Anonymous Olde English
King Arthur's Death. A Fragment. - Poem by Anonymous Olde English
On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee,
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittie.
Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,
And there to him these wordes did saye:
'Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.
'For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste ye in the fighte.'
The kinge then call'd his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And told them howe Sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld-at-armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose,
The best of all that with him were,
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.
The king he charged all his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man shold noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.
And Mordred, on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe,
The best of all his companye,
To hold the parley with the kinge.
Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.
For he durste not his unkle truste,
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell;
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.
But when they were together mette,
And both to faire accordance broughte,
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte,
An addere crept forth of a bushe,
Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee;
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in Christentie.
When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wild-worm hanginge there,
His sworde he from his scabbarde drewe;
A piteous case, as ye shall heare.
For when the two hosts sawe the sworde,
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of soe manye noble knights,
On one side there were left but three.
For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on a summer's daye.
Upon King Arthur's own partye,
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.
And when the king beheld his knights
All dead and scattered on the molde,
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.
'Nowe reste yee all, brave knights,' he said,
'Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!
'Most loyal have yee been to mee,
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe!
'But see, the traitor's yet alive!
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:
And vengeance fall upon his head.'
'O staye, my liege,' then sayd the duke;
'O staye for love and charitie;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.'
'O staye mee not, thou worthye wight,
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe.'
Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.
'Alas!' then sayd the noble king,
'That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee!'
He put his speare into his reste,
And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye;
'Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.'
Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde,
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust,
A fathom thorow his bodie.
When Mordred felt the stroke of death,
And found that he was sounded soe,
He thrust himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.
Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree:
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge,
Ere to the duke returned hee.
Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake:
'Sir Knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde;
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,
That hangs so freelye by my syde;
'O take my sword Excalibar,
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I foregoe.
'And fare thee well, thou trustye sword,
A better neer had valiant knighte;
With thee full ofte, and many a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.
'With this good fauchion in my hande,
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde.'
The duke to the river side he went,
And there his owne sword in threwe he;
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitie.
For all of coleyne was the blade,
And all the hilte of precious stone:
'And ever alacke!' then sayd the knighte,
'Must such a sword awaye be throwne?'
Then backe he came unto the kinge,
Who sayd, 'Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?'
'Nothing, my liefe, save that winde
Blind oer the waters faire and free.'
'O goe againe,' then said the kinge,
'O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivers throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.'
The duke then to the river went,
And the kings scabberd in threwe hee;
But hee kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.
Then backe he came to tell the kinge,
Who sayde, 'Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte?'
'Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought.'
'O Lukyn, Lukyn,' said the kinge,
'Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee!
'Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead,
All for a sword that wins thine eye?
Now goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the one of us shall dye.'
The duke, all shent with this rebuke,
No aunswere made unto the kinge;
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.
A hande and an arme did meete the sworde,
And flourishd three times in the air;
Then sunke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.
All sore astonied stood the duke,
He stood as still, as still mote bee;
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge,
But he was gone from under the tree.
But to what place he cold not tell,
For never after hee did him spye;
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.
And whether the kinge were there or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde;
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.
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