Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/114



Fair lady, in the base-court—

What do you talk of? Nay, go on, go on;

'Twas only something gone within my head:

Do you not know, one turns one's head round quick,

And something cracks there with sore pain? go on,

And still look at my eyes.

There in the base-court fought he with his sword,

Using his left hand much, more than the wont

Of most knights now-a-days; our men gave back,

For wheresoever he hit a downright blow,

Some one fell bleeding, for no plate could hold

Against the sway of body and great arm;

Till he grew tired, and some man (no! not I,

I swear not I, fair lady, as I live!)

Thrust at him with a glaive between the knees,

And threw him; down he fell, sword undermost;

Many fell on him, crying out their cries,

Tore his sword from him, tore his helm off, and—

Yea, slew him; I am much too young to live,

Fair God, so let me die!

Done all your message gently, pray you go,

Our knights will make you cheer; moreover, take