ÒMORTE ARTHUREÓ (C. 1360)



"The Alliterative Version"



From Roger Sherman Loomis and Rudolph Willard, Medieval English Perse and Prose 

(New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1948),



	Arthur turns into Tuscany when the time is favorable, 

Takes towns very quickly, with towers of height; 

Walls he cast down, and knights he wounded; 

Made many fair widows woefully sing, 

Be weary often, and weep, and wring their hands. 

He wastes all with war wherever he rides past; 

Their wealth and their dwellings he turns to destruction. 

Thus they spring forth and spread far, and spare but little, 

They spoil without pity, and lay waste their vines; 

Spend without sparing what long was saved up; 

Speed then to Spoleto, with spears in plenty. 

From Spain into Spruysland the report of him springs, 

The tale of his destruction; despair is full huge.

	Towards Viterbo this valiant man turns his reins.

Wisely in that vale he victuals his warriors,

With vernage and other wines, and venison baked. 

And with the viscount of that land he decides to tarry. 

Quickly the vanguard dismount from their horses, 

In the vale of Vertennon among the vineyards;

	There sojourns this sovereign with solace of heart,

To see when the senators should send any word;

He revels with rich wine, rejoices himself,

This king with his royal men of the Round Table,

With mirth and melody, and manifold games;

Were never merrier men made on this earth.

	But on a Saturday, at noon, a seven-night thereafter,

The cunningest cardinal that to the court belonged,

Kneels to the conqueror and utters these words:

Prays him for peace and proffers full largely,

To have pity on the pope, who thus was put down;	

Besought him assurance, for the sake of our Lord, 

But a seven-night's day, when they would all be assembled,

And they would surely see him the Sunday thereafter

In the city of Rome as sovereign and lord,

And crown him properly with chrismed hands,

With his scepter and his sword, as sovereign and lord.

For this undertaking hostages are come thither,

Of heirs most comely e~ght score children,

In togas of Tars most richly attired,

And commit themselves to the king and his renowned 

		knights.

	When they had treated their truce, with trumpet blasts after, 

They turn unto a tent where tables are set up; 

The king himself is seated and certain lords 

Under a ceiling of silk, in peace at the table; 

All the senators are set apart by themselves, 

And are solemnly served with seldom-known dishes. 

The king, mighty of mirth, with his mild words 

Heartens the Romans at his rich table, 

Comforts the cardinal in knightly wise himself; 

And this royal ruler, as the romance tells us, 

The Romans did reverence at his rich table. 

The trained men and knowing, when time it seemed them, 

Took their leave of the king, and turned them again; 

To the city that night they made way the quickest. 

And thus the hostage of Rome is left with Arthur.

	Then this royal king rehearses these words:

"Now may we revel and rest, for Rome is our own;

Make our hostages at ease, these comely young nobles,

And look ye hold them all, who linger in my host;

The Emperor of Almain and all these east marches!

We shall be overlord of all that dwell upon earth.

We will by Holy Cross Day acquire these lands,

And at Christmas Day be crowned accordingly;

Reign in my royalty and hold my Round Table

With the rents from Rome, as it right pleases me.

Then go over the Great Sea with good men of arms,

To avenge that Warrior that died on the Rood."

	Then this comely king, as chronicles tell us,

Turns bravely to bed with a blithe heart;

He slings off with sleight and slackens his girdle,

And for sloth of slumber falls then asleep.

But at one after midnight all his mood changed;

He dreamt in the morning hour most marvelous dreams.

And when his dreadful dream was driven to its end,

The king stares in dismay, as though he should die,

Sends after philosophers, and his affright tells them.

"Since I was formed in faith, so frightened was I neverI

Wherefore ransack readily and reveal me my dreams,

And I shall fully and rightly rehearse the truth.

Me thought 1 was in a wood at mine own will,

Since I knew no way, whither I should wend,

Because of wolves and wild swine and wicked beasts.

I walked in that wasteland to seek out dangers.

There lions full loathly licked their lushes,

As they lapped up the blood of my loyal knights.

Through that forest I fled, where flowers grewitall,

For the great fear that I had of those foul creatures.

I made way to a meadow, with mountains closed in,

The merriest of middle-earth that men might behold.

The enclosure was encompassed and closed all about,

With clover and with cleve-wort clad evenly all over;

The vale was environed with vines of silver,

All with grapes of goldÑ greater grew never,

Surrounded with shrubs and all kinds of trees,

Arbors most handsome and herdsmen thereunder.

All fruits were produced that flourished on earth,

Fairly sheltered in hedges upon the tree boughs.

lhere was no dankness of dew that could harm aught;

With the drying of daytime wholly dry were the flowers.

"There descends in the dale, down from the clouds,

A duchess preciously dight in diapered garments,

In a surcoat of silk most rarely hued,

Wholly with ermine overlaid low to the hems,

And with lady-like lappets the length of a yard

And al1 readily reversed with ribbons of gold,

With brooches and bezants and other bright stones

Her back and her breast were bedecked all over;

With a caul and a coronal she was neatly arrayed,

And that so comely of color none was known ever.

	"About she whirled a wheel with her white hands,	

Turned most skilfully the wheel as she would

The rim was of red gold with royal stones,

Arrayed in richness and rubies in plenty;

The spokes were resplendent with splinters of silver,

The space of a spear-length springing most fairly;

Thereon was a chair of chalk-white silver,

And checkered with carbuncle, changing in hues;

To the circumference there clung kings in a row,

With crowns of clear gold that were cracked asunder;

Six from that seat were suddenly fallen,

Each man by himself, and said these words:

	"'That ever I reigned on this wheel, it rues me ever.

Was never king so rich, that reigned upon earth!

When I rode on my route, I wrought nothing else

But hawk and revel and tax the people.

And thus I drive forth my days, while I can endure it;

And therefore in agony am I condemned forever.'

	"The last was a little man that was laid beneath,

His loins lay very lean and loathly to look on,

The locks gray and long the length of a yard,

His flesh and his body were lamed quite sorely;

The one eye of the man was brighter than silver.

The other was yellower than the yolk of an egg

'I was lord,' quoth the man, 'of lands aplenty,

And all people louted to me, who lived upon earth;

And now is left me no flap to cover my body,

But lightly am I lost; let all men believe it.'

	ÒThe second sir, forsooth, that followed him after,

Was surer in my sight, and more serious in arms?

Oft he sighed heavily, and spoke these words:

'On yonder seat have I sat as sovereign and lord, 

And ladies loved me, to embrace in their arms: 

And now is my lordship lost and laid by forever!'

	"The third man was massive and thick in the shoulders, 

A stout man to threaten where thirty were gathered; 

His diadem had dropped down, bedecked with stones, 

Indented all with diamonds, and richly adorned. 

'I was dreaded in my days,' he said, 'in divers realms, 

And now am damned among the dead, and my dole is the more.'

	"The fourth was a fair man and forceful in arms,ttai,	

The fairest in figure that ever was formed.

'I was fierce in my faith,' he said, 'whilst I on earth reigned,

Famous in far lands, and flower of all kings;

Now my face is faded, and foul hap has befallen me,

For I am fallen from afar, and friendless am left.'

	"The fifth was a fairer man than many of these others,

A forceful man and fierce, with foaming lips;

He hung fast to the felly and clasped his arms,

But still he failed and fell a full fifty feet;

But still he sprang up and leapt and spread his arms,	

And on the spear-length spokes he speaks these words:

'I was a sire in Syria, and set by myself

As sovereign and seigneur of several kings' lands;

Now from my solace am I full suddenly fallen,

And for sake of my sin yonder throne is lost to me.'

	"The sixth had a psalter most seemly bound,

And a surplice of silk, sewn very fairly,

A harp and a hand-sling, with hard flint stones;

What harms he has had he declares straightway:

'I was deemed in my days,' he said, 'for deeds of arms

One of the doughtiest that dwelt upon earth;

But I was marred upon earth in my greatest strength,

By this maiden so mild that moves us all.'

	"Two kings were climbing and clambering on high,

The crest of the compass they covet most eagerly.

This chair of carbuncle,' they said, 'we claim hereafter,

As two of the chiefest chosen upon earth.'

The young nobles were chalk-white, both cheeks and faces,

But the chair above them achieved they never.

The furthermost was handsome, with a broad forehead, 

The fairest of physiognomy that ever was 

With fleurs-de-lys of gold flourished all over; 

The other was clad in a coat all of pure silver, 

With a comely cross carved out of fine gold; 

Four skillful crosslets by that cross rest them, 

And thereby I knew the king, that christened he seemed.

	"Then went I to that fair one, and affectionately greeted her,

And she said, 'Welcome, in truth, well art thou found now;

Thou oughtest worship my will, and thou well knowest,

Of all the valiant men that were ever in the world;

For, all thy worship in war, by me hast thou won it;

I have been friendly, man, and helped against others;

That hast thou found in faith, and many of thy warriors,

For I felled down Sir Frolle with froward knights,

Wherefore the fruits of France are freely shine own.

Thou shalt achieve the chair, I choose thee myself,

Before all the chieftains chosen ;n this earth.'

"She lifted me up lightly with her slim hands,

And set me softly in that seat; the scepter she reached me;

Carefully with a comb she combed my head,

That the crisping curl reached my crown;

Dressed me in a diadem beauteously bedecked;

Then she proRers me an apple set full of fair stones,

Enameled with azure, the earth thereon painted,

Encircled with the salt sea upon ever~r side,

In sign that I surely was sovereign on earth.

Then she brought me a brand with very bright hilts,

And bade me brandish the blade: 'The brand is mine own;

Many a swain with the swing has left his blood;

For, while thou didst work with the sword, it failed thee never.'

	"Then she departed in peace, and in quiet, when it pleased

		her,

To the trees of the forest, a richer was never;

No orchard is so ordained by princes on earth,

No appoin~encs so proud, but paradise only.

She bade the boughs bend down and bring to my hands

Of the best that they bore on branches so high;

Then they inclined to her command all wholly at once, 

The highest of every holt: I tell thee the truth. 

She bade me spare not the fruit, but take whilst it pleased 

		me: 

'Take of the finest, thou noble warrior, 

And reach towards the ripest, and refresh thyself; 

Rest, thou royal king, for Rome is shine own, 

And I shall readily bring thee rest most quickly, 

And reach thee the rich wine in well-rinsed cups.'

	Then she went to the well by the wood-border, 

That bubbled up with wine and wondrously runs, 

Caught up a cupful, and covered it carefully; 

She bade me deeply draw and drink to herself, 

And thus she led me about the length of an hour, 

With all the liking and love that any man should have.

	"But just at midday exactly all her mood changed,

And she made me great menace with marvelous words. 

When I cried upon her, she lowered her brows: 

'King, thou speakest for naught, by Christ that made me! 

For thou shalt lose this game and thy life after; 

Thou hast lived in delight and lordship enough.'

	"About she whirls the wheel, and whirls me under,

Till all my quarters that time were crushed all to pieces,

And my backbone with that chair was chopped asunder;

And I have shivered with chill since this chance happened.

Then I awakened, indeed, all weary and dreamt out,

And now thou knowest my woe; word it as it please thee."

	"Friend," said the philosopher, "thy fortune has passed,

For thou shalt find her thy foe, ask when thou likest.

Thou art at the highest, I declare to thee truly;

Complain now when thou wilt, thou achieves" no more.

Thou hast shed much blood and fighters destroyed

Guiltless, in thy pride, in many kings' lands;

Shrive thee of thy shame, and shape thee for shine end.

Thou hast a foreshadowing, Sir King, take keep it thou like.

For fiercely shale rhou fall wirnin five winters.

Found abbeys in France, the fruits are shine own,

For Frolle and for Feraunt, and for their fierce knights,

Whom thou hostilely in France didst leave as dead.

Take thought now of the other kings, and cast in thy heart, 

Who were conquerors renowned, and crowned upon earth.

	"The eldest was Alexander, that all the earth louted to; 

The second was Hector of Troy, the chivalrous man; 

The third was Julius Caesar, who held was a giant, 

On each famous campaign, accompanied with lords. 

The fourth was Sir Judas, a jouster most noble, 

The masterful Maccabee, the mightiest in strength; 

The fifth was Joshua, that jolly man of arms, 

To whom in a Jerusalem inn great joy befell once; 

The sixth was David the valiant, deemed among kings 

One of the doughtiest that dubbed was ever, 

For he slew with a sling, by the sleight of his hands, 

Goliath the great giant, grimmest on earth.

He endited in his days all the dear psalms, 

That in the psalter are set forth in peerless words.

	"The one climbing king, I know it in truth, 

Shall Charles be called, the king's son of France; 

He shall be cruel and keen and held a conqueror, 

Recover by conquests countries many; 

He shall acquire the crown that Christ Himself bore; 

And that beloved lance that leapt to His heart, 

When He was crucified on the cross, and all the keen nails 

As a knight he shall conquer for Christian men's hands.

	"The second shall be Godfrey, who God shall revenge 

For that Good Friday, with gallant knights; 

He shall be lord of Lorraine by leave of his father; 

And after in Jerusalem much joy shall befall him, 

For he shall recover the cross by craft of arms, 

And then be crowned king with chrism anointed.

	"There shall no duke in his day attain such destiny,

Nor suffer so great misfortune, when truth shall be measured.

For thy fortune will fetch thee to fill up the number

As ninth of the noblest named upon earth;

This shall be read in romances by noble knights,

Be reckoned and renowned by reveling kings,

And deemed on Doomsday; for deeds of arms,

As the doughtiest ever that dwelt upon earth.

Thus, many clerks and kings shall proclaim your deeds,

And keep your conquests in chronicles for ever. 

But the wolves in the wood, and the wild beasts, 

Are certain wicked men that war on thy realms, 

Are entered in shine absence to attack thy people, 

And aliens and hosts from barbarous lands. 

Thou gettest tidings, I bow, within ten days, 

That some trouble is betid since thou didst turn from home; 

I urge thee recall and reckon unreasonable deeds, 

Or repent thee most quickly of all thy wrongful works. 

Man, amend thy heart ere mishap befall thee, 

And meekly ask mercy for meed of thy soul."

	Then rises the king, and arrayed him in clothing,

A red jacket of rose, the richest of flowers, 

A pisan and a paunch-cover, and a precious girdle; 

And he slips on a hood of very rich hue, 

A shield-like pillion-hat, that set was most richly 

With pearls of Orient and precious stones; 

His gloves gaily gilt and embroidered at the hems, 

Sprinkled with rubies, full seemly to look on; 

His greedy greyhound and his brand, and no man with him, 

He walks over a broad meadow with woe at his heart; 

He stalks over a path by the still wood-edge, 

Stops at a high street, in his deep study. 

At the rising of the sun he sees there coming, 

Hastening Rome-wards, by the shortest way, 

A man in a round cloak with right full clothes. 

With hat and high shoes, homely and round; 

With flat farthings the man was flourished all over; 

Many shreds and tatters at his skirts hang, 

With scrip and with mantle, and scallops aplenty, 

With pike and with palm, such as pilgrims should have.

	The man hastily greeted him, and bade him good-morning;

The king himself, lordly, in the language of Rome,

In Latin quite corrupt, speaks to him courteously:

"Whither wilt thou, wight, walking by thyself?

Whilst this world is at war, a peril I hold it;

Here is an enemy with a host under yon vines;

If they see thee, in truth, sorrow betides thee,

Unless thou hast conduct from the king himself,

Knaves will kill thee, and keep what thou hast; 

And if thou holdest the highway, they will seize thee also, 

Unless thou hastily have help from his friendly knights."

	Then replies Sir Craddock to the king himself: 

"I shall forgive him my death, so God help me, 

Any groom under God, that walks on this ground 

Let the keenest one come, that to the king belongs 

I shall encounter him as a knight, so Christ have my soul! 

For thou canst not reach me nor arrest me thyself, 

Though thou be richly arrayed in very rich weeds; 

I shall not shrink for any war, to wend where it please me, 

Nor for any wight of this world that is wrought on earth.

But I shall pass in pilgrimage this path unto Rome, 

To procure me pardon of the pope himself, 

And from the pains of Purgatory be plenarily absolved. 

Then shall I seek surely my sovereign lord, 

Sir Arthur of England, that adventurous warrior. 

For he is in this empire, as valiant men tell me, 

Campaigning in this Orient with awesome knights."

	"From whence comest thou, keen man," quoth the king then, 

"Who knowest King Arthur, and his knights also? 

Wast thou ever in his court whilst he dwelt at home? 

Thou speakest so familiarly it comforts my heart; 

Full well hast thou come, and wisely thou seekest, 

For thou art a British warrior, by thy broad speech."

	"I ought to know the king, he is my avowed lord, 

And I was called in his court a knight of his chamber; 

Sir Craddock was I called in his royal court, 

Keeper of Caerleon under the king himself. 

Now am I chased out of the country with care at my heart, 

And that castle is captured by uncouth people."

	Then the comely king caught him in his arms, 

Cast off his kettle-hat, and kissed him at once; 

Said, "Welcome, Sir Craddock, so may Christ help me! 

Dear cousin in kin, thou makest cold my heart. 

How fares it in Britain with all my bold men? 

Are they beat down or burnt or brought out of life? 

Make me know quickly what chance has befallen; 

I need crave no assurance, I know thee a true man."

	"Sir, thy warden is wicked and wild of his deeds,

For he has caused sorrow since thou wentest away.

He has captured castles and crowned himself,

Taken in all the rent of the Round Table;

He has divided the realm, and dealt as it pleased him;

Dubbed them of Denmark dukes and earls,

Sent them out diversely, and destroyed cities;

Of Saracens and Saxons, upon many sides,

He has assembled an army of strange warriors,

Sovereigns of Surgenale, and mercenaries many,

Of Picts and of Paynims, and proved knights

Of Ireland and of Argyle, outlawed fighters;

All those lads are knights who belong to the mountains, 

And lead and have lordship as it pleases them.

And there is Sir Childeric held as a chieftain;

That same chivalrous man, he afflicts thy people.

They rob thy religious and ravish thy nuns;

And he rides ready with his rout to ransack the poor. 

From Humber to Hawick he holds as his own,

And all the country of Kent, by covenant entailed,

The comely castles that belonged to the crown,

The holts and hoar-wood and the hard banks,

All that Hengist and Horsa held in their time.

At Southampton on the sea are sevenscore ships,

Freighted full of fierce folk out of far lands,

To fight with thy forces, when thou assailest them.

But yet a word, truly; thou knowest not the worst:

He has wedded Waynor and as wife holds her,

And dwells in the wild bounds of the west marches,

And has got her with child, as witnesses tell us.

Of all men of this world, may woe befall him,

As the warden unworthy to look after womenl

Thus has Sir Modred marred us all!

Wherefore I marched over these mountains to report thee the

		truth."

	Then the burly king, for anger at his heart,

And for this bootless bale, quite changed all his hue.

"By the Rood," said the king, "I shall revenge it;

He shall repent full quickly all his wicked works!"

	Weeping deeply for woe he went to his tents, 

Without joy this wise king awakens his warriors, 

Called in by a clarion kings and others, 

Calls them to council, and tells of this case: 

"I am betrayed through treason for all my true deedst 

And all my labor is lost; it befalls me no better; 

Woe shall betide him who wrought this treason, 

If I can surely take him, and I am a true lord! 

This is Modred, the man, whom I most trusted; 

He has captured my castles, and crowned himself 

With the rents and riches of the Round Table. 

He has made his whole retinue of renegade wretches, 

And dealt out my kingdom to divers lords, 

To soldiers and to Saracens out of several lands.

He has wedded Waynor, and holds her as wife; 

And a child is begotten, the luck is no better. 

They have assembled on the sea sevenscore ships' 

Full of fierce folk to fight with mine own. 

Wherefore, to Britain the Broad to return it behoves us, 

To break down the warrior that has begun all this injury.

No fierce man shall fare thither except on fresh horses, 

That are tested in fight, and flower of my knights. 

Sir Howell and Sir Hardolf here shall remain 

To be lords of these people that belong here to me; 

They shall look into Lombardy, that there no man change, 

And tenderly to Tuscany take charge as I bid them; 

Receive the rents of Rome, when they are reckoned; 

Take seizin the same day that last was assigned, 

Or else all the hostages, without the walls, 

Shall be hanged high aloft all wholly at once."

	Now prepares the bold king with his best knights, 

Bids sound trumpet and truss, and goes forth after; 

Turns through Tuscany, tarries but little, 

Alights not in Lombardy, except when the light failed; 

Marches over the mountains many marvelous ways. 

Journeys through Germany even at the quickest; 

Fares into Flanders with his nerce knights. 

Within fifteen days his fleet is assembled, 

And then he shaped him to ship, and shuns no longer;

Steers with the sharp wind over the sheer waters;

By the rocks with ropes he rides at anchor.

	There the false men floated and on the flood lingered,

With strong cargo chains linked together,

Charged even cheekful with chivalrous knights;

And in the hind part on high were helms and crests,

Hatches with heathen men covered were thereunder.

Proudly portrayed upon painted cloths,

Each, piece by piece, fastened to the other,

Dubbed with dagswain, they seemed to be doubled;

And thus had the sharp Danes dressed all their ships, 

That no dint from any dart might damage them ever. 

	Then the king and the knights of the Round Table

All royally in red array his ships.

That day he dealt out duchies and dubbed knights;

Dressed dromons and drags, and they draw up stones;

The top-castles he stuffed with tools as it pleased him,

Bent bows with screws swiftly afterwards;

Toolmen attentively their tackle do righter,

Brazen heads very broad they mount upon arrows;

Make ready to defend them, draw up their men,

With grim gads of steel, gyves of iron;

Station strong men on the stern, with stiff men of arms;

Many a fair lance stands up aloft;

Men upon lee-board, lords and others,

Place pavises on the port, painted shields;

On the hinder hurdace on high stood helmed knights.

Thus they make way with their shots toward those sheer strands,

Each man in his mantle, resplendent were their weeds.

	The bold king is in a barge, and he rows about,

Quite bareheaded and busy, with beaver-brown locksÑ

And a warrior bears his brand and an inlaid helmet,

Attached to a mantle of silver mailÑ

Crowned with a coronet, and covered very richly,

He keeps his way to each cog, to comfort his knights.

To Cieges and to Cieremond he cries aloud:

"O Gawaint O GalyronI these good men's bodies!"

To Lot and to Lionel he lovingly calls out,

And to Sir Launcelot of the Lake, in lordly words:

"Let us recover the country, the coast is our own,

And make them hastily blench, all yonder bloodhounds. 

Break them down aboard, and burn them afterwards;

Hew down heartily yonder heathen tikes:

They are on the rascal's side, I wager my hand."

	Then regains he his cog, and catches an anchor,

Caught up his comely helm with the shining mail;

Runs up banners abroad, embroidered with yules,

With crowns of clear gold carefully arrayed.

But there was seen in the top a chalk-white Maiden,

And a Child in her arms, that is Chief of heaven;

Without change thereafter, these were the chief arms

Of Arthur the adventurous whilst he lingered on earth.

	Then the mariners call forth, and masters of ships,

Merrily each mate shouts to the other;

In their jargon they jangle, how it befell them:

They tow trusser on treats, and truss up sails,

Beat bonnets abroad, battened down hatches;

Brandished brown steel, bragged on trumpets;

Stand stiffly on the stem, and steer thereafter;

Streak over the stream, where the striving begins

From the time the raging wind out of the west rises,

And fiercely sweeps with the blast into the warriors' sails;

With her bring on board the heavy cogs,

Whilst the bilge and the beam burst asunder;

So stoutly the fore-stern on the stem hits,

The stocks of the steerboard strike in pieces.

At that, cog upon cog, one craft and another,

Cast creepers across, as to the craft is fitting.

Then were the head-ropes hewn, that held up the masts;

There was conflict most keen, and crashing of ships;

Great ships of battle dashed asunder;

Many a cabin was cleaved, cables destroyed;

Knights and keen men killed the fighters,

Splendid castles were carved with all their keen weapons,

Castles most comely, beautifully painted.

With upward glances they cut in afterwards,

With the swinge of the sword the mast sways;

At the first moment fall over fighters and others,

Many a bold man in the foreship is found to be fated. 

Then sternly they turn about with savage tackle; 

There brush boldly aboard byrnied knights; 

Out of boats on decks they attack with stones, 

Beat down the best ones, burst the hatches; 

Some men are gored through with gads of iron. 

Men gaily clad bebloody the weapons. 

Archers of Ireland shoot full eagerly, 

They hit through the hard steel many mortal dints. 

Soon stagger in the hull the heathen knights,

Hurt through the hard steel; heal will they never. 

Then they fall to the fight, foin with spears, 

All the fiercest of front, as befits that fighting; 

And each one freshly puts forth his strength, 

To fight the war in the fleet with their fell weapons. 

Thus they dealt that day, these dubbed knights, 

Till all the Danes were dead and into the deep thrown.

	Then Britons breathing wrath hew with their brands, 

There leap up aloft lordly fighters; 

When men from foreign lands lept into the waters, 

All our lords aloud laughed together. 

At that spears were sprung, ships splintered, 

Spaniards speedily sprinted overboard; 

All the keen men of war, knights and others, 

Are killed cold dead, and cast overboard. 

Their squires swiftly shed their life-blood, 

Heave up hence on the hatches, arise on the hedged place, 

Sinking into the salt sea seven hundred at once. 

Then Sir Gawain the good has gained his desire, 

And all the great cogs he gave to his knights. 

Sir Geryn and Sir Griswold, and other great lords, 

Caused Galuth, a good knight, to strike off their heads. 

Thus to the false fleet it befell on the flood, 

And thus the foreign folk are left there as fated.

	Yet is the traitor on land with his trusted knights,

And wiõn trumpets they trip on their trapped steeds,

Show themselves under shields upon the sheer banks.

He shuns not for any shame, but shows himself on high.

Sir Arthur and Gawain made way, both of them,

To sixty thousand men that in their sight hovered.

But when the folk was felled, then was the tide out;

It was much like a mire in mud-banks most huge,

That hindered the king from landing in the low water;

Wherefore he lingered a while, lest he lose his horses,

To look over his liegemen and his loyal knights.

If any were lamed or lost, and whether they should live.

	Then Sir Gawain the good, a galley he takes him,

And glides up an inlet with good men of arms;

When he grounded, in grief he springs into the water,

That to the girdle he goes, in all his gilt weeds;

He shoots up upon the sand in sight of the lords,

Singly with his bandÑ my sorrow is the greater! 

With banners of his emblems, the best of his arms,

He twists up upon the bank in his bright clothing.

He bids his banner-man, "Betake thee quickly

To yonder broad battalion that stands on yon bank;

And I assure you, truly, I shall follow after you.

Look that ye blench for no brand, nor for any bright weapon,

But bear down on the best, and bring them out of day.

Be not abashed of their boast; abide on the earth;

Ye have borne my banners in very great battles;

We shall fell yon false onesÑthe trend have their sours t

Fight fast with that phalanx, the field shall be ours.

If I overtake that traitor, misfortune betide him,

Who has timbered this treason against my true lord;

Of such an engendrure full little joy happens,

And that shall this day be judged most justly."

	Now they seek over the sand this band at the best point,

Meet with the soldiers, and deal them their dints;

Through the shields so radiant the men they touch,

With the short-shivered shafts of those bright lances;

Dreadful dints they dealt with dagging spears;

In the dank of the dew many a dead man lies;

Dukes and douzepers, and dubbed knights.

The doughtiest of Denmark are undone for ever.

Thus these men in misery rip their byrnies,

And receive from the strongest unreckoned blows;

There they throng in the thick and thrust to the earth

Of the sturdiest men three hundred at once.

	But Sir Gawain in grief could not resist:

He grips him a spear and runs toward a man,

Who bore yules most gay with gouts of silver;

He thrusts him in at the throat with his grim lance, 

So that the ground glaive breaks asunder;

With that massive blow he puts him to death.

The king of Gothland it was, a good man of arms.

Their advance guard then all retreat after this,

As vanquished verily by valiant warriors;

They meet with the middle guard that Modred is leading.

Our men make towards them, as it misfalls them;

For had Sir Gawain had grace the green hill to hold, 

He had won him indeed worship for ever.

	But Sir Gawain in truth watches full well

To avenge him on this traitor who this war had started;

And makes way to Sir Modred among all his fighters,

With the Montagues lightly, and other great lords.

	Then Sir Gawain was grieved, and with a great will

Fixes a fair spear and freshly challenges:

"False fostered fellow, the fiend have thy bonesl

Fie on thee, felon, and thy false worksl

Thou shalt be dead and undone for thy deeds so violent,

Or I shall die this day, if it be my destiny."

	Then his enemy with a host of outlawed barons

Wholly engulfs our excellent knights,

As the traitor in his treason had devised himself;

Dukes of Denmark he draws up most quickly,

And leaders of Lettow with legions in plenty,

Surrounded our men with very keen lances.

Mercenaries and Saracens out of many lands,

Sixty thousand men, seemlily arrayed.

Surely there assail seven score knights

Suddenly by stratagem near those salt strands.

	Then Sir Gawain wept with his gray eyes

For grief of his good men, whom he must guide;

For he knew they were wounded, weary and fought out;

And what for wonder and woe, all his wit failed him.

Then said he sighing, with sliding tears,

"We are with Saracens beset upon several sidesl

I sigh not for myself, so save me our Lord;

But to see us surprised, my sorrow is the more.

Be doughty today, yon dukes shall be yoursI

For our dear Lord today, dread no weapons.

We shall end this day as peerless knights,

Go to endless joy with the spotless angels.

Though we have unwittingly wasted ourselves,

We shall work all well in the worship of Christ.

We shall for yon Saracens, I plight you my troth,

Sup with our Savior solemnly in heaven,

In the presence of that precious One, Prince of al1 others,

With prophets and patriarchs, and apostles most noble,

Before His gracious face, who formed us allI

Now to yon jades' sons, he who yields him ever,

Whilst he is quick and in health, unkilled. by hand,

Be he never more saved, nor succored by Christ,

But may Satan his soul sink into helll"

	Then grimly Sir Gawain grips his weapon,

Against that great battalion he addresses him forthwith;

Hastily righters the chains of his rich sword;

He brandishes his shield; he holds back no longer,

But quite unwisely and madly the quickest way charges.

The wounds of those adversaries, for the vengeful dints,

All well full of blood where he passes by;

And though he were in great woe, he wanders but little,

But wreaks, to his worship, the wrath of his lord.

He strikes steeds in the onset anti stern-faced knights,

That strong men in their stirrups stone-dead lie there.

He rives the stout steel, he rips the coats of mail,

There can no man stop him, his reason was gone.

He fell in a frenzy through fierceness of heart;

He fights and fells down him who stands before him.

There befell never a doomed man such fortune on earth.

ln the whole battle headlong he runs him,

And hurts the hardiest of men that move upon earth; 

Raging like a lion he lunges throughout them,

These lords and leaders who wait on the land.

Still Sir Gawain in his woe wavers but little,

But wounds his opponents with wonderful dints,

As one who wilfully would waste himself; 

And through his pain and his will all his wits failed him, 

That mad as a wild beast he charged at the nearest; 

All wallowed in blood where he had passed by; 

Each man could be wary at the vengeance on the others.

	Then he mo~red towards Sir Mocired among all his

		knights,

And met him in the midshield, and hammers him through it;

But the man at the sharpness shunts him a little,

He shore him in the shortribs about a hand-breadth wide.

The shaft shuddered and shot onto the bright warrior,

That the blood as it shed over his shanks ran down,

And showed on the shin-plates, that were brightly burnished.

And as they shifted and shoved, he shot to the earth;

With the lunge of the lance he lighted on his shoulders,

Full length on the lawn, with loathly wounds.

Then Gawain struck at the man, and fell groveling;

Although his anger was roused, his luck was no better.~,

He pulled out a short knife, sheathed with silver,

And would have stuck his throat, but no slit followed;

His hand slipped and slid aslant on the mail,

And the other man slyly slipped him under;

With a trenchant knife the traitor hit him

Through the helm and the head high up in the brain;

And thus Sir Gawain is gone, the good man of arms,

Unrescued by any man, and more is the pity;

Thus Sir Gawain is gone, that guided many othersI

From Gower to Guernsey all the great lords

Of Glamorgan and of Wales, these gallant knights,

From assaults of sadness they may never be glad.

	King Frederick of Friesland carefully after that 

Asks of the false man about our fierce knight: 

"Knewest thou ever this knight in thy rich kingdom? 

Of what kind was he come, reveal now the truth. 

What man was he, this with the gay arms, 

With his griffon of gold, who is fallen face downward? 

He has greatly grieved us, so may God help me! 

Struck down our good men, and grieved us sorely.

He was the sternest in stress that ever wore steel,

For he has stunned our host, and destroyed it for ever!"

	Then Sir Modred with his mouth speaks most fairly: 

"He was matchless on earth, man, by my truth; 

This was Sir Gawain the good, the gladdest of others, 

The graciousest man that under God lived, 

A man the hardiest of hand, happiest in arms, 

And most courteous in the court under heaven's kingdom; 

The lordliest of leaders, whilst he might live. 

For he was renowned as a lion in many lands; 

Hadst thou known him, Sir King, in the land he belonged to, 

His knowledge, his knighthood, and his kindly works, 

His doings, his doughtiness, his deeds of arms, 

Thou wouldst have dole for his death the days of thy life."

	Yet that traitor as quickly tears does let fall, 

Turns him forth quickly, and talks no more, 

Went weeping away, and curses the hour 

That his wierd was wrought to work such destruction; 

When he thought on this thing, it pierced his heart. 

For the sake of his kinsman's blood, sighing he rides off; 

When that renegade wretch remembered within him 

The reverence and revelry of the Round Table, 

He cried out and repented him of all his cruel works, 

Rode away with his rout, rests there no longer, 

For fear of our rich king, who should arrive. 

Then turns he to Cornwall, full of care at heart, 

Because of his kinsman who lies on the coast; 

He tarries trembling ever to harken after tidings.

	Then the traitor crept forth the Tuesday after that, 

Went with a trick treason to work, 

And by the Tamar that time his tents he raises, 

And then in a short time a messenger he sends, 

And wrote unto Waynor how the world was changed, 

And at what convenient coast the king had arrived, 

On the flood fought with his fleet, and felled them alive; 

Bade her go far away, and flee with her children. 

Whilst he might; slip away, and get to speak with her, 

Withdraw into Ireland, into those outer mountains, And live there in the 

wilderness within the waste lands.

	Then she weeps and she cries at York in her chamber,

Groans most grievously with dropping tears,

Passes out of the palace with all her peerless maidens;

Towards Chester in a chariot they choose their way,

Made her ready to die for dole at her heart.

She goes to Caerleon, and caught her a veil,

Asks there for a habit in the honor of Christ,

And all for falsehood and fraud, and for fear of her lord.

	But when the wise king knew that Gawain had landed,

He quite writhes for woe, and, wringing his hands,

Has them launch his boats upon the low water,

Lands like a lion with lordly knights,

Slips into the sloppy water aslant to the girdle,

Sweeps up swiftly with his sword drawn,

Makes ready his battalion and his banners displays,

Moves over the broad sands with anger at his heart.

Fares fiercely aheld, where the dead men lie.

Of the traitor's men on trapped steeds,

Ten thousand were lost, the truth to declare,

And certain on our side, sevenscore knights,

In suit with their sovereign unsound are left there.

	The king glanced proudly over knights and others,

Earls of Africa and Austrian warriors,

From Argyle and from Orkney, the Irish kings,

The noblest of Norway, numbers full huge,

Dukes of Denmark and dubbed knights;

And the king of Gothland in the gay armor

Lies groaning on the ground, pierced through and through.

The rich king searches about with sorrow at heart,

And seeks out the men of all the Round Table;

Sees them all in a band together by themselves,

With the Saracens unsound encircled about,

And Sir Gawain the good, in his gay armor,

Clutching the grass, and fallen face downward,

His banners cast down, adorned with yules,

His brand and his broad shield with blood overrun.

Was never our fair king so sorrowful in heart,

Nor did aught touch him so sadly as that sight alone.

	Then stares the good king and grieves in his heart,

Groans most grievously with falling tears,

Kneels down by the corpse, and caught him in his arms,

Casts up his visor, and kisses him forthwith,

Looks upon his eyelids, that closely were shut,

His lips like to lead, and his cheeks now fallowed.

	Then the crowned king cries out aloud,

ÒDear cousin in kinship, in care am I left here,

For now my worship has turned and my war ended;

Here is the health of my welfare, my success in arms;

My heart and my hardiness lay wholly in him,

My counsel, my comfort, that kept up my heart!

Of all knight the king, who lived under Christ,

Thou wert worthy to be king, though I wore the crown.

My weal and my worship in this rich world

Were won through Sir Gawain, and through his wisdom only.

Alas!Ó said Sir Arthur, Ònow my sorrow increases!

I am utterly undone within mine own lands;

O, doubtful dread death, thou dwellest too long!

Why drawest thou on so slowly? thou drownest my heart!Ó

	Then faints the sweet king, and aswoon falls down,

Staggers up swiftly, and lovingly kisses him,

Until his burly beard was berun with blood,

As though beasts he had quartered and brought out of life.

Had not Sir Ewain come, and other great lords,

His bold heart had burst for sorrow at that moment.

ÒCease,Ó said this bold man, Ôthou harmest thyself;

This is bootless bale, for better it grows never.

This is no worship, truly, to wring thy hands;

To weep like a woman is held to be no wit.

Be knightly of contenance, as a king should be,

And leave off such clamor, for ChristÕs love of heaven!Ó

ÒFor blood,Ó said the bold king, Òcease will I never,

Ere my brain burst in two, or my breast either;

Was never sorrow so soft that sank to my heart,

He is close kin to myself, my sorrow is the more;

So sorrowful a sight was never seen with mine eyes.

In his innocence was he surprised for a sin of mine own.Ó

	Down kneels the king, and cries out aloud;

With sorrowful countenance he utters the words:

"O righteous, almighty God, behold Thou this sorrow! 

This royal red blood run upon earth, 

It were worthy to be taken up and enshrined in gold,

For it is guiltless of sin, so save me our Lord!" 

Down knelt the king, with care at his heart, 

Caught it up reverently with his clean hands, 

Stored it in a kettle-hat, and covered it fairly, 

And went forth with the corpse toward the land where he dwells. 

"Here make I mine avow," quoth the king then, 

"To Messiah and to Mary, the mild Queen of heaven, 

I shall never go hunting or hunting dogs uncouple, 

At roe or at reindeer, that run upon earth, 

Never greyhound let glide, or goshawk let fly, 

And never see fowl felled that flies upon wing; 

Falcon nor former upon my fist handle, 

Nor yet with gerfalcon rejoice me on earth; 

Nor reign in my royalty, nor hold my Round Table, 

Till thy death, my dear one, be duly revenged; 

But ever droop and mourn, while my day lasts out, 

Till the Lord and grim death have done what pleases them."

	

	Then draws he to Dorset and delays no longer, 

Doleful, dreadless, with dropping tears; 

Comes into Cornwall with care at his heart. 

The trace of the traitor he tracks ever steadily, 

And turns in by the Treyntis to seek the betrayer, 

Finds him in a forest the Friday thereafter.

The King alights on foot and freshly observes, 

And with his bold folk he has taken the field.

	Now issues the enemy from under the wood-eaves,

With hosts of aliens, most horrible to look at.

Sir Modred the Malebranch, with his many people,

Advances from the forest upon many sides,

In seven great battalions seemlily arrayed,

Sixty thousand men; the sight was tuli huge.

All fighting folk from faraway lands,

They formed one front by those fresh strands.

And all Arthur's host was made up of knights

But eighteen hundred in all, entered in the rolls. 

This was a match unmeet, but for the might of Christ, 

To meddle with that multitude in those main lands.



	Sir Ewain and Sir Errake, these excellent warriors,

Enter against the host and eagerly strike;

The giants of Orkney and Irish kings

They hack in grimmest wise with their ground swords;

They hew on those hulks with their hard weapons,

Laid down those men with loathly dints;

Shoulders and shields they shred to the haunches,

And their middles through mail-coats they strike asunder.

Such honor had never any earthly kings

At their ending day, save Arthur himself.

The drought of the day so dried up their hearts

That drinkless they die, the more was the piql

Now moves in our main force, and mingles in with them.

	Sir Modred the Malebranch, with his many people,

Had hid himself behind within the wood-eaves,

With a whole battalion on the heath, the harm was the greater.

He had seen all the conflict clean to the end,

How our chivalry had achieved through chances of arms;

He knew our folk were fought out, who fated were left there;

To encounter with the king he decides promptly.

But the churlish chicken had changed his arms;

He had indeed forsaken the saltire engrailed,

And caught up three lions all of light silver,

Passant on purple, with rich precious stones, 

That the king should not know the crafty wretch.

	Because of his cowardice he cast off his attire, 

But the comely king knew him right well, 

Calls to Sir Cador these keen words: 

"I see the traitor come yonder moving most eagerly; 

Yon lad with the lions is like to himself.

Misfortune shall betide him, if I may once touch him, 

For all his treason and treachery, as I all1 true lord' 

Today Clarent and Caliburn shall contest together, 

Which is keener in carving or harder of edge;

We shall test fine steel upon fair weeds.

It was my dainty darling, and held most dear,

Kept for the coronation of kings anointed;

On days when I dubbed dukes and earls,

It was gravely borne by the bright hilts.

I durst never draw it in deeds of arms,

But ever kept it clean for mine own cause.

Since I see Clarent unclad, that is crown of swords,

My wardrobe at Wallingford I know is destroyed;

There new no man of its place but Waynor herself;

She had the keeping herself of that choice weapon,

Of coffers enclosed, that belonged to the crown,

With rings and relics and the regalia of France,

That was found on Sir Frolle, when he was left dead.Ó

	Then Sir Marroke in melancholy meets with Sir Mordred,

With a hammered mace mightily strikes him;

The border of his basinet he bursts asunder,

That the sheer red blood runs over the byrnie.

The man blenches for pain, and all his hue changes,

But still he waits like a boar, and savagely strikes back.

He brings out a brand, bright as ever any silver,

Which is Sir ArthurÕs own, and UtherÕs, his fatherÕs;

In the wardrobe at Wallingford it was wont to be kept;

Therewith the doughty dog dealt him such blows,

That the other withdrew aside, and durst do no other,

For Sir Marroke was a man marred by old age,

And Sir Mordred was mighty and in his greatest strength;

Came none within the compass, knight or other man,

Within the swing of that sword, who lost not his life.

	That perceives our prince, and presses fast towards him,

Strikes into the struggle by his strength of his hands,

Meets with Sir Modred, cries out sternly,

ÒTurn, traitor untrue, it betides thee no better;

By great God, thou shalt die with dint of my hands,

No man shall rescue thee, noe reach thee on earth!Ó

	The king with Caliburn like a knight stikes him,

The cantle of the bright shield he carves asunder,

In the shoulder of the man, a handÕs-breadth large,

That the sheer red blood showed on his mail.

He shudders and flinches and shrinks a little,

But shoves in sharply in his fair weeds;

The felon with the fine sword fiercely strikes at him,

The flesh on the far side he flashes asunder,

Through jupon and jesseraunt of noble mail.

The man cut out in the flesh a half-foot in breadth,

That the grievous blow was his death, and the dole was the

	greater

That ever the doughty one should die, but at the Lord's wilIl

Yet with Caliburn his sword in knightly wise he strikes,

Casts up his shining shield, and covers himself well;

Swaps off the sword hand, as he glances by,

An inch from the elbow he hacked it asunder,

That he swoons down on the sward and falls in a faint,

Through bracer of brown steel and the bright mail,

That the hilt and the hand lie upon the heath.

Then fiercely that man raises up the shield,

Bears him in with the brand to the bright hilts,

So that he cries out at the sword, and droops to die.

	"In faith," said the fey king, "much it grieves me, 

That such a false thief have so fair an end."

	When they had finished this fight, then was the Beld won,

And the false folk in the field are left as fated.

To a forest they fled, and fall in the tangle,

And the fierce fighting folk follow after them;

They hunt out and hew down the heathen tikes,

Murder in the mountains Sir Modred's knights;

There escaped never nobIe youth, chieftain or other,

But they chopped them down in the chase, it cost them but little.

	But when Sir Arthur forthwith does find Sir Ewain,

And Errake the affable, and other great lords,

He caught up Sir Cador with care at his heart,

Sir Cleges, Sir Cleremonde, these famed men of a~ms,

Sir Loth and Sir Lionel, Sir Launcelot and Lowes,

Marroke and Meneduke, who mighty were ever;

With pain on the heath he lays them together;

Looked on their bo~ies, and with a !oud voice,

As man that might not live and had lost his mirth;

Then he staggers like one mad, and all his strength fails him,

He looks up aloft, and his whole face changes;

Down he sways heavily, and falls in a swoon,

Recovers him up on his knees, and cries very often:

"O King, comely with crown, in care am I le£t here;

All my lordship is laid low on the land,

They who gave me guerdons of their own grace,

Maintained my manhood by might of their hands,

Made me manly in the world, and master on earth.

In a sorrowful time this misfortune has arisen,

Which has lost through a traitor all my true lords.

Here rests the rich blood of the Round Table,

Struck down by a scoundrel, the more is the pity!

I must, helpless on the heath, house by myself.

Like a woeful widow, that wants her lord,

I must be weary and weep, and wring my hands,

For my wit and my worship are gone from me for ever.

Of all lordship I take leave now at my ending.

Here is the Britons' blood brought out of life,

And now in this day's work all my joy endsl"

	Then rally the men of all the Round Table; To that lordly king they all 

ride up together; There assemble straightway seven score knights. In the sight 

of their sovereign, who was left wounded.

	Then kneels the crowned king, and cries out aloud:

"I thank Thee, God, for Thy grace, with a good will,

That gayest us virtue and wit to vanquish these warriors,

And hast granted us the victory over these great lords!

He sent us never any shame, or disgrace upon earth,

But ever yet the upper hand of all other kings!

We have no leisure now those lords to seek out,

For yon loathly lad has lamed me so sorely.

Let us make our way to Glastonbury, nought else will avail us;

There may we rest us in peace, and ransack our wounds.

For this dear day's work the Lord be praised,

Who has destined and adjudged us to die among our own."

	Then they hold to his behest wholly at once,

And go towards Glastonbury by the quickest way;

They enter the Isle of Avalon, and Arthur alights,

Makes way there to a manor, for he might go no further.

A surgeon from Salerno searches his wounds;

The king sees by testing that he will never be sound,

And at once to his faithful men he utters these words,

	"Call me a confessor, with Christ in his arms;

I shall be houseled in haste, whatso may betide me,

Constantine my cousin shall bear the crown,

As becomes him by nature, if Christ will permit him.

Man, for my blessing, do thou bury yon lords,

Who in battle with brands are brought out of life;

And after make thy way manfully to Modred~s children,

That they be duly slain and slung into the waters;

Let no wicked weed wax or bloom on this earth;

I warn thee, for thy worship; do as I bid thee!

I forgive all the grief, for God's love of heaven,

If Waynor have wrought well, well may it betide her!"

	He said '`In manus tuas" on the earth where he lies,

And thus passes his spirit, and he speaks no more.

The baronage of Britain then, bishops and others,

Go to Glastonbury with grieving hearts,

To bury their bold king, and bring him to earth,

With all honor and richness that any man should have.

Sadly they toll the bells, and sing requiem,

Say masses and matins, with mourning notes;

The religious vest them in their rich copes,

Pontiffs and prelates in precious vestments;

Dukes and donzepers in their coats of mourning,

Countesses kneeling, and clasping their hands,

Ladies languishing, and sorrowful in appearance'

All were clad in black, brides and others,

Who were seen at the burial with streaming tears.

Was never so sorro~ful a sight seen in their timer

	Thus ends King Arthur, as authors declare it

Who was of Hector's kin, the king's son of Troy,

And of Sir Priam the prince, praised upon earth;

From thence brought the Britons all their bold elders?

Into Britain the broad, as the Brut tells.