Then Sir Gawain went to Morholt, who lay face down across the road, his face covered with dust and blood. He found him speared in the left shoulder and wounded in both thighs.

“By my faith,” said Sir Gawain, “this one is grievously wounded, and yet 1 don’t think he’s dead yet.”

The others said that would be amazing. Gawain put his hand to Morholt’s temples and found them warm and his pulse strong.

“By my faith,” said Sir Gawain, “this one is alive. I think he might yet be healed, if he had help.”

At that Morholt opened his eyes, which were full of dust and blood, and looked at Sir Gawain as well as he could.  Sir Gawain sat down then beside him, pulled Morholt to him gently, and rested him against his chest; with his sword he cut off the hem of his shirt and began to wipe Morholt’s eyes. At that, Morholt began to sigh and complain loudly.

Sir Gawain asked him, “Sir knight, who are you?”

Morholt answered not a word, for he could not.

“Oh, God,” said Sir Gawain, “as much as this knight is hurt, so much would I like to know who he is and what his name is.”

‘Truly he has been hurt,” said the other knights, “and, indeed, were he not great of heart, he would now have no life in his body,judging by the profusion of blood we can see he’s lost.”

Post-Vulgate Merlin