But when they were together mette, 45 And both to faire accordance broughte; And a month's league betweene them sette, Before the battayle sholde be foughte;
An addere crept forth of a bushe, Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee: 50 Alacke! it was a woefulle chance, As ever was in Christentìe.
When the knighte found him wounded sore, And sawe the wild-worme[60] hanginge there; His sworde he from his scabberde drewe; 55 A piteous case as ye shall heare.
For when the two hostes sawe the sworde, They joyned battayle instantlye; Till of soe manye noble knightes, On one side there were left but three. 60
For all were slain that durst abide, And but some fewe that fled awaye: Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde, As ere was foughte on summer's daye.
Upon king Arthur's own partyè, 65 Onlye himselfe escaped there, And Lukyn duke of Gloster free, And the king's butler Bedevere.
And when the king beheld his knightes, All dead and scattered on the molde; 70 [The teares fast trickled downe his face; That manlye face in fight so bolde.
Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said, Soe true and faithful to your trust: And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 75 Be lefte to moulder into dust!
Most loyal have yee been to mee, Most true and faithful unto deathe: And, oh! to rayse yee up againe, How freelye could I yield my breathe!] 80
But see the traitor's yet alive, Lo where hee stalkes among the deade! Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:[61] And vengeance fall upon his head.
O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke; 85 O staye for love and charitìe; [Remember what the vision spake, Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.
O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight, This debt my loyal knights I owe: 90 Betide me life, betide me death, I will avenge them of their foe.]
Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare, And on his horse then mounted hee: As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95 His bowels gushed to his knee.
Alas! then sayd the noble king, That I should live this sight to see! To see this good knight here be slaine, All for his love in helping mee! 100
He put his speare into his reste, And to sir Mordred loud gan crye; [Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde, For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.
Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, 105 And fierce to meet the king ran hee:] The king his speare he through him thrust; A fathom thorow his bodìe.