ENGL 1500 Test 1 Quotes

So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by and the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness. We have heard of those princes' heroic campaigns. There was Shield Sheafson, scourge of many tribes, a wrecker of mead-benches, rampaging among foes. This terror of the hall-troops had come far. A foundling to start with, he would flourish later on as his powers waxed and his worth was proved. (p. 3) When he heard about Grendel, Hygelac's thane was on home ground, over in Geatland. There was no one else like him alive. In his day, he was the mightiest man on earth, highborn and powerful.

Beowulf

That was the warrior's last word. He had no more to confide. The furious heat Of the pyre would assail him. His soul fled from his breast To its destined place among the steadfast ones.

Beowulf

Then he saw a blade that boded well, A sword in her armory, an ancient heirloom From the days of the giants, an ideal weapon

Beowulf

There was Shield Sheafson, scourge of many tribes, a wrecker of mead-benches, rampaging among foes. This terror of the hall-troops had come far. A foundling to start with, he would flourish later on as his powers waxed and his worth was proved. In the end each clan on the outlying coasts beyond the whale-road had to yield to him and begin to pay tribute. That was one good king.

Beowulf

So times were pleasant for the people there until finally one, a fiend out of hell, began to work his evil in the world. Grendel was the name of this grim demon haunting the marches, marauding round the heath and the desolate fens; he had dwelt for a time in misery among the banished monsters, Cain's clan, whom the Creator had outlawed and condemned as outcasts. For the killing of Abel Cain got no good from committing that murder because the Almighty made him anathema and out of the curse of his exile there sprang ogres [orcneas] and elves and evil phantoms and the giants too who strove with God time and again until He gave them their reward.

Beowulf

Heremod was different, the way he behaved to Ecgwela's sons. His rise in the world brought little joy To the Danish people, only death and destruction. He vented his rage on men he caroused with, Killed his own comrades, a pariah king Who cut himself off from his own kind, Even though Almighty God had made him eminent and powerful and marked him from the start for a happy life. But a change happened, he grew bloodthirsty [greow/breosthord blodreow], gave no more rings to honor the Danes. He suffered in the end For having plagued his people for so long; His life lost happiness.

Beowulf

Many a spear Dawn-cold to the touch will be taken down and waved on high; the swept harp won't waken warriors, but the raven winging darkly over the doomed will have news, tidings for the eagle of how he hoked and ate, how the wolf and he made short work of the dead.

Beowulf

So he came to the place, carrying the treasure and found his lord bleeding profusely, his life at an end; again he began to swab his body. The beginnings of an utterance broke out from the king's breast-cage (breosthord). The old lord gazed sadly at the gold. "To the everlasting Lord of all, to the King of Glory, I give thanks that I behold this treasure here in front of me...

Beowulf

So now, before you fare inland as interlopers, I have to be informed about who you are and where you hail from. Outsiders from across the water, I say it again: the sooner you tell where you come from and why, the better." The leader of the troop unlocked his word-hoard; the distinguished one delivered this answer: "We belong by birth to the Geat people and owe allegiance to Lord Hygelac. In his day, my father was a famous man, A noble warrior-lord named Ecgtheow.

Beowulf

"My lords," [the king] said, "come quickly! Look at this marvel— This beast is humbling itself to me. It has the mind of a man, and it's begging me for mercy! Chase the dogs away, And make sure no one strikes it. This beast is rational—he has a mind. Hurry up; let's get out of here. I'll extend my peace to the creature; Indeed, I'll hunt no more today!" Thereupon the king led him to his castle; He was delighted with this turn of events, For he'd never seen anything like it. He considered the beast a great wonder And held him very dear. He commanded all his followers For the sake of their love for him, to guard Bisclavret well, And under no circumstances dto do him harm; None of them should strike him; Rather, he should be well fed and watered.

Bisclavret

Since I am undertaking to compose lais, I don't want to forget Bisclavret; In Breton, the lai's name is Bisclavret— The Normans call it Garwaf [The Werewolf]. In the old days, people used to say— And it often actually happened— That some men turned into werewolves And lived in the woods. A werewolf is a savage beast; While his fury is on him He eats men, does much harm, goes deep in the forest to live. But that's enough of this for now; I want to tell you about the Bisclavret.

Bisclavret

Why not put this woman to torture And see if she'll tell you Why the beast hates her? Make her tell what she knows! We've seen many strange things happen in Brittany!" The king took his advice; He detained the knight. At the same time he took the wife And subjected her to torture; Out of fear and pain She told all about her husband: How she had betrayed him And taken away his clothes; The story he had told her About what happened to him and where he went; And how after she had taken his clothes He'd never been seen in his land again. She was quite certain That this beast was Bisclavret.

Bisclavret

"I have loved one of your vassals; You see him before you—Lanval. He has been accused in your court— I don't want him to suffer For what he said; you should know That the queen was in the wrong. He never made advances to her. And for the boast that he made If he can be acquitted through me, Let him be set free by your barons." With her he went to Avalon, So the Bretons tell us, To a very beautiful island; There the youth was carried off. No man has heard of him again, And I have no more to tell.

Lanval

Arthur, the brave and the courtly king, Was staying at Cardoel, Because the Scots and Picts Were destroying the land. They invaded Logres And laid it waste. At Pentecost, in summer, The king stayed there. He gave out many rich gifts: To counts and barons, Members of the round table... He distributed wives and lands, To all but one who had served him.

Lanval

The king got very angry; He swore an oath: If Lanval could not defend himself in court He would have him burned or hanged. The king left her chamber And called for three of his barons; He sent them for Lanval Who was feeling great sorrow and distress... [The barons] assembled, judged and decided, That Lanval should have his day; But he miust find pledges for his lord To guarantee that he would await the judgment, Return, and be present at it.

Lanval

There was a hill, and, on the hill, a wide area of level ground, turfed with fresh blades of grass: shade was absent there: but when the poet, born of the god, sounded the strings of his lyre, shade gathered there. Jupiter's Chaonian oak-tree came; and Phaethon's sisters, the Heliades, the poplars; the durmast oak with its deep foliage; the soft lime-tree; the beech; the virgin sweet-bay, laurel; the hazel, frail; the ash-tree, used for spears; the sweeping silver-fir: holm-oak, heavy with acorns; pleasant plane-tree; the many-coloured maple; with the river-haunting willow; lotus, water-lover; boxwood ever-verdant; the slender tamarisk; the myrtle, with, over and under its leaves, the two shades of green; and the blue-berried wild-bay, laurus tinus. You came, also, twining ivy, together with shooting vines; the vine-supporting elms; the flowering 'manna' ash; the spruce; the strawberry tree, weighed down with its red fruit; the pliant palms, the winner's prize; and you, the shaggy-topped pine tree, armed with needles, sacred to Cybele, mother of the gods, since Attis exchanged his human form for you, and hardened in your trunk. Among the crowd came the cypress, formed like the cone-shaped meta, that marks the turning point in the race-course: once a boy, but now a tree: loved by the god who tunes the lyre, and strings the bow. Such was the grove of trees the poet gathered round him, and he sat in the midst of a crowd, of animals and birds. When he had tried a few chords, stroking the lyre with his thumb, and felt that the various notes were in tune, regardless of their pitch, he raised his voice to sing: 'Begin my song with Jupiter, Calliope, O Muse, my mother (all things bow to Jupiter's might)! I have often sung the power of Jove before: I have sung of the Giants, in an epic strain, and the victorious lightning bolts, hurled at the Phlegraean field. Now there is gentler work for the lyre, and I sing of boys loved by the gods, and girls stricken with forbidden fires, deserving punishment for their lust."

Orpheus and Eurydice (Power of Song)

"The quickest way you can help him is by going to meet Aslan," said Mr Beaver, "once he's with us, then we can begin doing things. Not that we don't need you too. For that's another of the old rhymes: When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone Sits at Cair Paravel in throne, The evil time will be over and done. So things must be drawing near their end now he's come and you've come. We've heard of Aslan coming into these parts before - long ago, nobody can say when. But there's never been any of your race here before." "That's what I don't understand, Mr Beaver," said Peter, "I mean isn't the Witch herself human?" "She'd like us to believe it," said Mr Beaver, "and it's on that that she bases her claim to be Queen. But she's no Daughter of Eve. She comes of your father Adam's"—(here Mr Beaver bowed)—"your father Adam's first wife, her they called Lilith. And she was one of the Jinn. That's what she comes from on one side. And on the other she comes of the giants. No, no, there isn't a drop of real human blood in the Witch."

Narnia

"True enough, Mrs Beaver," replied he, "there may be two views about humans (meaning no offence to the present company). But there's no two views about things that look like humans and aren't." "I've known good Dwarfs," said Mrs Beaver. "So've I, now you come to speak of it," said her husband, "but precious few, and they were the ones least like men. But in general, take my advice, when you meet anything that's going to be human and isn't yet, or used to be human once and isn't now, or ought to be human and isn't, you keep your eyes on it and feel for your hatchet. And that's why the Witch is always on the lookout for any humans in Narnia. She's been watching for you this many a year, and if she knew there were four of you she'd be more dangerous still.

Narnia

I'm very sorry, Mr Tumnus," said Lucy. "But please let me go home." "Of course I will," said the Faun. "Of course I've got to. I see that now. I hadn't known what Humans were like before I met you. Of course I can't give you up to the Witch; not now that I know you. But we must be off at once. I'll see you back to the lamp-post. I suppose you can find your own way from there back to Spare Oom and War Drobe?"

Narnia

ONCE there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air-raids. They were sent to the house of an old Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post office. He had no wife and he lived in a very large house with a housekeeper called Mrs Macready and three servants. (Their names were Ivy, Margaret and Betty, but they do not come into the story much.) He himself was a very old man with shaggy white hair which grew over most of his face as well as on his head, and they liked him almost at once; but on the first evening when he came out to meet them at the front door he was so odd-looking that Lucy (who was the youngest) was a little afraid of him, and Edmund (who was the next youngest) wanted to laugh and had to keep on pretending he was blowing his nose to hide it.

Narnia

They walked to the eastern edge of the hill and looked down. The one big star had almost disappeared. The country all looked dark grey, but beyond, at the very end of the world, the sea showed pale. The sky began to turn red. They walked to ands fro more times than they could count between the dead Aslan and the eastern ridge, trying to keep warm; and oh, how tired their legs felt. Then at last, as they stood for a moment looking out towards they sea and Cair Paravel (which they could now just make out) the red turned to gold along the line where the sea and the sky met and very slowly up came the edge of the sun. At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noise - a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant's plate. "What's that?" said Lucy, clutching Susan's arm. "I - I feel afraid to turn round," said Susan; "something awful is happening." "They're doing something worse to Him," said Lucy. "Come on!" And she turned, pulling Susan round with her. The rising of the sun had made everything look so different - all colours and shadows were changed that for a moment they didn't see the important thing. Then they did. The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan. "Oh, oh, oh!" cried the two girls, rushing back to the Table. "Oh, it's too bad," sobbed Lucy; "they might have left the body alone." "Who's done it?" cried Susan. "What does it mean? Is it magic?" "Yes!" said a great voice behind their backs. "It is more magic." They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself. "Oh, Aslan!" cried both the children, staring up at him, almost as much frightened as they were glad. "Aren't you dead then, dear Aslan?" said Lucy. "Not now," said Aslan. "You're not - not a - ?" asked Susan in a shaky voice. She couldn't bring herself to say the word ghost. Aslan stooped his golden head and licked her forehead. The warmth of his breath and a rich sort of smell that seemed to hang about his hair came all over her. "Do I look it?" he said. "Oh, you're real, you're real! Oh, Aslan!" cried Lucy, and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses

Narnia

'Bertilak de Hautdesert hereabouts I am called, Who thus have been enchanted and changed in my hue By the might of Morgan de Fay that in my mansion dwelleth, And by cunning of lore and crafts well learned. The magic arts of Merlin she many hath mastered; For deeply in dear love she dealt on a time With that accomplished clerk, as at Camelot runs the fame; And Morgan the Goddess Is therefore now her name. None power and pride possess Too high for her to tame. She made me go in this guise to your goodly court To put its pride to the proof, if the report were true That runs of the great renown of the Round Table. She put this magic upon me to deprive you of your wits, In hope Guinevere to hurt, that she in horror might die Aghast at that glamoury that gruesomely spake With its head in its hand before the high table. She it is that is at home, that ancient lady; She is indeed thien own aunt, Arthur's half-sister, Daughter of the Duchess of Tintagel on whom doughty Sir Uther After began Arthur, who in honour is now. Therefore I urge thee in earnest, sir, to thine aunt return! "in my hall make merry!'

Sir Gawain

'Do you refuse now this silk,' said the fair lady, 'because in itself it is poor? And so it appears. See how small 'tis in size, and smaller in value! But one who knew of the nature that is knight therewithin would appraise it probably at a price far higher. For whoever goes girlded with this green riband, while he keeps it well clasped closely about him, there is none so hardy under heaven that to hew him were able; for he could not be killed by any cunning of hand.' The knight then took note, and thought now in his heart, 'twould be a prize in that peril that was appointed to him. When he gained the Green Chapel to get there his sentence, if by some sleight he were not slain, 'twould be a sovereign device. Then he bore with her rebuke, and debated not her words; and she pressed on him the belt, and proffered it in earnest; and he agreed, and she gave it very gladly indeed, and prayed him for her sake to part with it never, but on his honour hide it from her husband; and he then agreed that no one ever should know, nay, none in the world but they. With earnest heart and mood great thanks he oft did say. She then the knight so good a third time kissed that day.

Sir Gawain

And give my regards to her grace, your goodly consort, Both to her and to the other, to mine honoured ladies, Who thus their servant with their designs have subtly beguiled. But no marvel it is if mad be a fool, And by the wiles of women to woe be brought. For even so Adam by one on earth was beguiled, And Solomon by several, and to Samson moreover His doom by Delilah was dealt; and David was after Blinded by Bathsheba, and he bitterly suffered. Now if these came to grief through their guile, again 'twould be vast To love them well and believe them not, if it lay in man's power! Since these were aforetime the fairest, by fortune most blest, Eminent among all the others who under heaven bemused were too, And all of them were betrayed By women that they knew, Though a fool I now am made, Some excuse I think my due.'

Sir Gawain

And then homeward they hastened, for at hand was now night, making strong music on their mighty horns. The lord alighted at last at his beloved abode, found a fire in the hall, and fair by the hearth Sir Gawain the good, and gay was he too, among the ladies in delight his lot was most joyful. He was clad in a blue cloak that came to the ground; his surcoat well beseemed him with its soft lining, and its hood of like hue that hung on his shoulder: all fringed with white fur very finely were both. He met indeed the master in the midst of the floor, and in gaiety greeted him, and graciously said: 'In this case I will first our covenant fulfil that to our good we agreed, when ungrudged went the drink.' He clasps then the knight and kisses him thrice, as long and deliciously as he could lay them upon him. 'By Christ!' the other quoth, 'you've come by a fortune in winning such wares, were they worth what you paid.' 'Indeed, the price was not important,' promptly he answered, 'whereas plainly is paid now the profit I gained,' 'Marry!' said the other man, 'mine is not up to't; for I have hunted all this day, and naught else have I got but this foul fox-fell - the Fiend have the goods! - and that is price very poor to pay for such treasures as these you have thrust upon me, three such kisses so good.' ''Tis enough,' then said Gawain. 'I thank you, by the Rood,' and how the fox was slain he told him as they stood.

Sir Gawain

And when fair Britain was founded by this famous lord, bold men were bred there who in battle rejoiced, and many a time that betid they troubles aroused. In this domain more marvels have by men been seen than in any other that I know of since that olden time; but of all that here abode in Britain as kings ever was Arthur most honoured, as I have heard men tell. Wherefore a marvel among men I mean to recall, a sight strange to see some men have held it, one of the wildest adventures of the wonders of Arthur. If you will listen to this lay but a little while now, I will tell it at once as in town I have heard it told, as it is fixed and fettered in story brave and bold, thus linked and truly lettered, as was loved in this land of old.

Sir Gawain

And when fair Britain was founded by this famous lord, Bold men were bred there who in battle rejoiced, And many a time that betid they troubles aroused. In this domain more marvels have by men been seen Than in any other that I know of since that olden time; But of all that here abode in Britain as kings Ever was Arthur most honored as I have heard men tell.

Sir Gawain

And yet he had not a helm, nor a hauberk either, not a pisane, not a plate that was proper to arms; not a shield, not a shaft, for shock or for blow, but in his one hand he held a holly-bundle, that is greatest in greenery when groves are leafless, and an axe in the other, ugly and monstrous, a ruthless weapon aright for one in rhyme to describe: the head was as large and as long as an ellwand, a branch of green steel and of beaten gold; the bit, burnished bright and broad at the edge, as well shaped for shearing as sharp razors; the stem was a stout staff, by which sternly he gripped it, all bound with iron about to the base of the handle, and engraven in green in graceful patterns, lapped round with a laynard that was lashed to the head and down the length of the haft was looped many times; and tassels of price were tied there in plenty to bosses of the bright green, braided most richly.

Sir Gawain

All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I comeTo answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,To swim, to dive into the fire, to rideOn the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding taskAriel and all his quality. Hast thou, spirit,Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? To every article.I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide,And burn in many places; on the topmast,The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursorsO' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentaryAnd sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracksOf sulphurous roaring the most mighty NeptuneSeem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,Yea, his dread trident shake.

The Tempest

But get busy, I beg sir, and bring me to the point. Deal me my destiny, and do it out of hand! For I shall stand from thee a stroke and stir not again Till thine axe hath hit me, have here my word on it!' 'Have at thee then!' said the other, and heaved it aloft, And watched him as wrathfully as if he were wild with rage. He made at him a mighty aim, but the man he touched not, holding back hastily his hand, ere hurt it might do. Gawain warily awaited it, and winced with no limb, But stood as still as a stone or the stump of a tree That with a hundred ravelled roots in rocks is embedded. This time merrily remarked then the man in the green: 'So, no thou hast thy heart whole, a hit I must make. May the high order now keep thee that Arthur gave thee, And guard thy gullet at this go, if it can gain thee that.' Angrily with ire then answered Sir Gawain: 'Why! Lash away, thou lusty man! Too long dost thou threaten. 'Tis thy heart methinks in thee that now qualieth!' 'In faith,' said the fellow, 'so fiercely thou speakest, I no longer will linger delaying thy errand right now.' Then to strike he broke his stance And grimaced with lip and brow. He that of rescue saw no chance Was little pleased, I vow.

Sir Gawain

First faultless was he found in his five senses, and next in the five fingers he failed at no time, and firmly on the Five Wounds all his faith was set that Christ received on the cross, as the Creed tells us; and wherever the brave man into battle was come, on this beyond all things was his earnest thought: that ever from the Five Joys all his valour he gained that to Heaven's courteous Queen once came from her Child. For which cause the knight had in comely wise on the inner side of his shield her image depainted, that when he cast his eyes thither his courage never failed. The fifth five that was used, as I find, by this knight was free-giving and friendliness first before all, and chastity and chivalry ever changeless and straight, and piety surpassing all points: these perfect five were hasped upon him harder than on any man else. Now these five series, in sooth, were fastened on this knight, and each was knit with another and had no ending, but were fixed at five points that failed not at all, coincided in no line nor sundered either, not ending in any angle anywhere, as I discover, wherever the process was put in play or passed to an end. Therefore on his shining shield was shaped now this knot, royally with red gules upon red gold set: this is the pure pentangle as people of learning have taught

Sir Gawain

For she, queenly and peerless, pressed him so closely, led him so near the line, that at last he must needs either refuse her with offence or her favours there take. He cared for his courtesy, lest a caitiff he proved, yet more for his sad case, if he should sin commit and to the owner of the house, to his host, be a traitor. 'God help me!' said he. 'Happen that shall not!' Smiling sweetly aside from himself then he turned all the fond words of favour that fell from her lips. Said she to the knight then: 'Now shame you deserve, if you love not one that lies alone here beside you, who beyond all women in the world is wounded in heart, unless you have a lemman, more beloved, whom you like better, and have affianced faith to that fair one so fast and so true that you release your desire not - and so I believe now; and to tell me if that be so truly, I beg you. For all sakes that men swear by conceal not the truth in guile.' The knight said: 'By Saint John,' and softly gave a smile, 'Nay! lover have I none, and none will have meanwhile.'

Sir Gawain

For the head in his hand he held it up straight, towards the fairest at the table he twisted the face, and it lifted up its eyelids and looked at them broadly, and made such words with its mouth as may be recounted. 'See thou get ready, Gawain, to go as thou vowedst, and as faithfully seek till thou find me, good sir, as thou hast promised in this place in the presence of these knights. To the Green Chapel go thou, and get thee, I charge thee, such a dint as thou hast dealt - indeed thou hast earned a nimble knock in return on New Year's morning! The Knight of the Green Chapel I am known to many, so if to find me thou endeavour, thou'lt fail not to do so. Therefore come! Or to be called a craven thou deservest.' With a rude roar and rush his reins he turned then, and hastened out through the hall-door with his head in his hand, and fire of the flint flew from the feet of his charger. To what country he came in that court no man knew, no more than they had learned from what land he had journeyed. Meanwhile, the king and Sir Gawain at the Green Man laugh and smile; yet to men had appeared, 'twas plain, a marvel beyond denial.

Sir Gawain

Lightly his weapon he lifted, and let it down neatly with the bent horn of the blade towards the neck that was bare; though he hewed with a hammer-swing, he hurt him no more than to stick him on one side and sever the skin. Through the fair fat sank the edge, and the flesh entered, so that the shining blood o'er his shoulders was shed on the earth; and when the good knight saw the gore that gleamed on the snow, he sprang out with spurning feet a spear's length and more, in haste caught his helm and on his head cast it, under his fair shield he shot with a shake of his shoulders, brandished his bright sword, and boldly he spake...

Sir Gawain

Many a cliff he climbed o'er in countries unknown, far fled from his friends without fellowship he rode. At every wading or water on the way that he passed he found a foe before him, save at few for a wonder; and so foul were they and fell that fight he must needs. So many a marvel in the mountains he met in those lands that 'twould be tedious the tenth part to tell you thereof. At whiles with wood-trolls that wandered in the crags, and with bulls and with bears and boars, too, at times; and with ogres that hounded him from the heights of the fells. Had he not been stalwart and staunch and steadfast in God, he doubtless would have died and death had met often; for though war wearied him much the winter was worse, when the cold clear water from the clouds spilling froze ere it had fallen upon the faded earth. Wellnigh slain by the sleet he slept ironclad more nights than enow in the naked rocks, where clattering from the crest the cold brook tumbled, and hung high o'er his head in hard icicles. Thus in peril and pain and in passes grievous till Christmas-eve that country he crossed all alone in need. The knight did at that tide his plaint to Mary plead, her rider's road to guide and to some lodging lead.

Sir Gawain

Whether thou best he or no, Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse Beats as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, The affliction of my mind amends, with which, I fear, a madness held me: this must crave, An if this be at all, a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero Be living and be here? First, noble friend, Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot Be measured or confined. Whether this be Or be not, I'll not swear. You do yet taste Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all!

The Tempest

On my word [in trouthe],' quoth Gawain, ''tis a wilderness here! This oratory looks evil. With herbs overgrown it fits well that fellow transformed into green to follow here his devotions in the Devil's fashion. Now I feel in my five wits the Fiend 'tis himself that has trapped me with this tryst to destroy me here. This is a chapel of mischance, the church most accursed that ever I entered. Evil betide it!' With high helm on his head, his lance in his hand, he roams up to the roof of that rough dwelling. Then he heard from the high hill, in a hard rock-wall beyond the stream on a steep, a sudden startling noise. How it clattered in the cliff, as if to cleave it asunder, as if one upon a grindstone were grinding a scythe! How it whirred and it rasped as water in a mill-race! How it rushed, and it rang, rueful to harken! Then 'By God,' quoth Gawain, 'I guess this ado is meant for my honour, meetly to hail me as knight! As God wills! Waylaway! That helps me not a mite. My life though down I lay, no noise can me affright.'

Sir Gawain

The Green Knight on the ground now gets himself ready, leaning a little with the head he lays bare the flesh, and his locks long and lovely he lifts over his crown, letting the naked neck as was needed appear. His left foot on the floor before him placing, Gawain gripped on his axe, gathered and raised it, from aloft let it swiftly land where 'twas naked, so that the sharp of his blade shivered the bones, and sank clean through the clear fat and clove it asunder, and the blade of the bright steel then bit into the ground. The fair head to the floor fell from the shoulders, and folk fended it with their feet as forth it went rolling; the blood burst from the body, bright on the greenness, and yet neither faltered nor fell the fierce man at all, but stoutly he strode forth, still strong on his shanks, and roughly he reached out among the rows that stood there, caught up his comely head and quickly upraised it, and then hastened to his horse, laid hold of the bridle, stepped into stirrup-iron, and strode up aloft, his head by the hair in his hand holding; and he settled himself then in the saddle as firmly as if unharmed by mishap, though in the hall he might wear no head. His trunk he twisted round, that gruesome body that bled, and many fear then found, as soon as his speech was sped.

Sir Gawain

Then the great man in green gladly prepared him, gathered up his grim tool there Gawain to smite; with all the lust in his limbs aloft he heaved it, shaped as mighty a stroke as if he meant to destroy him. Had it driving come down as dour as he aimed it, under his dint would have died the most doughty man ever. But Gawain on that guisarm then glanced to one side, as down it came gliding on the green there to end him, and he shrank a little with his shoulders at the sharp iron. With a jolt the other man jerked back the blade, and reproved then the prince, proudly him taunting. 'Thou'rt not Gawain,' said the green man, 'who is so good reported, who never flinched from any foes on fell or in dale; and now thou fleest in fear, ere thou feelest a hurt! Of such cowardice that knight I ne'er heard accused. Neither blenched I nor backed, when thy blow, sir, thou aimedest, nor uttered any cavil in the court of King Arthur. My head flew to my feet, and yet fled I never; but thou, ere thou hast any hurt, in thy heart quailest, and so the nobler knight to be named I deserve therefore.' 'I blenched once,' Gawain said, 'and I will do so no more. But if on floor now falls my head, I cannot it restore.'

Sir Gawain

Then they brought him his blazon that was of brilliant gules with the pentangle depicted in pure hue of gold. By the baldric he caught it and about his neck cast it: right well and worthily it went with the knight. And why the pentangle is proper to that prince so noble I intend now to tell you, though it may tarry my story. It is a sign that Solomon once set on a time to betoken Troth, as it is entitled to do; for it is a figure that in it five points holdeth, and each line overlaps and is linked with another, and every way it is endless; and the English, I hear, everywhere name it the Endless Knot. So it suits well this knight and his unsullied arms; for ever faithful in five points, and five times under each, Gawain as good was acknowledged and as gold refined, devoid of every vice and with virtues adorned. So there the pentangle painted new he on shield and coat did wear, as one of word most true and knight of bearing fair.

Sir Gawain

Then they looked for a long while, on that lord gazing; for every man marveled what it could mean indeed that horseman and horse such a hue should come by as to grow green as the grass, and greener it seemed, than green enamel on gold glowing far brighter. All stared that stood there and stole up nearer, watching him and wondering what in the world he would do. For many marvels they had seen, but to match this nothing; wherefore a phantom and fay-magic folk there thought it, and so to answer little eager was any of those knights, and astounded at his stern voice stone-still they sat there in a swooning silence through that solemn chamber, as if all had dropped into a dream, so died their voices away.

Sir Gawain

Though Arthur the high king in his heart marvelled, he let no sign of it be seen, but said then aloud to the queen so comely with courteous words: 'Dear Lady, today be not downcast at all! Such cunning play well becomes the Christmas tide, interludes, and the like, and laughing and singing, amid these noble dances of knights and of dames. Nonetheless to my food I may fairly betake me, for a marvel I have met, and I may not deny it.' He glanced at Sir Gawain and with good point he said: 'Come, hang up thine axe, sir! It has hewn now enough!' And over the table they hung it on the tapestry behind, where all men might remark it, a marvel to see, and by its true token might tell of that adventure. Then to a table they turned, those two lords together, the king and his good kinsman, and courtly men served them with all dainties double, the dearest there might be, with all manner of meats and with minstrelsy too. with delights that day they led, till to the land came the night again. Sir Gawain, now take heed lest fear make thee refrain from daring the dangerous deed that thou in hand hast ta'en!

Sir Gawain

When the siege and the assault had ceased at Troy, and the fortress fell in flame to firebrands and ashes, the traitor who the contrivance of treason there fashioned was tried for his treachery, the most true upon earth— it was Æneas the noble and his renowned kindred who then laid under them lands, and lords became of well-nigh all the wealth in the Western Isles. When royal Romulus to Rome his road had taken, in great pomp and pride he peopled it first, and named it with his own name that yet now it bears; Tirius went to Tuscany and towns founded, Langaberde in Lombardy uplifted halls, and far over the French flood Felix Brutus on many a broad bank and brae Britain established full fair, where strange things, strife and sadness, at whiles in the land did fare, and each other grief and gladness oft fast have followed there.

Sir Gawain

Then said next to Gawain the knight all in green: 'Let's tell again our agreement, ere we go any furhter. I'd know first, sir knight, thy name; I entreat thee to tell it me truly, that I may trust in thy word.' 'In good faith,' [in troth] quoth the good knight, 'I Gawain am called.' "And thou has promptly repeated and plainly hast stated Without abatement the bargain I begged of the king here; Save that thou must assure me, sir, on thy honour [bi thi trawth], That thou'lt seek me thyself, search where thou thinkest I may be found near or far, and fetch thee such payment As thou deliverest me today before these lordly people.' 'Where should I light on thee,' quoth Gawain, 'where look for thy place? I have never learned where thou livest, by the Lord that made me... But teach me the true way, and tell what men call thee, And I will apply all my purpose the path to discover; And that I swear thee for certain and solemnly promise.' [by my siker troth]. 'The other trial for the morning, man, I thee tendered When thou kissedst my comely wife, and the kisses didst render. For the two here I offere donly two harmless feints to make. The true shall truly repay, For no peril then need he quake. Thou didst fail on the third day, And so that top now take!'

Sir Gawain (3 examples of Troth)

He that once had in plenty sweet all dainties for his drink and meat, now he must grub and dig all day, with roots his hunger to allay. In summer on wildwood fruit he feeds, or berries poor to serve his needs; in winter nothing can he find save roots and herbs and bitter rind. All his body was wasted thin by hardship, and all cracked his skin. A Lord! who can recount the woe for ten long years that king did know? His hair and beard all black and rank down to his waist hung long and lank.

Sir Orfeo

In Britain all these lays are writ, there issued first in rhyming fit, concerning adventures in those days whereof the Britons made their lays; for when they heard men anywhere tell of adventures that there were, they took their harps in their delight and made a lay and named it right. Of adventures that did once befall some can I tell you, but not all. Listen now, lordings good and true, and 'Orfeo' I will sing to you.

Sir Orfeo

Sir Orfeo was a king of old, in England lordship high did hold; valour he had and hardihood, a courteous king whose gifts were good. His father from King Pluto came, his mother from Juno, king of fame, who once of old as gods were named for mighty deeds they did and claimed. Sir Orfeo, too, all things beyond of harping's sweet delight was fond, and sure were all good harpers there of him to earn them honour fair; himself he loved to touch the harp and pluck the strings with fingers sharp.

Sir Orfeo

The king was crowned with crown of light, not of red gold nor silver white, but of one single gem 'twas hewn that shone as bright as sun at noon. And coming, straightway he me sought, and would I or no, he up me caught, and made me by him swiftly ride upon a palfrey at his side; and to his palace thus me brought, a dwelling fair and wondrous wrought. He castles showed me there and towers, Water and wild, and woods, and flowers, and pastures rich upon the plain; and then he brought me home again, and to our orchard he me led, and then at parting this he said: 'See, lady, tomorrow thou must be right here beneath this grafted tree, and then beside us thou shalt ride, and with us evermore abide. If let or hindrance thou dost make, where'er thou be, we shall thee take, and all thy limbs shall rend and tear -- no aid of man shall help thee there; and even so, all rent and torn, thou shalt away with us be borne.''

Sir Orfeo

The steward looked and looked again; the harp in hand at once he knew, 'Minstrel,' he said, 'come, tell me true, whence came this harp to thee, and how? I pray thee, tell me plainly now.' 'My lord,' said he, 'in lands unknown I walked a wilderness alone, and there I found in dale forlorn a man by lions to pieces torn, by wolves devoured with teeth so sharp; by him I found this very harp, and that is full ten years ago.' 'Ah!' said the steward, 'news of woe! 'Twas Orfeo, my master true. Alas! poor wretch, what shall I do, who must so dear a master mourn? A! woe is me that I was born, for him so hard a fate designed, a death so vile that he should find!'

Sir Orfeo

Then he began to gaze about, and saw within the walls a rout of folk that were thither drawn below, and mourned as dead, but were not so. For some there stood who had no head, and some no arms, nor feet; some bled and through their bodies wounds were set, and some were strangled as they ate, and some lay raving, chained and bound, and some in water had been drowned; and some were withered in the fire, and some on horse, in war's attire, and wives there lay in their childbed, and mad were some, and some were dead; and passing many there lay beside as though they slept at quiet noon-tide. Thus in the world was each one caught and thither by fairy magic brought.

Sir Orfeo

There often by him would he see, when noon was hot on leaf and tree, the king of Faërie with his rout came hunting in the woods about with blowing far and crying dim, and barking hounds that were with him; yet never a beast they took nor slew, and where they went he never knew. At other times he would descry a mighty host, it seemed, go by, ten hundred knights all fair arrayed with many a banner proud displayed. Each face and mien was fierce and bold, each knight a drawn sword there did hold, and all were armed in harness fair and marching on he knew not where. Or a sight more strange would meet his eye: knights and ladies came dancing by in rich array and raiment meet, softly stepping with skillful feet; tabour and trumpet went along, and marvelous minstrelsy and song.

Sir Orfeo

We often read and written find, as learned men do us remind, that lays that now the harpers sing are wrought of many a marvellous thing. Some are of weal, and some of woe, and some do joy and gladness know; in some are guile and treachery told, in some the deeds that chanced of old; some are of jests and ribaldry, and some are tales of Faërie. Of all the things that men may heed 'tis most of love they sing indeed.

Sir Orfeo

Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him, I' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him, Having first seized his books, or with a log Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember First to possess his books; for without them He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command: they all do hate him as rootedly as I... Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears, and sometimes voices That, if I then had waked after long sleep,Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.

The Tempest

"I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my paths led. And through the air. I am he that walks unseen." "So I can well believe," said Smaug, "but that is hardly your usual name." "I am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number." "Lovely titles!" sneered the dragon. "But lucky numbers don't always come off." "I am he that buries his friends alive and drowns them and draws them alive again from the water. I came from the end of a bag, but no bag went over me." "These don't sound so creditable," scoffed Smaug. "I am the friend of bears and the guest of eagles. I am Ringwinner and Luckwearer; and I am Barrel-rider," went on Bilbo beginning to be pleased with his riddling. "That's better!" said Smaug. "But don't let your imagination run away with you!"

The Hobbit

As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick. He looked out of the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. He thought of the jewels of the dwarves shining in dark caverns. Suddenly in the wood beyond The Water a flame leapt up— probably somebody lighting a wood-fire-and he thought of plundering dragons settling on his quiet Hill and kindling it all to flames. He shuddered; and very quickly he was plain Mr. Baggins of Bag-End, Under-Hill, again.

The Hobbit

I don't know if it has occurred to you that, even if you could steal the gold bit by bit—a matter of a hundred years or so—you could not get it very far? Not much use on the mountain-side? Not much use in the forest? Bless me! Had you never thought of the catch? A fourteenth share, I suppose, or something like it, those were the terms, eh? But what about delivery? What about cartage? What about armed guards and tolls?" And Smaug laughed aloud. He had a wicked and a wily heart, and he knew his guesses were not far out, though he suspected that the Lake-men were at the back of the plans, and that most of the plunder was meant to stop there in the town by the shore that in his young days had been called Esgaroth. You will hardly believe it, but poor Bilbo was really very taken aback. So far all his thoughts and energies had been concentrated on getting to the Mountain and finding the entrance. He had never bothered to wonder how the treasure was to be removed, certainly never how any part of it that might fall to his share was to be brought back all the way to Bag-End Under-Hill. Now a nasty suspicion began to grow in his mind—had the dwarves forgotten this important point too, or were they laughing in their sleeves at him all the time? That is the effect that dragon-talk has on the inexperienced. Bilbo of course ought to have been on his guard; but Smaug had rather an overwhelming personality

The Hobbit

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort...This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained—well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.

The Hobbit

There he lay, a vast red-golden dragon, fast asleep; a thrumming came from his jaws and nostrils, and wisps of smoke, but his fires were low in slumber. Beneath him, under all his limbs and his huge coiled tail, and about him on all sides stretching away across the unseen floors, lay countless piles of precious things, gold wrought and un-wrought, gems and jewels, and silver red-stained in the ruddy light. Smaug lay, with wings folded like an immeasurable bat, turned partly on one side, so that the hobbit could see his underparts and his long pale belly crusted with gems and fragments of gold from his long lying on his costly bed. Behind him where the walls were nearest could dimly be seen coats of mail, helms and axes, swords and spears hanging; and there in rows stood great jars and vessels filled with a wealth that could not be guessed.

The Hobbit

This of course is the way to talk to dragons, if you don't want to reveal your proper name (which is wise), and don't want to infuriate them by a flat refusal (which is also very wise). No dragon can resist the fascination of riddling talk and of wasting time trying to understand it. There was a lot here which Smaug did not understand at all (though I expect you do, since you know all about Bilbo's adventures to which he was referring), but he thought he understood enough, and he chuckled in his wicked inside.

The Hobbit

Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,-- He'd sow't with nettle-seed. Or docks, or mallows. And were the king on't, what would I do? 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. I' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things; for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too, but innocent and pure; No sovereignty;-- Yet he would be king on't. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people. No marrying 'mong his subjects? None, man; all idle: whores and knaves. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. God save his majesty! Long live Gonzalo!

The Tempest

How came we ashore? By Providence divine. Some food we had and some fresh water that A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity, being then appointed Master of this design, did give us, with Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries, Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.

The Tempest

I must eat my dinner.This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first,Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give meWater with berries in't, and teach me howTo name the bigger light, and how the less,That burn by day and night: and then I loved theeAnd show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:Cursed be I that did so! All the charmsOf Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!For I am all the subjects that you have,Which first was mine own king: and here you sty meIn this hard rock, whiles you do keep from meThe rest o' the island. Thou most lying slave,Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged theeIn mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violateThe honour of my child.

The Tempest

I' the name of something holy, sir, why stand you In this strange stare? O, it is monstrous, monstrous: Methought the billows spoke and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded And with him there lie mudded.

The Tempest

I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries;I'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough.A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!I'll bear him no more A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of aPoor drunkard! I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;And I with my long nails will dig thee pignuts;Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee howTo snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring theeTo clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get theeYoung scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?

The Tempest

If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her... No harm.I have done nothing but in care of thee, Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father.

The Tempest

More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. 'Tis timeI should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So: Lays down his mantle Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soul-- No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down; For thou must now know farther.

The Tempest

My brave spirit!Who was so firm, so constant, that this coilWould not infect his reason? Not a soulBut felt a fever of the mad and play'dSome tricks of desperation. All but marinersPlunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand,With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,--Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is emptyAnd all the devils are here.'

The Tempest

Now I arise: Resumes his mantle Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.Here in this island we arrived; and hereHave I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profitThan other princesses can that have more timeFor vainer hours and tutors not so careful. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reasonFor raising this sea-storm? Know thus far forth.By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,Now my dear lady, hath mine enemiesBrought to this shore;

The Tempest

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled: Be not disturb'd with my infirmity: If you be pleased, retire into my cell And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk, To still my beating mind.

The Tempest

This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on. Pointing to Caliban He is as disproportion'd in his manners As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; Take with you your companions; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god And worship this dull fool!

The Tempest

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves, And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves at my command Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure, and, when I have required Some heavenly music, which even now I do, To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book.

The Tempest

You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; And even with such-like valour men hang and drown Their proper selves. You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate: the elements, Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plume: my fellow-ministers Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,Your swords are now too massy for your strengths And will not be uplifted. But remember-- For that's my business to you--that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero; Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft; and do pronounce by me: Lingering perdition, worse than any death Can be at once, shall step by step attend You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from-- Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls Upon your heads--is nothing but heart-sorrow And a clear life ensuing.

The Tempest