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He had wrapped himself in a green mantle,
And beside him was the Damascus sabre.
And when the wounded knight was ware of me, 70
He spake, calling me brother-in-God.
'Brother-in-God,' quoth he, 'unknown knight,
Cut not off my head,
For I am grievously wounded,
And right soon will my soul go from me.
Do thou wait but one half hour,
And bury me by Sitnica river.
Lo, I have three belts of gold about me,
And behold my sabre damascened,
The which is worth a thousand ducats, 80
And my silken tent also.'
But of him truly, would I take no gift.
I drew him forth—the wounded hero—
I seized the sabre and cut off his head;
Then I took him by the hand,
Likewise by the right foot,
And cast him into Sitnica river.
It was there I won marvellous great booty,
And there I won me this sabre."
When Kraljević Marko heard it, 90
He spake to the crier of merchandise:
"O Turk, may God do so unto thee and more also!
Him thou slewest was my own dear father,
My father, King Vukašin!
Hadst thou waited for his soul to pass,
Hadst thou buried him yonder,
I would have given thee better burial."
Right so he drew the damascened blade,
And strake off the Turk's head.
He took him by the hand, 100
And cast him into Sitnica river.
"Go, Turk," quoth he, "seek my father!"
Marko returned back to the Sultan's host
Bearing with him both gold and sabre.
