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 secundum /

WHan syre Ector de marys wyst that syre laūcelot was past out of the court to seke aduentures he was wroth with hym self / & made hym redy to seke syre laūcelot / & as he had ryden long in a grete forest he mette with a man was lyke a foster / Fayre felaw said syre Ector knowest thou in thys countrey ony aduentures that ben here nyghe hand / Syr sayd the foster / this countrey knowe I wel . and here by within thys myle / is a stronge manoir and wel dyked / & by that manoir on the lyfte hand there is a faire fourde for horses to drynke of / and ouer that fourde there groweth a fayr tree / and theron hangen many fayre sheldes that welded somtyme good knyghtes / & atte hoole of the tree hangeth a bacyn of coper & latoen /

[leaf 93r] and stryke vpon that bacyn with the but of thy spere thryes / And soone after thou shalt here newe tydynges / And ellys hast thou the fayrest grace that many a yere had euer knyght that passed thorou this forest / gramercy sayd syre Ector / and departed / and came to the tree and sawe many fayre sheldes And amonge them he sawe his broders sheld syr Lyonel and many moo that he knewe that were his felawes of the round table / the whiche greued his herte / and promysed to reuenge his broder / Thenne anone syr Ector bete on the bacyn as he were wood / and thenne he gaf his hors drynke at the fourde / & ther came a knyghte behynd hym / and bad hym come oute of the water and make hym redy / and syre Ector anone torned hym shortly and in fewter cast his spere and smote the other knyghte a grete buffet that his hors torned twyes aboute / This was wel done said the strong knyȝt / & knyȝtly thou hast stryken me / And therwith he russhed his hors on syre Ector / and cleyȝte hym vnder his ryght arme & bare hym clene out of the sadel / and rode with hym awey in to his owne halle / & threwe hym doune in myddes of the floore / the name of thys knyghte was syre Turquyne / than he said vnto syre Ector for thou hast done this day more vnto me than ony knyghte dyd these xij yeres / Now wille I graunte the thy lyf so thou wilt be sworn to be my prysoner all thy lyf dayes / Nay said sir Ector / that wylle I neuer promyse the / but that I will do myne auauntage / That me repenteth sayd syre Turquyne / and thenne he garte to vnarme hym and bete hym with thornys all naked / and sythen putte hym doune in a depe dungeon where he knewe many of his felawes / But whan syre Ector sawe syr lyonel thenne made he grete sorowe / Allas broder sayd sir Ector / where is my broder syre Launcelot / Fayre broder I lefte hym on slepe whan that I from hym yode vnder an appel tree and what is become of hym I can not telle yow / Allas said the knyghtes / but syre launcelot helpe vs we may neuer be delyuerd / for we knowe now noo knyght that is able to matche oure mayster Turquyn