Death of King Arthur

    (Poem by Thomas Malory)

    Of Lancelot du Lake
    tell i no more
    But this by leave
    these ermytes seven.
    But still Kynge Arthur
    lieth there, and Quene Guenever,
    As I you newyn.

    And Monkes
    That are right of lore
    Who synge with moulded stewyn
    Ihesu, who hath woundes sore,
    Grant us the blyss of Heaven.