Now two great entries opened from the hall, At one end one, that gave upon a range Of level pavement where the King would pace At sunrise, gazing over plain and wood; And down from this a lordly stairway sloped Till lost in blowing trees and tops of towers; And out by this main doorway past the King. But one was counter to the hearth, and rose High that the highest-crested helm could ride Therethrough nor graze: and by this entry fled The damsel in her wrath, and on to this Sir Gareth strode, and saw without the door King Arthur’s gift, the worth of half a town, A warhorse of the best, and near it stood The two that out of north had followed him: This bare a maiden shield, a casque; that held The horse, the spear; whereat Sir Gareth loosed A cloak that dropt from collar-bone to heel, A cloth of roughest web, and cast it down, And from it like a fuel-smothered fire, That lookt half-dead, brake bright, and flashed as those Dull-coated things, that making slide apart Their dusk wing-cases, all beneath there burns A jewelled harness, ere they pass and fly. So Gareth ere he parted flashed in arms. Then as he donned the helm, and took the shield And mounted horse and graspt a spear, of grain Storm-strengthened on a windy site, and tipt With trenchant steel, around him slowly prest The people, while from out of kitchen came The thralls in throng, and seeing who had worked Lustier than any, and whom they could but love, Mounted in arms, threw up their caps and cried, “God bless the King, and all his fellowship!” And on through lanes of shouting Gareth rode Down the slope street, and past without the gate. So Gareth past with joy; but as the cur Pluckt from the cur he fights with, ere his cause Be cooled by fighting, follows, being named, His owner, but remembers all, and growls Remembering, so Sir Kay beside the door Muttered in scorn of Gareth whom he used To harry and hustle. “Bound upon a quest With horse and arms—the King hath past his time— My scullion knave! Thralls to your work again, For an your fire be low ye kindle mine! Will there be dawn in West and eve in East? Begone!—my knave!—belike and like enow Some old head-blow not heeded in his youth So shook his wits they wander in his prime— Crazed! How the villain lifted up his voice, Nor shamed to bawl himself a kitchen-knave. Tut: he was tame and meek enow with me, Till peacocked up with Lancelot’s noticing. Well—I will after my loud knave, and learn Whether he know me for his master yet. Out of the smoke he came, and so my lance Hold, by God’s grace, he shall into the mire— Thence, if the King awaken from his craze, Into the smoke again.”