At this the armourer, turning all amazed
And seeing one so gay in purple silks,
Came forward with the helmet yet in hand, 285
And answer’d, “Pardon me, O stranger knight;
We hold a tourney here to-morrow morn,
And there is scantly time for half the work.
Arms? truth! I know not: all are wanted here.
Harbourage? truth, good truth, I know not, save, 290
It may be, at Earl Yniol’s, o’er the bridge
Yonder.” He spoke and fell to work again.