Idylls of the King (Unabridged). Alfred Tennyson

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СКАЧАТЬ came Sir Kay, the seneschal, and cried,

       ‘A boon, Sir King! even that thou grant her none,

       This railer, that hath mocked thee in full hall —

       None; or the wholesome boon of gyve and gag.’

      But Arthur, ‘We sit King, to help the wronged

       Through all our realm. The woman loves her lord.

       Peace to thee, woman, with thy loves and hates!

       The kings of old had doomed thee to the flames,

       Aurelius Emrys would have scourged thee dead,

       And Uther slit thy tongue: but get thee hence —

       Lest that rough humour of the kings of old

       Return upon me! Thou that art her kin,

       Go likewise; lay him low and slay him not,

       But bring him here, that I may judge the right,

       According to the justice of the King:

       Then, be he guilty, by that deathless King

       Who lived and died for men, the man shall die.’

      Then came in hall the messenger of Mark,

       A name of evil savour in the land,

       The Cornish king. In either hand he bore

       What dazzled all, and shone far-off as shines

       A field of charlock in the sudden sun

       Between two showers, a cloth of palest gold,

       Which down he laid before the throne, and knelt,

       Delivering, that his lord, the vassal king,

       Was even upon his way to Camelot;

       For having heard that Arthur of his grace

       Had made his goodly cousin, Tristram, knight,

       And, for himself was of the greater state,

       Being a king, he trusted his liege-lord

       Would yield him this large honour all the more;

       So prayed him well to accept this cloth of gold,

       In token of true heart and fealty.

      Then Arthur cried to rend the cloth, to rend

       In pieces, and so cast it on the hearth.

       An oak-tree smouldered there. ‘The goodly knight!

       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 blazoned, some but carven, and some blank,

       There ran a treble range of stony shields —

       Rose, and high-arching overbrowed 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 blazoned also; but if none,

       The shield was blank and bare without a sign

       Saving the name beneath; and Gareth saw

       The shield of Gawain blazoned 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 stayed their hands

       From war among themselves, but left them kings;

       Of whom were any bounteous, merciful,

       Truth-speaking, brave, good livers, them we enrolled

       Among us, and they sit within our hall.

       But as Mark hath tarnished 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,

       Approached between them toward the King, and asked,

       ‘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 so 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 СКАЧАТЬ