Thereupon, Lancelot departeth from the hermitage and rideth on until he
cometh forth of the forest, and findeth a waste land, a country broad
and long wherein wonned neither beast nor bird, for the land was so
poor and parched that no victual was to be found therein. Lancelot
looketh before him and seeth a city appear far away. Thither rideth he
full speed and seeth that the city is so great that it seemeth him to
encompass a whole country. He seeth the walls that are falling all
around, and the gates ruined with age. He entereth within and findeth
the city all void of folk, and seeth the great palaces fallen down and
waste, and the great grave-yards full of sepulchres, and the tall
churches all lying waste, and the markets and exchanges all empty. He
rideth amidst the streets, and findeth a great palace that seemeth him
to be better and more ancient than all the others. He bideth awhile
before it and heareth within how knights and ladies are making great
dole. And they say to a knight: "Ha, God, sore grief and pity is this
of you, that you must needs die in such manner, and that your death may
not be respited! Sore hatred ought we to bear toward him that hath
adjudged you such a death."
The knights and ladies swoon over him as he departeth. Lancelot hath
heard all this and much marvelleth he thereof, but nought thereof may
he see.