"Mary!" quod þat oþer mon, "now þou so much spelle3,

Þat þou wylt þyn awen nye nyme to þy-seluen,

& þe lyst lese þy lyf, þe lette I ne kepe;

Haf here þi helme on þy hede, þi spere in þi honde,

& ryde me doun þis ilk rake, bi 3on rokke syde,

Til þou be bro3t to þe boþem of þe brem valay;

Þenne loke a littel on þe launde, on þi lyfte honde,

& þou schal se in þat slade þe self chapel,

& þe borelych burne on bent, þat hit kepe3.

Now fare3 wel on Gode3 half, Gawayn þe noble,

For alle þe golde vpon grounde I nolde go with þe,

Ne bere þe fela3schip þur3 þis fryth on fote fyrre."

Bi þat þe wy3e in þe wod wende3 his brydel,

Hit þe hors with þe hele3, as harde as he my3t,

Lepe3 hym ouer þe launde, & leue3 þe kny3t þere,

al one.

"Bi Godde3 self," quod Gawayn,

"I wyl nauþer grete ne grone,

To Godde3 wylle I am ful bayn,

& to hym I haf me tone."

Thenne gyrde3 he to Gryngolet, & gedere3 þe rake,

Schowue3 in bi a schore, at a scha3e syde,

Ride3 þur3 þe ro3e bonk, ry3t to þe dale;

& þenne he wayted hym aboute, & wylde hit hym þo3t,

& se3e no syngne of resette, bisyde3 nowhere,

Bot hy3e bonkke3 & brent, vpon boþe halue,

& ru3e knokled knarre3, with knorned stone3;

Þe skwe3 of þe scowtes skayued¹ hym þo3t.

Þenne he houed, & wyth-hylde his hors at þat tyde,

& ofte chaunged his cher, þe chapel to seche;

He se3 non suche in no syde, & selly hym þo3t,

Sone a lyttel on a launde, a lawe as hit we[re];

A bal3 ber3, bi a bonke, þe brymme by-syde,

Bi a for3 of a flode, þat ferked þare;

Þe borne blubred þer-inne, as hit boyled hade.

Þe kny3t kache3 his caple, & com to þe lawe,

Li3te3 doun luflyly, & at a lynde tache3

Þe rayne, & his riche, with a ro3e braunche;

Þen[n]e he bo3e3 to þe ber3e, aboute hit he walke,

D[e]batande with hym-self, quat hit be my3t.

Hit hade a hole on þe ende, & on ayþer syde,

& ouer-growen with gresse in glodes ay where,

& al wat3 hol3 in-with, nobot an olde caue,

Or a creuisse of an olde cragge, he couþe hit no3t deme

with spelle,

"We,² lorde," quod þe gentyle kny3t,

"Wheþer þis be þe grene chapelle;

He my3t aboute myd-ny3t,

[Þ]e dele his matynnes telle!"

"Now i-wysse," quod Wowayn, "wysty is here;

Þis oritore is vgly, with erbe3 ouer-growen;

Wel biseme3 þe wy3e wruxled in grene

Dele here his deuocioun, on þe deuele3 wyse;

Now I fele hit is þe fende, in my fyue wytte3,

Þat hat3 stoken me þis steuen, to strye me here;

Þis is a chapel of meschaunce, þat chekke hit by-tyde,

Hit is þe corsedest kyrk, þat euer i com inne!"

With he3e helme on his hede, his launce in his honde,

He rome3 vp to þe rokke of þo ro3 wone3;

Þene herde he of þat hy3e hil, in a harde roche,

Bi3onde þe broke, in a bonk, a wonder breme noyse,

Quat! hit clatered in þe clyff, as hit cleue schulde,

As one vpon a gryndelston hade grounden a syþe;

What! hit wharred, & whette, as water at a mulne,

What! hit rusched, & ronge, rawþe to here.

Þenne "bi Godde," quod Gawayn, "þat gere as¹ I trowe,

Is ryched at þe reuerence, me renk to mete,

bi rote;

Let God worche we loo,

Hit helppe3 me not a mote,

My lif þa3 I for-goo,

Drede dot3 me no lote."

Thenne þe kny3t con calle ful hy3e,

"Who sti3tle3 in þis sted, me steuen to holde?

For now is gode Gawayn goande ry3t here,

If any wy3e o3t wyl wynne hider fast,

Oþer now, oþer neuer, his nede3 to spede."

"Abyde," quod on on þe bonke, abouen ouer his hede,

"& þou schal haf al in hast, þat I þe hy3t ones."

3et he rusched on þat rurde, rapely a þrowe,

& wyth quettyng a-wharf, er he wolde ly3t;

& syþen he keuere3 bi a cragge, & come3 of a hole,

Whyrlande out of a wro, wyth a felle weppen,

A dene3 ax nwe dy3t, þe dynt with [t]o 3elde

With a borelych bytte, bende by þe halme,

Fyled in a fylor, fowre fote large,

Hit wat3 no lasse, bi þat lace þat lemed ful bry3t.

& þe gome in þe erene gered as fyrst,

Boþe þe lyre & þe legge3, lokke3, & berde,

Saue þat fayre on his fote he founde3 on þe erþe,

Sette þe stele to þe stone, & stalked bysyde.

When he wan to þe watter, þer he wade nolde,

He hypped ouer on hys ax, & orpedly stryde3,

Bremly broþe on a bent, þat brode wat3 a-boute,

on snawe.

Sir Gawayn þe kny3t con mete.

He ne lutte hym no þyng lowe,

Þat oþer sayde, "now, sir swete,

Of steuen mon may þe trowe."

"Gawayn," quod þat grene gome, "God þe mot loke!

I-wysse þou art welcom,¹ wy3e, to my place,

& þou hat3 tymed þi trauayl as true² mon schulde;

& þou knowe3 þe couenaunte3 kest vus by-twene,

At þis tyme twelmonyth þou toke þat þe falled,

& I schulde at þis nwe 3ere 3eply þe quyte.

& we ar in þis valay, verayly oure one,

Here ar no renkes vs to rydde, rele as vus like3;

Haf þy³ helme of þy hede, & haf here þy pay;

Busk no more debate þen I þe bede þenne,

"When þou wypped of my hede at a wap one."

"Nay, bi God," quod Gawayn, "þat me gost lante,

I schal gruch þe no grwe, for grem þat falle3;

Botsty3tel þe vpon on strok, & I schal stonde stylle,

& warp þe no wernyng, to worch as þe lyke3,

no whare."

He lened with þe nek, & lutte,

& schewed þat schyre al bare,

& lette as he no3t dutte,

For drede he wolde not dare.

Then þe gome in þe grene grayþed hym swyþe,

Gedere3 yp hys grymme tole, Gawayn to smyte;

With alle þe bur in his body he ber hit on lofte,

Munt as ma3tyly, as marre hym he wolde;

Hade hit dryuen adoun, as dre3 as he atled,

Þer hade ben ded of his dynt, þat do3ty wat3 euer.

Bot Gawayn on þat giserne glyfte hym bysyde,

As hit com glydande adoun, on glode hym to schende,

& schranke a lytel with þe schulderes, for þe scharp yrne.

Þat oþer schalk wyth a schunt þe schene wythhalde3,

& þenne repreued he þe prynce with mony prowde worde3:

"Þou art not Gawayn," quod þe gome, "þat is so goud halden,

Þat neuer ar3ed for no here, by hylle ne be vale,

& now þou fles for ferde, er þou fele harme3;

Such cowardise of þat kny3t cowþe I neuer here.

Nawþer fyked I, ne fla3e, freke, quen þou myntest,

Ne kest no kauelacion, in kynge3 hous Arthor,

My hede fla3 to my fote, & 3et fla3 I neuer;

& þou, er any harme hent, ar3e3 in hert,

Wherfore þe better burne me burde be called

þer-fore."

Quod G:, "I schunt one3,

& so wyl I no more,

Bot pa3 my hede falle on þe stone3,

I con not hit restore.

Bot busk, burne, bi þi fayth, & bryng me to þe poynt,

Dele to me my destiné, & do hit out of honde,

For I schal stonde þe a strok, & start no more,

Til þyn ax haue me hitte, haf here my trawþe."

"Haf at þe þenne," quod þat oþer, & heue3 hit alofte,

& wayte3 as wroþely, as he wode were;

He mynte3 at hym ma3tyly, bot not þe mon ryue3,¹

With-helde heterly h[i]s honde, er hit hurt my3t.

Gawayn grayþely hit byde3, & glent with no membre,

Bot stode stylle as þe ston, oþer a stubbe auþer,

Þat raþeled is in roche grounde, with rote3 a hundreth.

Þen muryly efte con he mele, þe mon in þe grene,

"So now þou hat3 þi hert holle, hitte me bihou[e]s;

Halde þe now þe hy3e hode, þat Arþur þe ra3t,

& kepe þy kanel at þis kest, 3if hit keuer may."

G: ful gryndelly with greme þenne sayde,

"Wy þresch on, þou þro mon, þou þrete3 to longe,

I hope þat þi hert ar3e wyth þyn awen seluen."

"For soþe," quod þat oþer freke, "so felly þou speke3,

I wyl no lenger on lyte lette þin ernde,

ri3t nowe."

Þenne tas he² hym stryþe to stryke,

& frounses boþe lyppe & browe,

No meruayle þa3 hym myslyke,

Þat hoped of no rescowe.

He lyftes ly3tly his lome, & let hit doun fayre,

With þe barbe of þe bitte bi þe bare nek

Þa3 he homered heterly, hurt hym no more,

Bot snyrt hym on þat on syde, þat seuered þe hyde;

Þe scharp schrank to þe flesche þur3 þe schyre grece,

Þat þe schene blod over his schulderes schot to þe erþe.

& quen þe burne se3 þe blode blenk on þe snawe,

He sprit forth spenne fote more þen a spere lenþe,

Hent heterly his helme, & on his hed cast,

Schot with his schuldere3 his fayre schelde vnder,

Brayde3 out a bry3t sworde, & bremely he speke3;

Neuer syn þat he wat3 burne borne of his moder,

Wat3 he neuer in þis worlde, wy3e half so blyþe:—

"Blynne, burne, of þy bur, bede me no mo;

I haf a stroke in þis sted with-oute stryf hent,

& if þow reche3 me any mo, I redyly schal quyte,

& 3elde 3ederly a3ayn, & þer to 3e tryst,

& foo;

Bot on stroke here me falle3,

Þe couenaunt schop ry3t so,

[Sikered]¹ in Arþure3 halle3,

& þer-fore, hende, now hoo!"

The haþel heldet hym fro, & on his ax rested,

Sette þe schaft vpon schore, & to be scharp lened,

& loked to þe leude, þat on þe launde 3ede,

How þat do3ty dredles deruely þer stonde3,

Armed ful a3le3; in hert hit hym lyke3.

þenn he mele3 muryly, wyth a much steuen,

& wyth a r[a]ykande rurde he to þe renk sayde,

"Bolde burne, on þis bent be not so gryndel;

No mon here vn-manerly þe mys-boden habbe,

Ne kyd, bot as couenaunde, at kynge3 kort schaped;

I hy3t þe a strok, & þou hit hat3, halde þe wel payed,

I relece þe of þe remnaunt, of ry3tes alle oþer;

3if¹ I deliuer had bene, a boffet, paraunter,

I couþe wroþeloker haf waret, [&] to þe haf wro3t anger.²

Fyrst I mansed þe muryly, with a mynt one,

& roue þe wyth no rof, sore with ry3t I þe profered,

For þe forwarde that we fest in þe fyrst ny3t,

& þou trystyly þe trawþe & trwly me halde3,

Al þe gayne þow me gef, as god mon shulde;

Þat oþer munt for þe morne, mon, I þe profered,

Þou kyssedes my clere wyf, þe cosse3 me ra3te3,

For boþe two here I þe bede bot two bare myntes,

boute scaþe;

Trwe mon trwe restore,

Þenne þar mon drede no waþe;

At þe þrid þou fayled þore,

& þer-for þat tappe ta þe.

For hit is my wede þat þou were3, þat ilke wouen girdel,

Myn owen wyf hit þe weued, I wot wel forsoþe;

Now know I wel þy cosses, & þy costes als,

& þe wowyng of my wyf, I wro3t hit myseluen;

I sende hir to asay þe, & sothly me þynkke3,

On þe fautlest freke, þat euer on fote 3ede;

As perle bi þe quite pese is of prys more,

So is Gawayn, in god fayth, bi oþer gay kny3te3.

Bot here you lakked a lyttel, sir, & lewte yow wonted,

Bot þat wat3 for no wylyde werke, ne wowyng nauþer,

Bot for 3e lufed your lyf, þe lasse I yow blame."

Þat oþer stif mon in study stod a gret whyle;

So agreued for greme he gryed with-inne,

Alle þe blode of his brest blende in his face,

Þat al he schrank for schome, þat þe schalk talked.

Þe forme worde vpon folde, þat þe freke meled,—

"Corsed worth cowarddyse & couetyse boþe!

In yow is vylany & vyse, þat vertue disstrye3."

Þenne he ka3t to þe knot, & þe kest lawse3,

Brayde broþely þe belt to þe burne seluen:

"Lo! þer þe falssyng, foule mot hit falle!

For care of þy knokke cowardyse me ta3t

To a-corde me with couetyse, my kynde to for-sake,

Þat is larges & lewte, þat longe3 to kny3te3.

Now am I fawty, & falce, & ferde haf ben euer;

Of trecherye & vn-trawþe boþe bityde sor3e

& care!

I bi-knowe yow, kny3t, here stylle,

Al fawty is my fare,

Lete3 me ouer-take your wylle,

& efle I schal be ware."

Thenne lo3e þat oþer leude, & luflyly sayde,

"I halde hit hardily¹ hole, þe harme þat I hade;

Þou art confessed so clene, be-knowen of þy mysses,

& hat3 þe penaunce apert, of þe poynt of myn egge,

I halde þe polysed of þat ply3t, & pured as clene,

As þou hade3 neuer forfeted, syþen þou wat3 fyrst borne.

& I gif þe, sir, þe gurdel þat is golde hemmed;

For hit is grene as my goune, sir G:, 3e maye

Þenk vpon þis ilke þrepe, þer þou forth þrynge3

Among prynces of prys, & þis a pure token

Of þe chaunce of þe grene chapel, at cheualrous kny3te3;

& 3e schal in þis nwe 3er a3ayn to my wone3,

& we schyn reuel þe remnaunt of þis ryche fest,

ful bene."

Þer laþed hym fast þe lorde,

& sayde, "with my wyf, I wene,

We schal yow wel acorde,

Þat wat3 your enmy kene."

"Nay, for soþe," quod þe segge, & sesed hys helme,

& hat3 hit of hendely, & þe haþel þonkke3,

"I haf soiorned sadly, sele yow bytyde,

& he 3elde hit yow 3are, þat 3arkke3 al menskes!

& comaunde3 me to þat cortays, your comlych fere,

Boþe þat on & þat oþer, myn honoured ladye3.

Þat þus hor kny3t wyth hor kest han koyntly bigyled.

Bot hit is no ferly, þa3 a fole madde,

& þur3 wyles of wymmen be wonen to sor3e;

For so wat3 Adam in erde with one bygyled,

& Salamon with fele sere, & Samson eft sone3,

Dalyda dalt hym hys wyrde, & Dauyth þer-after

Wat3 blended with Barsabe, þat much bale þoled.

Now þese were wrathed wyth her wyles, hit were a wynne huge,

To luf hom wel, & leue hem not, a leude þat couþe,

For þes wer forne¹ þe freest þat fol3ed alle þe sele,

Ex-ellently of alle þyse oþer, vnder heuen-ryche,

þat mused;

& alle þay were bi-wyled,

With² wymmen þat þay vsed,

Þa3 I be now bigyled,

Me þink me burde be excused."

"Bot your gordel," quod G: "God yow for-3elde!

Þat wyl I welde wyth good wylle, not for þe wynne golde,

Ne þe saynt, ne þe sylk, ne þe syde pendaundes,

For wele, ne for worchyp, ne for þe wlonk werkke3,

Bot in syngne of my surfet I schal se hit ofte;

When I ride in renoun, remorde to myseluen

Þe faut & þe fayntyse of þe flesche crabbed,

How tender hit is to entyse teches of fylþe;

& þus, quen pryde schal me pryk, for prowes of armes,

Þe loke to þis luf lace schal leþe my hert.

Bot on I wolde yow pray, displeses yow neuer;

Syn 3e be lorde of þe 3onde[r] londe, þer I haf lent inne,

Wyth yow wyth worschyp,—þe wy3e hit yow 3elde

Þat vp-halde3 þe heuen, & on hy3 sitte3,—

How norne 3e yowre ry3t nome, & þenne no more?"

"Þat schal I telle þe trwly," quod þat oþer þenne,

"Bernlak de Hautdesert I hat in þis londe,

Þur3 my3t of Morgne la Faye, þat in my hous lenges,

&¹ koyntyse of clergye, bi craftes wel lerned,

Þe maystres of Merlyn, mony ho² taken;

For ho hat3 dalt drwry ful dere sum tyme,

With þat conable klerk, þat knowes alle your kny3te3

at hame;

Morgne þe goddes,

Þer-fore hit is hir name;

Welde3 non so hy3e hawtesse,

Þat ho ne con make ful tame.

Ho wayned me vpon þis wyse to your wynne halle,

For to assay þe surquidre, 3if hit soth were,

Þat rennes of þe grete renoun of þe Rounde Table;

Ho wayned me þis wonder, your wytte3 to reue,

For to haf greued Gaynour, & gart hir to dy3e.

With gopnyng¹ of þat ilke gomen, þat gostlych speked,

With his hede in his honde, bifore þe hy3e table.

Þat is ho þat is at home, þe auncian lady;

Ho is euen þyn aunt, Arþure3 half suster,

Þe duches do3ter of Tyntagelle, þat dere Vter after

Hade Arþur vpon, þat aþel is nowþe.

Þerfore I eþe þe, haþel, to com to þy naunt,

Make myry in my hous, my meny þe louies,

& I wol þe as wel, wy3e, bi my faythe,

As any gome vnder God, for þy grete trauþe."

& he nikked hym naye, he nolde bi no wayes;

Þay acolen & kyssen, [bikennen] ayþer oþer

To þe prynce of paradise, & parten ry3t þere,

on coolde;

Gawayn on blonk ful bene,

To þe kynge3 bur3 buske3 bolde,

& þe kny3t in þe enker grene,

Whider-warde so euer he wolde.

Wylde waye3 in þe worlde Wowen now ryde3,

On Gryngolet, þat þe grace hade geten of his lyue;

Ofte he herbered in house, & ofte al þeroute,

& mony a-venture in vale, & venquyst ofte,

Þat I ne ty3t, at þis tyme, in tale to remene.

Þe hurt wat3 hole, þat he hade hent in his nek,

& þe blykkande belt he bere þeraboute,

A belef as a bauderyk, bounden bi his syde,

Loken vnder his lyfte arme, þe lace, with a knot,

In tokenyng he wat3 tane in tech of a faute;

& þus he commes to þe court, kny3t al in sounde.

Þer wakned wele in þat wone, when wyst þe grete,

Þat gode G: wat3 commen, gayn hit hym þo3t;

Þe kyng kysse3 þe kny3t, & þe whene alce,

& syþen mony syker kny3t, þat so3t hym to haylce,

Of his fare þat hym frayned, & ferlyly he telles;

Biknowo3 alle þe costes of care þat he hade,—

Þe chaunce of þe chapel, þe chere of þe kny3t,

Þe luf of þe ladi, þe lace at þe last.

Þe nirt in þe nek he naked hem schewed,

Þat he la3t for his vnleute at þe leudes hondes,

for blame;

He tened quen he schulde telle,

He groned for gref & grame;

Þe blod in his face con melle,

When he hit schulde schewe, for schame.

"Lo! lorde," quod þe leude, & þe lace hondeled,

"Þis is þe bende of þis blame I bere [in] my nek,

Þis is þe laþe & þe losse, þat I la3t haue,

Of couardise & couetyse, þat I haf ca3t þare,

Þis is þe token of vn-trawþe, þat I am tan inne,

& I mot nede3 hit were, wyle I may last;

For non may hyden his harme, bot vnhap ne may hit,

For þer hit one3 is tachched, twynne wil hit neuer."

Þe kyng comforte3 þe kny3t, & alle þe court als,

La3en loude þer-at, & luflyly acorden,

Þat lordes & ladis, þat longed to þe Table,

Vche burne of þe broþer-hede a bauderyk schulde haue,

A bende, a belef hym aboute, of a bry3t grene,

& þat, for sake of þat segge, in swete to were.

For þat wat3 acorded þe renoun of þe Rounde Table,

& he honoured þat hit hade, euer-more after,

As hit is breued in þe best boke of romaunce.

Þus in Arthurus day þis aunter bitidde,

Þe Brutus bokees þer-of beres wyttenesse;

Syþen Brutus, þe bolde burne, bo3ed hider fyrst,

After þe segge & þe asaute wat3 sesed at Troye,

I-wysse;

Mony auntere3 here bi-forne,

Haf fallen suche er þis:

Now þat bere þe croun of þorne,

He bryng vus to his blysse! AMEN.