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And comely, yea, and comelier than myself.

She lives in Castle Perilous: a river
Runs in three loops about her living-place;

And o'er it are three passings, and three knights
Defend the passings, brethren, and a fourth

And of that four the mightiest, holds her stayed
In her own castle, and so besieges her

To break her will, and make her wed with him:
And but delays his purport till thou send

To do the battle with him, thy chief man
Sir Lancelot whom he trusts to overthrow,

Then wed, with glory: but she will not wed
Save whom she loveth, or a holy life.

Now therefore have I come for Lancelot.'
Then Arthur mindful of Sir Gareth asked,

'Damsel, ye know this Order lives to crush
All wrongers of the Realm. But say, these four,

Who be they? What the fashion of the men?'
'They be of foolish fashion, O Sir King,

The fashion of that old knight-errantry
Who ride abroad, and do but what they will;

Courteous or bestial from the moment, such
As have nor law nor king; and three of these

Proud in their fantasy call themselves the Day,
Morning-Star, and Noon-Sun, and Evening-Star,

Being strong fools; and never a whit more wise
The fourth, who alway rideth armed in black,

A huge man-beast of boundless savagery.
He names himself the Night and oftener Death,

And wears a helmet mounted with a skull,
And bears a skeleton figured on his arms,

To show that who may slay or scape the three,
Slain by himself, shall enter endless night.

And all these four be fools, but mighty men,
And therefore am I come for Lancelot.'

Hereat Sir Gareth called from where he rose,
A head with kindling eyes above the throng,

'A boon, Sir King--this quest!' then--for he marked
Kay near him groaning like a wounded bull--

'Yea, King, thou knowest thy kitchen-knave am I,
And mighty through thy meats and drinks am I,

And I can topple over a hundred such.
Thy promise, King,' and Arthur glancing at him,

Brought down a momentary brow. 'Rough, sudden,
And pardonable, worthy to be knight--

Go therefore,' and all hearers were amazed.
But on the damsel's forehead shame, pride, wrath

Slew the May-white: she lifted either arm,
'Fie on thee, King! I asked for thy chief knight,

And thou hast given me but a kitchen-knave.'
Then ere a man in hall could stay her, turned,

Fled down the lane of access to the King,
Took horse, descended the slope street, and past

The weird white gate, and paused without, beside
The field of tourney, murmuring 'kitchen-knave.'

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 lordlystairway 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 maidenshield, 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.'
But Lancelot said,

'Kay, wherefore wilt thou go against the King,
For that did never he whereon ye rail,

But ever meekly served the King in thee?
Abide: take counsel; for this lad is great

And lusty, and knowing both of lance and sword.'
'Tut, tell not me,' said Kay, 'ye are overfine

To mar stout knaves with foolish courtesies:'
Then mounted, on through silent faces rode

Down the slope city, and out beyond the gate.
But by the field of tourney lingering yet

Muttered the damsel, 'Wherefore did the King
Scorn me? for, were Sir Lancelot lackt, at least

He might have yielded to me one of those
Who tilt for lady's love and glory here,

Rather than--O sweet heaven! O fie upon him--
His kitchen-knave.'

To whom Sir Gareth drew
(And there were none but few goodlier than he)

Shining in arms, 'Damsel, the quest is mine.
Lead, and I follow.' She thereat, as one

That smells a foul-fleshed agaric in the holt,
And deems it carrion of some woodland thing,

Or shrew, or weasel, nipt her slender nose
With petulant thumb and finger, shrilling, 'Hence!

Avoid, thou smellest all of kitchen-grease.
And look who comes behind,' for there was Kay.

'Knowest thou not me? thy master? I am Kay.
We lack thee by the hearth.'

And Gareth to him,
'Master no more! too well I know thee, ay--

The most ungentle knight in Arthur's hall.'
'Have at thee then,' said Kay: they shocked, and Kay

Fell shoulder-slipt, and Gareth cried again,
'Lead, and I follow,' and fast away she fled.

But after sod and shingle ceased to fly
Behind her, and the heart of her good horse

Was nigh to burst with violence of the beat,
Perforce she stayed, and overtaken spoke.

'What doest thou, scullion, in my fellowship?
Deem'st thou that I accept thee aught the more

Or love thee better, that by some device
Full cowardly, or by mere unhappiness,

Thou hast overthrown and slain thy master--thou!--
Dish-washer and broach-turner, loon!--to me

Thou smellest all of kitchen as before.'
'Damsel,' Sir Gareth answered gently, 'say

Whate'er ye will, but whatsoe'er ye say,
I leave not till I finish this fair quest,

Or die therefore.'
'Ay, wilt thou finish it?

Sweet lord, how like a noble knight he talks!
The listening rogue hath caught the manner of it.

But, knave, anon thou shalt be met with, knave,
And then by such a one that thou for all

The kitchen brewis that was ever supt
Shalt not once dare to look him in the face.'

'I shall assay,' said Gareth with a smile
That maddened her, and away she flashed again

Down the long avenues of a boundless wood,
And Gareth following was again beknaved.

'Sir Kitchen-knave, I have missed the only way
Where Arthur's men are set along the wood;

The wood is nigh as full of thieves as leaves:
If both be slain, I am rid of thee; but yet,

Sir Scullion, canst thou use that spit of thine?
Fight, an thou canst: I have missed the only way.'

So till the dusk that followed evensong
Rode on the two, reviler and reviled;

Then after one long slope was mounted, saw,
Bowl-shaped, through tops of many thousand pines

A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink
To westward--in the deeps whereof a mere,

Round as the red eye of an Eagle-owl,
Under the half-dead sunset glared; and shouts

Ascended, and there brake a servingman
Flying from out of the black wood, and crying,

'They have bound my lord to cast him in the mere.'
Then Gareth, 'Bound am I to right the wronged,

But straitlier bound am I to bide with thee.'
And when the damsel spake contemptuously,

'Lead, and I follow,' Gareth cried again,
'Follow, I lead!' so down among the pines

He plunged; and there, blackshadowed nigh the mere,
And mid-thigh-deep in bulrushes and reed,



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