Siþen þe sege and þe assaut wat3 sesed at Troye,
Þe bor3 brittened and brent to brondeygh and aske3,
Þe tulk þat þe trammes of tresoun þer wro3t
Wat3 tried for his tricherie, þe trewest on erþe:
Hit wat3 Ennias þe aþel, and his highe kynde,
Þat siþen depreced prouinces, and patrounes bicome
Welne3e of al þe wele in þe west iles.
Fro riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym swyþe,
Wiþ gret bobbaunce þat bur3e he biges vpon fyrst,
And neuenes hit his aune nome, as hit now hat;
Tirius to Tuskan and teldes bigynnes,
Langaberde in Lumbardie lyftes vp homes,
And fer ouer þe French flod Felix Brutus
On mony bonkkes ful brode Bretayn he sette3
       wyþ wynne,
  Where werre and wrake and wonder
  Bi syþe3 hatz wont þerinne,
  And oft boþe blysse and blunder
  Ful skete hat3 skyfted synne.

Ande quen þis Bretayn wat3 bigged bi þis burn rych,
Bolde bredden þerinne, baret þat lofden,
In mony turned tyme tene þat wro3ten.
Mo ferlyes on þis folde han fallen here oft
Þen in any oþer þat I wot, syn þat ilk tyme.
Bot of alle þat here bult, of Bretaygne kynges,
Ay wat3 Arþur þe hendest, as I haf herde telle
 Forþi an aunter in erde I attle to schawe,
Þat a selly in si3t summe men hit holden,
And an outtrage awenture of Arþure3 wonderez.
If 3e wyl lysten þis laye bot on littel quile,
I schal telle hit as-tit, as I in toun herde,
       wiþ tonge,
  As hit is stad and stoken
  In stori stif and stronge,
  Wiþ lel letteres loken,
  In londe so hat3 ben longe.

Þis kyng lay at Camylot vpon Krystmasse
Wiþ mony luflych lorde, lede3 of þe best,
Rekenly of þe Rounde Table alle þo rich breþer,
Wiþ rych reuel ory3t and rechles merþes.
Þer tournayed tulkes by tyme3 ful mony,
Justed ful jolile þise gentyle kni3tes,
Syþen kayred to þe court caroles to make.
For þer þe fest wat3 ilyche ful fiften dayes,
Wiþ alle þe mete and þe mirþe þat men couþe avyse;
Such glaum ande gle glorious to here,
Dere dyn vpon day, daunsyng on ny3tes,
Al wat3 hap vpon he3e in hallez and chambrez
Wiþ lorde3 and ladies, as leuest him þo3t.
Wiþ all þe wele of þe worlde þay woned þer samen,
Þe most kyd kny3te3 vnder Krystes seluen,
And þe louelokkest ladies þat euer lif haden,
And he þe comlokest kyng þat þe court haldes;
For al wat3 þis fayre folk in her first age,
         on sille,
  Þe hapnest vnder heuen,
  Kyng hy3est mon of wylle;
  Hit were now gret nye to neuen
  So hardy a here on hille.

Wyle Nw Ygher wat3 so 3ep þat hit watz nwe cummen,
Þat day doubble on þe dece wat3 þe douþ serued.
Fro þe kyng wat3 cummen wiþ kny3tes into þe halle,
Þe chauntre of þe chapel cheued to an ende,
Loude crye wat3 þer kest of clerkez and oþer,
Nowel nayted onewe, neuened ful ofte;
And syþen riche forþ runnen to reche hondeselle,
Yghe3ed ygheres-yghiftes on hiygh, yghelde hem bi
Debated busyly aboute þo giftes;                   [hond,
Ladies la3ed ful loude, þoygh þay lost haden,
And he þat wan wat3 not wroþe, þat may 3e wel trawe.
Alle þis mirþe þay maden to þe mete tyme;
When þay had waschen worþyly þay wenten to sete,
Þe best burne ay abof, as hit best semed,
Whene Guenore, ful gay, grayþed in þe myddes,
Dressed on þe dere des, dubbed al aboute,
Smal sendal bisides, a selure hir ouer
Of tryed tolouse, and tars tapites innoghe,
Þat were enbrawded and beten wyþ þe best gemmes
Þat my3t be preued of prys wyþ penyes to bye,
         in daye.
  Þe comlokest to discrye
  Þer glent wiþ y3en gray,
  A semloker þat euer he sy3e
  Soþ mo3t no mon say.

Bot Arþure wolde not ete til al were serued,
He wat3 so joly of his joyfnes, and sumquat childgered:
His lif liked hym ly3t, he louied þe lasse
Auþer to longe lye or to longe sitte,
So bisied him his 3onge blod and his brayn wylde.
And also an oþer maner meued him eke
Þat he þur3 nobelay had nomen, he wolde neuer ete
Vpon such a dere day er hym deuised were
Of sum auenturus þyng an vncouþe tale,
Of sum mayn meruayle, þat he my3t trawe,
Of alderes, of armes, of oþer auenturus,
Oþer sum segg hym biso3t of sum siker knyyght
To joyne wyþ hym in iustyng, in joparde to lay,
Lede, lif for lyf, leue vchon oþer,
As fortune wolde fulsun hom, þe fayrer to haue.
Þis wat3 þe kynges countenaunce where he in court
At vch farand fest among his fre meny              [were,
         in halle.
  Þerfore of face so fere
  He sti3tle3 stif in stalle,
  Ful 3ep in þat Nw Yghere
  Much mirþe he mas wiþalle.

Þus þer stondes in stale þe stif kyng hisseluen,
Talkkande bifore þe hy3e table of trifles ful hende.
Þere gode Gawan wat3 grayþed Gwenore bisyde,
And Agrauayn a la dure mayn on þat oþer syde sittes,
Boþe þe kynges sistersunes and ful siker kni3tes;
Bischop Bawdewyn abof bigine3 þe table,
And Ywan, Vryn son, ette wiþ hymseluen.
Þise were di3t on þe des and derworþly serued,
And siþen mony siker segge at þe sidborde3.
Þen þe first cors come wiþ crakkyng of trumpes,
Wyþ mony baner ful bry3t þat þerbi henged;
Nwe nakryn noyse wiþ þe noble pipes,
Wylde werbles and wy3t wakned lote,
Þat mony hert ful hi3e hef at her towches.
Dayntes dryuen þerwyþ of ful dere metes,
Foysoun of þe fresche, and on so fele disches
Þat pine to fynde þe place þe peple biforne
For to sette þe sylueren þat sere sewes halden
         on cloþe.
  Iche lede as he loued hymselue
  Þer laght wiþouten loþe;
  Ay two had disches twelue,
  Good ber and bry3t wyn boþe.

Now wyl I of hor seruise say yow no more,
For vch wy3e may wel wit no wont þat þer were.
An oþer noyse ful newe ne3ed biliue,
Þat þe lude my3t haf leue liflode to cach;
 For vneþe wat3 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 h3e;
Fro þe swyre to þe swange so sware and so þik,
And his lyndes and his lymes so longe and so grete
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,
Boþ his wombe and his wast were worþily 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 mere mantile abof, mensked wiþinne
Wiþ pelure pured apert, þe pane ful clene
Wiþ blyþe blaunner ful bry3t, and his hod boþe,
Þat wat3 la3t fro his lokkez and layde on his
Heme wel-haled hose of þat same,[      schulderes;
Þat spenet on his sparlyr, and clene spures vnder
Of bry3t golde, vpon silk bordes barred ful ryche,
And scholes vnder schankes þere þe schalk rides;
And alle his vesture uerayly wat3 clene verdure,
Boþe þe barres of his belt and oþer blyþe stones,
Þat were richely rayled in his aray clene
Aboutte hymself and his sadel, vpon silk werke3.
Þat were to tor for to telle of tryfles þe halue
Þat were enbrauded abof, wyþ bryddes and fly3es,
Wiþ 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 arsoun3 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--
To þe gome he wat3 ful gayn.

Wel gay wat3 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 wyþ his hi3lich here þat of his hed reches
Wat3 euesed al vmbetorne abof his elbowes,
Þat half his armes þer-vnder were halched in þe wyse
Of a kynge3 capados þat closes his swyre;
Þe mane of þat mayn hors much to hit lyke,
Wel cresped and cemmed, wyþ knottes ful mony
Folden in wyþ 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 wyþ a bande of a bry3t grene,
Dubbed wyþ ful dere stone3, as þe dok lasted,
Syþen þrawen wyþ a þwong a þwarle knot alofte,
Þer mony belle3 ful bry3t of brende golde rungen.
Such a fole vpon folde, ne freke þat hym rydes,
Wat3 neuer sene in þat sale wyþ sy3t er þat tyme,
         wiþ y3e.
  He loked as layt so ly3t,
  So sayd al þat hym sy3e;
  Hit semed as no mon my3t
  Vnder his dyntte3 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 greue3 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, wiþ a brod egge
As wel schapen to schere as scharp rasores,
Þe stele of a stif staf þe sturne hit bi grypte,
Þat wat3 wounden wyþ yrn to þe wandez ende,
And al bigrauen wiþ grene in gracios werkes;
A lace lapped aboute, þat louked at þe hede,
And so after þe halme halched ful ofte,
Wyþ tryed tassele3 þerto tacched innoghe
On botoun3 of þe bry3t grene brayden ful ryche.
Þis haþel helde3 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 wolde
Se þat segg in sy3t, and wiþ hymself speke
         raysoun."
  To kny3te3 he kest his yyghe,
  And reled hym vp and doun;
  He stemmed, and con studie
  Quo walt þer most renoun.

Þer wat3 lokyng on lenþe þe lude to beholde,
For vch mon had meruayle quat hit mene my3t
Þat 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 nerre
Wyþ al þe wonder of þe worlde what he worch schulde.
For fele sellye3 had þay sen, bot such neuer are;
Forþi for fantoum and fayry3e þe folk þere hit demed.
Þerfore to answare wat3 ar3e mony aþel freke,
And al stouned at his steuen and stonstil seten
In a swoghe sylence þur3 þe sale riche;
 As al were slypped vpon slepe so slaked hor lote3
         in hy3e--
  I deme hit not al for doute,
  Bot sum for cortaysye--
  Bot let hym þat al schulde loute
  Cast vnto þat wy3e.

Þenn Arþour bifore þe hi3 dece þat auenture byholde3,
And rekenly hym reuerenced, for rad was he neuer,
And sayde, "Wy3e, welcum iwys to þis place,
Þe hede of þis ostel Arþour I hat;
Li3t luflych adoun and lenge, I þe praye,
And quat-so þy wylle is we schal wyt after."   [syttes,
"Nay, as help me," quoþ þe haþel, "he þat on hy3e
To wone any quyle in þis won, hit wat3 not myn ernde;
Bot for þe los of þe, lede, is lyft vp so hy3e,
And þy bur3 and þy burnes best ar holden,
Stifest vnder stel-gere on stedes to ryde,
Þe wy3test and þe worþyest of þe worldes kynde,
Preue for to play wyþ in oþer pure layke3,
And here is kydde cortaysye, as I haf herd carp,
And þat hat3 wayned me hider, iwyis, at þis tyme.
Yghe may be seker bi þis braunch þat I bere here
Þat I passe as in pes, and no ply3t seche;
For had I founded in fere in fe3tyng wyse,
I haue a hauberghe at home and a helme boþe,
A schelde and a scharp spere, schinande bry3t,
Ande oþer weppenes to welde, I wene wel, als;
Bot for I wolde no were, my wede3 ar softer.
Bot if þou be so bold as alle burne3 tellen,
Þou wyl grant me godly þe gomen þat I ask
         bi ry3t."
  Arþour con onsware,
  And sayd, "Sir cortays kny3t,
  If þou craue batayl bare,
  Here fayle3 þou not to fy3t."

"Nay, frayst I no fy3t, in fayþ I þe telle,
Hit arn aboute on þis bench bot berdle3 chylder.
If I were hasped in armes on a he3e stede,
 Here is no mon me to mach, for my3te3 so wayke.
Forþy I craue in þis court a Crystemas gomen,
For hit is Yghol and Nwe Ygher, and here ar 3ep mony:
If any so hardy in þis hous holde3 hymseluen,
Be so bolde in his blod, brayn in hys hede,
Þat dar stifly strike a strok for an oþer,
I schal gif hym of my gyft þys giserne ryche,
Þis ax, þat is heue innogh, to hondele as hym lykes,
And I schal bide þe fyrst bur as bare as I sitte.
If any freke be so felle to fonde þat I telle,
Lepe ly3tly me to, and lach þis weppen,
I quit-clayme hit for euer, kepe hit as his auen,
And I schal stonde hym a strok, stif on þis flet,
Elle3 þou wyl di3t me þe dom to dele hym an oþer
         barlay,
  And 3et gif hym respite,
  A twelmonyþ and a day;
  Now hy3e, and let se tite
  Dar any herinne o3t say."

If he hem stowned vpon fyrst, stiller were þanne
Alle þe heredmen in halle, þe hy3 and þe loyghe.
Þe renk on his rounce hym ruched in his sadel,
And runischly his rede y3en he reled aboute,
Bende his bresed bro3e3, blycande grene,
Wayued his berde for to wayte quo-so wolde ryse.
When non wolde kepe hym wiþ carp he co3ed ful hyygh
Ande rimed hym ful richly, and ry3t hym to speke:
"What, is þis Arþures hous," quoþ þe haþel þenne,
"Þat al þe rous rennes of þur3 ryalmes so mony?
Where is now your sourquydrye and your conquestes,
Your gryndellayk and your greme, and your grete worde
Now is þe reuel and þe renoun of þe Rounde Table
Ouerwalt wyþ a worde of on wy3es speche,
For al dares for drede wiþoute dynt schewed!"
Wyþ þis he la3es so loude þat þe lorde greued;
Þe blod schot for scham into his schyre face
   and lere;
 He wex as wroþ as wynde,
  So did alle þat þer were.
  Þe kyng as kene bi kynde
  Þen stod þat stif mon nere,

Ande sayde, "Haþel, by heuen, þyn askyng is nys,
And as þou foly hat3 frayst, fynde þe behoues.
I know no gome þat is gast of þy grete wordes;
Gif me now þy geserne, vpon Gode3 halue,
And I schal bayþen þy bone þat þou boden habbes."
Ly3tly lepe3 he hym to, and layght at his honde.
Þen feersly þat oþer freke vpon fote ly3tis.
Now hat3 Arþure his axe, and þe halme grypez,
And sturnely sture3 hit aboute, þat stryke wyþ hit þo3t.
Þe stif mon hym bifore stod vpon hy3t,
Herre þen ani in þe hous by þe hede and more.
Wyþ sturne schere þer he stod he stroked his berde,
And wyþ a countenaunce dry3e he droygh doun his
No more mate ne dismayd for hys mayn dinte3 [cote,
Þen any burne vpon bench hade bro3t hym to drynk
       of wyne.
  Gawan, þat sate bi þe quene,
  To þe kyng he can enclyne:
  "I beseche now wiþ sa3e3 sene
  Þis melly mot be myne.

"Wolde 3e, worþilych lorde," quoþ Wawan to þe kyng,
"Bid me bo3e fro þis benche, and stonde by yow þere,
Þat I wyþoute vylanye my3t voyde þis table,
And þat my legge lady lyked not ille,
I wolde com to your counseyl bifore your cort ryche.
For me þink hit not semly, as hit is soþ knawen,
Þer such an askyng is heuened so hy3e in your sale,
Þa3 yghe yghourself be talenttyf, to take hit to yourseluen,
Whil mony so bolde yow aboute vpon bench sytten,
Þat vnder heuen I hope non ha3erer of wylle,
Ne better bodyes on bent þer baret is rered.
I am þe wakkest, I wot, and of wyt feblest,
And lest lur of my lyf, quo laytes þe soþe--
 Bot for as much as 3e ar myn em I am only to prayse,
No bounte bot your blod I in my bodé knowe;
And syþen þis note is so nys þat no3t hit yow falles,
And I haue frayned hit at yow fyrst, folde3 hit to me;
And if I carp not comlyly, let alle þis cort rych
       bout blame."
  Ryche togeder con roun,
  And syþen þay redden alle same
  To ryd þe kyng wyþ croun,
  And gif Gawan þe game.

Þen comaunded þe kyng þe kny3t for to ryse;
And he ful radly vpros, and ruchched hym fayre,
Kneled doun bifore þe kyng, and cache3 þat weppen;
And he luflyly hit hym laft, and lyfte vp his honde,
And gef hym Godde3 blessyng, and gladly hym biddes
Þat his hert and his honde schulde hardi be boþe.
"Kepe þe cosyn," quoþ þe kyng, "þat þou on kyrf sette,
And if þou rede3 hym ryyght, redly I trowe
Þat þou schal byden þe bur þat he schal bede after."
Gawan got3 to þe gome wiþ giserne in honde,
And he baldly hym byde3, he bayst neuer þe helder.
Þen carppe3 to Sir Gawan þe kny3t in þe grene,
"Refourme we oure forwardes, er we fyrre passe.
Fyrst I eþe þe, haþel, how þat þou hattes
Þat þou me telle truly, as I tryst may."
"In god fayþ," quoþ þe goode kny3t, "Gawan I hatte,
Þat bede þe þis buffet, quat-so bifalle3 after,
And at þis tyme twelmonyþ take at þe an oþer
Wyþ what weppen so þou wylt, and wyþ no wy3 elle3
       on lyue."
  Þat oþer onsware3 agayn,
  "Sir Gawan, so mot I þryue
  As I am ferly fayn
  Þis dint þat þou schal dryue.

"Bigog," quoþ þe grene kny3t, "Sir Gawan, me lykes
Þat I schal fange at þy fust þat I haf frayst here.
And þou hat3 redily rehersed, bi resoun ful trwe,
 Clanly al þe couenaunt þat I þe kynge asked,
Saf þat þou schal siker me, segge, bi þi trawþe,
Þat þou schal seche me þiself, where-so þou hopes
I may be funde vpon folde, and foch þe such wages
As þou deles me to-day bifore þis douþe ryche."
"Where schulde I wale þe," quoþ Gauan, "where is þy place?
I wot neuer where þou wonyes, bi hym þat me wro3t,
Ne I know not þe, kny3t, by cort ne þi name.
Bot teche me truly þerto, and telle me how þou hattes,
And I schal ware alle my wyt to wynne me þeder,
And þat I swere þe for soþe, and by my seker traweþ."
"Þat is innogh in Nwe Ygher, hit nedes no more,"
Quoþ þe gome in þe grene to Gawan þe hende;
"Yghif I þe telle trwly, quen I þe tape haue
And þou me smoþely hat3 smyten, smartly I þe teche
Of my hous and my home and myn owen nome,
Þen may þou frayst my fare and forwarde3 holde;
And if I spende no speche, þenne spede3 þou þe better,
For þou may leng in þy londe and layt no fyrre--
         bot slokes!
  Ta now þy grymme tole to þe,
  And let se how þou cnoke3."
  "Gladly, sir, for soþe,"
  Quoþ Gawan; his ax he strokes.

Þe grene kny3t vpon grounde grayþely hym dresses,
A littel lut wiþ þe hede, þe lere he discouere3,
His longe louelych lokke3 he layd ouer his croun,
Let þe naked nec to þe note schewe.
Gauan gripped to his ax, and gederes hit on hy3t,
Þe kay fot on þe folde he before sette,
Let him doun ly3tly lyyght on þe naked,
Þat þe scharp of þe schalk schyndered þe bones,
And schrank þur3 þe schyire grece, and schade hit in
Þat þe bit of þe broun stel bot on þe grounde. [twynne,
Þe fayre hede fro þe halce hit to þe erþe,
Þat fele hit foyned wyþ her fete, þere hit forþ roled;
Þe blod brayd fro þe body, þat blykked on þe grene;
 And nawþer faltered ne fel þe freke neuer þe helder,
Bot styþly he start forþ vpon styf schonkes,
And runyschly he ra3t out, þere as renkke3 stoden,
La3t to his lufly hed, and lyft hit vp sone;
And syþen bo3e3 to his blonk, þe brydel he cachchez,
Steppe3 into stelbawe and strydez alofte,
And his hede by þe here in his honde halde3;
And as sadly þe segge hym in his sadel sette
As non vnhap had hym ayled, þa3 hedle3 he were
         in stedde.
  He brayde his bulk aboute,
Þat vgly bodi þat bledde;
  Moni on of hym had doute,
  Bi þat his resoun3 were redde.

For þe hede in his honde he halde3 vp euen,
Toward þe derrest on þe dece he dresse3 þe face,
And hit lyfte vp þe y3e-lydde3 and loked ful brode,
And meled þus much wiþ his muþe, as 3e may now
"Loke, Gawan, þou be grayþe to go as þou hette3,[here:
And layte as lelly til þou me, lude, fynde,
As þou hat3 hette in þis halle, herande þise kny3tes;
To þe grene chapel þou chose, I charge þe, to fotte
Such a dunt as þou hat3 dalt--disserued þou habbez
To be 3ederly ygholden on Nw Ygheres morn.
Þe kny3t of þe grene chapel men knowen me mony;
Forþi me for to fynde if þou frayste3, faylez þou neuer.
Þerfore com, oþer recreaunt be calde þe behoues."
Wiþ a runisch rout þe rayne3 he tornez,
Halled out at þe hal dor, his hed in his hande,
Þat þe fyr of þe flynt fla3e fro fole houes.
To quat kyþ he becom knwe non þere,
Neuer more þen þay wyste from queþen he wat3
   What þenne?                                        [wonnen.
  Þe kyng and Gawen þare
  At þat grene þay la3e and grenne,
  Yghet breued wat3 hit ful bare
  A meruayl among þo menne.

 Þa3 Arþer þe hende kyng at hert hade wonder,
He let no semblaunt be sene, bot sayde ful hy3e
To þe comlych quene wyþ cortays speche,
"Dere dame, to-day demay yow neuer;
Wel bycommes such craft vpon Cristmasse,
Laykyng of enterlude3, to la3e and to syng,
Among þise kynde caroles of kny3te3 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 hat3 innogh hewen"
And hit wat3 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 serued
Of alle dayntye3 double, as derrest my3t falle;
Wyþ alle maner of mete and mynstralcie boþe,
Wyþ 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 hat3 tan on honde

Sir Gawayne and þe Grene Knyght,
ed. by J. R. R. Tolkien and E. V. Gordon,
2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966.

When Troy had been seized by siege and assault
and its blazing battlements blackened to ash,
the man who had made treason triumph
had trial enough for the truest traitor!
But noble Aeneas fled, whose illustrious line
became princes, plundered provinces and held
nearly all the wealth of the western isles.
For Romulus raised Rome swiftly
to opulence, planting in pride a city
that he named for himself, the name it now bears.
In Tuscany Tirius founded towns;
in Lombardy Langoberde settled the land;
and far past the French coast
Brutus made Britain a broad land where many tales
         begin,
     where wonders, wars, misfortune
     and troubled times have been,
     where bliss and blind confusion
     have both occasioned sin.

And when this brave prince had built up Britain,
bold men bred there who burned for war,
who stirred up trouble through the turning years.
This land has witnessed more works of wonder
since then onward than any other realm.
Of all the kings crowned in England
Arthur earned most honor, as old tales tell.
I've one of the world's marvels in mind:
an astonishing sight, as some would say,
an extraordinary adventure of Arthur's time.
Lend me your ears but a little while
and I'll spin the words as I've heard them sped
       along,
   a story pinned in patterns
   steadfast, steady, strong:
   aligned in linking letters
   as folk have loved so long.

One Christmas in Camelot King Arthur sat
at ease with his lords and loyal liegemen
arranged as brothers round the Round Table.
Their reckless jokes rang about that rich hall
till they turned from the table to the tournament field
and jousted like gentlemen with lances and laughs,
then trooped to court in a carolling crowd.
For the feast lasted a full fifteen days
of meals and merriment (as much as could fit.)
Such gay glee must gladden the ear --
by day what a din, and dancing by night!
The halls and chambers were heaped with happy
lords and ladies as high as you like!
There they were gathered with all the world's goodness:
knights as kind as Christ himself,
ladies as lovely as ever have lived,
and the noblest king our nation has known.
They were yet in the pride, in the prime of their youth,
         and filled
     as full of heaven's blessing
     as the king had strength of will.
     And mighty men surpassing
     all were gathered on that hill.

While the year was as young as New Years can be
the dais was prepared for a double feast.
The king and his company came in together
when mass had been chanted; and the chapel emptied
as clergy and commons alike cried out,
"Noel! Noel!" again and again.
And the lords ran around loaded with parcels,
palms extended to pass out presents,
or crowded together comparing gifts.
The ladies laughed when they lost at a game
(that the winner was willing, you may well believe!)
Round they milled in a merry mob till the meal was
ready, washed themselves well, and walked to their places (the best for the best on seats raised above.)
Then Guinevere moved gaily among them,
took her place on the dais, which was dearly adorned
with sides of fine silk and a canopied ceiling of sheer
stuff: and behind her shimmering tapestries embroider-
ed bedecked with bright gems           [from far Tarsus,
that the jewelers would pay a pretty price for
       any day,
     but the finest gem in the field of sight
     looked back: her eyes were grey.
     That a lovelier's lived to delight
     the gaze - is a lie, I'd say!

But Arthur would not eat till all were served.
He bubbled to the brim with boyish spirits:
liked his life light, and loathed the thought
of lazing for long or sitting still longer.
So his young blood boiled and his brain ran wild,
and in many ways moved him still more
as a point of honor never to eat
on a high holiday till he should have heard
a strange story of stirring adventures,
of mighty marvels to make the mind wonder,
of princes, prowess, or perilous deeds.
Or someone might come, seeking a knight
to join him in jousting, enjoying the risk
of laying their lives on the line like men
leaving to fortune the choice of her favor.
This was the king's custom at court,
the practice he followed at pleasant feasts held
         in his hall;
     therefore with bold face
     he stood there straight and tall.
     As New Years proceeded apace
     he meant to have mirth with them all.

So he stood there stock-still, a king standing tall,
talking of courtly trifles before the high table.
By Guinevere sat Gawain the Good,
and Agravaine of the Heavy Hand on the other side:
knights of great worth, and nephews to the king.
Baldwin, the bishop, was above, by the head,
with Ywain, Urien's son, sitting across.
These sat at the dais and were served with due honor;
and many mighty men were seated on either side.
Then the first course came with a clamor of trumpets
whose banners billowed bright to the eye,
while kettledrums rolled and the cry of the pipes
wakened a wild, warbling music
whose touch made the heart tremble and skip.
Delicious dishes were rushed in, fine delicacies
fresh and plentiful, piled so high on so many platters
they had problems finding places to set down
their silver bowls of steaming soup: no spot
         was clear.
   Each lord dug in with pleasure,
   and grabbed at what lay near:
   twelve platters piled past measure,
   bright wine, and foaming beer.

I need say no more how they served the food,
for what fool would fancy their feast was a famine?
But a new noise announced itself quickly enough
to grant the high lord leave to have dinner.
The music had finished but a moment before,
the first course just served, and set before the court,
when a horrible horseman hurtled through the doors,
his body as brawny as any can be,
so bull-necked, big-thighed, bulky and square,
so long-legged, large-limbed, looming so tall
I can hardly tell if he were half troll,
or merely as large as living man can be --
a handsome one too; as hearty a hulk as ever rode
His back and chest were broad as a barrel,   [horse.
but he slimmed at the waist, with a slender stomach,
and his face was well formed, with features sharp
         and clean --
   Men sat there gaping, gasping
   at his strange, unearthly sheen,
   as if a ghost were passing,
   for every inch was green.

He was got up in green from head to heel:
a tunic worn tight, tucked to his ribs;
and a rich cloak cast over it, covered inside
with a fine fur lining, fitted and sewn
with ermine trim that stood out in contrast
from his hair where his hood lay folded flat;
and handsome hose of the same green hue
which clung to his calves, with clustered spurs
of bright gold; beneath them striped embroidered silk
above his bare shanks, for he rode shoeless.
His clothes were all kindled with a clear light like eme-
ralds: His belt buckles sparkled, and bright stones were
set in rich rows arranged up and down
himself and his saddle. Worked in the silk
were too many trifles to tell the half of:
embroidered birds, butterflies, and other things
in a gaudy glory of green and inlaid gold.
And the bit and bridle, the breastplate on the horse,
and all its tackle were trimmed with green enamel,
even the saddlestraps, the stirrups on which he stood,
and the bows of his saddle with its billowing skirts
which glimmered and glinted with green jewels.
The stallion that bore him was the best of its breed
         it was plain,
     a green horse great and strong,
     that sidled, danced and strained,
     but the bridle-braid led it along,
     turning as it was trained.

He was a fine fellow fitted in green --
And the hair on his head and his horse's matched.
It fanned out freely enfolding his shoulders,
and his beard hung below as big as a bush,
all mixed with the marvelous mane on his head,
which was cut off in curls cascading to his elbows,
wrapping round the rest of him
like a king's cape clasped to his neck.
And the mane of his mount was much the same,
but curled up and combed in crisp knots,
in braids of bright gold thread and brilliant green
criss-crossed hair by hair.
And the tossing tail was twin to the mane,
for both were bound with bright green ribbons,
strung to the end with long strands of precious stones,
and turned back tight in a twisted knot
bright with tinkling bells of burnished gold.
No such horse on hoof had been seen in that hall,
nor horseman half so strange as their eyes now held
         in sight.
     He looked a lightning flash,
     they say: he seemed so bright;
     and who would dare to clash
     in melee with such might?

Yet he had on no hauberk, nor a helmet for his head,
neither neck-guard nor breastplate to break heavy
blows, neither shaft nor shield for the shock of combat.
But he held in one hand a sprig of holly
that bursts out greenest when branches are bare;
and his other hand hefted a huge and awful ax,
a broad battleax with a bit to tell (take it who can)
with a large head four feet long:
the green steel down the grain etched with gold,
its broad edge burnished and bright,
shaped razor-sharp to sheer through steel,
and held high on a heavy staff
which was bound at the base with iron bands
gracefully engraved in bright green patterns.
A strap was strung through the steel head, running
loop after loop down the length of the handle,
which was tied with tassels in abundance, attaching
by rich braids onto bright green buttons.
This rider reined in as he rode through the doors
direct to the high dais without a word,
giving no greeting, gazing down on them all.
His first word came when he stopped. "Where," he said,
"is the master of these men? I've a mind to see
his face and would fancy a chat with the fellow who
         wears the crown."
     To each lord he turned
     and glancing up and down
     he fixed each face to learn
     which knight held most renown.

They stared at the stranger, stunned, a very long time.
For each man wondered what it might mean
that man and mount both shone a shade
as green as the grass, and greener even than green
enamel glows when gold makes it brighter. All eyes
were on him, and some edged closer, wondering what in
the world he would do. They had seen enough strange
sights to know how seldom they are real; therefore they
feared him for a phantom, a sending from the Unseen
Realm. So of all those noble knights, none dared
answer but sat there stupefied by the strength of his
voice. A silence fell filling that rich hall as if they'd all
fainted or suddenly slept: their voices just vanished
         at their height.
     Some, I suppose, were not floored,
     but chose to be polite,
     letting their leader and lord
     be first to speak to that knight.

Arthur stood watching adventure advance and
answered quickly as honor bid, neither awed nor afraid,
saying, "Wanderer, know you are welcome here.
I am the leader of this host; Arthur my name,
dismount, if you may; make merry as you wish,
and we may learn in a little while what you would like."
"So help me God who sits on high," he said, "No."
"It is not my purpose to pass any time in this place.
But I have been told that your reputation towers to heaven: that your court and castle are accounted the finest, your knights and their steeds as the sturdiest in steel, the best, the boldest, the bravest on earth,
and as fitting foes in any fine sport.
True knighthood is known here, or so the tale runs,
which is why I have come calling today.
You may be sure by this branch that I bear
that I come in peace, with no plans for battle.
For had I come in force, in warlike fashioj
I have a hauberk at home, and a helmet too,
a shield and a sharp spear, shining bright,
and other weapons I know well how to wield.
Yet as war is not my wish I am wearing soft silk,
but, if you are as bold as men believe you to be,
you will be glad to grant me the game that is mine
         by right."
     Then Arthur said, "I swear,"
     "most courteous, noble knight,
     if you'd like to battle bare,
     you'll not fail to find a fight."

"Never fear," he said, "I'm not fishing for a fight
with the beardless children on the benches all about.
If I were strapped on steel on a sturdy horse
no man here has might to match me. No, I have come
to this court for a bit of Christmas fun fitting for
Yuletide and New Years with such a fine crowd.
Who here in this house thinks he has what it takes,
has bold blood and a brash head,
and dares to stand his ground, giving stroke for stroke?
Here! I shall give him this gilded blade as my gift;
this heavy ax shall be his, to handle as he likes.
and I shall stand here bare of armor, and brave the first
blow. If anyone's tough enough to try out my game,
let him come here quickly and claim his weapon!
I give up all rights; he will get it for keeps.
I'll stand like a tree trunk -- he can strike at me once,
if you'll grant me the right to give as good as I get
         in play.
     But later is soon enough,
     a full year and a day.
     Get up, if you think you're rough,
     let's see what you dare to say!"

If at first he had stunned them, now they sat stone-still:
the whole hall, both high and low.
The mounted man moved in his saddle,
glared a red glance grimly about,
arched his bushy brows, all brilliant and green,
his beard waving as he waited for one man to rise,
to call or came forward. He coughed loudly,
stretched slowly, and straightened to speak.
"Hah! They call this King Arthur's house,
a living legend in land after land?
Where have your pride and your power gone,
your bragging boasts, your big words?
The glories and triumphs of the Round Table
have toppled at the touch of one man's words!
What? Fainting with fear, when no fight is offered?"
He let out a laugh so loud that Arthur winced
with shame; the blood shot to his flushed face
         and churned
     with rage and raised a storm
     until their hearts all burned.
     All king in face and form,
     he reached that rider, turned,

and said, "Look here, by heaven! Have you lost your
mind? If you want to be mad, I will make you welcome!
Nobody I know is bowled over by your big words,
so help me God! Hand me that ax --
I will grant you the gift you beg me to give!"
He leaped lightly up and lifted it from his hand.
Then the man dismounted, moving proudly,
while Arthur held the ax, both hands on the haft,
hefted it sternly, considered his stroke.
That burly man bulked big and tall,
a head higher than anyone in the house.
He stood there hard-faced, stroking his beard,
impassively watching as he pulled off his coat,
no more moved or dismayed by his mighty swings
than anybody would be if somebody brought him a
         bottle of wine.
     Gawain, sitting by the queen,
     could tell the king his mind:
     "Lord, hear well what I mean,
     and let this match be mine."

"Grant leave, good lord," said Gawain to the king,
"to stir from my seat and stand by your side;
that I might rise without rudeness from this table
without fear of offending your fair queen,
and come before your court as a counselor should.
It is plainly improper, as people know well,
to point this proposal at the prince himself.
Though you may be eager to act for yourself,
there are so many bold knights on the benches all about, none more masterful in mind maybe than move
move under heaven, nor many built better for the field of
battle. Of all your men of war I am the weakest and
east wise, and my life little enough to lose, if you look
at it clearly. My only honor is that you are my uncle;
my only boast is that my body carries your blood.
Since this whole matter is such a mockery, it is not meant for you;
and I am first on the field: let this folly be mine.
If my claim is uncalled-for let the court judge; I will bear
         the blame."
     They huddled hushed around
     and all advised the same:
     respect the royal crown,
     and give Gawain the game.

Then the king commanded him to rise and come for- ward, and he stood quickly, walked with stately steps
to kneel before the king and claim his weapon.
Arthur handed it over and held up his hand
to give him God's blessing. With a glad smile
he charged him to be hardy in heart.
"Cousin, careful," he said, "cut him but once.
and if you teach him truly, I trust you will find
you can bear the blow that he brings you later."
Gawain went to the warrior, weapon in hand,
not the least bit bashful, as bold as can be.
Then the Green Knight said to Gawain,
"We should go over our agreement before we begin.
First, knight, I would know your name,
told truly as one I can trust."
"My name is Gawain," he said, "I give it in good faith,
as I will give you a blow and bear what comes after.
At this time in twelve months I will take a blow back
from what weapon you wish, but from no other knight
         alive."
     The other answering spoke,
     "Sir Gawain: good. I derive
     great pleasure from the stroke
     your hardy hands will drive."

"Gad!" the Green Knight said. "Sir Gawain, I am glad
that your fist will fetch me the fun I hoped to find.
You have quickly retold in trustworthy words
a correct account of the contract I asked of the king,
save one stipulation that I must state: let it stand as your oath
that you will seek me yourself, and search anywhere
you feel I may be found to fetch back the same wages
I am paid today before this proud court." "Where should
I look?" Gawain asked, "Where do you live?" "By Him
that made me, your house is not known to me, neither
do I know you, knight, nor your court nor your name.
But teach me truly, tell me where to find you and I shall
work my wits out to win my way there. I give my plain
promise; I pledge you my word." "That is enough for a
New Year's pledge; you need say no more," So the
green man answered gracious Gawain "If I'm telling the
truth, why, when I've taken your tap, and you've lopped
me lovingly, you'll learn at once of my house and my
home and how I am named.Then you can try my
hospitality and be true to our compact. Or I'll have no
words to waste, which would be well for you:
you'd relax in this land, and not look for me further.
         But stop!
     Take up the grim tool you need,
     and show me how you chop."
     "Gladly, sir," he said, "Indeed,"
     and gave the ax a strop.

The green knight got ready, feet firm on the ground;
leaned his head a little to let the cheek show,
and raised the rich riot of his hair
so the nape of his neck was naked and exposed.
Gawain held the ax high overhead,
his left foot set before him on the floor,
swung swiftly at the soft flesh
so the bit of the blade broke through the bones,
crashed through the clear fat and cut it in two,
and the brightly burnished edge bit into the earth.
The handsome head fell, hit the ground,
and rolled forward; they fended it off with their feet.
The red blood burst bright from the green body,
yet the fellow neither faltered nor fell
but stepped strongly out on sturdy thighs,
reached roughly right through their legs,
grabbed his graceful head and lifted it from the ground,
ran to his horse, caught hold of the reins,
stepped in the stirrup, strode into the saddle,
the head dangling by the hair from his hand,
and seated himself as firmly in the saddle
as if he were unhurt, though he sat on his horse without
         a head.
     He swiveled his bulk about;
     the ugly stump still bled.
     They gaped in fear and doubt
     because of the words he said.

For he held the head up evenly in his hand,
turned the face toward the top of the high table,
and the eyelids lifted and looked on them all
while the mouth moved, making these words:
"Gawain, get ready to go as you have promised,
Seek me out, sir; search till you find me as sworn here
in this hall where all these knights heard. I charge you,
come as you chose to the Green Chapel to get as good
as you gave -- you've got it coming and will be paid
promptly when another year has passed.
Many men know me as the Knight of the Green Chapel,
so search faithfully and you'll not fail to find me.
Come, or be called a faithless coward!"
He roared like a raging bull, turned the reins,
and drove for the door, still dangling the head,
while fire flashed from the horse's feet as if its hooves were flints. Where he went no one knew, nor could they
name the country he came from nor his kin.
         What then?
     The king and Gawain grinned
     and laughed at the Green Knight when
     the y knew full well it had been
     a portent to their men.

Though High King Arthur's heart was heavy with wonder
he let no sign of it be seen, but said aloud
with a king's courtesy to his lovely queen:
"Beloved lady, never let this dismay you.
It is good to get such games at Christmas,
light interludes, laughter and song,
or the whole court singing carols in chorus.
But truly, I can turn now to my table and feast;
as my word is good, I have witnessed a wonder."
He turned to Sir Gawain and tactfully said,
"Hang up your ax; it has cut all it can."
It was attached to a tapestry above the high table
for all men to marvel on who might see it there,
as a true token of a tale of wonder. Then they sat in
their seats to resume their feast, Gawain and the king
together, while good men served them the rarest,
dearest delicacies in double portions, with whole
batteries of the best foods, and the singing of bards.
The day finished, and their feast was filled with joy
         and zest.
     Sir Gawain, have a care
     to keep your courage for the test,
     and do the deed you've dared.
     You've begun: now brave the rest.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Translation by Paul Deane;
Copyright © Paul Deane, 1999

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