'Here Uther Pendragon fighteth, and with him his Breton host; One grief as a thorn doth vex him, his wife hath the hero lost, The queen who was Arthur's mother; a clerk who all magic knew With him hath she fled, and Arthur doth after the twain pursue; 120 'Tis now the third year since he lost them, his son alike and wife-- And here is his daughter's husband, a hero well skilled in strife, King Lot is his name, of Norway--swift seeketh he knighthood's prize, But slow are his feet to falsehood, the knight so bold and wise. And here is his young son Gawain; as yet he too weak shall be 125 For any deed of knighthood--but now was the boy with me, And he spake, were he not too feeble a spear-shaft as yet to break He were fain to do deeds of knighthood, in the Tourney his part would take! His lust for strife waketh early! Here Patrigalt's king hath brought Of spears a goodly forest; yet their valour shall be as naught 130 When weighed against the gallant doings of the men of Portugal, Yea, _bold_ we in truth may call them, and shields do they pierce right well. And here are the men of Provence, with many a blazoned shield; And here the Waleis, to their onslaught the foemen perforce must yield, And they ride at their will thro' the combat, for men of the land are they. 135 Many fight here for love's rewarding whose title I may not say, But all whom I here have named thee now lie, and the truth I tell, At great cost here within the city, for so the queen deemed it well.'