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 joy of Heaven. 
 
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