KING ARTHUR'S DEATH from RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY
by
BISHOP THOMAS PERCY
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 pittìe.
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 fight; &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 yee 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 Christentìe.
When the knighte found him wounded sore, &And sawe the wild-worm hanginge there, His sworde he from his scabberde drewe; &A piteous case, as ye shall heare.
For when the two hostes sawe the sworde, &They joyned battayle instantlye; Till of soe manye noble knightes, &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 partyè, &Onlye himselfe escaped there, And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free, &And the king's butler Bedevere.
And when the king beheld his knightes &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 ye 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 charitìe; 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 my 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 bodìe.
When Mordered felt the stroke of death, &And found that he was wounded 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 sworde 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 forgoe.
"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 liege, save that the winde &Blewe oer the waters faire and free."
"O goe againe," then said the kinge, &"O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe: Into the rivere 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 he 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 hastened 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.
