A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,
All foule of limbe and lere;
Two goggling eyen like fire farden,
A mouthe from eare to eare.

Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,
That waited on his knee,
And at his backe five heads he bare,
All wan and pale of blee.

Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,
Behold that hend Soldàin!
Behold these heads I beare with me!
They are kings which he hath slain.

The Eldridge knight is his own cousine, Whom a knight of thine hath shent : And hee is come to avenge his wrong, And to thee, all thy knightes among, Defiance here hath sent.

But yette he will appease his wrath

Thy daughters love to winne : And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,

Thy halls and towers must brenne.

Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee;
Or else thy daughter deere ;

Or else within these lists soe broad
Thou must finde him a peere.

The king he turned him round aboute,
And in his heart was woe:

Is there never a knighte of my round table,
This matter will undergoe?

Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee?
Whoever will fight yon grimme soldàn,
Right fair his meede shall bee.

For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,
And of my crowne be heyre;
And he shall winne fayre Christabelle
To be his wedded fere.

But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale;

For whenever they lookt on the grim soldàn,
It made their hearts to quail.

All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,
When she sawe no helpe was nye :
She cast her thought on her owne true-love,
And the teares gusht from her eye.

Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd :
Ile fight for thee with this grimme soldàn,
Though he be unmacklye made.

And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,

That lyeth within thy bowre,

I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.

Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde, The kinge he cryde, with speede : Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;

My daughter is thy meede.

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, Awaye, awaye :

I sweare, as I am the hend soldàn,
Thou lettest me here all daye.

Then forthe the stranger knight he came
In his blacke armoure dight:
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,

"That this were my true knighte!"

And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett
Within the lists soe broad;
And now with swordes soe sharpe of steele
They gan to lay on load.

The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke,
That made him reele asyde;
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,
And thrice she deeply sighde.

The soldan strucke a second stroke,

And made the bloude to flowe: All pale and wan was that ladye fayre, And thrice she wept for woe.

HEARKEN to me, gentlemen,

Come and you shall heare;

Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren That ever borne y-were.

The tone of them was Adler younge,

The tother was kyng Estmere ;
The were as bolde men in their deeds,
As any were farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wine

Within kyng Estmeres halle : When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, A wyfe to glad us all?

Then bespake him kyng Estmere,

And answered him hastilee :

I know not that ladye in any land
That's able to marrye with mee.

Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,

That ladye shold be my queene.

Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betwixt us towe to sende.

Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother,
Ile beare you companye;

Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,

And I feare lest soe shold wee.

Thus the renisht them to ryde

Of twoe good renisht steeds, And when the came to king Adlands halle, Of redd gold shone their weeds.

And when the came to kyng Adlands hall Before the goodlye gate,

There they found good kyng Adland
Rearing himselfe theratt.

Now Christ thee save, good kyng Adland;
Now Christ you save and see.
Sayd, You be welcome, king Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee.

You have a daughter, said Adler younge,
Men call her bright and sheene,
My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene.

Yesterday was att my deere daughter

Syr Bremor the kyng of Spayne; And then she nicked him of naye,

And I doubt sheele do you the same. The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynìm, And 'leeveth on Mahound; And pitye it were that fayre ladyè

Shold marrye a heathen hound.

But grant to me, sayes kyng Estmere,
For my love I you praye;
That I may see your daughter deere

Before I goe hence awaye.

Although itt is seven yeers and more

Since my daughter was in halle, She shall come once downe for your sake To glad my guestès alle.

Downe then came that mayden fayre,

With ladyes laced in pall,

And halfe a hundred of bold knightes, To bring her from bowre to hall; And as many gentle squiers,

To tend upon them all.

The talents of golde were on her head sette,

Hanged low downe to her knee;

And everye ring on her small finger Shone of the chrystall free.

Saies, God you save, my deere madàm;

Saies, God you save and see. Said, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,

Right welcome unto mee.

And if you love me, as you saye, Soe well and hartilèe,

All that ever you are comen about Soone sped now itt shal bee.

Then bespake her father deare:

My daughter, I saye naye; Remember well the kyng of Spayne, What he sayd yesterdaye.

He wold pull downe my halles and castles,
And reave me of my lyfe.

I cannot blame him if he doe,
If I reave him of his wyfe.

Your castles and your towres, father,

Are stronglye built aboute; And therefore of the king of Spaine Wee neede not stande in doubt.

Plight me your troth, nowe, kyng Estmère,
By heaven and your righte hand,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queene of your land.

Then kyng Estmere he plight his troth
By heaven and his righte hand,
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queene of his land.

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, To goe to his owne countree,

To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,

That marryed the might bee.

They had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle forthe of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With kempès many one.

But in did come the kyng of Spayne,

With manye a bold baròne, Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter,

Tother daye to carrye her home.

Shee sent one after kyng Estmère
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either turne againe and
fighte,

Or goe home and loose his ladyè.

One whyle then the page he went,
Another while he ranne ;
Till he had oretaken king Estmere,
I wis, he never blanne.

Tydings, tydings, kyng Estmere !
What tydinges nowe, my boye?
O tydinges I can tell to you,

That will you sore annoye.

You had not ridden scant a mile,
A mile out of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne
With kempès many a one:

But in did come the kyng of Spayne
With manye a bold baròne,
Tone daye to marrye king Adlands
daughter,

Tother daye to carry her home.

My ladye fayre she greetes you well,
And ever-more well by mee:
You must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe
home and loose your ladyè.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother,
My reade shall ryde* at thee,
Whether it is better to turne and fighte,
Or goe home and loose my ladye.

Now hearken to me, sayes Adler yonge,
And your reade must rise at me,

I quicklye will devise a waye
To sette thy ladye free.

* Sic MS. It should probably be ryse, i.e. my counsel shall arise from thee. See v. 140.