Since I've found myself with nothing else to do this Christmas Day, I thought I would storytime the entirety of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Not only is it one of the masterpieces of Middle English poetry, but it takes place during Christmastime, so I thought it would be appropriate. The translation is by A.S. Kline, because that is the one that I could find public domain on the internet.
Most brits are nodding off till morn senpai
>>7504647
FITT i
>Soon as the siege and assault had ceased at Troy,
>the burg broken and burnt to brands and ashes,
>the traitor who trammels of treason there wrought
>was tried for his treachery, the foulest on earth.
>It was Aeneas the noble and his high kin
>who then subdued provinces, lords they became,
>well-nigh of all the wealth in the Western Isles:
>forth rich Romulus to Rome rapidly came,
>with great business that burg he builds up first,
>and names it with his name, as now it has;
>Ticius to Tuscany, and townships begins;
>Langobard in Lombardy lifts up homes;
>and fared over the French flood Felix Brutus
>on many banks all broad Britain he settles
>then,
>where war and wreck and wonder
>betimes have worked within,
>and oft both bliss and blunder
>have held sway swiftly since.
>>7504664
>And when this Britain was built by this baron rich,
>bold men were bred therein, of battle beloved,
>in many a troubled time turmoil that wrought.
>More flames on this fold have fallen here oft
>than any other I know of, since that same time.
>But of all that here built, of Britain the kings,
>ever was Arthur highest, as I have heard tell.
>And so of earnest adventure I aim to show,
>that astonishes sight as some men do hold it,
>an outstanding action of Arthur’s wonders.
>If you will list to this lay but a little while,
>I’ll tell it straight, as I in town heard it,
>with tongue;
>as it was said and spoken
>in story staunch and strong,
>with linked letters loaded,
>as in this land so long.
>>7504669
>This king lay at Camelot nigh on Christmas
>with many lovely lords, of leaders the best,
>reckoning of the Round Table all the rich brethren,
>with right ripe revel and reckless mirth.
>There tourneyed tykes by times full many,
>jousted full jollily these gentle knights,
>then carried to court, their carols to make.
>For there the feast was alike full fifteen days,
>with all the meat and mirth men could devise:
>such clamour and glee glorious to hear,
>dear din in the daylight, dancing of nights;
>all was happiness high in halls and chambers
>with lords and ladies, as liked them all best.
>With all that’s well in the world were they together,
>the knights best known under the Christ Himself,
>and the loveliest ladies that ever life honoured,
>and he the comeliest king that the court rules.
>For all were fair folk and in their first age
>still,
>the happiest under heaven,
>king noblest in his will;
>that it were hard to reckon
>so hardy a host on hill.
>>7504677
>While New Year was so young it was new come in,
>that day double on the dais was the dole served,
>for the king was come with knights into the hall,
>and chanting in the chapel had chimed to an end.
>Loud cry was there cast of clerics and others,
>Noel nurtured anew, and named full oft;
>and see the rich run forth to render presents,
>yelled their gifts on high, yield them to hand,
>argued busily about those same gifts.
>Ladies laughed out loud, though they had lost,
>while he that won was not wrath, that you’ll know.
>All this mirth they made at the meal time.
>When they had washed well they went to be seated,
>the best of the barons above, as it seemed best;
>with Guinevere, full gaily, gracing their midst,
>dressed on the dais there, adorned all about –
>splendid silk by her sides, and sheer above
>of true Toulouse, of Tartar tapestries plenty,
>that were embroidered, bright with the best gems
>that might be price-proved with pennies
>any a day.
>the comeliest to descry
>glanced there with eyen grey;
>a seemlier ever to the sight,
>sooth might no man say.
>>7504682
>But Arthur would not eat till all were served,
>he was so joyous a youth, and somewhat boyish:
>he liked his life lively, he loved the less
>either to long lie idle or to long sit,
>so busied him his young blood and his brain wild.
>And also another matter moved him so,
>that he had nobly named he would never eat
>on such dear days, before he had been advised,
>of some adventurous thing, an unknown tale,
>of some mighty marvel, that he might believe,
>of ancestors, arms, or other adventures;
>or else till someone beseeched for some sure knight
>to join with him in jousting, in jeopardy to lay,
>lay down life for life, allow each to the other,
>as fortune might favour them, a fair advantage.
>This was the king’s custom when he in court was,
>at each fine feast among his many friends
>in hall.
>Therefore with fearless face
>he stands straight and tall;
>full lively at that New Year
>much mirth he makes with all.
>>7504688
>Thus there stands straight and tall the king himself,
>talking at the high table of trifles full courtly.
>There good Gawain was graced by Guinevere beside,
>and Agravain a la dure main on the other side sits,
>both the king’s sister-sons and full sure knights;
>Bishop Baldwin above, he begins the table,
>and Ywain, Urien’s son, ate alongside him.
>These sat high on the dais and deftly served,
>and many another sat sure at the side-tables.
>Then the first course came with crack of trumpets,
>with many a banner full bright that thereby hung;
>new noise of kettledrums and noble pipes,
>wild warbles and wide wakened echoes,
>that many a heart full high heaved at their notes.
>Dainties drawn in therewith of full dear meats,
>foods of the freshest, and in such files of dishes
>they find no room to place them people before
>and to set the silver that holds such servings
>on cloth.
>Each his load as he liked himself,
>there ladled and nothing loath;
>Every two had dishes twelve,
>good beer and bright wine both.
>>7504692
>Now will I of their service say you no more,
>for each man may well know no want was there
>another noise full new neared with speed,
>that would give the lord leave to take meat.
>For scarce was the noise not a while ceased,
>and the first course in the court duly served,
>there hales in at the hall door a dreadful man,
>the most in the world’s mould of measure high,
>from the nape to the waist so swart and so thick,
>and his loins and his limbs so long and so great
>half giant on earth I think now that he was;
>but the most of man anyway I mean him to be,
>and that the finest in his greatness that might ride,
>for of back and breast though his body was strong,
>both his belly and waist were worthily small,
>and his features all followed his form made
>and clean.
>Wonder at his hue men displayed,
>set in his semblance seen;
>he fared as a giant were made,
>and over all deepest green.
>>7504695
>And all garbed in green this giant and his gear:
>a straight coat full tight that stuck to his sides,
>a magnificent mantle above, masked within
>with pelts pared pertly, the garment agleam
>with blithe ermine full bright, and his hood both,
>that was left from his locks and laid on his shoulders;
>neat, well-hauled hose of that same green
>that clung to his calves and sharp spurs under
>of bright gold, on silk stockings rich-barred,
>and no shoes under sole where the same rides.
>And all his vesture verily was bright verdure,
>both the bars of his belt and other bright stones,
>that were richly rayed in his bright array
>about himself and his saddle, on silk work,
>it were tortuous to tell of these trifles the half,
>embroidered above with birds and butterflies,
>with gay gaudy of green, the gold ever inmost.
>The pendants of his harness, the proud crupper,
>his bridle and all the metal enamelled was then;
>the stirrups he stood on stained with the same,
>and his saddle bows after, and saddle skirts,
>ever glimmered and glinted all with green stones.
>The horse he rode on was also of that hue,
>certain:
>A green horse great and thick,
>a steed full strong to restrain,
>in broidered bridle quick –
>to the giant he brought gain.
>>7504700
>Well garbed was this giant geared in green,
>and the hair of his head like his horse’s mane.
>Fair fanned-out flax enfolds his shoulders;
>A beard big as a bush over his breast hangs,
>that with the haul of hair that from his head reaches
>was clipped all round about above his elbows,
>that half his hands thereunder were hid in the wise
>of a king’s broad cape that’s clasped at his neck.
>The mane of that mighty horse was much alike,
>well crisped and combed, with knots full many
>plaited in thread of gold about the fair green,
>here a thread of the hair, and there of gold.
>The tail and his forelock twinned, of a suit,
>and bound both with a band of a bright green,
>dressed with precious stones, as its length lasted;
>then twined with a thong, a tight knot aloft,
>where many bells bright of burnished gold ring.
>Such a man on a mount, such a giant that rides,
>was never before that time in hall in sight of human
>eye.
>He looked as lightning bright,
>said all that him descried;
>it seemed that no man might
>his mighty blows survive.
>>7504704
>And yet he had no helm nor hauberk, neither,
>nor protection, nor no plate pertinent to arms,
>nor no shaft, nor no shield, to strike and smite,
>but in his one hand he held a holly branch,
>that is greatest in green when groves are bare,
>and an axe in his other, one huge, monstrous,
>a perilous spar to expound in speech, who might.
>The head of an ell-rod its large length had,
>the spike all of green steel and of gold hewn,
>the blade bright burnished with a broad edge
>as well shaped to sheer as are sharp razors.
>The shaft of a strong staff the stern man gripped,
>that was wound with iron to the wand’s end,
>and all engraved with green in gracious workings;
>a cord lapped it about, that linked at the head,
>and so around the handle looped full oft,
>with tried tassels thereto attached enough
>on buttons of the bright green broidered full rich.
>This stranger rides in and the hall enters,
>driving to the high dais, danger un-fearing.
>Hailed he never a one, but high he overlooked.
>The first word that he spoke: ‘Where is,’ he said,
>‘the governor of this throng? Gladly I would
>see that soul in sight and with himself speak
>reason.’
>On knights he cast his eyes,
>And rolled them up and down.
>He stopped and studied ay
>who was of most renown.
>>7504711
>There was a looking at length the man to behold,
>for each man marvelled what it might mean
>for a rider and his horse to own such a hue
>as grew green as the grass and greener it seemed,
>than green enamel on gold glowing the brighter.
>All studied that steed, and stalked him near,
>with all the wonder of the world at what he might do.
>for marvels had they seen but such never before;
>and so of phantom and fairie the folk there it deemed.
>Therefore to answer was many a knight afraid,
>and all stunned at his shout and sat stock-still
>in a sudden silence through the rich hall;
>as all had slipped into sleep so ceased their noise
>and cry.
>I think it not all in fear,
>but some from courtesy;
>to let him all should revere
>speak to him firstly.
>>7504718
>Then Arthur before the high dais that adventure beholds,
>and, gracious, him reverenced, a-feared was he never,
>and said: ‘Sir, welcome indeed to this place,
>the head of this house, I, Arthur am named.
>Alight swiftly adown and rest, I thee pray,
>and what thy will is we shall wait after.’
>‘Nay, so help me,’ quoth the man, ‘He that on high sits:
>to wait any while in this way, it was not my errand.
>But as the light of thee, lord, is lifted so high,
>and thy burg and thy barons the best, men hold,
>strongest under steel gear on steeds to ride,
>the wisest and worthiest of the world’s kind,
>proof to play against in other pure sports,
>and here is shown courtesy, as I have heard said,
>so then I wandered hither, indeed, at this time.
>You may be sure by this branch that I bear here
>that I pass by in peace and no plight seek.
>For were I found here, fierce, and in fighting wise,
>I had a hauberk at home and a helm both,
>a shield and a sharp spear, shining bright,
>and other weapons to wield, I well will, too;
>but as I wish no war, I wear the softer.
>But if you be as bold as all bairns tell,
>you will grant me goodly the gift that I ask
>by right.’
>Arthur answered there,
>and said: ‘Sir courteous knight,
>if you crave battle bare,
>here fails you not the fight.’
>>7504722
>‘Nay, follow I no fight, in faith I thee tell.
>About on these benches are but beardless children;
>if I were clasped in armour on a high steed,
>here is no man to match me, his might so weak.
>From thee I crave in this court a Christmas gift,
>for it is Yule and New Year, and here many young men.
>If any so hardy in this house holds himself,
>is so bold of blood, hot-brained in his head,
>that dare staunchly strike a stroke for another,
>I shall give him as gift this weapon so rich,
>this blade, that is heavy enough to handle as he likes,
>and I will bear the first blow, as bare as I sit.
>If any friend be so fell as to fare as I say,
>Leap lightly to me; latch on to this weapon –
>I quit claim for ever, he keeps it, his own.
>And I will stand his stroke straight, on this floor,
>if you will grant me the gift to give him another,
>again;
>and yet give him respite
>a twelvemonth and a day.
>Now hurry, let’s see aright
>dare any herein aught say.’
>>7504726
>If he had stunned them at first, stiller were then
>all the host in the hall, the high and the low.
>The man on his mount he turned in his saddle,
>and roundly his red eyes he rolled about,
>bent his bristling brows, burning green,
>waving his beard about waiting who would rise.
>When none would come to his call he coughed full high,
>and cleared his throat full richly, ready to speak:
>‘What, is this Arthur’s house,’ quoth the horseman then,
>‘that all the rumour runs of, through realms so many?
>Where now your superiority and your conquests,
>your grinding down and your anger, your great words?
>Now is the revel and the renown of the Round Table
>overthrown with the word of a wanderer’s speech,
>for all duck down in dread without dint of a blow!’
>With this he laughed so loud that the lord grieved;
>the blood shot for shame into his fair face
>and there,
>he waxed as wrath as wind;
>so did all that there were.
>The king, so keen by kind,
>then stood that strong man near.
>>7504731
>And said: ‘Horseman, by heaven you ask as a fool,
>and as a folly you fain, to find it me behoves.
>I know no guest that’s aghast at your great words.
>Give me now your weapon, upon God’s name,
>and I shall bear you the boon you’d be having.’
>lightly he leaped to him and caught at his hand;
>then fiercely the other fellow on foot alighted.
>Now has Arthur his axe, and the helm grips,
>and strongly stirs it about, to strike with a thought.
>The man before him drew himself to full height,
>higher than any in the house by a head and more.
>With stern face where he stood he stroked his beard,
>and with fixed countenance tugged at his coat,
>no more moved or dismayed by mighty blows
>than if any man to the bench had brought him a drink
>of wine.
>Gawain, that sat by the queen,
>to the king he did incline:
>‘I beseech in plain speech
>that this mêlée be mine’
>>7504733
>‘Would you, worthiest lord,’ quoth Gawain to the king,
>‘bid me bow from this bench and stand by you there,
>that I without villainy might void this table,
>and if my liege lady liked it not ill,
>I would come counsel you before your court rich.
>For I think it not seemly, as it is true known,
>that such an asking is heaved so high in your hall,
>that you yourself are tempted, to take it to yourself,
>while so many bold men about you on benches sit,
>that under heaven, I hope, are none higher of will,
>nor better of body on fields where battle is raised.
>I am the weakest, I know, and of wit feeblest.
>least worth the loss of my life, who’d learn the truth.
>Only inasmuch as you are my uncle, am I praised:
>No bounty but your blood in my body I know.
>And since this thing is folly and naught to you falls,
>and I have asked it of you first, grant it to me;
>and if my cry be not comely, let this court be free
>of blame.’
>Nobles whispered around,
>and after counselled the same,
>to free the king and crown,
>and give Gawain the game.
>>7504738
>Then commanded the king the knight for to rise,
>and he readily up-rose and prepared him fair,
>knelt down before the king, and caught the weapon;
>and he lightly left it him, and lifted up his hand
>and gave him God’s blessing, and gladly him bade
>that his heart and his hand should hardy be, both.
>‘Take care, cousin,’ quoth the king, ‘how you set on,
>and if you read him aright, readily I trow,
>that you shall abide the blow he shall bring after.’
>Gawain goes to the giant, with weapon in hand,
>and boldly abides him, never bothered the less.
>Then to Sir Gawain says the knight in the green:
>‘Re-affirm we our oaths before we go further.
>First I entreat you, man, how are you named,
>that tell me truly, then, so trust it I may.’
>‘In God’s faith,’ quoth the good knight, ‘Gawain am I,
>that bear you this buffet, whatever befalls after,
>and at this time twelvemonth take from thee another
>with what weapon you wilt, and no help from any
>alive.’
>The other replies again:
>‘Sir Gawain, may I so thrive,
>if I am not wondrous fain
>for you this blow to drive.’
>>7504746
>‘By God,’ quoth the green knight, ‘Sir Gawain, I like
>That I’ll face first from your fist what I found here.
>And you have readily rehearsed, with reason full true,
>clearly all the covenant that I the king asked,
>save that you shall secure me, say, by your troth,
>that you shall seek me yourself, where so you think
>I may be found upon field, and fetch you such wages
>as you deal me today before this dear company.’
>‘Where should I seek,’ quoth Gawain, ‘where is your place?
>I know nothing of where you walk, by Him that wrought me,
>nor do I know you, knight, your court or your name.
>But teach me truly the track, tell me how you are named,
>and I shall wind all my wit to win me thither;
>and that I swear you in truth, and by my sure honour.’
>‘That is enough this New Year, it needs no more,’
>quoth the giant in the green to courteous Gawain:
>‘if I shall tell you truly, when you have tapped me
>and you me smoothly have smitten, I swiftly you teach,
>of my house and my home and my own name.
>Then may you find how I fare, and hold to your word;
>and if I spend no speech, then it speeds you the better,
>for you may linger in your land and seek no further –
>but oh!
>Take now your grim steel to thee,
>and see how you fell oaks.’
>‘Gladly, sir, indeed,’
>quoth Gawain; his axe he strokes.
>>7504749
>The green knight on his ground graciously stands:
>with a little lean of the head, flesh he uncovers;
>his long lovely locks he laid over his crown,
>and let the naked neck to the stroke show.
>Gawain gripped his axe and glanced it on high,
>his left foot on the field before him he set,
>letting it down lightly light on the naked,
>that the sharp of the steel sundered the bones,
>and sank through the soft flesh, sliced it in two,
>that the blade of the bright steel bit in the ground.
>The fair head from the frame fell to the earth,
>that folk flailed it with their feet, where it forth rolled;
>the blood burst from the body, the bright on the green.
>Yet nevertheless neither falters nor falls the fellow,
>but stoutly he started forth on strong shanks,
>and roughly he reached out, where the ranks stood,
>latched onto his lovely head, and lifted it so;
>and then strode to his steed, the bridle he catches,
>steps into stirrup and strides him aloft,
>and his head by the hair in his hand holds.
>and as steady and staunch him in his saddle sat
>as if no mishap had him ailed, though headless now
>instead.
>He twined his trunk about,
>that ugly body that bled;
>many of him had doubt,
>ere ever his speech was said.
>>7504753
>For the head in his hand he holds up even,
>towards the dearest on dais addresses the face;
>and it lifted its eyelids, and looked full wide,
>and made this much with its mouth, as you may now hear;
>‘Look, Gawain, be you geared to go as you promised,
>and look out loyally till you me, lord, find,
>as you swore oath in this hall, these knights hearing.
>To the green chapel you go, I charge you, to find
>such a dint as you dealt – deserved you have –
>to be readily yielded on New Year’s morn.
>The knight of the green chapel, men know me as, many;
>therefore to find me, if you fain it, you’ll fail never.
>Come then, or be called recreant it behoves you.’
>With a rough rasping the reins he twists,
>hurled out the hall door, his head in his hand,
>that the fire of the flint flew from fleet hooves.
>to what land he came no man there knew,
>no more than they knew where he had come from
>what then?
>The king and Gawain there
>at that green man laugh and grin;
>yet broadcast it was abroad
>as a marvel among those men.
>>7504759
>Though Arthur the high king at heart had wonder,
>he let no semblance be seen, but said aloud
>to the comely queen, with courteous speech:
>‘Dear dame, today dismay you never;
>well become us these crafts at Christmas,
>larking at interludes, to laugh and to sing
>among the courtly carols of lords and ladies.
>Nevertheless my meat I may now me address,
>for I have seen my marvel, I may not deny.’
>He glanced at Sir Gawain and graciously said:
>‘Now sir, hang up your axe that has hewn enough.’
>And it adorned the dais, hung on display,
>where all men might marvel and on it look,
>and by true title thereof to tell the wonder.
>Then they went to the board these two together,
>the king and the godly knight, and keen men them served
>of all dainties double, as dearest might fall,
>with all manner of meat and minstrelsy both.
>Full well they whiled that day till it worked its end
>on land
>Now think well, Sir Gawain,
>lest by peril unmanned,
>this adventure to sustain,
>you have taken in hand.
That's the end of fitt I. If anyone is interested I will continue; if not, I can stop.
I'm going to sleep now, but still: merry christmas you ol' bastard
>>7504782
Hey, at least you replied. That's good enough for me
>>7504647
Fantastic example of alliterative verse, thanks anon
>>7504765
Continue?
>>7504765
FITT ii
>This gift of adventure has Arthur thus on the first
>of the young year, for he yearned exploits to hear.
>Though words were wanting when they went to sit,
>now are they stoked with stern work, fullness to hand.
>Gawain was glad to begin those games in hall,
>yet if the end be heavy, have you no wonder;
>though men be merry in mind when they have strong ale,
>a year turns full turn, and yields never a like;
>the form of its finish foretold full seldom.
>For this Yuletide passed by, and the year after,
>and each season slips by pursuing another:
>after Christmas comes crabbed Lenten time,
>that forces on flesh fish and food more simple.
>But then the weather of the world with winter it fights,
>cold shrinks down, clouds are uplifted,
>shining sheds the rain in showers full warm,
>falls upon fair flats, flowers there showing.
>Both ground and groves green is their dress,
>birds begin to build and brightly sing they
>the solace of the soft summer ensuing after
>on bank;
>and blossoms bloom to blow
>by hedges rich and rank,
>while noble notes do flow
>in woodland free and frank.
>>7504808
>After, in season of summer with the soft winds,
>when Zephyrus sighs himself on seeds and herbs;
>well-away is the wort that waxes out there,
>when the dunking dew drops from the leaves,
>biding a blissful blush of the bright sun.
>But then hies Harvest and hardens it soon,
>warns it before the winter to wax full ripe;
>then drives with drought the dust for to rise,
>from the face of the field to fly full high;
>wild wind from the welkin wrestles the sun,
>the leaves lance then from linden, light on the ground,
>and all grey is the grass, that green was ere;
>then all ripens and rots, that rose up at first.
>And thus wears the year into yesterdays many,
>and winter walks again, as the world’s way is,
>I gauge,
>till Michaelmas moon
>threatens a wintry age.
>Then thinks Gawain full soon,
>of his wearisome voyage.
>>7504811
>Yet till All-Hallows with Arthur he lingers,
>and he made a feast on that day for the knight’s sake,
>with much revel and rich of the Round Table.
>Knights full courteous and comely ladies,
>all for love of that lad in longing they were;
>but nevertheless they named nothing but mirth,
>many joyless for that gentle soul jokes made there.
>For, after meat, with mourning he makes to his uncle,
>and speaks his departure, and openly says:
>‘Now, liege lord of my life, I ask you leave.
>You know the cost in this case, care I no more
>to tell you the trial thereof, naught but a trifle;
>but I am bound to bear it, be gone, and tomorrow,
>to seek the giant in the green, as God will me guide.’
>Then the best of the burg were brought together,
>Ywain and Eric and others full many,
>Sir Dodinal le Sauvage, the Duke of Clarence,
>Lancelot and Lionel and Lucan the Good,
>Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, big men both,
>and many other men, with Mador de la Porte.
>All this courtly company came the king near,
>for to counsel the knight, with care in their hearts.
>There was much dark dolefulness deep in the hall,
>that so worthy as Gawain should wend on that errand,
>to endure a dreadful dint, and no more with sword
>wander.
>The knight made yet good cheer,
>and said: ‘Why should I falter?
>Such destinies foul or fair
>what can men do but suffer?’
>>7504816
>He dwelt there all that day, and dressed on the morn,
>asks early for his arms, and all were they brought.
>First a crimson carpet, cast over the floor,
>and much was the gilded gear that gleamed thereon.
>The strong man steps there, and handles the steel,
>dressed in a doublet of silk of Turkestan,
>and then a well-crafted cape, clasped at the top,
>that with a white ermine was trimmed within.
>Then set they the plate shoes on his strong feet,
>his legs lapped in steel with lovely greaves,
>with knee-pieces pinned thereto, polished full clean,
>about his knees fastened with knots of gold;
>then the cuisses, that cunningly enclosed
>his thick-thewed thighs, attached with thongs;
>and then the hauberk linked with bright steel rings
>over rich wear, wrapped round the warrior;
>and well-burnished bracelets over both arms,
>elbow-pieces good and gay, and gloves of plate,
>and all the goodly gear that should bring him gain
>that tide;
>with rich coat armour,
>his gold spurs set with pride,
>girt with a blade full sure
>with silk sword-belt at his side.
>>7504818
>When he was hasped in armour, his harness was rich;
>the least laces or loops gleamed with gold.
>So harnessed as he was he hears the Mass,
>offered and honoured at the high altar,
>then he comes to the king and his companions,
>takes his courteous leave of lords and ladies;
>and they him kiss and convey, commend him to Christ.
>By then Gringolet was game, girt with a saddle
>that gleamed full gaily with many gold fringes,
>everywhere nailed full new, for that noted day;
>the bridle barred about, with bright gold bound;
>the apparel of the breast-guard and proud skirts,
>crupper, caparison, in accord with the saddle-bows;
>and all was arrayed with rich red gold nails,
>that all glittered and glinted as gleam of the sun.
>Then hefts he the helm, and hastily it kisses,
>that was strongly stapled and stuffed within.
>It was high on his head, clasped behind,
>with a light covering over the face-guard,
>embroidered and bound with the best gems
>on broad silken border, and birds on the seams,
>such as parrots painted preening between,
>turtle-doves, true-love knots, so thick entailed
>as many burdened with it had been seven winters
>in town.
>The circlet of greater price
>that embellished his crown,
>of diamonds all devised
>that were both bright and brown.
>>7504828
>Then they showed him the shield that was of shining gules,
>with the pentangle painted there in pure gold hues.
>He brandishes it by the baldric, casts it about his neck,
>that suited the wearer seemly and fair.
>And why the pentangle applies to that prince noble,
>I intend to tell, though I tarry more than I should.
>It is a sign Solomon settled on some while back,
>in token of truth, by the title that it has,
>for it is a figure that has five points,
>and each line overlaps and locks with another,
>and everywhere it is endless, and English call it
>over all the land, as I here, the Endless Knot.
>For so it accords with this knight and his bright arms,
>forever faithful in five ways, and five times so,
>Gawain was for good known, and, as purified gold,
>void of every villainy, with virtues adorned
>all, so.
>And thus the pentangle new
>he bore on shield and coat,
>as title of trust most true
>and gentlest knight of note.
>>7504830
>First he was found faultless in his five senses,
>and then failed never the knight in his five fingers,
>and all his trust in the field was in the five wounds
>that Christ caught on the cross, as the creed tells.
>And wheresoever this man in mêlée was stood,
>his first thought was that, over all other things,
>all his force in fight he found in the five joys
>that holy Heaven’s Queen had of her child;
>for this cause the knight fittingly had
>on the inner half of his shield her image painted,
>that when he beheld her his boldness never failed.
>The fifth five that I find the knight used
>was Free-handedness and Friendship above all things;
>his Continence and Courtesy corrupted were never,
>and Piety, that surpasses all points – these pure five
>were firmer founded in his form than another.
>Now all these five-folds, forsooth, were fused in this knight,
>and each one joined to another that none end had,
>and fixed upon five points that failed never,
>never confused on one side, nor sundered neither,
>without end at any angle anywhere, I find,
>wherever its guise begins or glides to an end.
>Therefore on his shining shield shaped was the knot
>royally with red gold upon red gules,
>thus is the pure pentangle called by the people
>of lore.
>Now geared was Gawain gay,
>lifted his lance right there,
>and gave them all good day –
>as he thought, for evermore.
>>7504835
>He struck the steed with the spurs, and sprang on his way
>so strongly the stone-fire sparked out thereafter.
>All that saw the seemly sight sighed in their hearts,
>and said softly the same thing all to each other,
>in care of that comely knight: ‘By Christ, ‘tis pity,
>that you, lord, shall be lost, who art of life noble!
>To find his fellow in field, in faith, is not easy.
>Warily to have wrought would wiser have been,
>to have dealt yon dear man a dukedom of worth.
>A loyal leader of this land’s lances in him well seems,
>and so had better have been than brought to naught,
>beheaded by an elvish man, out of arrogant pride.
>Who knew any king ever such counsel to take
>as knights in altercations in Christmas games?’
>Well was the water warm much wept from eyen,
>when that seemly sire spurred from the court
>that day.
>He made no delay,
>but swiftly went his way;
>Many a wild path he strayed,
>so the books do say.
>>7504836
>Now rides this knight through the realm of Logres,
>Sir Gawain, in God’s name, yet no game it thought.
>Oft friendless alone he lay long a-nights,
>where he found no fare that he liked before him.
>He had no friend but his steed by furze and down,
>and no one but God to speak with on the way,
>till that he neared full nigh to northern Wales.
>All the Isle of Anglesey on the left hand he held,
>and fared over the fords by the forelands,
>over at Holyhead, till he reached the bank
>in the wilderness of Wirral – few thereabouts
>that either God or other with good heart loved.
>And ever he asked as he fared, of fellows he met,
>if they had heard any word of a knight in green,
>on any ground thereabout, of the green chapel;
>and all met him with nay, that never in their lives
>saw they ever a sign of such a one, hued
>in green.
>The knight took pathways strange
>by many a bank un-green;
>his cheerfulness would change,
>ere might that chapel be seen.
>>7504841
>Many cliffs he over-clambered in countries strange,
>far flying from his friends forsaken he rides.
>at every twist of the water where the way passed
>he found a foe before him, or freakish it were,
>and so foul and fell he was beholden to fight.
>So many marvels by mountain there the man finds,
>it would be tortuous to tell a tenth of the tale.
>Sometimes with dragons he wars, and wolves also,
>sometimes with wild woodsmen haunting the crags,
>with bulls and bears both, and boar other times,
>and giants that chased after him on the high fells.
>had he not been doughty, enduring, and Duty served,
>doubtless he had been dropped and left for dead,
>for war worried him not so much but winter was worse,
>when the cold clear water from the clouds shed,
>and froze ere it fall might to the fallow earth.
>Near slain by the sleet he slept in his steel
>more nights than enough in the naked rocks,
>where clattering from the crest the cold burn runs,
>and hung high over his head in hard icicles.
>Thus in peril and pain, and plights full hard
>covers the country this knight till Christmas Eve
>alone.
>The knight that eventide
>to Mary made his moan,
>to show him where to ride,
>and guide him to some home.
>>7504843
>By a mount in the morn merrily he rides
>into a forest full deep, wonderfully wide,
>high hills on either hand, and woodlands under
>of hoar oaks full huge a hundred together.
>The hazel and the hawthorn were tangled and twined,
>with rough ragged moss ravelled everywhere,
>with many birds un-blithe upon bare twigs,
>that piteously they piped for pinch of the cold.
>The gallant on Gringolet glides them under
>through many a marsh and mire, a man alone,
>full of care lest to his cost he never should
>see the service of that Sire, that on that self night,
>of a bright maid was born, our burden to quell.
>And therefore sighing he said; ‘I beseech thee, Lord,
>and Mary, that is mildest mother so dear,
>of some harbour where highly I might hear Mass,
>and thy Matins tomorrow, meekly I ask,
>and thereto promptly I pray my Pater and Ave
>and Creed.’
>He rode as he prayed,
>And cried for his misdeeds;
>He crossed himself always,
>And said: ‘Christ’s Cross me speed!’
>>7504848
>Now he had signed himself times but three,
>when he was aware in the wood of a wall in a moat,
>above a level, on high land locked under boughs
>of many broad set boles about by the ditches:
>a castle the comeliest that ever knight owned,
>perched on a plain, a park all about,
>with a pointed palisade, planted full thick,
>encircling many trees in more than two miles.
>The hold on the one side the knight assessed,
>as it shimmered and shone through the shining oaks.
>Then humbly has off with his helm, highly he thanks
>Jesus and Saint Julian, that gentle are both,
>that courtesy had him shown, and his cry hearkened.
>‘Now hospitality,’ he said, ‘I beseech you grant!’
>Then goads he on Gringolet, with his gilded heels,
>and he by chance there has chosen the chief way,
>that brought the man bravely to the bridge’s end
>in haste.
>The drawbridge was upraised,
>the gates were firm and fast,
>the walls were well arrayed –
>it trembled at no wind’s blast.
>>7504853
>The knight stuck to his steed, that hugged the bank,
>of the deep double ditch driven round the place.
>The wall washed in the water wonderfully deep,
>and then a full huge height it haled up aloft,
>of hard hewn stone to the entablature,
>embedded under the battlements in best style;
>and there were turrets full tall towering between,
>with many lovely loopholes clean interlocked:
>a better barbican that knight never beheld.
>And innermost he beheld a hall full high,
>towers trim between, crenellated full thick,
>fair finials that fused, and fancifully long,
>with carven copes, cunningly worked.
>Chalk white chimneys he descried enough,
>on tower rooftops that gleamed full white.
>So many painted pinnacles powdered there
>among castle crenellations, clustered so thick,
>that pared out of paper purely it seemed.
>the fair knight on the horse it fine enough thought,
>if he might contrive to come the cloister within,
>to harbour in that hostel while Holy Day lasted,
>all content.
>He called and soon there came
>a porter pure pleasant.
>From the wall his errand he craved,
>and hailed the knight errant.
>>7504860
>‘Good sir,’ quoth Gawain, ‘will you do my errand
>to the high lord of this house, harbour to crave?’
>‘Yes, by Saint Peter,’ quoth the porter, ‘for I believe
>That you’ll be welcome to dwell as long as you like.’
>Then the welcomer on the wall went down swiftly,
>and folk freely him with, to welcome the knight.
>They let down the great drawbridge and dignified
>knelt down on their knees upon the cold earth
>to welcome this knight as they thought the worthiest way.
>They yielded him the broad gate, opened wide,
>and he them raised rightly and rode over the bridge.
>Several then seized his saddle, while he alighted,
>and then strong men enough stabled his steed.
>Knights and their squires came down then
>for to bring this bold man blithely to hall,
>When he lifted his helmet, they hastened forward
>to heft it from his hand, the guest to serve;
>his blade and his blazon both they took.
>then hailed he full handily the host each one,
>and many proud men pressed close, that prince to honour.
>All clasped in his noble armour to hall they him brought,
>where a fair fire on a hearth fiercely flamed.
>Then the lord of that land left his chamber
>for to meet with manners the man on the floor.
>He said: ‘You are welcome to dwell as you like.
>What is here, is all your own, to have at your will
>and wield you.
>‘Graunt merci,’ quoth Gawain,
>‘May Christ reward it you.’
>As friends that meet again
>Each clasped the other true.
>>7504863
>Gawain gazed on the gallant that goodly him greet,
>and thought him a brave baron that the burg owned,
>a huge man in truth, and mature in his years;
>broad, bright was his beard and all beaver-hued,
>stern, striding strongly on stalwart shanks,
>face fell as the fire, and free of his speech;
>and well he seemed to suit, as the knight thought,
>the leading a lordship, along of lords full good.
>The chief him led to a chamber, expressly commands
>a lord be delivered to him, him humbly to serve;
>and there were brave for his bidding a band of men,
>that brought him to a bright bower, the bedding was noble,
>of curtains of clear silk with clean gold hems,
>and coverlets full curious with comely panels,
>of bright ermine above embroidered sides,
>curtains running on cords, red gold rings,
>tapestries tied to the wall, of Toulouse, Turkestan,
>and underfoot, on the floor, that followed suit.
>There he was disrobed, with speeches of mirth,
>the burden of his mail and his bright clothes.
>Rich robes full readily retainers brought him,
>to check and to change and choose of the best.
>Soon as he held one, and hastened therein,
>that sat on him seemly, with spreading skirts,
>verdant in his visage Spring verily seemed
>to well nigh everyone, in all its hues,
>glowing and lovely, all his limbs under,
>that a comelier knight never Christ made,
>they thought.
>However he came here,
>it seemed that he ought
>to be prince without peer
>on fields where fell men fought.
>>7504869
>A chair before the chimney, where charcoal burned,
>graciously set for Gawain, was gracefully adorned,
>coverings on quilted cushions, cunningly crafted both.
>And then a mighty mantle was on that man cast
>of a brown silk, embroidered full rich,
>and fair furred within with pelts of the best –
>the finest ermine on earth – his hood of the same.
>And he sat on that settle seemly and rich,
>and chafed himself closely, and then his cheer mended.
>Straightway a table on trestles was set up full fair,
>clad with a clean cloth that clear white showed,
>the salt-cellars, napkins and silvered spoons.
>The knight washed at his will, and went to his meat.
>Servants him served seemly enough
>with several soups, seasoned of the best,
>double bowlfuls, as fitting, and all kinds of fish,
>some baked in bread, some browned on the coals,
>some seethed, some in stews savoured with spices,
>and sauces ever so subtle that the knight liked.
>While he called it a feast full freely and oft
>most politely, at which all spurred him on politely
>again:
>‘This penance now you take,
>after it shall amend.’
>That man much mirth did make,
>for the wine to his head did tend.
>>7504872
>Then they sparred and parried in precious style
>with private points put to the prince himself,
>so he conceded courteously of that court he came,
>where noble Arthur is headman himself alone,
>that is the right royal king of the Round Table;
>and that it is Gawain himself that in that house sits,
>come there at Christmas, as chance has him driven.
>When the lord learned what prince that he there had,
>loud laughed he thereat, so delightful he thought it,
>and all the men in that manse made it a joy
>to appear in his presence promptly that time,
>who all prize and prowess and purest ways
>appends to his person, and praised is ever;
>above all men upon earth his honour is most.
>Each man full softly said to his neighbour:
>‘Now shall we see show of seemliest manners
>and the faultless phrases of noble speaking.
>What superior speech is, unasked we shall learn,
>since we have found this fine master of breeding.
>God has given us of his goodly grace forsooth,
>that such a guest as Gawain grants us to have,
>when barons blithe at His birth shall sit
>and sing.
>The meaning of manners here
>this knight now shall us bring.
>I hope whoever may hear
>Shall learn of love-making.’
>>7504876
>When the dinner was done and the diners risen,
>it was nigh on the night that the time was near.
>Chaplains to the chapel took their course,
>ringing all men, richly, as they rightly should,
>to the holy evensong of that high eventide.
>The lord goes thereto and the lady as well;
>into a comely enclosure quietly she enters.
>Gawain gaily goes forth and thither goes soon;
>the lord grasps him by the gown and leads him to sit,
>acknowledges him with grace, calls him by name,
>and said he was the most welcome man in the world;
>and he thanked him thoroughly, they clasped each other,
>and sat with sober seeming the service through.
>Then liked the lady to look on the knight;
>and came from the close with many fine women.
>She was the fairest in feature, in flesh and complexion,
>and in compass and colour and ways, of all others,
>and fairer than Guinevere, as the knight thought.
>He strode through the chancel to squire the dame.
>Another lady her led by the left hand,
>who was older than her, and aged it seemed,
>and highly honoured with her men about her.
>Not alike though to look on those ladies were,
>for if the one was fresh, the other was withered:
>rich red in this one distinguished her,
>rough wrinkled cheeks on that other, in rolls.
>Kerchiefs on this one, with many clear pearls,
>her breast and her bright throat bare displayed
>shone sweeter than snow that’s shed on the hills;
>that other swathed with a wimple wound at the throat,
>clothed to her swarthy chin with chalk-white veils,
>her forehead folded in silk, enveloped everywhere,
>ringed and trellised with trefoils about,
>that naught was bare of the lady but the black brows,
>the two eyen and nose, the naked lips,
>and those were sorry to see, and somewhat bleary –
>a great lady on earth a man might her call,
>by God!
>Her body was short and thick,
>her buttocks big and broad;
>Much sweeter a sweet to lick
>the one at her side for sure.
>>7504880
>When Gawain gazed on that gracious-looking girl,
>with leave asked of the lord he went to meet them.
>The elder he hails, bowing to her full low;
>the lovely-looking he laps a little in his arms,
>he kisses her courteously and nobly he speaks.
>They crave his acquaintance, and he quickly asks
>to be their sworn servant, if they themselves wished.
>They take him between them, and talking they lead him
>to a chamber, to the chimney, and firstly they ask for
>spices, which men unstintingly hastened to bring,
>and the winning wine with them, every time.
>The lord laughing aloft leaps full oft,
>minding that mirth be made and many a time,
>nobly lifted his hood, and on a spear hung it,
>and wished him to win the worth and honour thereof
>who most mirth might move at that Christmastide.
>‘And I shall swear, by my faith, to strive with the best
>before I lose the hood, with the help of my friends.’
>Thus with laughing words the lord makes all merry,
>for to gladden Sir Gawain with games in the hall
>that night.
>Till, when it was time,
>the lord demanded light.
>Gawain his way did find
>To bed as best he might.
>>7504882
>On the morn, when each man minds that time
>the dear Lord for our destiny to die was born,
>joy waxes in each house in the world for His sake.
>So did it there on that day with dainties many:
>both when major and minor meals were eaten
>deft men on the dais served of the best.
>The old ancient wife highest she sits;
>the lord, so I believe, politely beside her.
>Gawain and the sweet lady together they sat
>in the midst, as the masses came together;
>and then throughout the hall, as seemed right,
>each man in his degree was graciously served.
>There was meat, there was mirth, there was much joy,
>that it would be a trouble for me to tell all,
>and however perchance I pined to make my point.
>But yet I know Gawain and the sweet lady
>such comfort of their company caught together
>through their dear dalliance of courtly words,
>with clean courteous chat, closed from filth,
>their play surpassed every princely game with which it
>compares.
>Kettledrums and trumpets,
>much piping there of airs;
>Each man minded his,
>and those two minded theirs.
>>7504883
>Much mirth was there driven that day and another,
>and a third as thickly thronged came in thereafter;
>The joy of St John’s Day was gentle to hear,
>and was the last of the larking, the lords thought.
>There were guests set to go on the grey morn,
>so they stayed wonderfully waking and wine drank,
>dancing the day in with noble carols.
>At the last, when it was time, they took their leave,
>each one to wend on his way into strange parts.
>Gawain gave them good day, the good man grasps him,
>and leads him to his own chamber, the chimney beside,
>and there he grips him tight, heartily thanks him
>for the fine favour that he had shown him,
>so to honour his house on that Christmastide,
>and embellish his burg with his bright cheer.
>‘Indeed, sir, while I live, I am the better
>for Gawain being my guest at God’s own feast.’
>‘Graunt merci, sir,’ quoth Gawain, ‘in good faith it’s yours,
>all the honour is your own – the High King requite you!
>And I am here, at your will, to work your behest,
>as I am beholden to do, in high things and low,
>by right.’
>The lord was at great pains
>To keep longer the knight;
>To him answers Gawain
>That by no means he might.
>>7504888
>Then the lord aimed full fair at him, asking
>what daring deed had him driven at that dear time
>so keenly from the king’s court to stray all alone,
>before the holy holiday was haled out of town.
>‘Forsooth, sir,’ quoth the knight, ‘you say but the truth,
>a high errand and a hasty had me from those halls,
>for I am summoned myself to seek for a place,
>with no thought in the world where to go find it.
>I would not dare fail find it by New Year’s morning
>for all the land in Logres, so me our Lord help!
>So, sir, this request I make of you here,
>that you tell me true if ever you tale heard
>of the green chapel, on what ground it stands,
>and of the knight that keeps it, the colour of green.
>There was established by statute a pact us between
>both to meet at that mark, if I should live;
>and of that same New Year but little is wanting,
>and I would look on that lord, if God would let me,
>more gladly, by God’s Son, than any goods gain.
>So, indeed, by your leave, it behoves me to go.
>Now to work this business I’ve barely three days,
>and it’s fitter I fall dead than fail of my errand.’
>Then, laughing, quoth the lord: ‘Now stay, it behoves you,
>for I’ll teach you the trysting place ere the term’s end.
>The green chapel upon ground grieve for no more;
>but you shall be in your bed, sir, at your ease,
>while day unfolds, and go forth on the first of the year,
>and come to that mark at mid-morn, to act as you wish
>and when.
>Dwell until New Year’s Day,
>and rise and ride on then.
>You shall be shown the way;
>it is not two miles hence.’
>>7504891
>Then was Gawain full glad, and gleefully he laughed:
>‘Now I thank you thoroughly beyond all things;
>now achieved is my goal, I shall at your will
>dwell here, and do what else you deem fit.’
>Then the lord seized him and set him beside,
>and the ladies had fetched, to please him the better.
>There was seemly solace by themselves still.
>The lord lofted for love notes so merry,
>as one that wanted his wits, nor knew what he did.
>Then he cried to the knight, calling aloud:
>‘You have deemed to do the deed that I bid.
>Will you hold to this promise here and now?’
>‘Yes, sire, indeed,’ said the knight and true,
>‘While I bide in your burg, I’m at your behest.’
>‘As you have travelled,’ quoth the lord, ‘from afar,
>and since then waked with me, you are not well served
>neither of sustenance nor of sleep, surely I know.
>You shall linger in your room and lie there at ease
>tomorrow till Mass, and then to meat wend
>when you will, with my wife, that with you shall sit
>and comfort you with company, till I come to court:
>time spend,
>And I shall early rise;
>a-hunting will I wend.’
>Gawain thinks it wise,
>as is fitting to him bends.
>>7504896
>‘And further,’ quoth the lord, ‘a bargain we’ll make:
>whatsoever I win in the wood is worthily yours;
>and whatever here you achieve, exchange me for it.
>Sweet sir, swap we so – swear it in truth –
>whether, lord, that way lies worse or better.’
>‘By God,’ quoth Gawain the good, ‘I grant it you,
>and that you lust for to play, like it methinks.’
>‘Who’ll bring us a beverage, this bargain to make?’
>so said the lord of that land. They laughed each one,
>they drank and dallied and dealt in trifles,
>these lords and ladies, as long as they liked;
>and then with Frankish faring, full of fair words,
>they stopped and stood and softly spoke,
>kissing full comely and taking their leave.
>By many lively servants with flaming torches,
>each brave man was brought to his bed at last
>full soft.
>To bed yet ere they sped,
>repeating the contract oft;
>the old lord of that spread
>could keep a game aloft.
End of fitt II, and another break. Again, speak up if you want me to keep going
Keep going buddy
>>7504914
Alright, give me a minute
>>7504900
FITT iii
>Full early before the day the folk were risen;
>Guests who would go their grooms they called on,
>and they busied them briskly the beasts to saddle,
>tightening their tackle, trussing their baggage.
>The richest ready themselves to ride all arrayed,
>leaping up lightly, latched onto their bridles,
>each rode out by the way that he most liked.
>The beloved lord of the land was not the last
>arrayed for the riding, with ranks full many;
>ate a sop hastily, when he had heard Mass,
>with horns to the hunting field he hastens away.
>By the time that daylight gleamed upon earth,
>he with his knights on high horses were.
>Then the cunning hunters coupled their hounds,
>unclosed the kennel door and called them out,
>blew briskly on their bugles three bare notes;
>braches bayed therefore, and bold noise made,
>and men chastised and turned those that chasing went,
>a hundred of hunters, as I have heard tell,
>of the best.
>To station, keepers strode,
>huntsmen leashes off-cast;
>great rumpus in that wood
>there rose with their good blasts.
>>7504926
>At the first call of the quest quaked the wild;
>deer drove for the dales, darting for dread,
>hied to the high ground, but swiftly they were
>stayed by the beaters, with their stout cries.
>They let the harts with high branched heads have way,
>the brave bucks also with their broad antlers;
>for the noble lord had bidden that in close season
>no man there should meddle with those male deer.
>The hinds were held back with a ‘Hey’ and a ‘Ware!’
>The does driven with great din to the deep coves.
>There might men see, as they loosed, the slanting of arrows;
>at each winding of the wood whistled a flight,
>that bit into brown flanks, with broad blade-heads.
>What screaming and bleeding, by banks they lay dying,
>and ever the hounds in a rush hard on them followed,
>hunters with high horn-calls hastened them after,
>with such a crack and cry as cliffs were bursting.
>What wild beasts so escaped the men shooting
>were all dragged down and rent by the new reserves,
>when hunted from high ground, and harried to water.
>The lads were so skilled at the lower stations,
>and the greyhounds so great, that gripped so quickly
>and dragged them down, as swift I swear,
>as sight.
>In bliss without alloy
>the lord does spur or alight,
>and passes that day with joy
>and so to the dark night.
>>7504929
>Thus larks the lord by linden-wood eaves,
>while Gawain the good man gaily abed lies,
>lurks till the daylight gleams on the walls,
>under canopy full clear, curtained about.
>And as in slumber he lay, softly he heard
>a little sound at his door, and it slid open;
>and he heaves up his head out of the clothes,
>a corner of the curtain he caught up a little,
>and watches warily to make out what it might be.
>It was the lady, the loveliest to behold,
>that drew the door after her full silent and still,
>and bent her way to the bed; and the knight ashamed,
>laid him down again lightly and feigned to sleep.
>And she stepped silently and stole to his bed,
>caught up the curtain and crept within,
>and sat her full softly on the bedside
>and lingered there long, to look when he wakened.
>The lord lay low, lurked a full long while,
>compassing in his conscience what this case might
>mean or amount to, marvelling in thought.
>But yet he said to himself: ‘More seemly it were
>to descry with speech, in a space, what she wishes.’
>Then he wakened and wriggled and to her he turned,
>and lifted his eyelids and let on he was startled,
>and signed himself with his hand, as with prayer, to be
>safer.
>With chin and cheek full sweet,
>both white and red together,
>full graciously did she greet,
>lips light with laughter.
>>7504932
>‘Good morning, Sir Gawain,’ said that sweet lady,
>‘You are a sleeper unsafe, that one may slip hither.
>Now are you taken in a trice, lest a truce we shape,
>I shall bind you in your bed, that you may trust.’
>All laughing the lady made her light jests.
>‘Good morrow, sweet,’ quoth Gawain the blithe,
>‘I shall work your will, and that I well like,
>for I yield me swiftly and sue for grace;
>and that is the best, to my mind, since behoves I must.’
>And thus he jested again with much blithe laughter.
>‘But would you, lovely lady, but grant me leave
>and release your prisoner and pray him to rise,
>I would bound from this bed and dress me better,
>I should discover more comfort in speaking with you.’
>‘Nay, forsooth, beau sire,’ said that sweet,
>‘You shall not rise from your bed. I charge you better:
>I shall wrap you up here on this other side,
>and then chat with my knight whom I have caught;
>for I know well, indeed, Sir Gawain you are,
>that all the world worships, wherever you ride.
>Your honour, your courtesy, is nobly praised
>among lords, among ladies, all who life bear.
>And now you are here, indeed, and we on our own;
>my lord and his lords are far off faring,
>other knights are abed, and my ladies also,
>the door drawn and shut with a strong hasp.
>And since I have in this house him who all like,
>I shall work my time well, while it lasts,
>with a tale.
>Your are welcome to my body,
>Your pleasure to take all;
>I must by necessity
>your servant be, and shall.’
>>7504936
>‘In good faith,’ quoth Gawain, ‘a gain’s that me thinks,
>though I be not now him of whom you are speaking;
>to reach to such reverence as you rehearse here,
>I am all ways unworthy, I know well myself.
>By God, I’d be glad though if you thought it fit
>in speech or service that I might set myself
>to the pleasing of your worth – that were a pure joy.’
>‘In good faith, Sir Gawain,’ quoth the sweet lady,
>‘The worth and the prowess that pleases all others,
>if I slighted or thought light of it, that were little grace;
>but there are ladies enough that would far rather
>have you, dear man, to hold, as I have you here,
>to dally dearly in your delightful words,
>comfort themselves and ease their cares,
>than make much of the treasure and gold they have.
>But as I love that same Lord that the heavens rules,
>I have wholly in my hand what all desire
>through grace.’
>She made him thus sweet cheer,
>who was so fair of face;
>the knight with speeches clear
>answered her every case.
>>7504945
>‘Madam,’ quoth the merry man, ‘Mary give you grace,
>for I have found, in good faith, your friendship is noble.
>Others gain full much of other folks praise for their deeds,
>but the deference they deal me is undeserved in my case.
>It is honour to you that naught but good you perceive.’
>‘By Mary,’ quoth the lady, ‘methinks it otherwise;
>for were I worth all the wonder of women alive,
>and all the wealth of the world were in my hand,
>and I should bargain to win myself a brave lord,
>with the qualities that I know of you, knight, here,
>of beauty and debonair and blithe seeming,
>that I hearkened to ere now and have here found true,
>then should no errant on earth before you be chosen.’
>‘Indeed, lady,’ quoth the knight, ‘you have done much better;
>but I am proud of the value you place on me,
>and, solemnly your servant, my sovereign I hold you,
>and your knight I become, and Christ reward you!’
>Thus they mulled many matters till mid-morn passed,
>and ever the lady let fall that she loved him much;
>yet the knight held to his guard, and acted full fair.
>‘Though I were loveliest lady,’ so her mind had it,
>‘the less is there love in his load’ – for his fate he sought
>that one,
>the stroke that should him cleave,
>and it must needs be done.
>The lady then sought to leave,
>he granting her that boon.
>>7504949
>Then she gave him good day, with a laughing glance,
>and stunned him as she stood there, with cutting words:
>‘May He who speeds each speech reward you this sport!
>But that you should be Gawain, it baffles the mind.’
>‘Wherefore?’ quoth the knight, and urgently asked,
>fearful lest he had failed in forms of politeness.
>But the lady blessed him and spoke as follows:
>‘One gracious as Gawain is rightly held to be,
>with courtesy contained so clear in himself,
>could not lightly have lingered so long with a lady,
>but he had craved a kiss out of courtesy,
>with some trifling touch at some tale’s end.’
>Then quoth Gawain: ‘Indeed, let it be as you like;
>I shall kiss at your command, as befits a knight,
>and further, lest I displease you, so plead no more.’
>She comes nearer at that, and catches him in her arms,
>leans lovingly down, and the lord kisses.
>They graciously commend to Christ one another;
>and she goes out at the door with not a word more;
>And he readies himself to rise and hurries anon,
>calls to his chamberlain, chooses his clothes,
>going forth, when he is ready, blithely to Mass.
>And then he went to the noble meal that awaited,
>and made merry all day till the moonrise,
>at games.
>Was never knight fairer sung
>between two such noble dames,
>the elder and the young;
>much joy had they of the same.
>>7504951
>And ever the lord of the land intent on his games,
>hunted, in holts and heath, for barren hinds,
>Such a sum he there slew by the set of sun,
>of does and other deer, it were deemed a wonder.
>Then fiercely they flocked in, folk at the last,
>and quickly of the quenched deer a heap they made.
>The noblest sped there with servants enough,
>gathered the quarry greatest in flesh that were there,
>and had them deftly undone as custom demands.
>Some that were there searched them in assay,
>and two fingers of fat they found on the feeblest.
>Then they slit the slot, and seized the first stomach,
>shaved it with sharp knives, and knotted the sheared.
>Then lopped off the four limbs and rent off the hide,
>next broke they the belly, the bowels out-taking,
>deftly, lest they undid and destroyed the knot.
>They gripped the gullet, and swiftly severed
>the weasand from the windpipe and whipped out the guts.
>Then sheared out the shoulders with their sharp knives,
>hauled them through a little hole, left the sides whole.
>Then they slit up the breast and broke it in twain.
>And again at the gullet one then began
>rending all readily right to the fork,
>voiding the entrails, and verily thereafter
>all the membranes by the ribs readily loosened.
>So too they cleared to the backbone, rightly,
>even down to the haunch that hangs from the same,
>and heaved it all up whole and hewed it off there.
>and that they properly call the numbles, I deem,
>by kind.
>At the fork then of the thighs
>they loose the lappets behind;
>to hew it in two they hie,
>by the backbone it to unbind.
>>7504957
>Both the head and the neck they hewed off then,
>and after sundered the sides swift from the chine,
>and the ravens’ fee they cast into a grove.
>Then they skewered each thick flank by the ribs,
>and hung each up by the hocks of the haunches,
>every fellow taking his fee as it fell to him.
>On a skin of the fair beast fed they their hounds
>with the liver and lights, and the stomach lining,
>and bread bathed in blood blent there among.
>Boldly they blew the kill their hounds a-baying;
>then rode home with the flesh tightly packed,
>stalwartly sounding out many stout notes.
>As the daylight was done, the company came
>to the comely castle, where our knight bides
>all still,
>in bliss by bright fire set.
>The lord is come from the hill;
>when Gawain with him is met,
>there they but joy as they will.
>>7504961
>Then the lord commanded all be summoned to the hall,
>both the ladies, aloft, to descend with their maids.
>Before all the folk on the floor, he bid men
>verily his venison to bring there before him;
>and all gaily in courtesy Gawain he called,
>and tells over the tally of full fat beasts,
>shows him the fine flesh shorn from the ribs.
>‘How does this sport please you? Have I won praise?
>Have I won thanks, thoroughly served by my craft?’
>‘Yes, indeed,’ quoth the other, ‘here spoils are fairest
>of all I have seen this seven-year in season of winter.’
>‘And I give all this to you, Gawain,’ quoth the man then,
>‘for according to covenant you may call it your own.’
>‘That is so,’ quoth the knight, ‘I say you the same:
>what I have worthily won this house within,
>shall with as good a will be worthily yours.’
>And he clasps his fair neck his arms within,
>and kisses him in as comely a way as he can:
>‘Take you there my prize, I received no more;
>I would grant it all, though it were greater.’
>‘That is good,’ quoth the lord, ‘many thanks therefore.
>This may be the better gift, if you would tell me
>where you won this same prize by your own wits.’
>‘That was not pledged,’ quoth he, ‘ask me no more;
>for you have taken what’s due, none other to you
>I owe.’
>They laughed and made blithe
>with words worth praise, and so
>to supper then side by side,
>with dainties in plenty go.
>>7504965
>And then by the chimney in chamber sitting,
>servants brought to them choice wines oft,
>and in their banter they agreed in that morn
>to fulfil the same bond they had made before:
>what chance might betide, their prize to exchange,
>each new thing they named, at night when they met.
>They made accord of this covenant before all the court;
>and beverage was brought forth in banter at this time.
>Then they lovingly took their leave at the last,
>each man at his leaving going brisk to his bed.
>When the cock had crowed and cackled but thrice,
>the lord leapt from his bed, the liegemen each one,
>so that meat and a Mass were swiftly delivered,
>the company off to the wood, ere daylight sprang,
>to the chase.
>Proudly with huntsmen and horns
>through wilds they passed apace,
>uncoupled among the thorns,
>the hounds ran headlong race.
>>7504972
>Soon they called for a search by the marsh-side,
>the huntsman urged on the first hounds up,
>wild cries he uttered with wondrous noise.
>The hounds that heard him hastened there swiftly,
>and fell as fast to the trail, forty at once.
>Then such a baying and clamour of gathered hounds
>rose that the rocks rang out all about.
>Huntsmen harried them with horn and by mouth;
>then all in a pack they swung together
>between a pool in that place and a cruel crag.
>On a knoll by a cliff, at the marsh side,
>where the rough rock had ruggedly fallen,
>they sped to the finding, the huntsmen after.
>They surrounded the crag and the knoll both,
>while they made sure they had well within
>the beast that was bayed at, there, by their bloodhounds.
>Then they beat at the bushes and bade him rise up,
>and he savagely swung athwart the huntsmen –
>a most splendid boar it was, rushed out there,
>solitary through age, long split from the herd,
>but he was still mighty, the greatest of boars,
>full grim when he grunted. Then grieved many
>for three hounds at first thrust he felled to the earth,
>and sped him forth at great speed all unscathed.
>The hunt hallooed ‘Hi!’ full loud, and cried ‘Hey! Hey!
>and horns to mouths, hastily recalled them.
>Many were the merry cries of men and of hounds
>that brisk chased the boar, with barking and clamour,
>to quell,
>Full oft he bides at bay
>and downs the dogs pell-mell;
>he harries the hounds, and they
>full piteously yowl and yell.
>>7504973
>Shaping to shoot him some shoved through then,
>hurling their arrows at him, hitting him often;
>but their points were parried by bristling flanks,
>and their barbs would not bite there in his brow,
>though the smooth shaft were shattered in pieces,
>the head skipped away wherever it hit.
>but when by dint of dire strokes they damaged him,
>then, maddened by baiting, he rushes the men,
>hurts them full heavily as forth he hies,
>and many were awed at that and drew backwards.
>But the lord on a lithe horse lunges after him,
>as knight bold in the battle his bugle he blows,
>rallied the hounds as he rode through rank thicket,
>pursuing this wild swine till the sun had set.
>The day with these same deeds they passed in this wise,
>while our courteous knight lay in his bed,
>Gawain gladly at home, in gear full rich
>of hue.
>The lady did not forget,
>to come to greet him too;
>full early she him beset
>to seek a change of mood.
>>7504977
>She came to the curtain and peeped at the knight.
>Sir Gawain welcomed her courteously first,
>and she answered him again eager her words,
>sits herself soft by his side, and sweetly she laughs,
>and with a loving look she led with these words:
>‘Sir, if you be Gawain, it’s a wonder methinks,
>why one so well disposed always to good,
>knows not how to manage his manners in company,
>and if any teach you to know them, you cast them from mind.
>You have swiftly forgot what but yesterday I taught
>with all the truest tokens of talk that I could.’
>‘What is that?’ quoth the knight, ‘Indeed I know not.
>If it be truth that you breathe, the blame is mine own.’
>‘Yet I taught you of kissing.’ quoth the fair dame,
>‘where countenance is fair, quick make your claim;
>that becomes every knight that courtesy uses.’
>‘Unsay,’ quoth that brave man, ‘my dear, that speech,
>for that I dare not do, lest I were denied;
>if I were spurned, I’d be wrong, indeed, to have proffered.’
>‘By my faith,’ quoth the lady, ‘you cannot be spurned;
>you are strong enough to constrain by strength, if you like,
>if any were so villainous as to deny you.’
>‘Yes, by God,’ quoth Gawain, ‘true is your speech,
>but threats do never thrive in the land where I live,
>nor any gift that is given without a good will.
>I am at your command, to kiss when you like;
>you may lip when you will, and leave when you wish
>in a space.’
>The lady bends her adown
>and sweetly she kisses his face;
>much speech they there expound
>of love, its grief and grace.
>>7504982
>‘I would know of you, knight,’ that lady then said,
>‘if you are not angered by this, what is the reason
>that so young and lively a one as you at this time,
>so courteous, so knightly, as widely you’re known
>(and from all chivalry to choose, the chief things praised
>are the laws of loyal love, and the lore of arms;
>for in telling those tales of the truest of knights,
>all the title and text of their works is taken
>from how lords hazard their lives for loyal love,
>endured for that duty’s sake dreadful trials,
>and after with valour avenged, and void their cares,
>brought bliss to the bower by bounties their own)
>and you, the knight, the noblest child of your age,
>your high fame and honour told everywhere,
>why I have sat by yourself here separately twice,
>yet heard I never that your head held even a word
>that ever belonged to love, the less nor the more.
>And you, that are so courteous and coy of your vows,
>ought, to a young thing, to yearn to show
>and teach some tokens of true love’s craft
>What! Are you ignorant, who garner all praise,
>or else do you deem me too dull to heed your dalliance?
>For shame!
>I come hither single and sit
>to learn of you some game;
>do teach me of your wit,
>while my lord is away.’
>>7504985
>‘In good faith,’ quoth Gawain, ‘may God reward you!
>Great is the gladness, and pleasure to me,
>that so worthy as you should wind her way hither,
>at pains with so poor a man as to sport with your knight
>with any show of favour – it sets me at ease.
>But to take on the travail myself of expounding true love,
>and touch on the themes of the texts and tales of arms
>to you who, I know well, wield more skill
>in that art, by half, than a hundred of such
>as I am or ever shall be, on this earth where I live –
>that were a manifold folly, my dear, by my troth.
>I would your wishes work if ever I might,
>as I am highly beholden, and evermore will
>be servant to yourself, so save me God!’
>Thus that lady framed her questions and tempted him oft,
>for to win him to woe, whatever else she thought of;
>but he defended himself so fairly no fault it seemed,
>no evil on either hand, nor did they know aught
>but bliss.
>They laughed and larked full long;
>at the last she did him kiss,
>farewell was on her tongue,
>and went her way, with this.
>>7504989
>Then bestirs him the knight and rises for Mass,
>and then the dinner was done and duly served.
>The knight with the ladies larked all day,
>but the lord of the land gallops full oft,
>hunts the ill-fated swine, that surges by banks
>and bites the best of his hounds’ backs asunder
>biding at bay, till bowmen bettered him,
>made him head for the open, for all he could do,
>so fast flew the arrows where those folk gathered.
>But yet at times the bravest he made to start,
>till at the last so weary he was he could not run,
>but, with best haste he might, to a hole he wins
>in the bank, by a rock where runs the burn.
>He got the bank at his back, began to scrape,
>the froth foamed from his mouth foul at the corners,
>and he whet his white tusks. It was irksome then
>to the all the beaters so bold that by him stood
>to harass him from afar, but nigh him no man
>dared go.
>He had hurt so many before
>that all were then full loath
>to be torn by his tusks once more,
>that was fierce and frenzied both.
>>7504994
>Till the lord came himself, urged on his horse,
>saw the boar bide at bay, his men beside.
>He alights lively adown, leaves his courser,
>brings out a bright blade and boldly strides forth,
>fast through the ford, where the fell foe bides.
>The wild beast was wary of one with a weapon in hand,
>his bristles rose high, so fiercely he snorts
>that folk feared for the lord, lest worst him befell.
>The swine straight away set on the man,
>that the baron and boar were both in a heap,
>in the white water. The worst had the creature,
>For the man marked him well, as they first met,
>set the sharp point firm in its chest-hollow,
>hit him up to the hilt, so the heart burst asunder,
>and he yielded him snarling, downstream was swept
>outright.
>A hundred hounds him rent,
>that bravely could him bite;
>beaters brought him to bank
>and the dogs to death, in fight.
>>7504997
>There was blowing the kill on many brave horns,
>hallooing on high as loud as men might;
>Hounds bayed at the beast, as bid by their masters,
>who of that hard chase were the chief huntsmen.
>Then a man who was wisest in woodcraft
>with loving care to undo the beast begins:
>first he hews off his head and sets it on high,
>then rends him roughly along the ridge of his back,
>brings out the bowels, and broils them on coals,
>with bread blent therewith his hounds rewards.
>Then he breaks out the brawn in broad bright slabs,
>and has out the entrails, as is seemly and right;
>attaches the two halves wholly together,
>and then on a strong stake stoutly them hangs.
>Now with this same swine they set off for home;
>the boar’s head was borne before the baron himself,
>who felled him down by the ford through force of his hand
>so strong.
>Till he saw Sir Gawain
>in the hall it seemed full long;
>he calls, and he comes again
>for the dues that to him belong.
>>7505002
>The lord, full loud he cried, laughed merrily
>when he saw Sir Gawain; and with joy he speaks.
>The good ladies were summoned, the household gathered;
>he shows him the boar’s sides, and shapes him the tale
>of the largeness and length, the malignity also,
>of the war on the wild swine in woods where he fled.
>So the other knight full nobly commended his deeds,
>and praised it, the great merit that he had proved;
>for such brawn from a beast, the brave knight said,
>nor such flanks on a swine he’d not seen before.
>Then they handled the huge head, the knight gave praise,
>and showed horror at it, for the lord to hear.
>‘Now Gawain,’ quoth the good man, ‘this game is your own,
>by a firm and fast promise, as in faith you know.’
>‘That is true,’ quoth the knight, ‘and as surely true
>is that all I got I shall give you again, by my troth.’
>He clasped the lord at the neck and gently kissed him,
>and after that of the same he again served him there.
>‘Now are we even quit,’ quoth the knight, ‘this eventide,
>of all the covenants made here, since I came hither,
>by law.’
>The lord said: ‘By Saint Giles,
>you are the best that I know;
>you’ll be rich in a while,
>if your trade continues so.’
>>7505003
>Then they set up tables on trestles aloft,
>casting cloths on them. Clear light then
>wakened the walls, waxen torches
>servants set, and served food all about.
>Much gladness and glee gushed out therein
>round the fire on the floor, and in fulsome wise
>at the supper and after, many noble songs,
>such as Christmas carols and dances new,
>with all manner of mirth that man may tell of,
>and ever our courteous knight the lady beside.
>Such sweetness to that man she showed all seemly,
>with secret stolen glances, that stalwart knight to please,
>that all wondering was the man, and wrath with himself;
>but he could not out of breeding spurn her advances,
>but dealt with her daintily, howsoever the deed might
>be cast.
>When they had dallied in hall
>as long as their will might last,
>to chamber the lord him called,
>and to the hearth they passed.
>>7505010
>And there they drank and debated and decided anew
>to act on the same terms on New Year’s Eve;
>but the knight craved leave to go forth on the morn,
>for it was nearing the time when he must go.
>The lord persuaded him not to, pressed him to linger,
>and said: ‘As I am true, I pledge you my troth
>you shall gain the Green Chapel, and render your dues,
>sir, by New Year’s light, long before prime.
>And so go lie in your room and take your ease,
>and I shall hunt in the holt and hold to the covenant,
>exchanging what has chanced, when I spur hither;
>for I have tested you twice, and faithful I find you.
>Now: “third time pays all,” think on that tomorrow;
>Make we merry while we may, and mind only joy,
>for a man may find sorrow whenever he likes.’
>This was graciously granted and Gawain lingered;
>Blithely they brought him drink, and bed-wards they went
>with light.
>Sir Gawain lies down and sleeps
>full still and soft all night;
>the lord who to woodcraft keeps,
>rises early and bright.
>>7505014
>After Mass a morsel he and his men took;
>merry was the morning, his mount he summoned.
>All the men that a-horse were followed him after,
>ready set on their steeds before the hall gates.
>Fairest of fair was the field, for the frost clung.
>In red ruddiness on wrack rises the sun,
>and, full clear, casts the clouds from the welkin.
>Huntsmen unleashed the hounds by a holt side;
>rocks in woods rang out with the cry of the horns.
>some hounds fell to the track where the fox lurked,
>oft traversing the trail by dint of their wiles.
>A little one cried scent, the huntsman to him called;
>his fellows fell to, panting full thick,
>running forth in a rabble on the right track.
>And fox frisked before them; they found him soon,
>and when they had him in sight pursued him fast,
>marking him clearly with wrathful noise;
>and he twists and turns through many a tangled grove,
>doubles back and hearkens by hedges full often.
>At the last by a little ditch he leaps over a thicket,
>steals out full silent by the side of a valley,
>thinks to slip from the wood by guile, from the hounds.
>Then he came, ere he knew it, to a fine hunt-station,
>where three hounds in a cleft threaten him together,
>all grey.
>There he started aside
>and boldly he did stray;
>with all the woe in life,
>to the wood he went away.
>>7505017
>Then was it lively delight to list to the hounds,
>when all the meet had met him, mingled together.
>Such curses at that sight rained down on his head
>as if all the clinging cliffs clattered down in a heap.
>Here was he hallooed when huntsmen met him,
>loud was he greeted with snarling speech;
>there he was threatened and called thief often,
>and ever the hounds at his tail, that he might not tarry.
>Oft he was rushed at when he made for the open,
>and often swerved back again, so wily was Reynard.
>and so he led them astray, the lord and his liegemen,
>in this manner by mountains till after mid-morning,
>while the honoured knight at home happily slept
>within the comely curtains, on that cold morn.
>But the lady for love could get no sleep,
>nor could the purpose impair pitched in her heart,
>but rose up swiftly, and took herself thither
>in a merry mantle, that reached the earth,
>that was furred full fine with purest pelts;
>without coif on her head, but the noblest gems
>traced about her hair-net by twenties in clusters;
>her fair face and her throat shown all naked,
>her breast bare before, and her back the same.
>She came in by the chamber door and closed it after,
>threw open a window and to the knight called,
>and roundly thus rebuked him with her rich words
>with cheer:
>‘Ah! Man, how can you sleep?
>This morning is so clear.’
>He was in slumber deep,
>and yet he could her hear.
>>7505021
>In heavy depths of dreaming murmured that noble,
>as one that was troubled with thronging thoughts,
>of how destiny would that day deal him his fate
>at the Green Chapel, where he must meet his man,
>bound there to bear his buffet without more debate.
>But when he had fully recovered his wits,
>he started from dreaming and answered in haste.
>The lovely lady with laughter so sweet,
>bent over his fair face and fully him kissed.
>He welcomed her worthily with noble cheer;
>he saw her so glorious and gaily attired,
>so faultless of feature and of such fine hue,
>bright welling joy warmed all his heart.
>With sweet smiling softly they slip into mirth,
>that to all bliss and beauty, that breaks between them,
>they win.
>They spoke in words full good,
>much pleasure was therein;
>in great peril would have stood,
>kept not Mary her knight from sin.
>>7505024
>For that peerless princess pressed him so closely,
>urged him so near the edge, he felt it behoved him
>either to bow to her love, or with loathing refuse her.
>He cared for his courtesy, lest he were churlish,
>and more for the mischief if he should work sin
>and be traitor to that lord who held the dwelling.
>‘God shield us!’ quoth the knight, ‘that must not befall!’
>With loving laughter a little he put aside
>all the special pleading that sprang from her mouth.
>Quoth beauty to the brave: ‘Blame you deserve,
>if you love not that live lady that you lie next,
>who above all of the world is wounded in heart,
>unless you have a leman, a lover, that you like better,
>and firm of faith to that fair one, fastened so hard
>that you list not to loose it – and that I believe.
>If that you tell me that truly, I pray you;
>by all the lovers alive, hide not the truth
>with guile.’
>The knight said: ‘By Saint John,’
>and gentle was his smile
>‘In faith I love no one,
>nor none will love the while.’
>>7505026
>‘These words,’ said the lady, ‘are the worst words of all;
>but I am answered forsooth, so that it grieves me.
>Kiss me now gently, and I shall go hence;
>I may but mourn upon earth, a maid that loves much.’
>Sighing she stooped down, and sweetly him kissed,
>and then she severs from him, and says as she stands:
>‘Now, dear, at this our parting set me at ease:
>give me something, a gift, if only your glove,
>that I may think of you, man, my mourning to lessen.’
>‘Now indeed,’ quoth the knight, ‘I would I had here
>the dearest thing, for your sake, I own in the world,
>for you have deserved, forsooth, and in excess,
>a richer reward, by rights, than I might reckon;
>but as a love-token, this would profit you little.
>It is not to your honour to have at this time
>a glove of Gawain’s giving to treasure;
>and I am here on an errand in lands unknown,
>and have no servants with sacks of precious things.
>I dislike this, my lady, for your sake, at this time;
>but each man must do as he must, take it not ill
>nor pine.’
>‘Nay, knight of high honours,’
>quoth that love-some lady fine,
>‘though I shall have naught of yours,
>yet shall you have of mine.’
>>7505029
>She proffered him a rich ring of red gold work,
>with a sparkling stone glittering aloft,
>that blazed brilliant beams like the bright sun;
>know you well that it’s worth was full huge.
>But the knight refused it and he readily said:
>‘I’ll no gifts, before God, my dear, at this time;
>I have none to give you, nor naught will I take.’
>She offered it him eagerly, yet he her gift spurned,
>and swore swiftly his oath that he would not seize it;
>and she grieved he refused her, and said thereafter:
>‘Since you reject my ring, too rich it may seem,
>for you would not be so high beholden to me,
>I shall give you my girdle: that profits you less.’
>She loosed a belt lightly that lay round her sides,
>looped over her kirtle beneath her bright mantle.
>Gear it was of green silk and with gold trimmed,
>at the edges embroidered, with finger-stitching;
>and that she offered the knight, and blithely besought
>that he would take it though it were unworthy.
>but he said he might have nigh him in no wise
>neither gold nor treasure, ere God sent him grace,
>to achieve the errand he had chosen there.
>‘And therefore, I pray you, be not displeased,
>and let your gift go, for I swear it I can never
>you grant.
>To you I am deeply beholden,
>your kindness is so pleasant,
>and ever in heat and cold, then
>I’ll be your true servant.’
>>7505032
>‘Now do you shun this silk,’ said the lady,
>‘because it is simple in itself? And so it may seem.
>Lo! It is slight indeed, and so is less worthy.
>But whoso knew the worth woven therein
>he would hold it in higher praise, perchance;
>for whatever man is girt with this green lace,
>while he has it closely fastened about him,
>there is no man under heaven might hew him,
>for he may not be slain by any sleight upon earth.’
>Then the knight thought, and it came to his heart,
>it was a jewel for the jeopardy judged upon him,
>when he gained the Green Chapel, his fate to find;
>if he might slip past un-slain, the sleight were noble.
>Then he indulged her suit, and told her to speak.
>And she pressed the belt on him urging it eagerly;
>and he granted it, and she gave it him with goodwill,
>and besought him, for her sake, never to reveal it,
>but loyally conceal it from her lord. The knight agrees
>that no one should know of it, indeed, but they two,
>betimes.
>He thanked her as he might,
>with all his heart and mind.
>By then the gallant knight,
>she had kissed three times.
>>7505036
>Then took she her leave and left him there,
>for more of that man she might not get.
>When she is gone, Sir Gawain attires himself,
>rises and dresses himself in noble array,
>lays aside the love-lace the lady gave him,
>hides it full handily where he might find it.
>Then swiftly to the chapel took he his way,
>privately approached a priest, and there prayed him
>that he would enlighten his life and teach him better
>how his soul might be saved when he went hence.
>Then he shrove himself fully, eschewed his misdeeds
>the major and minor, and mercy beseeches,
>and calls on the priest for absolution;
>and he absolved him surely and left him so pure
>that Doomsday yet might be declared on the morn.
>And then he made himself merry among the fair ladies,
>with comely carols and all manner of joy,
>more than ever before that day, till the dark night,
>in bliss.
>Each one had courtesy there
>of him, and said: ‘He is
>the merriest he was ever
>since he came hither, ere this.’
>>7505039
>Now long in that leisure there let him abide!
>Yet is the lord on his land, pursuing his sport.
>He has done for the fox that he followed so long.
>As he spurred through a spinney to spy the shrew,
>there where he heard the hounds harry him on,
>Reynard came rushing through the rough grove,
>and all the rabble in a race, right at his heels.
>The lord, aware of the wild thing, warily waits,
>and brandishes his bright blade, drives at the beast.
>And it shunned the sharp edge and sought to retreat;
>but a hound rushed at him, before ere he might,
>and right before the horse’s feet they fell on him all
>and worried the wily one with a wrathful noise.
>The lord swiftly alighted then and latched on,
>raised him full suddenly out of the ravening mouths,
>holds him high over his head, halloos full loud,
>while there bayed at him many brave hounds.
>Huntsmen hied them thither with horns full many,
>sounding the rally aright till they saw their lord.
>When his noble company had all come in,
>all that ever bore bugle blew at once,
>and all the others hallooed who had no horn.
>It was the merriest meet that ever men heard,
>the ripe roar raised there for Reynard’s soul from every
>man’s throat.
>Their hounds they then reward,
>Their heads they fondle and stroke;
>and then they take Reynard
>and strip him of his coat.
>>7505043
>And then they hurry for home, for it was nigh night,
>striking up strongly on their stout horns.
>The lord alights at last at his much-loved home,
>finds fire upon hearth, the knight there beside,
>Sir Gawain the good who glad was withal –
>for among the ladies he was joyfully beloved.
>He wore a gown of blue that reached to the ground.
>His surcoat suited him well, all soft with fur,
>and his hood of the same hung from his shoulder,
>trimmed all with ermine were both all about.
>He met with the lord in the midst of the floor,
>and all with joy did him greet, and gladly he said:
>‘I shall fulfil the first our contract now,
>that we settled so speedily sparing no drink.’
>Then he clasped the lord and kissed him thrice,
>as strongly and steadily as he well could.
>‘By Christ,’ quoth the other, ‘you’ve found much luck
>in transacting this trade, if your profit was good.’
>‘You need not care about profit,’ quick quoth the other,
>‘as I’ve promptly paid over the profit I took.’
>‘Marry,’ quoth the other, ‘my own falls behind,
>for I have hunted all this day, and naught have I got
>but this foul fox fell – the fiend take such goods! –
>and that’s a poor price to pay for such precious things
>as you so have given me here, three such kisses
>so good.’
>‘Enough,’ quoth Sir Gawain,
>‘I thank you, by the Rood.’
>And how the fox was slain
>the lord told as they stood.
>>7505046
>With mirth and minstrelsy, with meals at will,
>they made as merry as any men might,
>with laughter of ladies, and jesting with words.
>Gawain and the good man so glad are they both:
>must be, lest the diners are drunkards or dotards.
>Both master and men played many jokes,
>till the time it was come that they must sever;
>his men at the last must go to their beds.
>Then humbly his leave of the lord at first
>takes the noble knight, and fairly him thanks:
>‘For such a splendid sojourn as I have had here,
>your honour at this high feast, the High King reward you!
>I would give myself as one of your men, if you so like;
>but I must needs, as you know, move on tomorrow,
>if you’ll grant me a guide to show, as you promised,
>the way to the Green Chapel, as God wills for me
>to be dealt on New Year’s day the doom my fate brings.’
>‘In good faith,’ quoth the good man, ‘by my goodwill
>all that ever I promised you, I shall hold ready.’
>Then he assigned him a servant to show him the way
>and conduct him through the hills, so he’d not delay,
>and faring through forest and thickset the shortest way
>he’d weave.
>The lord Gawain did thank,
>such honour he did receive.
>Then of the ladies of rank
>the knight must take his leave.
>>7505051
>With sad care and kissing he spoke to them still,
>and full heartfelt thanks he pressed on them:
>and they yielded him again replies the same,
>commending him to Christ then with frozen sighs.
>So from the company he courteously parts;
>each man that he met, he gave him his thanks
>for his service and for the solicitous care
>that they had shown busied about him in serving;
>and all were as sorry to sever from him there
>as if they had dwelt nobly with that knight ever.
>Then the lads with lights led him to his chamber,
>and blithely brought him to bed to be at his rest.
>If he did not sleep soundly, I dare say nothing,
>for he had much on the morrow to mind, if he would,
>in thought.
>Let him lie there quite still,
>he is near what he sought;
>and quiet you a while until
>I tell you of all that they wrought.
End of fitt III. I need to grab something to eat
>>7505053
FITT iv
>Now nears the New Year and the night passes,
>the day drives away dark, as the Deity bids.
>But wild weather awoke in the world outside,
>clouds cast cold keenly down to the earth,
>with wind enough from the north, to flail the flesh.
>The snow sleeted down sharp, and nipped the wild;
>the whistling wind wailed from the heights
>and drove each dale full of drifts full great.
>The knight listened full well, as he lay in his bed.
>Though he closes his lids, full little he sleeps;
>with each cock that crew he well knew his tryst.
>Deftly he dressed himself, ere the day sprang,
>for there was a lighted lamp gleamed in his chamber.
>He called to his servant who promptly replied,
>and bade him bring coat of mail and saddle his mount;
>the man rises up and fetches him his clothes,
>and attires Sir Gawain in splendid style.
>First he clad him in clothes to ward off the cold,
>and then in his harness, that burnished was kept,
>both his belly-armour and plate, polished full bright,
>the rings of his rich mail-coat rubbed free of rust;
>and all was as fresh as at first, and he to give thanks
>was glad.
>He had put on each piece
>and in bright armour clad ;
>fairest from here to Greece,
>his steed to be brought he bade.
>>7505094
>While he wound himself in the most splendid weeds –
>his coat-armour with its badge of clear deeds,
>set out upon velvet, with virtuous stones
>embellished and bound about it, embroidered seams,
>and fair lined within with fine furs –
>yet he forgot not the lace, the lady’s gift;
>that Gawain did not fail of, for his own good.
>when he had bound the blade on his smooth haunches,
>then he wound the love-token twice him about,
>swiftly swathed it about his waist sweetly that knight.
>The girdle of green silk that gallant well suited,
>upon that royal red cloth that rich was to show.
>But it was not for its richness he wore this girdle,
>nor for pride in the pendants, though polished they were,
>and though the glittering gold gleamed at the ends,
>but to save himself when it behoved him to suffer,
>to abide baneful stroke without battling with blade
>or knife.
>With that the knight all sound,
>goes swift to risk his life;
>all the men of renown
>he thanks, prepares for strife.
>>7505097
>Then was Gringolet readied, that was huge and great,
>and had been stabled snugly and in secure wise;
>he was eager to gallop, that proud horse then.
>The knight went to him and gazed at his coat,
>and said soberly to himself, and swore by the truth:
>‘Here are many, in this motte, that of honour think.
>The man who maintains it, joy may he have!
>The fair lady through life may love her befall!
>Thus if they for charity cherish a guest,
>and hold honour in their hand, the Lord them reward
>who upholds the heavens on high, and also you all!
>And if I should live for any while upon earth,
>I would grant you some reward readily, if I might.’
>Then steps he into the stirrup and strides aloft.
>His man showed him his shield; on shoulder he slung it,
>gives spur to Gringolet with his gilded heels,
>and he starts forth on the stones – pausing no longer
>to prance.
>His servant to horse got then,
>who bore his spear and lance.
>‘This castle to Christ I commend:
>May he grant it good chance!’
>>7505100
>The drawbridge was let down, and the broad gates
>unbarred and flung open upon both sides.
>The knight blessed himself swiftly, and passed the boards;
>praised the porter kneeling before the prince,
>who gives him God and good-day, that Gawain He save;
>and goes on his way with his one man,
>who shall teach him the path to that perilous place
>where the grievous blow he shall receive.
>They brushed by banks where boughs were bare,
>they climbed by cliffs where clung the cold.
>the heavens were up high, but ugly there-under
>mist moved on the moors, melted on mountains,
>each hill had a hat, a mist-mantle huge.
>Brooks boiled and broke their banks about,
>sheer shattering on shores where they down-flowed.
>Well wild was the way where they by woods rode,
>till it was soon time that the sun in that season
>does rise.
>They were on a hill full high,
>the white snow lay beside;
>the man that rode him by
>bade his master abide.
>>7505105
>‘For I have brought you hither, sir, at this time,
>and now you are not far from that noted place
>that you have sought and spurred so specially after.
>But I must say, forsooth, that since I know you,
>and you are a lord full of life whom I well love,
>if you would hark to my wit, you might do better.
>The place that you pace to full perilous is held;
>there lives a man in that waste, the worst upon earth,
>for he is strong and stern and loves to strike,
>and more man he is than any upon middle-earth,
>and his body bigger than the best four
>that are in Arthur’s house, Hector, or others.
>He makes it so to chance at the Green Chapel,
>that none passes by that place so proud in arms
>that he but does him to death by dint of his hand;
>for he is a mighty man, and shows no mercy,
>for be it churl or chaplain that rides by the chapel,
>monk or priest of the Mass, or any man else,
>he is as quick to kill him, as to live himself.
>Therefore I say, as true as you sit in the saddle,
>come there, and you will be killed, if he has his way,
>trust me truly in that, though you had twenty lives
>to spend.
>He has lived here of yore,
>and battled to great extent.
>Against his blows full sore,
>you may not yourself defend.’
>>7505109
>‘Therefore, good Sir Gawain, let him alone,
>and go by some other way, for God’s own sake!
>Course some other country where Christ might you speed.
>And I shall hie me home again, and undertake
>that I shall swear by God and all his good saints –
>so help me God and the Holy things, and oaths enough –
>that I shall loyally keep your secret, and loose no tale
>that ever you fled from any man that I know of.’
>‘Grant merci,’ quoth Gawain, and galled he said:
>‘It is worthy of you, man, to wish for my good,
>and loyally keep my secret I know that you would.
>But, keep it ever so quiet, if I passed here,
>and fled away in fear, in the form that you tell of,
>I were a cowardly knight, I might not be excused.
>For I will go to the chapel, whatever chance may befall,
>and talk with that same fellow in whatever way I wish,
>whether it’s weal or woe, as fate may to me
>behave.
>Though he be a stern fellow
>to manage, armed with a stave,
>full well does the Lord know
>His servants how to save.’
>>7505112
>‘Marry!’ quoth the other man, ‘now you spell it out
>that you will take all your own trouble on yourself,
>if you will lose your life, I’ll not you delay.
>Have your helm here on your head, your spear in your hand,
>and ride down this same track by yon rock side,
>till you’re brought to the bottom of the wild valley,
>then look a little on the level, to your left hand,
>and you shall see in that vale that selfsame chapel
>and the burly giant on guard that it keeps.
>Now farewell, in God’s name, Gawain the noble!
>For all the gold in the ground I’d not go with you,
>nor bear fellowship through this forest one foot further.’
>With that the man in the wood tugs at his bridle,
>hits his horse with his heels as hard as he might,
>leaps away over the land, and leaves the knight there
>alone.
>‘By God’s self,’ quoth Gawain,
>‘I will neither weep nor groan;
>to God’s will I bend again
>and I am sworn as His own.’
>>7505116
Unfortunately, the website I stole the text from ends the poem right there, and I can't find another HTML translation. For anyone who really wants to finish the poem, they can find another translation at https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=9&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjwzoqxmPjJAhVI2T4KHT-bB5UQFghOMAg&url=http%3A%2F%2Fonline.hillsdale.edu%2Ffile%2Fgreat-books-101%2Fweek-11%2FWeek-11---Jackson-GB-101-2014-Readings.pdf&usg=AFQjCNGrUy68OB3r6ppYh7R6ERLWDQah5g&bvm=bv.110151844,d.cWw
Anyways, Merry Christmas /lit/
>>7505122
Cheers!
(well, I'm not reading it here, greentext or not, but it's a nice thought)
>>7505122
You too my friend, best regards.