Sir Gawain
the Green Knight

First morning in the Green Castle

Schalkez to schote at hym schowen to þenne,
Haled to hym of her arewez, hitten hym oft;
Bot þe poyntez payred at þe pyth þat py 3 t in his scheldez,
And þe barbez of his browe bite non wolde--
Þa3 þe schauen schaft schyndered in pecez,
Þe hede hypped a3 ayn were-so-euer hit hitte.
Bot quen þe dyntez hym dered of her dry 3e strokez,
Þen, braynwod for bate, on burnez he rasez,
Hurtez hem ful heterly þer he forth hy 3ez,
And mony ar3 ed þerat, and on lyte dro 3en.
Bot þe lorde on a ly 3t horce launces hym after,
As burne bolde vpon bent his bugle he blowez,
He rechated, and rode þur3 ronez ful þyk,
Suande þis wylde swyn til þe sunne schafted.
Þis day wyth þis ilk dede þay dryuen on þis wyse,
Whyle oure luflych lede lys in his bedde,
Gawayn grayþely at home, in gerez ful ryche
of hewe.
Þe lady no3t for3ate,
Com to hym to salue;
Ful erly ho watz hym ate
His mode for to remwe.

Ho commes to þe cortyn, and at þe kny3t totes.
Sir Wawen her welcumed worþy on fyrst,
And ho hym 3eldez a3ayn ful 3erne of hir wordez,
Settez hir softly by his syde, and swyþely ho la3ez,
And wyth a luflych loke ho layde hym þyse wordez:
'Sir, 3if 3e be Wawen, wonder me þynkkez,
Wy3e þat is so wel wrast alway to god,
And connez not of compaynye þe costez vndertake,
And if mon kennes yow hom to knowe, 3e kest hom of your mynde;
Þou hatz for3eten 3ederly þat 3isterday I ta3tte
Bi alder-truest token of talk þat I cowþe.'
'What is þat?' quoþ þe wyghe, 'Iwysse I wot neuer;
If hit be sothe þat 3e breue, þe blame is myn awen.'
'3et I kende yow of kyssyng,' quoþ þe clere þenne,
'Quere-so countenaunce is couþe quikly to clayme;
Þat bicumes vche a kny3t þat cortaysy vses.'
'Do way,' quoþ þat derf mon, 'my dere, þat speche,
For þat durst I not do, lest I deuayed were;
If I were werned, I were wrang, iwysse, 3if I profered.'
'Ma fay,' quoþ þe meré wyf, '3e may not be werned
3e ar stif innoghe to constrayne wyth strenkþe, 3if yow lykez,
3if any were so vilanous þat yow devaye wolde.'
'3e, be God,' quoþ Gawayn, 'good is your speche,
Bot þrete is vnþryuande in þede þer I lende,
And vche gift þat is geuen not with goud wylle.
I am at your comaundement, to kysse quen yow lykez,
3e may lach quen yow lyst, and leue quen yow þynkkez,
in space.'
Þe lady loutez adoun,
And comlyly kysses his face,
Much speche þay þer expoun
Of druryes greme and grace.

'I woled wyt at yow, wy3e,' þat worþy þer sayde,
'And yow wrathed not þerwyth, what were þe skylle
Þat so 3ong and so 3epe as 3e at þis tyme,
So cortayse, so kny3tyly, as 3e ar knowen oute--
And of alle cheualry to chose, þe chef þyng alosed
Is þe lel layk of luf, þe lettrure of armes;
For to telle of þis teuelyng of þis trwe kny3tez,
Hit is þe tytelet token and tyxt of her werkkez,
How ledes for her lele luf hor lyuez han auntered,
Endured for her drury dulful stoundez,
And after wenged with her walour and voyded her care,
And bro3t blysse into boure with bountees hor awen--
And 3e ar kny3t comlokest kyd of your elde,
Your worde and your worchip walkez ayquere,
And I haf seten by yourself here sere twyes,
3et herde I neuer of your hed helde no wordez
Þat euer longed to luf, lasse ne more;
And 3e, þat ar so cortays and coynt of your hetes,
Oghe to a 3onke þynk 3ern to schewe
And teche sum tokenez of trweluf craftes.
Why! ar 3e lewed, þat alle þe los weldez?
Oþer elles 3e demen me to dille your dalyaunce to herken?
For schame!
I com hider sengel, and sitte
To lerne at yow sum game;
Dos, techez me of your wytte,
Whil my lorde is fro hame.'