Death Of King Arthur lyrics

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 blyss of Heaven.

And Monkes that are right of lore

Who synge with moulded stewyn,

Ihesu, who hath woundes sore,

Grant us the blyss of Heaven.