XL.

Now fro thame he rade,

625

Als he says that this made ;)

The sorowe that the kynge hade

Mighte no tonge telle.

"A! dere God," said the kyng thanne,
"That alle this wyde werlde wanne,

Whethir I salle ever hafe that manne

May make 3one fende duelle ;

Fyve jeres hase he thus gane,
And my coupes fro me tane,
And my gude knyghte slayne,

Mene calde syr Percyvelle;
Sythene takene hase he three,
And ay awaye wille he bee,

Or I may harnayse me

In felde hym to felle!"

630

635

640

XLI.

"Petir !" quod Percyvelle the 3ynge,
"Hym thanne wille [I] downe dynge,
And the coupe agayne brynge,

And thou wille make me knyghte."

"Als I am trewe kyng," said he,
"A knyghte salle I make the,

For-thi thou wille brynge mee

The coupe of golde bryghte!"

Up ryses syr Arthoure,

645

He cryed, "How, mane, on thi mere,

Bryng agayne the kynges gere,

Or with my dart I salle the fere,

And make the unfere!"

XLIII.

And for to see hyme with syghte,
He putt his umbrere on highte,

To byhalde how he was dyghte

That so tille hym spake;

680

He sayde, "Come I to the, appert fole,

For the dynt that he tuke,

Oute of sadille he schoke,

Who so the sothe wille luke,

And ther was he slayne.
f. 166] He falles downe one the hille,
His stede rynnes whare he wille:
Thanne saide Percyvelle hyme tille,

695

"Thou art a lethir swayne!" Then saide the childe in that tyde, "And thou woldeste me here byde,

700

"Methynke," he sayde, "thou art fele,
That thou ne wille away stele,

Now I houppe that thou wille dele
Strokes appone hyghte!

I hafe broghte to the thi mere,

And mekille of thyne other gere,

Lepe on hir as thou was ere,

if

And thou wille more fighte!" The knyghte lay stille in the stede,

What sulde he say whenne he was dede?

The childe couthe no better rede,

But downe gunne he lyghte.

XLVII.

Now es Percyvelle lyghte

730

735

All 784

740