XIV
If at first they were stounded, e’en stiller were then All the athels in hall, both the high and the low. The rider on his rouncy wroth him in saddle, And rudely his red eyes rolling about him Pucker’d his bristled brows, that blinkèd so green, And waving his beard watch’d who would rise. When none him accosted he cough’d very loud, Stretch’d him with an air, and straightway gan speak: “What! is this Arthur’s house?” quoth the athel at last, “That the rumour runs of through realms so many? Where are your pomp and your pride, and the prowess ye vaunt of, Your warplay so grim, and your great talking? Now is the revel and renown of the Round Table By a word o’erwalted of one wight’s speech, For all dote ye for dread ere a dint be offered.” With that he laugh’d so loud that the liege King griev’d, And for shame the blood shot to his face so sheen of cheer. He wax’d as wroth as wind, So did all that were there. The King so bold by kind Then stood that stalwart near,