“’There is no rest, no ease for me
     North, east, or west, or south,
 Till Christian knight will willingly
     Thrice kiss me on the mouth.

 “’Nor wedded may this childe have been
     That giveth ease to me;
 Nor may he be constrained, I ween,
     But kiss me willingly.

 “’So is there here one Christian knight
     Of such a noble strain
 That he will give a tortured wight
     Sweet ease of mortal pain?’

 “‘A wedded man,’ quoth Arthur, King,
     ’A wedded man I be
 Else would I deem it noble thing
     To kiss thee willingly.

 “’Now, Lancelot, in all men’s sight
     Thou art the head and chief
 Of chivalry.  Come, noble knight,
     And give her quick relief.’

 “But Lancelot he turned aside
     And looked upon the ground,
 For it did sting his haughty pride
     To hear them laugh around.

 “‘Come thou, Sir Tristram,’ quoth the King. 
     Quoth he, ’It cannot be,
 For ne’er can I my stomach bring
     To do it willingly.’

 “‘Wilt thou, Sir Kay, thou scornful wight?’
     Quoth Kay, ’Nay, by my troth! 
 What noble dame would kiss a knight
     That kissed so foul a mouth_?’

 “‘Wilt thou, Gawaine?’ ‘I cannot, King.’ 
     ‘Sir Geraint?’ ’Nay, not I;
 My kisses no relief could bring,
     For sooner would I die.’

 “Then up and spake the youngest man
     Of all about the board,
 ’Now such relief as Christian can
     I’ll give to her, my lord.’

 “It was Sir Keith, a youthful knight,
     Yet strong of limb and bold,
 With beard upon his chin as light
     As finest threads of gold.

 “Quoth Kay, ’He hath no mistress yet
     That he may call his own,
 But here is one that’s quick to get,
     As she herself has shown.’

 “He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,
     He kissed her three times o’er,
 A wondrous change came in a trice,
     And she was foul no more.

 “Her cheeks grew red as any rose,
     Her brow as white as lawn,
 Her bosom like the winter snows,
     Her eyes like those of fawn.

 “Her breath grew sweet as summer breeze
     That blows the meadows o’er;
 Her voice grew soft as rustling trees,
     And cracked and harsh no more.

 “Her hair grew glittering, like the gold,
     Her hands as white as milk;
 Her filthy rags, so foul and old,
     Were changed to robes of silk.

 “In great amaze the knights did stare. 
     Quoth Kay, ’I make my vow
 If it will please thee, lady fair,
     I’ll gladly kiss thee now_.’

 “But young Sir Keith kneeled on one knee
     And kissed her robes so fair. 
 ‘O let me be thy slave,’ said he,
     ‘For none to thee compare.’

 “She bent her down, she kissed his brow,
     She kissed his lips and eyes. 
 Quoth she, ’Thou art my master now,
     My lord, my love, arise!