Then cried Earl Yniol, “Art thou he indeed,
  Geraint, a name far-sounded among men
  For noble deeds? and truly I, when first
  I saw you moving by me on the bridge,
  Felt ye were somewhat, yea, and by your state
  And presence might have guess’d you one of those
  That eat in Arthur’s hall at Camelot. 
  Nor speak I now from foolish flattery;
  For this dear child hath often heard me praise
  Your feats of arms, and often when I paused
  Hath ask’d again, and ever loved to hear;
  So grateful is the noise of noble deeds
  To noble hearts who see but acts of wrong: 
  O never yet had woman such a pair
  Of suitors as this maiden; first Limours,
  A creature wholly given to brawls and wine,
  Drunk even when he woo’d; and be he dead
  I know not, but he passed to the wild land. 
  The second was your foe, the sparrow-hawk,
  My curse, my nephew—­I will not let his name
  Slip from my lips if I can help it—­he,
  When I that knew him fierce and turbulent
  Refused her to him, then his pride awoke;
  And since the proud man often is the mean,
  He sow’d a slander in the common ear,
  Affirming that his father left him gold,
  And in my charge, which was not render’d to him;
  Bribed with large promises the men who served
  About my person, the more easily
  Because my means were somewhat broken into
  Thro’ open doors and hospitality;
  Raised my own town against me in the night
  Before my Enid’s birthday, sack’d my house;
  From mine own earldom foully ousted me;
  Built that new fort to overawe my friends,
  For truly there are those who love me yet;
  And keeps me in this ruinous castle here,
  Where doubtless he would put me soon to death,
  But that his pride too much despises me: 
  And I myself sometimes despise myself;
  For I have let men be, and have their way;
  Am much too gentle, have not used my power: 
  Nor know I whether I be very base
  Or very manful, whether very wise
  Or very foolish; only this I know,
  That whatsoever evil happen to me,
  I seem to suffer nothing heart or limb,
  But can endure it all most patiently.”

    “Well said, true heart,” replied Geraint, “but arms,
  That if the sparrow-hawk, this nephew, fight
  In next day’s tourney I may break his pride.”

    And Yniol answer’d, “Arms, indeed, but old
  And rusty, old and rusty, Prince Geraint,
  Are mine, and therefore at thine asking, thine. 
  But in this tournament can no man tilt,
  Except the lady he loves best be there. 
  Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground,
  And over these is placed a silver wand. 
  And over that a golden sparrow-hawk,
  The prize of beauty for the fairest there. 
  And this what knight soever be in field
  Lays claim to for the lady at his side,
  And tilts with my good nephew thereupon,
  Who being apt at arms and big of bone
  Has ever won it for the lady with him,
  And toppling over all antagonism
  Has earn’d himself the name of sparrow-hawk. 
  But thou, that hast no lady, canst not fight.”