[1124] Nor neuer I hard nore ſaw in to no ſted
O knycht, the wich that in to ſchortar ſpace
In armys haith mor forton nore mor grace;
Nore bettir doith boith with ſper and ſcheild,
[Fol. 15.]
[1128] He is the hed and comfort of our feild.”
The queen prays for Lancelot.
“Now, ſir, I traiſt that neuer more vas ſen
No man in feild more knyghtly hyme conten;
I pray to hyme that euery thing hath cure,