He heard but fragments of her later words,
And that she fear’d she was not a true wife.
And then he thought, “In spite of all my care, 115
For all my pains, poor man, for all my pains,
She is not faithful to me, and I see her
Weeping for some gay knight in Arthur’s hall.”
Then, though he lov’d and reverenc’d her too much
To dream she could be guilty of foul act, 120
Right through his manful breast darted the pang
That makes a man, in the sweet face of her