Þen feersly þat oþer freke vpon fote lyȝtis.
Now hatȝ Arthure his axe, & þe halme grypeȝ,
& sturnely stureȝ hit aboute, þat stryke wyth hit þoȝt.
Þe stif mon hym bifore stod vpon hyȝt,
Herre þen ani in þe hous by þe hede & more;
Wyth sturne schere1 þer he stod, he stroked his berde,
& wyth a countenaunce dryȝe he droȝ doun his cote,
No more mate ne dismayd for hys mayn dinteȝ,
Þen any burne vpon bench hade broȝt hym to drynk
of wyne,