Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat;205 Half dead I hung, and might nothing note, Till I woke sun-warmed in a fisher-boat.
The sun was high o'er the eastern brim As I praised God and gave thanks to Him.
That day I told my tale to a priest,210 Who charged me, till the shrift[283] were releas'd, That I should keep it in mine own breast.
And with the priest I thence did fare To King Henry's court at Winchester.[284]
We spoke with the King's high chamberlain,215 And he wept and mourned again and again, As if his own son had been slain:
And round us ever there crowded fast Great men with faces all aghast:
And who so bold that might tell the thing220 Which now they knew to their lord the King? Much woe I learned in their communing.
The King had watched with a heart sore stirred For two whole days, and this was the third:
And still to all his court would he say,225 "What keeps my son so long away?"
And they said: "The ports lie far and wide That skirt the swell of the English tide;