Le Morte Darthur / by Syr Thomas Malory ; the original edition of William Caxton now reprinted and edited with an introduction and glossary by H. Oskar Sommer ; with an essay on Malory's prose style by Andrew Lang

¶ Capitulum Decimum

[leaf 99r]

NOw torne we vnto syre laucelot that rode with the damoysel in a fayre hyghe waye / syr sayd the damoysel / here by this way haunteth a knyght that destressyd al ladyes and gentylwymmen / And at the leest he robbeth them or lyeth by them / what said sir launcelot is he a theef & a knyght & a rauyssher of wymmen / he doth shame vnto the ordre of knyghthode / and contrary vnto his othe / hit is pyte that he lyueth / But fayr damoysel ye shal ryde on afore your self / and I wylle kepe my self in couerte / And yf that he trouble yow or distresse yow / I shalle be your rescowe and lerne hym to be ruled as a knyghte / Soo the mayde rode on by the way a soft ambelynge paas / And within a whyle cam oute that knyght on horsbak oute of the woode / and his page with hym / & there he put the damoysel from her hors / and thenne she cryed / With that came launcelot as fast as he myghte tyl he came to that knyght / sayenge / O thou fals knyght and traytour vnto knyghthode / who dyd lerne the to dystresse ladyes and gentylwymmen / whanne the knyghte sawe syre launcelot thus rebukynge hym / he ansuerd not / but drewe his swerd and rode vnto syre launcelot / and syre laūcelot threwe his spere fro hym / and drewe oute his swerd / and strake hym suche a buffet on the helmet that he clafe his hede and neck vnto the throte Now hast thou thy payement that long thou hast deserued / that is trouthe sayd the damoysel / For lyke as syr Turquyne watched to destroye knyghtes / soo dyde this knyght attende to destroye and dystresse ladyes damoysels and gentylwymmen / & his name was syre Perys de foreyst saueage / Now damoysel sayde syre launcelot wylle ye ony more seruyse of me / Nay syre she sayd at this tyme / but almyghty Ihesu perserue you where someuer ye ryde or goo / for the curteyst knyghte thou arte and mekest vnto all ladyes and gentylwymmen that now lyueth / But one thyng syre knyghte me thynketh ye lacke / ye that are a knyghte wyueles that ye wyl not loue some mayden or gentylwoman / sor I coude neuer here say that euer ye loued ony of no maner degree and that is grete pyte / but hit is noysed that ye loue quene Gueneuer / and that she hath ordeyned by enchauntement that ye shal neuer loue none other / but her / ne none other damoysel ne lady shall reioyse you / wherfor

[leaf 99v] many in this land of hyghe estate and lowe make grete sorowe /

¶ Fayre damoysel sayd syr launcelot I maye not warne peple to speke of me what it pleaseth hem / But for to be a wedded man / I thynke hit not / for thenne I must couche with her / and leue armes and turnementys / batayls / and aduentures / And as for to say for to take my plesaunce with peramours that wylle I refuse in pryncypal for drede of god / For knyghtes that ben auenturous or lecherous shal not be happy ne fortunate vnto the werrys / for outher they shalle be ouercome with a symplyer knyghte than they be hem self / Outher els they shal by vnhap and her cursydnes slee better men than they ben hem self / And soo who that vseth peramours shalle be vnhappy / and all thyng is vnhappy that is aboute hem / And soo syre Launcelot and she departed / And thenne he rode in a depe forest two dayes and more / and had strayte lodgynge / Soo on the thyrdde day he rode ouer a longe brydge / and there starte vpon hym sodenly a passynge foule chorle / and he smote his hors on the nose that he torned aboute / & asked hym why he rode ouer that brydge withoute his lycence / why shold I not ryde this way sayd syr launcelot / I may not ryde besyde / thou shall not chese sayd the chorle and lasshyd at hym with a grete clubbe shod with yron / Thenne syre laūcelot drewe his suerd and put the stroke abak / and clafe his hede vnto the pappys / At the ende of the brydge was a fayre village / & al the people men and wymmen cryed on syre launcelot / and sayd A wers dede dydest thou neuer for thy self / for thou hast slayn the chyef porter of oure castel / syr laūcelot lete them say what they wold And streyghte he wente in to the castel / And whanne he cam in to the castel he alyghte / and teyed his hors to a rynge on the walle / And there he sawe a fayre grene courte / and thyder he dressyd hym / For there hym thought was a fayre place to fyghte in / Soo he loked aboute / and sawe moche peple in dores and wyndowes that sayd fayr knyghte thou arte vnhappy