Sir Gawain and the Green Knight


For vneþe watz þe noyce not a whyle sesed,And þe fyrst cource in þe court kyndely serued,Þer hales in at þe halle dor an aghlich mayster,On þe most on þe molde on mesure hyghe;Fro þe swyre to þe swange so sware and so þik,And his lyndes and his lymes so longe and so grete,

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Half etayn in erde I hope þat he were,Bot mon most I algate mynn hym to bene,And þat þe myriest in his muckel þat my3t ride;For of bak and of brest al were his bodi sturne,Both his wombe and his wast were worthily smale,And alle his fetures fol3ande, in forme þat he hade, ful clene; For wonder of his hwe men hade, Set in his semblaunt sene; He ferde as freke were fade, And oueral enker-grene.Ande al grayþed in grene þis gome and his wedes:A strayte cote ful stre3t, þat stek on his sides,A meré mantile abof, mensked withinneWith pelure pured apert, þe pane ful cleneWith blyþe blaunner ful bry3t, and his hod boþe,Þat watz la3t fro his lokkez and layde on his schulderes;Heme wel-haled hose of þat same,Þat spenet on his sparlyr, and clene spures vnderOf bry3t golde, vpon silk bordes barred ful ryche,And scholes vnder schankes þere þe schalk rides;And alle his vesture uerayly watz clene verdure,Boþe þe barres of his belt and oþer blyþe stones,Þat were richely rayled in his aray cleneAboutte hymself and his sadel, vpon silk werkez.Þat were to tor for to telle of tryfles þe halueÞat were enbrauded abof, wyth bryddes and fly3es,With gay gaudi of grene, þe golde ay inmyddes.Þe pendauntes of his payttrure, þe proude cropure,His molaynes, and alle þe metail anamayld was þenne,Þe steropes þat he stod on stayned of þe same,

And his arsounz al after and his aþel skyrtes,Þat euer glemered and glent al of grene stones;Þe fole þat he ferkkes on fyn of þat ilke, sertayn, A grene hors gret and þikke, A stede ful stif to strayne, In brawden brydel quik —

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To þe gome he watz ful gayn.Wel gay watz þis gome gered in grene,And þe here of his hed of his hors swete.Fayre fannand fax vmbefoldes his schulderes;A much berd as a busk ouer his brest henges,Þat wyth his hi3lich here þat of his hed rechesWatz euesed al vmbetorne abof his elbowes,Þat half his armes þer-vnder were halched in þe wyseOf a kyngez capados þat closes his swyre;Þe mane of þat mayn hors much to hit lyke,Wel cresped and cemmed, wyth knottes ful monyFolden in wyth fildore aboute þe fayre grene,Ay a herle of þe here, an oþer of golde;Þe tayl and his toppyng twynnen of a sute,And bounden boþe wyth a bande of a bry3t grene,Dubbed wyth ful dere stonez, as þe dok lasted,Syþen þrawen wyth a þwong a þwarle knot alofte,Þer mony bellez ful bry3t of brende golde rungen.Such a fole vpon folde, ne freke þat hym rydes,Watz neuer sene in þat sale wyth sy3t er þat tyme, with y3e. He loked as layt so ly3t, So sayd al þat hym sy3e; Hit semed as no mon my3t Vnder his dynttez dry3e.Wheþer hade he no helme ne hawbergh nauþer,Ne no pysan ne no plate þat pented to armes,Ne no schafte ne no schelde to schwue ne to smyte,Bot in his on honde he hade a holyn bobbe,

Þat is grattest in grene when greuez ar bare,And an ax in his oþer, a hoge and vnmete,A spetos sparþe to expoun in spelle, quoso my3t.Þe lenkþe of an eln3erde þe large hede hade,Þe grayn al of grene stele and of golde hewen,Þe bit burnyst bry3t, with a brod eggeAs wel schapen to schere as scharp rasores,Þe stele of a stif staf þe sturne hit bi grypte,

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Þat watz wounden wyth yrn to þe wandez ende,And al bigrauen with grene in gracios werkes;A lace lapped aboute, þat louked at þe hede,And so after þe halme halched ful ofte,Wyth tryed tasselez þerto tacched innogheOn botounz of þe bry3t grene brayden ful ryche.Þis haþel heldez hym in and þe halle entres,Driuande to þe he3e dece, dut he no woþe,Haylsed he neuer one, bot he3e he ouer loked.Þe fyrst word þat he warp, ‘Wher is’, he sayd,’Þe gouernour of þis gyng? Gladly I woldeSe þat segg in sy3t, and with hymself speke raysoun.’ To kny3tez he kest his y3e, And reled hym vp and doun; He stemmed, and con studie Quo walt þer most renoun.Ther watz lokyng on lenþe þe lude to beholde,For vch mon had meruayle quat hit mene my3tÞat a haþel and a horse my3t such a hwe lach,As growe grene as þe gres and grener hit semed,Þen grene aumayl on golde glowande bry3ter.Al studied þat þer stod, and stalked hym nerreWyth al þe wonder of þe worlde what he worch schulde.For fele sellyez had þay sen, bot such neuer are;Forþi for fantoum and fayry3e þe folk þere hit demed.Þerfore to answare watz ar3e mony aþel freke,And al stouned at his steuen and stonstil setenIn a swoghe sylence þur3 þe sale riche;

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