Then he brake into bitter upbraiding from the lips by anguish wrung
Against them which had compassed his murder by the snare of a lying tongue.
Loud cried the deadly-wounded: “Dastards, accursèd be ye!
Where now is my guerdon for service to you who have murdered me?
Your stay was I still and your helper: for all this death is my meed!
O caitiffs, that do unto kinsman and friend so evil a deed!
Accursèd for this your offspring, even all that shall see the light,
Shall be ever from this day onward! Your malice and your spite
Ruthlessly on my body have ye wreaked all causelessly!
By all good knights shunned ever for your villainy ye shall be!”