'Albeit, for all that pride would prove,
My heart be wrung to lose thy love,
It yet repents me not hereof:
So many an eagle and many a dove,
⁠So many a knight, so many a may,
This water-snake of poisonous tongue
To death by words and wiles hath stung,
That her their slayer, from hell's lake sprung,
⁠I did not ill to slay.'

'Yea,' said the king, 'too high of heart
To stand before a king thou art;
Yet irks it me to bid thee part
And take thy penance for thy part,
⁠That God may put upon thy pride.'
Then Balen took the severed head
And toward his hostry turned and sped
As one that knew not quick from dead
⁠Nor good from evil tide.