Now hotter it waxed, the conflict, each hero would fain defend His knightly fame 'gainst the other; Duke Orilus of Lalande, He fought with the skill and cunning his hand had learnt of yore, 655 For I ween none like him had battled--he had courage and strength in war, And therefore had he been victor on many a foughten field, Tho' other were here the ending--His foe would he force to yield; And he threw his arms around him, the hero so proud and bold, But Parzival, little daunted, on his foeman made good his hold, 660 And he drew him from off his saddle; as a sheaf from the field ye reap So beneath his arm he swung him, and light from his horse did leap. O'er a fallen tree he held him, for here was he overthrown Who never of need or peril such fortune before had known. 'Now do penance for this thine anger that hath wrought to thy lady woe, 665 An thy favour be yet withholden, then death shalt thou surely know!' 'Nay, nay, not so swift,' quoth his foeman, Duke Orilus of Lalande, 'Tho' o'erthrown, I am not so vanquished that I may not thy will withstand!' Then Parzival, strong and valiant, his foeman he gripped amain, And forth thro' the visor gushing streamed the blood in a crimson rain, 670 And the prince, I ween, was vanquished, he could win from him what he would, To die was he all unwilling, and he spake to the hero good, 'Alas! thou bold knight dauntless, who evil on me hath sped, Say how have I earned this peril, to lie here before thee, dead?' Then Parzival quoth, 'Right gladly, Sir Knight, will I let thee live, 675 If favour and love to thy lady thou swearest again to give!' 'That I will not! Her sin against me I trow all too great shall be. Rich in honour she was; she hath injured herself, and she plungeth me, Her lord, in yet deeper sorrow. In all else thy will I'll heed, An thou thinkest my life to leave me--'Twas God gave it me indeed, 680 Now thine hand is become His servant, to give it to me anew, And I to thy valour owe it'--In this wise spake the hero true: