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“And there thou liest, Lancelot!
   The bravest sword in Christenesse;
And I must speak that truth, God wot
   Thou wouldst not hear for shamefacednesse;

“Unmatched thou wast, of strength or art,
   In joyous joust or stricken field;
And yet, thou hadst the gentlest heart
   Of all that ever bare a shield.

“The goodliest knight thou wast, withal,
   That ever spurred among the presse;
The truest lover that in hall
   E’er vailed his plume to Lovelinesse;

“Heart’s truth!—thou wast the courteoust knight
   That ever rode on ladie’s quest;
But, toward thy foe, the sternest wight
   That ever laid a lance in rest!”

So mourned Sir Ector, that did bend
  His noble brother’s corse to see;
And so, alas, my friend, my friend!
   The woe is mine to speak for thee.