Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

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When he watz hasped in armes, his harnays watz ryche:Þe lest lachet ouer loupe lemed of golde.So harnayst as he watz he herknez his masse,Offred and honoured at þe he3e auter.Syþen he comez to þe kyng and to his cort-ferez,Lachez lufly his leue at lordez and ladyez;And þay hym kyst and conueyed, bikende hym to Kryst.Bi þat watz Gryngolet grayth, and gurde with a sadelÞat glemed ful gayly with mony golde frenges,Ayquere naylet ful nwe, for þat note ryched;Þe brydel barred aboute, with bry3t golde bounden;Þe apparayl of þe payttrure and of þe proude skyrtez,Þe cropore and þe couertor, acorded wyth þe arsounez;And al watz rayled on red ryche golde naylez,Þat al glytered and glent as glem of þe sunne.Þenne hentes he þe helme, and hastily hit kysses,Þat watz stapled stifly, and stoffed wythinne.Hit watz hy3e on his hede, hasped bihynde,Wyth a ly3tly vrysoun ouer þe auentayle,Enbrawden and bounden wyth þe best gemmezOn brode sylkyn borde, and bryddez on semez,As papiayez paynted peruyng bitwene,Tortors and trulofez entayled so þykAs mony burde þeraboute had ben seuen wynter in toune.

Þe cercle watz more o prys Þat vmbeclypped hys croun, Of diamauntez a deuys Þat boþe were bry3t and broun.THEN þay schewed hym þe schelde, þat was of schyr goulezWyth þe pentangel depaynt of pure golde hwez.He braydez hit by þe bauderyk, aboute þe hals kestes,Þat bisemed þe segge semlyly fayre.And quy þe pentangel apendez to þat prynce nobleI am in tent yow to telle, þof tary hyt me schulde:Hit is a syngne þat Salamon set sumquyleIn bytoknyng of trawþe, bi tytle þat hit habbez,

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For hit is a figure þat haldez fyue poyntez,And vche lyne vmbelappez and loukez in oþer,And ayquere hit is endelez; and Englych hit callenOueral, as I here, þe endeles knot.Forþy hit acordez to þis kny3t and to his cler armez,For ay faythful in fyue and sere fyue syþezGawan watz for gode knawen, and as golde pured,Voyded of vche vylany, wyth vertuez ennourned in mote; Forþy þe pentangel nwe He ber in schelde and cote, As tulk of tale most trwe And gentylest kny3t of lote.Fyrst he watz funden fautlez in his fyue wyttez,And efte fayled neuer þe freke in his fyue fyngres,And alle his afyaunce vpon folde watz in þe fyue woundezÞat Cryst ka3t on þe croys, as þe crede tellez;And quere-so-euer þys mon in melly watz stad,His þro þo3t watz in þat, þur3 alle oþer þyngez,Þat alle his forsnes he feng at þe fyue joyezÞat þe hende heuen-quene had of hir chylde;At þis cause þe kny3t comlyche hadeIn þe inore half of his schelde hir ymage depaynted,Þat quen he blusched þerto his belde neuer payred.

Þe fyft fyue þat I finde þat þe frek vsedWatz fraunchyse and fela3schyp forbe al þyng,His clannes and his cortaysye croked were neuer,And pité, þat passez alle poyntez, þyse pure fyueWere harder happed on þat haþel þen on any oþer.Now alle þese fyue syþez, for soþe, were fetled on þis kny3t,And vchone halched in oþer, þat non ende hade,And fyched vpon fyue poyntez, þat fayld neuer,Ne samned neuer in no syde, ne sundred nouþer,Withouten ende at any noke I oquere fynde,Whereeuer þe gomen bygan, or glod to an ende.Þerfore on his schene schelde schapen watz þe knotRyally wyth red golde vpon rede gowlez,

“folio” n=”100r”
Þat is þe pure pentaungel wyth þe peple called with lore. Now grayþed is Gawan gay, And la3t his launce ry3t þore, And gef hem alle goud day, He wende for euermore.He sperred þe sted with þe spurez and sprong on his way,So stif þat þe ston-fyr stroke out þerafter.Al þat se3 þat semly syked in hert,And sayde soþly al same segges til oþer,Carande for þat comly: ‘Bi Kryst, hit is scaþeÞat þou, leude, schal be lost, þat art of lyf noble!To fynde hys fere vpon folde, in fayth, is not eþe.Warloker to haf wro3t had more wyt bene,And haf dy3t 3onder dere a duk to haue worþed;A lowande leder of ledez in londe hym wel semez,And so had better haf ben þen britned to no3t,Hadet wyth an aluisch mon, for angardez pryde.Who knew euer any kyng such counsel to takeAs kny3tez in cauelaciounz on Crystmasse gomnez!’Wel much watz þe warme water þat waltered of y3en,When þat semly syre so3t fro þo wonez þad daye.

He made non abode, Bot wy3tly went hys way; Mony wylsum way he rode, Þe bok as I herde say.Now ridez þis renk þur3 þe ryalme of Logres,Sir Gauan, on Godez halue, þa3 hym no gomen þo3t.Oft leudlez alone he lengez on ny3tezÞer he fonde no3t hym byfore þe fare þat he lyked.Hade he no fere bot his fole bi frythez and dounez,Ne no gome bot God bi gate wyth to karp,Til þat he ne3ed ful neghe into þe Norþe Walez.Alle þe iles of Anglesay on lyft half he haldez,And farez ouer þe fordez by þe forlondez,Ouer at þe Holy Hede, til he hade eft bonkIn þe wyldrenesse of Wyrale; wonde þer bot lyte

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