Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
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IV. | IV. KING ARTHUR's DEATH. |
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![]() | Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ![]() |
IV. KING ARTHUR's DEATH.
A Fragment.
The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old romance Morte Arthur, but with some variations, especially in the concluding stanzas; in which the author seems rather to follow the traditions of the old Welsh Bards, who “believed that King Arthur was not dead, but conveied awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should remaine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as great authority as ever.” Holingshed. B. 5. c. 14. or as it is expressed in an old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493 by Ger. de Leew, “The Bretons supposen, that he [K. Arthur]—shall come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn: He sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more,—for men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede.”
This fragment being very incorrect and imperfect in the original MS. hath received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of 3 or 4 stanzas composed from the romance of Morte Arthur.
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee;
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacké, it was the more pittìe.
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte sir Gawaine to him came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste yee in the fighte.
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And tolde them howe sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
The best of all that with him were:
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.
In readinesse there for to bee:
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe;
The beste of all his companye,
To hold the parley with the kinge.
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell:
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.
And both to faire accordance broughte;
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte.
Stunge one o'th' king's knightes on the knee:
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in Christentìe.
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there;
His sworde he from his scabberde drewe:
A piteous case as ye shall heare.
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of soe manye noble knightes,
On one side there were left but three.
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on summer's daye.
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.
All dead and scattered on the molde;
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.
Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe?
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:
And vengeance fall upon his head.
O staye for love and charitìe;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe.
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.
That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee!
And to sir Mordred loud gan crye;
Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde,
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust;
A fathom thorow his bodìe.
And found that he was wounded soe;
He thruste himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.
Presentlye upon that tree:
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge,
Ere to the duke returned hee.
Sir knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde,
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,
That hangs so freelye by my syde.
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I foregoe.
A better neer had valiant knighte,
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde.
And there his owne sword in threwe hee:
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitee.
And all the hilte of precious stone:
And ever alacke! then sayd the knighte,
Must such a sword awaye be throwne?
Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?
Nothing, my liege, save that the winde
Blewe oer the waters faire and free.
O good fir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivere throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.
And the kings scabberd in threwe hee;
But hee kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn sawe ye oughte?
Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought.
Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee?
All for a sword, that wins thine eye:
Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the tone of us shall dye.
No aunswere made unto the kinge:
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.
And flourishd three times in the air;
Then funke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.
He stood as still, as still mote bee:
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge;
But he was gone from benethe the tree.
For never after he did him spye:
But hee sawe a barge goe from the lande,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde:
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.
Not unlike that passage in Virgil.
Summoque ulularunt vertice nymphæ.Ladies was the word our old English writers used for Nymphs: As in the following lines of an old song in the Editor's MS collection.
“Then Lady Venus went to hunt:
“To whom Diana did resort,
“With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys,
“Of springs, and floodes, &c.
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