“Dog, thou liest. I spring from loftier lineage than thine own.” He spake; and all at fiery speed the two Shocked on the central bridge, and either spear Bent but not brake, and either knight at once, Hurled as a stone from out of a catapult Beyond his horse’s crupper and the bridge, Fell, as if dead; but quickly rose and drew, And Gareth lashed so fiercely with his brand He drave his enemy backward down the bridge, The damsel crying, “Well-stricken, kitchen-knave!” Till Gareth’s shield was cloven; but one stroke Laid him that clove it grovelling on the ground. Then cried the fallen, “Take not my life: I yield.” And Gareth, “So this damsel ask it of me Good—I accord it easily as a grace.” She reddening, “Insolent scullion: I of thee? I bound to thee for any favour asked!” “Then he shall die.” And Gareth there unlaced His helmet as to slay him, but she shrieked, “Be not so hardy, scullion, as to slay One nobler than thyself.” “Damsel, thy charge Is an abounding pleasure to me. Knight, Thy life is thine at her command. Arise And quickly pass to Arthur’s hall, and say His kitchen-knave hath sent thee. See thou crave His pardon for thy breaking of his laws. Myself, when I return, will plead for thee. Thy shield is mine—farewell; and, damsel, thou, Lead, and I follow.” And fast away she fled. Then when he came upon her, spake, “Methought, Knave, when I watched thee striking on the bridge The savour of thy kitchen came upon me A little faintlier: but the wind hath changed: I scent it twenty-fold.” And then she sang, “‘O morning star’ (not that tall felon there Whom thou by sorcery or unhappiness Or some device, hast foully overthrown), ‘O morning star that smilest in the blue, O star, my morning dream hath proven true, Smile sweetly, thou! my love hath smiled on me.’ “But thou begone, take counsel, and away, For hard by here is one that guards a ford— The second brother in their fool’s parable— Will pay thee all thy wages, and to boot. Care not for shame: thou art not knight but knave.” To whom Sir Gareth answered, laughingly, “Parables? Hear a parable of the knave. When I was kitchen-knave among the rest Fierce was the hearth, and one of my co-mates Owned a rough dog, to whom he cast his coat, ‘Guard it,’ and there was none to meddle with it. And such a coat art thou, and thee the King Gave me to guard, and such a dog am I, To worry, and not to flee—and—knight or knave— The knave that doth thee service as full knight Is all as good, meseems, as any knight Toward thy sister’s freeing.” “Ay, Sir Knave! Ay, knave, because thou strikest as a knight, Being but knave, I hate thee all the more.” “Fair damsel, you should worship me the more, That, being but knave, I throw thine enemies.”