What! shall the shield of Mark stand among

these?"

For, midway down the side of that long hall

A stately pile,—whereof along the front,

Some blazon'd, some but carven, and some

blank,

There ran a treble range of stony shields,

Rose, and high-arching overbrow'd the hearth.

And under every shield a knight was named:

For this was Arthur's custom in his hall;

When some good knight had done one noble

deed,

His arms were carven only; but if twain

His arms were blazon'd also; but if none

The shield was blank and bare without a sign

Saving the name beneath; and Gareth saw

The shield of Gawain blazon'd rich and bright,

And Modred's blank as death; and Arthur cried

To rend the cloth and cast it on the hearth.

"More like are we to reave him of his crown

Than make him knight because men call him king.

The kings we found, ye know we stay'd their

hands

From war among themselves, but left them

kings;

Of whom were any bounteous, merciful,

Truth-speaking, brave, good livers, them we

enroll'd

Among us, and they sit within our hall.

But Mark hath tarnish'd the great name of king,

As Mark would sully the low state of churl:

And, seeing he hath sent us cloth of gold,

Return, and meet, and hold him from Our

eyes,

Lest we should lap him up in cloth of lead,

Silenced for ever-craven-a man of plots,

Craft, poisonous counsels, wayside ambushings

No fault of thine: let Kay the seneschal

Look to thy wants, and send thee satisfied

Accursed, who strikes nor lets the hand be

seen!"

And many another suppliant crying came.

With noise of ravage wrought by beast and

man,

And evermore a knight would ride away.

Last Gareth leaning both hands heavily

Down on the shoulders of the twain, his men,

Approach'd between them toward the King, and

ask'd,

"A boon, Sir King (his voice was all ashamed), For see ye not how weak and hungerworn

I seem leaning on these? grant me to serve For meat and drink among thy kitchen-knaves A twelvemonth and a day, nor seek my name. Hereafter I will fight."

To him the King,

"A goodly youth and worth a goodlier boon! But an thou wilt no goodlier, then must Kay, The master of the meats and drinks, be thine."

He rose and past; then Kay, a man of mien

Wan-sallow as the plant that feels itself

Root-bitten by white lichen,

"Lo ye now!

This fellow hath broken from some Abbey,

where,

God wot, he had not beef and brewis enow,

However that might chance! but an he work,

Like any pigeon will I cram his crop,

And sleeker shall he shine than any hog."

Then Lancelot standing near, "Sir Seneschal,

Sleuth-hound thou knowest, and gray, and all the

hounds;

A horse thou knowest, a man thou dost not

know: