Sir Gawain and the Green Knight


Þa3 Arþer þe hende kyng at hert hade wonder,He let no semblaunt be sene, bot sayde ful hy3eTo þe comlych quene wyth cortays speche,’Dere dame, to-day demay yow neuer;Wel bycommes such craft vpon Cristmasse,Laykyng of enterludez, to la3e and to syng,Among þise kynde caroles of kny3tez and ladyez.Neuer þe lece to my mete I may me wel dres,For I haf sen a selly, I may not forsake.’He glent vpon Sir Gawen, and gaynly he sayde,’Now, sir, heng vp þyn ax, þat hatz innogh hewen’;

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And hit watz don abof þe dece on doser to henge,Þer alle men for meruayl my3t on hit loke,And bi trwe tytel þerof to telle þe wonder.Þenne þay bo3ed to a borde þise burnes togeder,Þe kyng and þe gode kny3t, and kene men hem seruedOf alle dayntyez double, as derrest my3t falle;Wyth alle maner of mete and mynstralcie boþe,Wyth wele walt þday, til worþed an ende in londe. Now þenk wel, Sir Gawan, For woþe þat þou ne wonde Þis auenture for to frayn Þat þou hatz tan on honde.THIS hanselle hatz Arthur of auenturus on fyrstIn 3onge 3er, for he 3erned 3elpyng to here.Tha3 hym wordez were wane when þay to sete wenten,Now ar þay stoken of sturne werk, stafful her hond.Gawan watz glad to begynne þose gomnez in halle,Bot þa3 þe ende be heuy haf 3e no wonder;For þa3 men ben mery in mynde quen þay han mayn drynk,A 3ere 3ernes ful 3erne, and 3eldez neuer lyke,Þe forme to þe fynisment foldez ful selden.Forþi þis 3ol ouer3ede, and þe 3ere after,And vche sesoun serlepes sued after oþer:

After Crystenmasse com þe crabbed lentoun,Þat fraystez flesch wyth þe fysche and fode more symple;Bot þenne þe weder of þe worlde wyth wynter hit þrepez,Colde clengez adoun, cloudez vplyften,Schyre schedez þe rayn in schowrez ful warme,Fallez vpon fayre flat, flowrez þere schewen,Boþe groundez and þe greuez grene ar her wedez,Bryddez busken to bylde, and bremlych syngenFor solace of þe softe somer þat sues þerafter bi bonk; And blossumez bolne to blowe Bi rawez rych and ronk, Þen notez noble inno3e

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Ar herde in wod so wlonk.After þe sesoun of somer wyth þe soft wyndezQuen Zeferus syflez hymself on sedez and erbez,Wela wynne is þe wort þat waxes þeroute,When þe donkande dewe dropez of þe leuez,To bide a blysful blusch of þe bry3t sunne.Bot þen hy3es heruest, and hardenes hym sone,Warnez hym for þe wynter to wax ful rype;He dryues wyth dro3t þe dust for to ryse,Fro þe face of þe folde to fly3e ful hy3e;Wroþe wynde of þe welkyn wrastelez with þe sunne,Þe leuez lancen fro þe lynde and ly3ten on þe grounde,And al grayes þe gres þat grene watz ere;Þenne al rypez and rotez þat ros vpon fyrst,And þus 3irnez þe 3ere in 3isterdayez mony,And wynter wyndez a3ayn, as þe worlde askez, no fage, Til Me3elmas mone Wat3 cumen wyth wynter wage; Þen þenkkez Gawan ful sone Of his anious uyage.3et quyl Al-hal-day with Arþer he lenges;And he made a fare on þat fest for þe frekez sake,With much reuel and ryche of þe Rounde Table.

Kny3tez ful cortays and comlych ladiesAl for luf of þat lede in longynge þay were,Bot neuer þe lece ne þe later þay neuened bot merþe:Mony ioylez for þat ientyle iapez þer maden.For aftter mete with mournyng he melez to his eme,And spekez of his passage, and pertly he sayde,’Now, lege lorde of my lyf, leue I yow ask;3e knowe þe cost of þis cace, kepe I no moreTo telle yow tenez þerof neuer bot trifel;Bot I am boun to þe bur barely to-morneTo sech þe gome of þe grene, as God wyl me wysse.’Þenne þe best of þe bur3 bo3ed togeder,Aywan, and Errik, and oþer ful mony,

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Sir Doddinaual de Sauage, þe duk of Clarence,Launcelot, and Lyonel, and Lucan þe gode,Sir Boos, and Sir Byduer, big men boþe,And mony oþer menskful, with Mador de la Port.Alle þis compayny of court com þe kyng nerreFor to counseyl þe kny3t, with care at her hert.Þere watz much derue doel driuen in þe saleÞat so worþé as Wawan schulde wende on þat ernde,To dry3e a delful dynt, and dele no more wyth bronde. Þe kny3t mad ay god chere, And sayde, ‘Quat schuld I wonde? Of destinés derf and dere What may mon do bot fonde?’He dowellez þer al þat day, and dressez on þe morn,Askez erly hys armez, and alle were þay bro3t.Fyrst a tulé tapit ty3t ouer þe flet,And miche watz þe gyld gere þat glent þeralofte;Þe stif mon steppez þeron, and þe stel hondelez,Dubbed in a dublet of a dere tars,And syþen a crafty capados, closed aloft,Þat wyth a bry3t blaunner was bounden withinne.Þenne set þay þe sabatounz vpon þe segge fotez,His legez lapped in stel with luflych greuez,With polaynez piched þerto, policed ful clene,Aboute his knez knaged wyth knotez of golde;

Queme quyssewes þen, þat coyntlych closedHis thik þrawen þy3ez, with þwonges to tachched;And syþen þe brawden bryné of bry3t stel ryngezVmbeweued þat wy3 vpon wlonk stuffe,And wel bornyst brace vpon his boþe armes,With gode cowters and gay, and glouez of plate,And alle þe godlych gere þat hym gayn schulde þat tyde; Wyth ryche cote-armure, His gold sporez spend with pryde, Gurde wyth a bront ful sure With silk sayn vmbe his syde.

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