Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee;95
Or else thy daughter deere;
Or else within these lists soe broad
Thou must finde him a peere.[399]
The king he turned him round aboute,
And in his heart was woe:100
Is there never a knighte of my round tablè,
This matter will undergoe?
[Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee?
Whoever will fight yon grimme soldàn,105
Right fair his meede shall bee.
For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,
And of my crowne be heyre;
And he shall winne fayre Christabelle
To be his wedded fere.110
But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale;
For whenever they lookt on the grim soldàn,
It made their hearts to quail.
All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,115
When she sawe no helpe was nye:
She cast her thought on her owne true-love,
And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd:120
Ile fight for thee with this grimme soldàn,
Thoughe he be unmacklye[400] made.
And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,
That lyeth within thy bowre,
I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende125
Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.
Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,
The kinge he cryde, with speede:
Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;
My daughter is thy meede.[401]130
The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, Awaye, awaye:
I sweare, as I am the hend soldàn,
Thou lettest[402] me here all daye.