ne with wordes of treason, and sayd
knyghte thow arte overcome, and mayste not endure, and also thow
arte wepenles, and thow hast loste moche of thy blood, and I am ful
lothe to slee the, therfor yelde the to me as recreaunt. Nay, saide
syre Arthur I maye not so, for I haue promysed to doo the bataille
to the vttermost by the feythe of my body whyle me lasteth the lyf,
and therfor I had leuer to dye with honour than to lyve with shame.
And yf it were possyble for me to dye an C tymes, I had leuer to
dye so ofte, than yelde me to the, for though I lacke wepen, I
shalle lacke no worship. And yf thou slee me wepenles that shalle
be thy shame. Wel, sayd Accolon, as for the shame I wyl not spare.
Now kepe the from me, for thow arte but a dede ma. And therwith
Accolon gaf hym suche a stroke that he felle nyghe to the erthe,
and wolde haue had Arthur to haue cryed hym mercy. But syre Arthur
pressed unto Accolon with his sheld and gaf hym with the pomel in
his hand suche a buffet that he wente thre strydes abak. * * * And
at the next stroke Syr Accolon stroke hym suche a stroke that by
the damoysels enchauntement the swerd Excalibur felle oute of
Accolons hande to the erthe. And therwith alle syre Arthur lyghtely
lepte to hit, and gate hit in his hand, and forwith al he knewe
that it was his suerd Excalibur, & sayd thow hast ben from me al to
long, & moche dommage hast thow done me. * * * And therwith syr
Arthur russhed on hym with hys myghte, and pulled hym to the erthe,
and thenne russhed of his helme, and gaf hym suche a buffet on the
hede that the blood cam oute at his eres, his nose & his mouthe.
Now wyll I slee the said Arthur. Slee me ye may wel, said Accolon,
and it please yow, for ye ar the best knyghte that euer I fonde,
and I see wel that god is with yow.

The knights of the Round Table had much more difficulty in dealing with
one another than in overcoming the most redoubtable giants. Sir
Launcelot arrived at a giant's castle,[20] and "he looked aboute, and
sawe moche peple in dores and wyndowes that sayd fayre knyghte thow art
unhappy. Anone with al cam there vpon hym two grete gyaunts wel armed
al sauf the hedes, with two horryble clubbes in theyr handes. Syre
Launcelot put his sheld afore hym and put the stroke aweye of the one
gyaunt, and with his swerd he clafe his hede a sondre. Whan his felaw
sawe that,