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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Well at the World's End: a tale"


Hast thou others good store, new-comer?" "Yea, lord,"
said Ralph. "And canst thou tell tales of yore agone,
and of the fays and such-like? All that she must have."
"Some deal I can of that lore," said Ralph.
Then the Lord sat silent, and seemed to be pondering:
at last he said, as if to himself: "Yet there is one thing:
many a blencher can sing of battle; and it hath been seen, that a fair
body of a man is whiles soft amidst the hard hand-play. Thou!
Morfinn's luck! art thou of any use in the tilt-yard?"
"Wilt thou try me, lord?" said Ralph, looking somewhat brisker.
Said the Lord: "I deem that I may find a man or two for thee,
though it is not much our manner here; but now go thou!
David, take the lad away to his tent, and get him a flask
of wine of the best to help out thy maundering with him."
Therewith they left the tent, and Ralph walked by David sadly
and with hanging head at first; but in a while he called
to mind that, whatever betid, his life was safe as yet;
that every day he was drawing nigher to the Well at the World's End;
and that it was most like that he shall fall in with that
Dorothea of his dream somewhere on the way thereto.
So he lifted up his head again, and was singing to himself
as he stooped down to enter into his tent.
Next day naught happed to tell of save that they journeyed on;
the day was cloudy, so that Ralph saw no sign of the distant mountains;
ever the land was the same, but belike somewhat more beset with pinewoods;
they saw no folk at all on the road.


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