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| THE KING was drinking in Malwood Hall, | |
| There came in a monk before them all; | |
| He thrust by squire, he thrust by knight, | |
| Stood over against the dais aright; | |
| And, “The word of the Lord, thou cruel Red King, | 5 |
| The word of the Lord to thee I bring. | |
| A grimly sweven I dreamt yestreen; | |
| I saw thee lie under the hollins green, | |
| And thorough thine heart an arrow keen; | |
| And out of thy body a smoke did rise, | 10 |
| Which smirched the sunshine out of the skies; | |
| So if thou God’s anointed be | |
| I rede thee unto thy soul thou see. | |
| For mitre and pall thou hast y-sold, | |
| False knight to Christ, for gain and gold; | 15 |
| And for this thy forest were digged down all, | |
| Steading and hamlet and churches tall; | |
| And Christés poor were ousten forth, | |
| To beg their bread from south to north. | |
| So tarry at home, and fast and pray, | 20 |
| Lest fiends hunt thee in the judgment-day.” | |
| |
| The monk he vanished where he stood; | |
| King William sterte up wroth and wod; | |
| Quod he, “Fools’ wits will jump together; | |
| The Hampshire ale and the thunder weather | 25 |
| Have turned the brains for us both, I think; | |
| And monks are curst when they fall to drink. | |
| A lothly sweven I dreamt last night, | |
| How there hoved anigh me a griesly knight, | |
| Did smite me down to the pit of hell; | 30 |
| I shrieked and woke, so fast I fell. | |
| There ’s Tyrrel as sour as I, perdie, | |
| So he of you all shall hunt with me; | |
| A grimly brace for a hart to see.” | |
| |
| The Red King down from Malwood came; | 35 |
| His heart with wine was all aflame, | |
| His eyne were shotten, red as blood, | |
| He rated and swore, wherever he rode. | |
| |
| They roused a hart, that grimly brace, | |
| A hart of ten, a hart of grease, | 40 |
| Fled over against the kingés place. | |
| The sun it blinded the kingés ee, | |
| A fathom behind his hocks shot he: | |
| “Shoot thou,” quod he, “in the fiendés name, | |
| To lose such a quarry were seven years’ shame,” | 45 |
| And he hove up his hand to mark the game. | |
| Tyrrel he shot full light, God wot; | |
| For whether the saints they swerved the shot, | |
| Or whether by treason, men knowen not, | |
| But under the arm, in a secret part, | 50 |
| The iron fled through the kingés heart. | |
| The turf it squelched where the Red King fell; | |
| And the fiends they carried his soul to hell, | |
| Quod, “His master’s name it hath sped him well.” | |
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| Tyrrel he smited full grim that day, | 55 |
| Quod “Shooting of kings is no bairns play”; | |
| And he smote in the spurs, and fled fast away. | |
| As he pricked along by Fritham plain, | |
| The green tufts flew behind like rain; | |
| The waters were out, and over the sward: | 60 |
| He swam his horse like a stalwart lord; | |
| Men clepen that water Tyrrel’s ford. | |
| By Rhinefield and by Osmondsleigh, | |
| Through glade and furze-brake fast drove he, | |
| Until he heard the roaring sea; | 65 |
| Quod he, “Those gay waves they call me.” | |
| By Mary’s grace a seely boat | |
| On Christchurch bar did lie afloat; | |
| He gave the shipmen mark and groat, | |
| To ferry him over to Normandie, | 70 |
| And there he fell to sanctuarie; | |
| God send his soul all bliss to see. | |
| |
| And fend our princes every one, | |
| From foul mishap and trahison; | |
| But kings that harrow Christian men, | 75 |
| Shall England never bide again. | |
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