He will return no more.' And those, her three,

Laugh'd and unbound, and thrust him from the gate.

And after this, a week beyond, again She call'd them, saying, 'There he watches yet,

There like a dog before his master's door!

Kick'd, he returns: do ye not hate him, ye?

Ye know yourselves: how can ye bide at peace,

Affronted with his fulsome innocence? Are ye but creatures of the board and bed,

No men to strike? Fall on him all at once,

And if ye slay him I reck not: if ye fail, Give ye the slave mine order to be bound,

Bind him as heretofore, and bring him in: It may be ye shall slay him in his bonds.'

So Gawain, looking at the villainy done,

Forbore, but in his heat and eagerness Trembled and quiver'd, as the dog, with

held

A moment from the vermin that he sees Before him, shivers, ere he springs and kills.

And Pelleas overthrew them, one to three;

And they rose up, and bound, and brought him in.

Then first her anger, leaving Pelleas, burn'd

Full on her knights in many an evil name, Of craven, weakling, and thrice-beaten hound:

'Yet, take him, ye that scarce are fit to touch,

Far less to bind, your victor, and thrust him out,

And let who will release him from his bonds.

And if he comes again' there she brake short;

And Pelleas answer'd, 'Lady, for indeed
I loved you and I deem'd you beautiful,
I cannot brook to see your beauty marr'd
Thro' evil spite: and if ye love me not,
I cannot bear to dream you so forsworn:
I had liefer ye were worthy of my love,
Than to be loved again of you-

fare

well; And tho' ye kill my hope, not yet my love,

Vex not yourself: ye will not see me more.'

This tender rhyme, and evermore the doubt,

'Why lingers Gawain with his golden news?'

So shook him that he could not rest, but rode

Ere midnight to her walls, and bound his horse

Hard by the gates. Wide open were the gates,

And no watch kept; and in thro' these he past,

And heard but his own steps, and his own heart

Beating, for nothing moved but his own self,

And his own shadow. Then he crost the court,

And spied not any light in hall or bower, But saw the postern portal also wide Yawning; and up a slope of garden, all Of roses white and red, and brambles mixt And overgrowing them, went on, and found,

Here too, all hush'd below the mellow moon,

Save that one rivulet from a tiny cave Came lightening downward, and so spilt itself

Among the roses, and was lost again.

Then was he ware of three pavilions rear'd

Above the bushes, gilden-peakt: in one, Red after revel, droned her lurdane knights

Slumbering, and their three squires across their feet:

'Would they have risen against me in their blood

At the last day? I might have answer'd them

Even before high God. O towers so strong,

Huge, solid, would that even while I gaze The crack of earthquake shivering to your base

Split you, and Hell burst up your harlot roofs

Bellowing, and charr'd you thro' and thro' within,

Black as the harlot's heart- hollow as a skull!

Let the fierce east scream thro' your eyelet-holes,

And whirl the dust of harlots round and round

In dung and nettles! hiss, snake - I saw him there

Let the fox bark, let the wolf yell. Who yells

Here in the still sweet summer night, but I

I, the poor Pelleas whom she call'd her fool?

Fool, beast - he, she, or I? myself most fool;

Beast too, as lacking human wit - disgraced,

Dishonour'd all for trial of true love-
Love?

we be all alike: only the King Hath made us fools and liars. O noble