Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

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For to haf greued Gaynour and gart hir to dy3eWith glopnyng of þat ilke gome þat gostlych spekedWith his hede in his honde bifore þe hy3e table.Þat is ho þat is at home, þe auncian lady;Ho is euen þyn aunt, Arþurez half-suster,Þe duches do3ter of Tyntagelle, þat dere Vter afterHade Arþur vpon, þat aþel is nowþe.Þerfore I eþe þe, haþel, to com to þyn aunt,Make myry in my hous; my meny þe louies,And I wol þe as wel, wy3e, bi my faythe,As any gome vnder God for þy grete trauþe.’And he nikked hym naye, he nolde bi no wayes.Þay acolen and kyssen and kennen ayþer oþerTo þe prynce of paradise, and parten ry3t þere on coolde; Gawayn on blonk ful bene To þe knygez bur3 buskez bolde, And þe kny3t in þe enker-grene Whiderwarde-so-euer he wolde.Wylde wayez in þe worlde Wowen now rydezOn Gryngolet, þat þe grace hade geten of his lyue;Ofte he herbered in house and ofte al þeroute,And mony aventure in vale, and venquyst ofte,Þat I ne ty3t at þis tyme in tale to remene.Þe hurt watz hole þat he hade hent in his nek,And þe blykkande belt he bere þerabouteAbelef as a bauderyk bounden bi his syde,Loken vnder his lyfte arme, þe lace, with a knot,In tokenyng he watz tane in tech of a faute.And þus he commes to þe court, kny3t al in sounde.Þer wakned wele in þat wone when wyst þe greteÞat gode Gawayn watz commen; gayn hit hym þo3t.Þe kyng kyssez þe kny3t, and þe whene alce,And syþen mony syker kny3t þat so3t hym to haylce,Of his fare þat hym frayned; and ferlyly he telles,

Biknowez alle þe costes of care þat he hade,Þe chaunce of þe chapel, þe chere of þe kny3t,

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Þe luf of þe ladi, þe lace at þe last.Þe nirt in þe nek he naked hem schewedÞat he la3t for his vnleuté at þe leudes hondes for blame. He tened quen he schulde telle, He groned for gref and grame; Þe blod in his face con melle, When he hit schulde schewe, for schame.’Lo! lorde,’ quoþ þe leude, and þe lace hondeled,’Þis is þe bende of þis blame I bere in my nek,Þis is þe laþe and þe losse þat I la3t haueOf couardise and couetyse þat I haf ca3t þare;Þis is þe token of vntrawþe þat I am tan inne,And I mot nedez hit were wyle I may last;For mon may hyden his harme, bot vnhap ne may hit,For þer hit onez is tachched twynne wil hit neuer.’Þe kyng comfortez þe kny3t, and alle þe court alsLa3en loude þerat, and luflyly acordenÞat lordes and ladis þat longed to þe Table,Vche burne of þe broþerhede, a bauderyk schulde haue,A bende abelef hym aboute of a bry3t grene,And þat, for sake of þat segge, in swete to were.For þat watz acorded þe renoun of þe Rounde Table,And he honoured þat hit hade euermore after,As hit is breued in þe best boke of romaunce.Þus in Arthurus day þis aunter bitidde,Þe Brutus bokez þerof beres wyttenesse;Syphen Brutus, þe bolde burne, bo3ed hider fyrst,After þe segge and þe asaute watz sesed at Troye, iwysse, Mony aunterez here-biforne Haf fallen suche er þis. Now þat here þe croun of þorne, He bryng vus to his blysse! AMEN. HONY SOYT QUI MAL PENCE.

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