A History of English Prose FictionTuckerman, Bayard
History
A History of English Prose Fiction
Tuckerman, Bayard
English fiction -- History and criticism
Whan syr Arthur wyst that syre Gawayne was layd so lowe he went
vnto hym, and there the kyng made sorowe oute of mesure, and took
sire Gawayne in his armes, and thryes[22] he there swouned. And
thenne whan he awaked, he sayd, allas Sir Gawayne my sisters sone,
here now thou lyggest[23], the man in the world that I loued moost,
and now is my joye gone, for now my neuewe syre Gawayne I will
discouer me vnto your persone, in syr Launcelot & you I had moost
my joye and myn affyaunce, & now haue I lost my joye of you bothe,
wherefor all myn erthely joye is gone from me.[24]
We turn from the death of Sir Gawaine only to witness the mortal blow
dealt to King Arthur; to see his famous sword Excalibur, which he had
borne so nobly and so long, returned to the Lady of the Lake; and the
almost lifeless body of the great king carried away over the water by
the fairy queens, disappearing at last beneath the horizon. Guenever
would seen to have deserved a harder fate than simply to retire to a
nunnery of which she is made the abbess. Sir Launcelot dies a holy man
and a monk, saying masses for the souls of his old companions in arms.
With his death the old glory of the Round Table passes away forever.
And whan syr Ector herd suche noyse & lyghte in the quyre of joyous
Garde, he alyghted and put his hors from hym, and came in to the
quyre, & there he sawe men synge the seruyse full lamentably. And
alle they knewe syre Ector, but he knewe not them. Thenne went syr
Bors to syr Ector, & tolde him how there laye hys broder syr
Launcelot dede, and then syr Ector threwe his shelde, hys swerde &
helme from hym. And whan he behelde syr Launcelot's vysage, he
felle donne in a sowne. And when he awakyd it were harde for any
tonge to telle the doleful complayntes that he made for his broder.
A, syr Launcelot, he sayd, thou were head of all Crysten knyztes,
and now I dare saye, sayd syr Ector, thou syr Launcelot, ther thou
lyest, that thou were neuer matched of none erthely knyghtes
handes. And thou were the curtoyste knyghte that ever bare shelde.
And thou were the truest frend to thy louer that euer bestradde
hors, & thou were the truest louer of a synfull man that euer loued
woman. And thou were the kyndest man that euer stroke wyth swerde.
And thou were the goodelyest persone that euer came among prees of
knyghtes. And thou were the mekest man & the gentylest that euer
ete in halle amonge ladyes. And thou were the sternest knyghte to
thy mortall foo that euer put spere in the reyst. Thenne there was
wepyng & dolour oute of mesure.[25]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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