Other ten maidens at this juncture rode up and, speaking apart with the monarch, announced the approach of the Lady Triamour. The queen, coming forward, urged her spouse to avenge her on Launfal; but As the quene spak to the kyng, The baronns seygh come rydynge A damesele alone, Upon a whyt comely palfrey, They saw never non so gay Upon the grounde gone. As rose on rip her rode was red, The her schon upon her hed, As gold wyre that schyneth bryght; Sche hadde a cronne upon her molde, Of ryche stones and of golde, That lossom lemede lyght. The lady was clad yn purpere palle, With gentyll body and myddyll small, That semely was of syght, Her mantyll was furryth with whyt ermyn, Ireversyd jolyf and fyn, No rychere be ne myght. And when Launfal sawe that lady, To alle the folk he gon crye an hy, Both to yonge and olde, Her, he seyd, comyth my lemman swete, Sche myghte me of my balys bete, Yf that lady wold. The lady rode into the hall, into the presence of the King, his queen, and her damsels. The maidens who had heralded her approach crowded round, assisting her to dismount. Arthur greeted her, and she returned his salutation with sweet words. She informed the monarch of her mission, To shere Launfal the knyght, That he never, yn no folye, Besofte the quene of no drurye, By dayes ne by nyght.... He bad naght her, but sche bad hym, Here lemman for to be. The king having confessed that she was fairer and brighter than his wife— Wyth that dame Tryamour to the quene geth, And blew on her swych a breth, That never eft myght sche se. The lady lep on hyr palfrey And bade hem alle have good day, Sche nolde no longere abyde; Wyth that came Gyfre al so prest, Wyth Launfal’s stede out of the forest, And stod Launfal besyde. The knyght to horse began to sprynge, Anoon without any lettynge, Wyth hys lemman away to ryde; The lady took her maydenys achon, And went the way that sche hadde er gon, Wyth solas and wyth pryde. She carried her lover to a “jolyf ile,” called Olyroun; and on a certain day in every year you may still see the horse of the knight Launfal, and hear his loud neighing, as he goes wearily seeking his master, who, in all truth, was taken into fairy-land, and Seththe saw hym yn thys loud no man, Ne no more of hym tells y ne can, For sothe, wythout lye, as Thomas Chestre avers in his valedictory lines.