The Story of England :: :: University of Virginia Library

Arthur alone þe hil he tok
Vnto þe geaunt Dynabrok.
By a mykel fir he sat,
Rostyng a swyn gret & fat,
& oþer flesche biside was sode;
His bryn, his berd, þer-wiþ al lothen,

432

& al to-soilled wyþ þe spyk:
I trowe þat syght was ful loþlyk;
But Arthur þoughte to haue þe grace
to smyte er he tok his mace.
When þe geaunt of hym was war,
fferly he hadde how he cam þar,
& stirte vp þenne al o glyft,
His grete mace for to lyft;
But Arthur auised hym wel ynow;
Als he hys mace vpward drow,
Arthur bar on hym wyþ his launce
To combren hym, als of chaunce;
Longe þey foughte, a wel god while,
But Arthur couþe mykel of gyle;
Nere sleighte & queyntise hadde ben, & gile,
Somme had be combred þer in a whyle;
ffor kyng Arthur neuere er was
Bystad in so hard a cas.
Dynabrok a-geyn hym stod
Wyþ his mace, as geaunt wod,
ffor þre men, wyþoute þe forþe,
Schuld nought haue stired his mace from erþe;
He sey wel how he made his mynt,
& wiþ his mace he teysed his dynt;
He wiste þe strok schulde be gret;
Vnder his scheld al he schet,
& ageyn his strok hit held.
Þen smot þe geaunt on his scheld,
& wyþ þat dynt so heuy & stronge
Þe hilles alle aboute ronge,

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& al þat was þer-inne, hit schok
When Arthur þat dynt so huge tok.
Arthur was stoneyd, stakered, & stynt,
But ȝut fel he nought for þat dynt.
Anoþer strok wold he nought byde,
But peyned hym to smyte a syde
Wyþ his swerd Caliborne;
Scharply he gan hym torne;
Þat swerd he lifte wel on hey,
& valede his scheld a party;
Endlong his forehed he hym smot,
Þe swerd bot wel, & he was hot,
& entamed boþe his bryn
Þat al þe skyn heng ouer hys eyn.
Wyþ þat strok he hadde ben slayn:
His mace he held wel þer a-gayn,
& his heued a party glent,
Þat som of þe strok hit hent;
Netheles, wel was hit set;
Þe blod al ouer his eyen hit schet;
Þen lost he þer al his sight,
Þen wax he woder for to fyght,
Þen was he woder þen he was or,
ffightyng als a wylde bor,
Þe same weys so dide he;
When he sey þat he myghte nought se,
He ne lefte for swerd ne oþer hirt
Þat he vntil Arthur stirt;
Aboute his middel his armes he leyd,
& on Arthur so sore he breyd,

434

On heighte he lifte hym four fet;
& als he þere hym doun let,
Vpon his knes he hym kast.
Þen Arthur proued his force fast,
Our lady hym halp, his wille was god,
Wyþ force he ros, & he vp stod;
& Arthur was algate queynte,
& his wille was neuere feynte;
On þat syde he bar his scheld,
& þe geaunt nought ne held,
Wyþ þat he wroþ, & turnde his syde,
& dide his armes opene wyde.
When he hym self was fro hym broken,
& þat his body was nought loken,
fful lyght hym þoughte þat he was oute;
Wiþ Caliborne þen ran he aboute,
And euere on þe geaunt smot,
& Caliborne sore vpon hym bot.
Þe geaunt glente hider & tyder,
Þe blod so blent hym, he nyst whider;
He groped aboute hym for to hent,
& Arthur aboute hym euere went,
& smot hym sore woundes fele,
Nought of hym ne wolde he spele;
& at a turn þe geaunt stynt,
Arthur gaf hym so gret a dynt
O þe hed, þat in to þe nekke hit dref,
& in to þe schuldres þe panne he clef;
Ȝyt he after Arthur raught,—
Arthur wyþ-drow his swerd a draught,—

435

Þat he stombled, & gaf a cry,
A dredful & a loþly;
When he fel, he gaf a lasche
As wyþ a blast had falle an asche;
& for þat fal Arthur low,
He was venged hym þoughte y-now;
ffro ferre he stod, & loked on hym,
& seyde he was a geaunt grym;
He bad Beduer he schulde go
To smyte þe heued þe body fro,
& bytake hit a squier
To schewe hit al þe host plener.