"Me first engaged, if conquer'd you are--dead, 57 And then alone your honour is acquitted: But conquer me, and then you must be wed; You ate!--the contract in that act admitted." "Host," cried the knight, half-stunn'd by all the clatter, "I only said I would discuss the matter. "But if your faith upon my word reposed, 58 That thought alone King Arthur's knight shall bind." Few moments more, and host and guest had closed-- For blows come quick when folks are so inclined: They foin'd, they fenced, changed play, and hack'd, and hew'd-- Paused, panted, eyed each other and renew'd; At length a dexterous and back-handed blow 59 Clove the host's casque and bow'd him to his knee. "Host," said the Cymrian to his fallen foe; "But for thy dinner wolves should dine on thee; Yield--thou bleed'st badly--yield and ask thy life." "Content," the host replied--"embrace thy wife!" "O cursed bird," cried Gawaine, with a groan, 60 "To what fell trap my wretched feet were carried! My darkest dreams had ne'er this fate foreshown-- I sate to dine, I rise--and I am married! O worse than Esau, miserable elf, He sold his birthright--but he kept himself." While thus in doleful and heart-rending strain 61 Mourn'd the lost knight, the host his daughter led, Placed her soft hand in that of sad Gawaine-- "Joy be with both!"--the bridegroom shook his head! "I have a castle which I won by force-- Mount, happy man, for thither wends our course: "Page, bind my scalp--to broken scalps we're used. 62 Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit; No man alive has Erin's maids accused, And least _that_ maiden, of a want of spirit; She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir, When out of hand, just try your hand on her." Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes, 63 To mark the bride by partial father praised, But mounts his steed--the gleesome raven flies Before; beside him rides the maid amazed: "Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice, "I hope your musings do not blame your choice?" "Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue, 64 As with some effort be replied at all, "Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strung, My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall; Much irks it me, lest vow'd to toil and strife, I doom a widow where I make a wife. "And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms 65 Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius, To-morrow's morn must snatch me from thine arms; Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious-- Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever, Till my return."--"Return! that may be never: