“Nay, father, this is not the time
For me to eat or rest:
A fountain in all haste I seek
At my poor lord’s behest.
So sorely is my master spent
With most unequal strife
That well it is from this affray
That he escapes with life.
“Lie thirteen knights, Sir Lorgnez first,
Beneath him, slain to-day;
And I as many overcame:
The rest all ran away.”
VI.
Breton at heart he had not been
Who had not laughed to see
The green grass red with Frankish blood,
As red as it could be;