Book III

Full early ere 't was day the folk arise withal,
The guests would go their way — upon their grooms they call,
They busk them busily to saddle each good steed,
The girths they tighten there, and truss the mails at need.
The nobles, ready all, in riding gear arrayed,
Leapt lightly to their steeds, their hand on bridle laid;
Each wight upon his way doth at his will ride fast —
The lord of all the land, I wot, was not the last,
Ready for riding he, with his men, at that same
Ate a sop hastily whenas from mass they came.
With blast of bugle bold forth upon bent he 'Id go,
Ere yet the day had dawned on the cold earth below.
He and his knights bestrode, each one, their horses high.
The huntsmen couple then the hounds right speedily.
Then, calling on the dogs, unclose the kennel door;
A bugle blast they blow, but three notes, and no more.
Loudly the brachets bay, and wake the echoes there,
They check their hounds so good who to the chase would fare
A hundred men all told, so doth the tale declare
ride fast;
' The trackers on the trail
The hounds, uncoupled, cast,
Thro' forest, hill and dale
Rings loud the bugle blast.

At the first warning note that bade the hunt awake
The deer within the dale for dread they needs must quake;
Swift to the heights they hie — but soon must turn about,
The men in ambush hid so loud they cry and shout.
The harts, with heads high-held, they pass in safety there,
E'en so the stately stags with spreading antlers fair,
(For so the lords' command at close time of the year
That none should lift his hand save 'gainst the female deer.)
The hinds with 'Hag' I and 'War' they hold the lines within,
The does are driven back to dale with deafening din;
Swift as they speed, I trow, fair shooting might ye see,
The arrows striking true as 'neath the boughs they flee;
Their broad heads deeply wound, and, smitten on the flank,
The bleeding deer they fall, dying, upon the bank.
The hounds, in hasty course, follow upon the trail,
Huntsmen, with sounding horns, for speed they do not fail,
Follow with ringing cries that cliffs might cleave in twain;
The deer that 'scape the darts, they by the dogs are ta'en,
Run down, and riven, and rent, within the bounds so wide,
Harassed upon the hill, worried by waterside;
The men well knew their craft of forest and of flood,
The greyhounds were full swift to follow thro' the wood/'
They caught them ere the men with arrows, as they stood,
could smite —
The lord was glad and gay,
His lance he wielded light,
With joy he passed the day
Till fell the shades of night.

The lord, he maketh sport beneath the woodland bough, —
Sir Gawain, that good knight, in bed he lieth now,
Hiding, while daylight gleamed upon the walls without,
'Neath costly cov'ring fair, curtained all round about.
As he half slumbering lay, it seemed to his ear
A small sound at his door all sudden must he hear;
His head a little raised above the covering soft,
He grasps the curtain's edge, and lifteth it aloft,
And waiteth warily to wot what fate may hold —
It was the lady fair, most lovely to behold !
Gently she drew the door behind her, closing tight,
And came toward the couch — shamed was that gallant knight,
He laid him lightly down, and made as tho' he slept;
So stole she to his side, and light and soft she stept,
The curtain upward cast, within its fold she crept,
And there upon his bed her seat she soft doth take
Waiting in patience still until that he awake.
Cautious and quiet, awhile the knight, half hidden, lay,
And in his conscience conned the case with care alway;
What might the meaning be? He marvelled much, I trow,
Yet quoth within himself: 'It were more seemly now
To speak with gentle speech, ask what her will may be, — '
So made he feint to wake, and turned him presently
Lifted his eyelids then, and stared, as in amaze,
Made of the Cross the sign, that so his words and ways
be wise —
Her chin and cheeks are sweet
In red and white devise,
Gracious, she doth him greet
With laughing lips and eyes.

'Good-morrow, Sir Gawain,' so spake the lady fair,
'A careless sleeper ye, I came ere ye were ware,
Now are ye trapped and ta'en, as ye shall truly know,
I'll bind ye in your bed ere that ye hence should go!'
Laughing, the lady lanced her jests at him alway,
Sir Gawain answered blithe: 'Give ye good-morrow gay,
Know I am at your will, (forsooth it pleaseth me)
And here for grace I yearn, yielding me readily.
For where one needs must yield to do so swift were best!'
And thus he answer made, with many a merry jest;
'But might I, Lady fair, find grace before your eyes,
Then loose, I pray, your bonds, and bid your prisoner rise,
I 'Id get me from this bed, and better clad, I trow,
I in your converse kind comfort would find enow.'
'Nay, nay, forsooth, beau Sire,' so quoth that lady sweet,
'Ye shall not rise from bed, I'll rede ye counsel meet,
For I shall hold ye here, since other may not be,
And talk with this my knight, who captive is to me,
For well I know, in sooth, ye are that same Gawain
Worshipped by all the world where ye to fare be fain;
For all your honour praise, your gracious courtesie,
Or lords or ladies fair, all men on earth that be!
Now are ye here, I wis, and all alone we twain,
My lord to fare afield with his free folk is fain,
The men, they lie abed, so do my maidens all —
The door is safely shut, and closed and hasped withal;
Since him whom all men praise I in my hand hold fast,
I well will use my time the while the chance doth last! '
Now rest,
My body 's at your will
To use as ye think best,
Perforce, I find me still
Servant to this my guest!'

'In good faith,' quoth Gawain, 'I now bethink me well,
I be not such an one as this your tale would tell!
To reach such reverence as ye rehearse but now
I all unworthy were — that do I soothly vow!
Yet, God wot, I were glad, an so ye thought it good,
If I in word and deed here at your service stood;
To pleasure this your prayer, a pure joy 't were to me.'
'In good faith, Sir Gawain,' the lady answered free,
'The prowess and the praise that please us ladies fair
I lack not, nor hold light, but little gain it were —
Ladies there be enow to whom it were more dear
To hold their knight in hold, e'en as I hold ye here,
To dally daintily with courteous words and fair
That bring them comfort good, and cure them of their care,
Than wealth of treasure told, or gold they own withal —
But now I praise the Lord who here upholdeth all
Him whom they all desire is in my hold and hall
of grace!'
She made him such good cheer
That lady fair of face,
The knight was fain to hear
And answer, in his place.

He quoth: 'Now Mary Maid reward ye, as she may, ;
I find your frankness fair and noble, sooth to say.
Full many folk, I trow, have well entreated me,
Yet greater honour far than all their courtesie
I count your praise, who naught save goodness here shall know.'
'By Mary Maid,' she quoth, 'methinks it is not so,
For were my worth above all women who may live,
And all of this world's wealth were in mine hand to give,
And I were free of choice a lord to choose to me,
Then, for the customs good I in this knight must see,
For beauty debonaire, for bearing blithe and gay,
For all that I have heard, and hold for truth alway,
Upon no man on mold save ye my choice were laid.'
'I wot well,' quoth the knight, 'a better choice ye made!
Yet am I proud of this, the praise, ye give to me,
My sovereign ye, and I your servant, verily,
Do yield me here your knight, and may Christ ye repay!'
They spake of many things till noon had passed away,
And aye the lady made mien that she loved him well,
And aye he turned aside her sweet words as they fell,
For were she brightest maid of maidens to his mind,
The less love would he shew, since loss he thought to find
anon —
The blow that should him slay,
And for his blow was boon —
The lady leave did pray,
He granted her, full soon.

Then, as she gave 'good-day,' she laughed with glance so gay,
And, standing, spake a word that 'stonied him alway:
'May He who speedeth speech reward thee well, I trow,
But that ye be Gawain I much misdoubt me now,' —
'And wherefore?' quoth the knight in fashion frank and fair
Fearing lest he have failed in custom debonaire:
The lady blessed him then, and spake as in this wise:
'Gawain so good a knight is holden in all eyes,
So clad in courtesie is he, in sooth, that ne'er
Had he thus holden speech for long with lady fair
But he had craved a kiss by this, his courtesie,
Or trifling token ta'en at end of converse free ! '
Then quoth Gawain: ' Ywis, if this ye fitting deem
I'll kiss at your command, as doth a knight beseem
Who tarrieth to ask, and doth refusal fear — '
She clasped him in her arms, e'en as she stood anear,
Lightly she bent adown, and kissed that knight so free,
Commending him to Christ, as he her, courteously —
Then, without more ado, forth from the door she went;
The knight made haste to rise, on speed was he intent,
He called his chamberlain, his robes he chose anon,
When he was fitly garbed to mass he blithe has gone;
Then sat him down to meat, 't was served in fitting guise,
Merry he passed the day, and, till the moon did rise
made game —
Better was never knight
Entreated of fair dame
Old, or of beauty bright,
Than he was, at that same.

And aye the lord in land finds sport unto his mind,
Hunting o'er hill and heath, chasing the barren hind,
So many hath he slain, ere yet the sun was low,
Of does, and other deer, a wonder 't was to know.
The folk together flock, whenas the end drew near
Quickly a quarry make of all the slaughtered deer;
The best, they bowed thereto, with many a knight to aid,
The fairest hinds of grease together they have laid,
Set them to quartering there, e'en as the need doth ask,
The fat was set aside by those who knew their task,
From all uncleanness freed, the flesh they sever there,
The chest they slit, and draw the erber forth with care;
With knife both sharp and keen the neck they next divide,
Then sever all four limbs, and strip off fair the hide.
The belly open slit, the bowels aside they lay,
With swift strokes of the knife the knot they cut away;
They grip the gargiloun, and speedily divide
Weasand and wind-pipe then, the guts are cast aside,
The shoulder-blade around, with blade so sharp and keen,
They cut, and leave the side whole and untouched, '.
ween.
The breast they deftly carve, the halves they lie a-twin,
And with the gargiloun their work they now begin;
They rip it swiftly up, and take it clean away,
Void the avancers out, and then, methinks, straightway
The skin betwixt the ribs they cut in fashion fair
Till they have left them all e'en to the backbone bare.
So come they to the haunch, that doth belong thereto,
They bear it up all whole, and cleanly cut it thro'
That, with the numbles, take, alike they be the two,
of kind —
Then, where the thighs divide
The flaps they cut behind, ,
And thus, on either side,
Thighs from the back unbind.

Then head and neck alike, they hew them off with heed,
The sides from off the chine are sundered now with speed.
The corbie's fee they cast into the wood hard by,
Each thick side thro' the ribs they pierce it, verily,
And hang them all aloft, fixed to the haunches fair —
Each fellow for his fee doth take as fitting there.
Then, on a deer's skin spread, they give the hounds their food.
The liver, lights, and paunch, to keep the custom good,
And bread soaked in the blood they scatter 'mid the pack —
The hounds, they bay amain, nor bugle blast doth lack.
Thus, with the venison good, they take the homeward way,
Sounding upon their horns a merry note and gay.
By that, the day was done, the folk, with eventide,
That comely castle sought, wherein their guest doth bide
full still —
To bliss and firelight bright
The lord is come at will;
To meet that goodly knight —
Of joy they had their fill!

Then at the lord's command, the folk they thither call,
Quickly the ladies come, and maidens, one and all,
And there before the folk he bids his men straightway,
The venison they have brought before them all to lay. ,
And then, in goodly jest, he calleth Sir Gawain,
The tale of that day's sport he to rehearse is fain,
Shews him how fair the fat upon the ribs, sharp shorn,
And quoth: 'How seemeth this? Have I won praise this morn?
Am I, thro' this my craft, worthy of praise from thee?'
'Yea, soothly,' quoth Gawain, 'the fairest game I see
That I in winter- time have seen this seven year!'
'And all this,' quoth his host, 'Gawain, I give thee here
By covenant and accord, the whole thou well may'st claim.'
' T is sooth,' then said 'the knight, 'I grant ye at this same;
Won have I worthily a prize, these walls within
Which, with as good a will, ye now from me must win.'
With that he clasps his arms around his neck so fair
And in right comely wise he kissed him then and there,
'Now here hast thou my gain, no more hath fallen to me —
I trow had it been more my gift were none less free!'
"T is good,' quoth the good knight, 'nor shall my thanks be slow
Yet might it better be, an I the truth might know,
Where thou didst win this grace, or by thy wit or no?'
'Ask no more,' quoth Gawain, 'so did our forward stand,
Since ye have ta'en your right no more may ye demand.'
At will
They laughed and made them gay
With many a jest I trow,
To supper go straightway,
With dainties new enow.

Then by the hearth they sit, on silken cushions soft,
And wine, within those walls, I wot, they serve full oft,
And, ever, as they jest, come morrow morn, they say
That forward they'll fulfil which they had kept to-day.
What chance soe'er betide, they will exchange their gain
When they at nightfall meet, be much or little ta'en.
This covenant they accord, in presence of the court,
And beverage to the board at that same time was brought,
A courteous leave, at last, doth each from other take,
And each man for his bed himself doth ready make.
The cock at early morn, had crowed and cackled thrice
When swift, the lord arose, with him his knights of price;
They hearken mass, and meat, with service fit, they bring,
Then forth to forest fare ere yet the day doth spring
for chace —
With sound of hunter's horns
O'er plain they swiftly pace,
Uncoupled midst the thorns
Each hound doth run on race.

Full soon they strike the scent, hard by a rock withal,
Huntsmen cheer on those hounds who first upon it fall,
Loudly, with whirling words, and clamour rising high,
The hounds that heard the call haste hither at the cry.
Fast on the scent they fall, full forty at that tide,
Till of the pack the cry was heard both far and wide.
So fiercely rose their bay, the rocks, they rang again,
The huntsmen with their horns to urge them on were fain.
Then, sudden, all the pack together crowd and cry
Before a thicket dense, beneath a crag full high,
Hard by the water's edge — the pack, with one consent,
Run to the rugged rocks, which lie all scarred and rent.
Hounds to the finding fare, the men, they follow keen,
And cast about the crag, and rocks that lie between.
The knights, full well they knew what beast had here its lair
And fain would drive it forth before the bloodhounds there.
Then on the bush they beat, and bid the game uprise —
With sudden rush across the beaters, out there hies
A great and grisly boar, most fearsome to behold,
The herd he long had left, for that he waxed full old.
Of beast, and boar, methinks, biggest and fiercest he,
I trow me at his grunt full many grieved must be;
Three at the first assault prone on the earth he threw,
And sped forth at best speed, nor other harm they knew.
Then Hey! and Hey! the knights halloo with shout and cry,
Huntsmen with horn to mouth send forth shrill notes and high,
Merry the noise of men and dogs, I ween, that tide
Who followed on the boar — with boastful shout they cried
to stay —
The hounds' wrath would he quell
Oft as he turned to bay,
Loudly they yelp and yell,
His tusks they tare alway. ,

The men make ready then their arrows sharp and keen,
The darts they swiftly fly, oft is he hit, I ween,
But never point may pierce, nor on his hide have hold,
And never barb may bite his forehead's fearsome fold.
The shafts are splintered there, shivered, they needs must fall,
The heads, they bit indeed, yet but rebound withal.
But when he felt the blows, tho' harmless all they fell,
Then, mad for rage, he turned, and 'venged him passing well;
He rushed upon the knights, and wounded them full sore
Until, for very fear, they fled his face before.
The lord, on steed swift-paced, doth follow on his track,
Blowing his bugle loud, nor valour doth he lack,
Thus thro' the wood he rides, his horn rings loud and low,
Upon the wild boar's track until the sun was low.
And so the winter's day he passeth on this wise
The while his goodly guest in bed, 'neath covering lies,
Sir Gawain bides at home — In gear of rich devise
and hue,
The dame made no delay-
To greet her knight so true,
Early she took her way
To test his mood anew.

She to the curtain comes, and looks upon the knight,
Gawain doth greet her there in fitting wise and right;
She greeteth him again, ready of speech is she,
Soft seats her at his side, and laughs full merrily.
Then, with a smiling glance these words to him doth say:
'Sir, an ye be Gawain I marvel much alway,
So stern ye be when one would goodly ye entreat,
Of courteous company ignore the customs meet,
An one be fain to teach, swift from your mind they 're brought —
Since all forgotten now what yesterday I taught
By truest tokens all, that well might be, I trow.'
'What is that?' quoth Gawain, 'naught I remember now,
But if 't is sooth ye speak, then blame I needs must bear.'
'Of kissing was my rede;' so quoth the lady fair,
'When countenance be known, swiftly a kiss to claim,
That doth become a knight who beareth courteous name!'
'Nay, cease, my dear, such speech,' so quoth the gallant knight,
'A kiss I dare not claim, lest ye deny my right,
For an ye did forbid, to take, I trow, were wrong — '
' I' faith,' in merry wise she spake, ' ye be too strong,
Ye may not be forbid, since ye may take with might
An any do such wrong as to deny thy right!'
' Yea,' quoth Gawain, ' by Christ, your speech it soundeth well,
But threats shall little thrive in that land where I' dwell,
Nor count we fair a gift that is not proffered free —
I am at your command, to kiss, if so shall be
Your will — to take or leave, as seemeth good to ye.'
With grace,
She bent, that lady fair,
And gently kissed his face.
They hold sweet converse there,
Of love-themes speak a space.

'Fain would I ask of ye, (that lady questioned free)
If so ye were not wroth, what may the reason be
That one so young and fair, as ye be at this tide,
For knightly courtesie renowned both far and wide,
Who of all chivalry the head and chief men hold,
Versed in the lore of love, and warfare, fierce and bold —
Since each true knight doth tell how he did venture dare
(This token and this sign his deeds perforce must bear)
How for a lady's love his life at stake he set,
And for her favour fair full doleful dints hath met,
With valour 'venged her wrongs, and cured her of her care
Brought bliss unto her bower, and did her bounties share —
And ye be comeliest knight of this, your land and time,
Your worship and your words be famed in every clime,
And I, two mornings long have sat beside ye here
Yet never from your mouth a word came to mine ear
That ever dealt with love, in measure less or more;
But ye, so courteous held, so skilled in all such lore,
Surely to one so young as I should swiftly shew
And teach some token sure, whereby true love to know.
Are ye unlearned then, whom men so highly prize?
Or am I all too dull for dalliance, in your eyes?
For shame!
Hither I come and sit
To learn, as at this same;
So teach me of your wit,
While sport my lord doth claim!'

' In good faith,' quoth Gawain, ' your good deeds God repay,
For goodly is my glee, my profit great alway;
That one so fair as ye doth deign betake ye here
To please so poor a man, and me, your knight, to cheer
With kindly countenance, in sooth doth please me well —
But that I, in my turn, should here of true love tell,
And take that for my theme, (or tales of gallant knight)
And teach ye, who I wot, doth wield more skilful sleight
In such arts by the half, or hundred-fold indeed,
Than I, long as I live on earth may win for meed,
'Twere folly all indeed, sweet lady, by my fay!
Your will in troth I'll work in such wise as I may,
As duteous I am bound — and ever more will do
Your service faithfully, God grant me grace thereto!'
Thus did she ask him fair, and oft did test and try,
To win him here to woo, whate'er her will thereby —
But he doth fend him fair, nor ill hath done, I ween,
And never deed of wrong hath chanced the twain between,
but bliss —
They laugh and talk amain,
At last she doth him kiss,
Her leave of him hath ta'en,
And gone her way, I wis.

Then doth Sir Gawain rise, and robe him, mass to hear.
Then was the dinner dight, and served with mickle cheer;
Thus, with the ladies twain, in sport the day he spent,
The while the lord doth chase the boar o'er bank and bent —
Follows the grisly swine, as o'er the holts it sped,
With broken back, his hounds, beneath its jaws fall dead.
The boar would bide at bay, the bowmen grant no grace,
But force him 'gainst his will once more his foes to face.
So fast the arrows fly, the folk they gather round,
Yet huntsmen stiff and stern, he startles at that stound.
Till spent with flight, at last, he may no further win,
But hies him in all haste, until a hole within
A mound, beside a rock, hard by the brooklet's flow,
He gains — then turns at bay, tearing the ground below.
His jaws, they foam and froth, unseemly to behold,
He whets his tusks so white — was never man so bold
Of those who faced him there, who dare the issue try;
They eye him from afar, but none will venture nigh.
Right wroth,
Many he smote before,
Thus all might well be loath
To face the tusks that tore —
So mad was he, i-troth.

Then cometh swift the lord, spurring his goodly steed,
See'th the boar at bay, of his men taketh heed;
He lighteth from his horse, leaves it with hanging rein,
Draws out his blade so bright, and strideth forth amain.
Fast does he ford the stream, the boar bides on the strand,
'Ware of the gallant wight, with weapon fast in hand;
His bristles rise amain, grim were his snarls withal,
The folk were sore afraid, lest harm their lord befall.
The swine, with spring so swift, upon the hero fell,
That boar and baron bold none might asunder tell,
There, in the water deep, the boar, he had the worst,
For the man marked him well, e'en as they met at first,
His sharp blade in the slot he set, e'en to the heft,
And, driving hard and true, the heart asunder cleft,
Snarling, he yields his hold, the stream him hence hath reft.
Forthright,
The hounds, with fierce onslaught
Fall to, the boar they bite,
Swift to the shore he's brought,
And dogs to death him dight.

Forthwith from many a horn a joyful blast they blow,
Huntsmen together vie, high rings the loud 'Hallo !'
The brachets bay their best, e'en at their masters' will,
Who in that fearsome chace had proved their hunters' skill.
And then a wight so wise in woodcraft, fit and fair,
The quarry to unlace hath set him straightway there.
He heweth off the head, and setteth it on high,
With skill he rendeth down the backbone, presently,
Then, bringing forth the bowels, roasts them on embers red,
And, to reward his hounds, doth blend them with their bread.
He strippeth off the brawn, e'en as in shields it were,
The hastlets hath he ta'en, and drawn them forth with care.
The halves he taketh now, and binds them as a whole,
With withy stiff and stout, made fast unto a pole.
And with that self-same swine homeward they fare thro' land;
The boar's head do they bear before their lord, on brand,
Who slew him in the ford, by force of his right hand
so strong —
Till he might see Gawain
In hall, he deemed it long,
His guest he was full fain
To pay, nor do him wrong.

The lord, with merry jest, and laugh of gladsome glee
Soon as he saw Gawain, spake words both fair and free,
(The ladies too he bade, e'en with the household all — )
The boar's shields doth he show, and tells his tale withal,
How broad he was, how long, how savage in his mood,
That grisly swine — and how they chased him thro' the wood,
Sir Gawain doth commend his deeds, in comely wise,
Well hath he proved himself, to win so fair a prize —
' For such a brawny beast, (so spake that baron bold)
And such shields of a swine, mine eyes did ne'er behold.'
They handle the huge head, the knight doth praise it well,
And loud and fair his speech, his host his mind may tell.
'Gawain,' quoth the good man, this gain is sure your own,
By forward fair and fast, e'en as before was shown.'
'Yea,' quoth the knight, ' 't is true, and here too, by my troth,
I give ye all my gain, nor thereto am I loth.'
With that he clasped his host, and doth him kindly kiss,
And so a second time he did the same, I wis.
'Now are we,' quoth Gawain, 'quit in this eventide
Of forwards all we made since I with ye abide
in hall.'
The lord quoth: 'By Saint Giles,
I hold ye best withal,
Rich are ye in short, while
Your profits be not small!'

The tables then they bring, on trestles set aloft,
And cover them as meet, with cloths both fair and soft,
Clear falleth on the walls, of waxen torch, the light;
Sithen, to service fair they set them, many a knight.
Then clamour glad, and glee, arose within the hall,
Where flares the flame on floor they make much mirth withal,
They sing, e'en as they sup, and after, knights so true,
Fair songs of Christmas-tide, and many a carol new,
With every kind of mirth that man to tell were fain —
And by that lady's side he sat, the good Gawain,
Such semblance fair she made, in seemly wise and meet,
To please the gentle knight, with stolen glances sweet,
Whereat he marvelled much, and chid himself amain,
Yet, for his courtesy, would answer not again,
Dealing in dainty wise, till fate the die was fain
to cast.
Thus made they mirth in hall,
Long as their will did last,
Then, when the lord did call,
To chimney-corner passed.

They drank, and dallied, there, and deemed 't were well to hold
Their forward fast and fair till New Year's Eve were told,
But Gawain prayed his leave, with morrow's morn to ride,
Since it were nigh the term his challenge to abide.
The lord withheld his leave, praying him strait to stay:
'As I be faithful knight, I pledge my troth alway
Thou shalt thy tryst fulfil, there at the Chapel Green,
Before the New Year's Morn hath waxed to prime, I ween;
So lie, and rest thee soft, and take thine ease at will,
And I shall hunt the holts, and keep our forward still,
To change my gain with thee, all that I homeward bear —
Twice have I tested thee, and found thee true and fair,
A third time will we try our luck, at dawn of day;
Now think ye upon joy, be merry while ye may,
For men may laugh at loss, if so their will alway.'
Gawain doth grant the grace, and saith, he will abide;
Blithely they brought' him drink, and then to bed they hied
with light —
Sir Gawain lies and sleeps
Soft, thro' the stilly night,
The lord his cov'nant keeps,
For chase is early dight.

A morsel after mass, he taketh with his men,
Merry the morning tide — his mount he prayeth then,
They who, a-horse, should hold him company that day
A-saddle all, their steeds before the hall-gate stay.
Full fair it was a-field, the frost yet fast doth cling,
Ruddy, and red, the sun its rising beams doth fling,
And clear, and cloudless all, appears the welkin wide —
The huntsmen scatter them hard by a woodland side,
The rocks, they rang again before the horn's loud blast,
Some fell upon a track, where late a fox had passed —
(The trail may oft betray, tho' fox no feint doth lack — )
A hound hath found the scent, the hunt is on his track,
The dogs, they follow fast, and thick the hue and cry,
They run in rabble rout on the trail speedily
The fox, he fled apace, the hounds their prey have seen,
And, once within their sight, they follow fast and keen,
Loudly they threaten there, with cry and clamour fierce —
The fox, with twist and turn, the undergrowth doth pierce,
Winding, and hearkening oft, low thro' the hedge doth creep,
Then, by a little ditch, doth o'er a spinney leap,
So, still, he stealeth forth, by rough and rugged way
Thinking to clear the. wood, and cheat the hounds that day;
Then, ere he wist, I trow, to hunters' tryst he came
Threatened he was threefold, by hounds as at that same:
from fray
He starteth swift aside,
And fled, as he were fey;
Fain was he at that tide
To seek the woodland way.

'Twas lively then to list the hounds, as loud they cry,
When all the pack had met, and mingled, speedily,
Such wrath, methinks, adown upon his head they call
As all the climbing cliffs had clashed unto their fall.
Hunters, with loud 'Halloo,' sight of their prey do hail,
Loudly they chide the fox, nor scolding speech doth fail,
Threaten him once and oft, and 'thief they call him there —
The hounds are on his trail, tarry he may not dare,
Oft would they him out-run, and head him ere he passed,
Double again he must — wily the fox, and fast,
Thus, by his skill he led master and huntsmen bold
O'er hill, o'er dale, by mount, by woodland, and by wold;
While the good knight at home doth soundly sleep, I ween,
All comely curtained round, on morning cold and keen.
But Love the lady fair had suffered not to sleep,
That purpose to impair which she in heart doth keep.
Quickly she rose her up, and thither took her way
In mantle meet enwrapped, which swept the ground alway.
Within, 't was finely furred, and bordered with the same,
No gold doth bind her head but precious stones, aflame,
Within her tresses wound, by twenties cluster fair;
Her face, and eke her throat, the mantle leaveth bare,
Bare is her snow-white breast, and bare her back to sight;
Passing the chamber door, She shuts it close and tight —
Setting the window wide, she calls her knight alway,
And, laughing, chideth him in merry words and gay, \
With cheer,
'Ah, man! Why dost thou sleep?
The morn dawns fair and clear,'
Gawain, in slumber deep,
Dreaming, her voice did hear.

Drowsing, he dreamed, the knight, a dream with travail fraught,
As men, in morning hours, are plagued with troubled thought;
How destiny, next morn, his weird should duly dight,
When, at the Chapel Green, he needs must meet that knight,
And there his buffet bide, nor make there for debate —
But, came that comely dame, his wits he summoned straight,
Aroused him from his sleep, and spake full speedily;
That lady drew anigh, sweet was her smile to see —
She bent her o'er his face, and kissed him, fair and free.
A greeting fit he gave, in words of gladsome cheer,
So glorious her guise, clad in such goodly gear,
Her features faultless all, her colour fair and fine,
The springs of joy well free, warming his heart like wine;
Their seemly smiles full swift were smitten into mirth,
Bliss, and good fellowship, betwixt the twain to birth
did win —
Their words were fair and good,
Weal reigned those walls within,
Yet peril 'twixt them stood,
Nor might she nearer win.

She pressed that prince of price so close, I trow, that day,
Leaning so nigh her point, that need upon him lay
To take her proffered love, or roughly say her nay —
For courtesy his care, lest he be craven knight,
And more, lest mischief fall, in that he sin outright,
And thus betray his host, the lord of house and hall, —
'God shield me,' quoth the knight, 'that e'er such chance befall!'
Forthwith, with laughter light, he strove to lay aside
All speech of special grace her lips might speak that tide;
Then quoth she to the knight: 'I hold ye worthy blame
An ye love not that life which here your love doth claim,
And lieth wounded here, above all else on earth,
Save ye a true love have ye hold of better worth,
And to that lady fair your faith so fast ye hold,
Ye may not list my words — Save ye that tale have told
That will I not believe — I pray ye, of a sooth,
For all the love on life, hide not from me the truth
for guile?'
The knight quoth: 'By Saint John,
(And gaily did he smile)
Of true love have I none,
Nor will I, for a while!'

'That word,' the lady quoth, ' methinks hath grieved me more,
Yet I my answer take, altho' I sorrow sore;
But kiss me kindly now, ere yet I go my way
My fate to mourn on mould, as she who loveth may.'
Sighing, she swayed adown, and kissed the knight so good,
Then raised her up again, and spake e'en as she stood:
'At this our parting, dear, grant me this grace for love,
Give me somewhat as gift, if it be but thy glove,
That I may think on thee, and so my grief may still — '
'Now, I wis,' quoth the knight, ' I would I had at will,
The thing I hold on earth most precious, it were thine,
Ye have deserved, I trow, by friendship fair and fine,
A guerdon goodlier far than I might e'er bestow!
But here, by gift of love, small profit might ye know,
Nor were ye honoured now, had ye at this time aught
Or glove, or other gift, from Gawain, as ye sought;
Here thro' the land I fare on errand strange and dread,
No men have I with mails, or trinkets, at this stead,
That much misliketh me, lady, for this thy sake,
Yet, be 't for good or ill, each man his chance must take
aright — '
'Thou knight of honour, nay'
(So spake the lady bright),
'Tho' no gift be my pay
Somewhat I'll give my knight.'

She proffered him a ring, of red gold fashioned fair,
A sparkling stone, I trow, aloft the setting bare,
Its gleam, in sooth, outshone the sunlight's ruddy ray,
I wot well that its worth no man might lightly pay.
Gawain the ring refused, and readily he spake:
'No gift, my lady gay, of goodwill will I take,
Since I have naught to give naught will I take of thee — '
Straitly she prayed, Gawain refused her steadfastly,
Sware swiftly on his sooth, that ring he would not take —
The lady, sorely grieved, in this wise further spake :
'An ye refuse my ring, methinks, the cause shall be
Ye deem ye were too much beholden unto me,
I'll here my girdle give as lesser gift this tide — '
She loosed a silken lace that hung low at her side,
Upon her kirtle knit, beneath her mantle's fold,
With green silk was it gay, entwined with threads of gold,
Braided in cunning wise, by skilful fingers wrought;
She proffered it the knight, and blithely him besought
To take this as her gift, tho' worthless all it were —
But still he said her nay, and, ever steadfast, sware
He would nor gift nor gold, ere God would give him grace
Well to achieve the chance t'wards which he set his face —
'Therefore, I pray ye now, be not displeased at this,
But let the matter be, I may not grant, I wis,
thy prayer —
Much do I owe to thee
For this, thy gentle care,
By heat, by cold, I'll be
Thy servant everywhere.'

' Do ye refuse this silk,' so quoth the gentle dame,
'For its simplicity? I grant ye of that same;
Lo! light it is to hold, and less its cost, I ween,
Yet who the virtue knew that knit therein hath been,
Would peradventure prize it higher for its grace —
Whoso shall gird himself with this same woven lace
The while 't is knotted well around him, 't is a charm,
And no man upon mould may wreak him hurt or harm,
And ne'er may he be slain by magic, or by spell — '
Sir Gawain, in his heart, that hour bethought him well,
That lace a jewel were against the jeopardy
Which, at the Chapel Green, did wait him presently,
Might he escape un-slain, the sleight he deemed were good;
Thus suffered he her prayer, and shewed a gentler mood.
She pressed on him her gift, and urged him loud and still,
He granted her the grace, she gave it of good will,
And, for her sake, besought he tell the matter ne'er,
But hide it from her lord, he sware it fast and fair,
That no man, save them twain, should this, their secret, share
for naught —
He thanked her oft, I wis,
Joyful of heart and thought,
Her true knight did she kiss
Thrice, ere she leave besought.

Then, laughing, saith, ' Farewell,' and from the room doth go
For more mirth of that man, I wot, she may not know;
When she hath gone, Gawain doth from his couch arise,
And swiftly robes himself in rich and royal wise,
Taketh the love-lace green, his lady's gift so fair,
That wound around his waist he doth well hidden bear.
Then to the chapel, swift, the knight doth take his way,
And, seeking out a priest, he privily doth pray
He may his life unfold, that he may better know
How his soul may be saved, when he from hence shall go.
Shrived was he surely there — he shewed his misdeeds all,
Or less they be or more, and did for mercy call,
Then, from the listening priest, doth absolution pray —
Assoiled well he was, and set as clean alway
As if the morrow's morn the day of doom should be.
Sithen he makes good cheer amid the ladies free,
With comely carols there, all joys men may devise,
(As ne'er before that day, methinks, had been his wise)
with bliss —
That all men marvelled there
And said of him, I wis,
Such semblance gay he ware
As none had seen ere this.

Now let him linger there where love his share shall be —
The lord is yet afield, leading his folk so free,
Now hath he slain the fox, that he hath chased all day —
As he thro' spinney sped, eager to spy his prey,
There, where he heard the hounds that close on his track lay,
Lo! Reynard, running low, thro' tangled grove he steals,
And all the yelping pack of hounds are at his heels.
The knight, he saw the beast, and would his coming wait,
Drew forth his brand so bright, and flung it swift and straight,
The fox, the sharp sword shunned, to swerve aside was fain,
A hound doth hold him fast ere he might turn again,
Beneath the horse's feet the pack upon him fell,
Worried their wily prey with many a yap and yell,
The lord, he lights adown, the fox he seizes there,
Swiftly he snatches him from out the jaws that tear,
Holding him high o'er head, he halloos loud and gay,
While many a gallant hound doth round him spring and bay.
Thither the huntsmen hie, their horns sound merrily,
Answering each to each, till all their master see.
That noble company, they gather fair and fast,
All who the bugle bare together blew a blast,
While they who had no horn, they halloo'd loud and clear;
It was the merriest meet that ever man might hear
The clamour that was raised o'er Reynard's doom so drear —
Then, gay,
The hounds they there reward,
Rubbing their heads that day —
Now have they ta'en Reynard
And stript his pelt away.

And then they hied them home, for night-fall was full nigh,
Blowing a shattering blast on horn, with notes so high,
The lord at last alights before his home so dear,
A fire he finds on floor — his guest, he sitteth near,
Gawain the good, who glad and joyous was withal,
For, mid the ladies fair, bliss to his lot did fall.
He ware a robe of blue, e'en to the earth it fell,
His surcoat, softly furred, became him passing well;
Of self-same stuff, the hood upon his shoulders lay,
Bordered and bound the twain with fur alike that day.
His host he met forthwith, there, in the midmost hall,
A goodly greeting gave, and joyful spake withal;
'Now shall I first fulfil thy forward, mine and thine,
Which we together sware whenas ye spared no wine.'
With that he clasped the knight, and gave him kisses three,
Setting them on his lips with all solemnity.
'By Christ,' then quoth the host: 'good fortune your's hath been,
If for such chance ye gave a fair exchange, I ween ! '
'Thereof small need to speak — ' the hero straightway said,
' Since light the cost, and swift, methinks, the price I paid.'
' By Mary,' quoth his host, ' in that am I behind,
I hunted all this day, and yet I naught might find
Save this foul fox's pelt, fiend take the thing alway,
Methinks for precious gifts the same were sorry pay,
And ye have rendered me three kisses here to-day
right good — '
' Enough,' quoth Sir Gawain,
' I thank ye, by the Rood.'
Then how the fox was slain
He told him as they stood.

Of mirth, of minstrelsy, of meat, they take their fill,
And make them merry there, as men may do at will,
With ladies' laughter light, and many a merry jest,
So joyful were the twain, the host, and his good guest,
E'en as they drunken were, or e'en had waxen fey —
The lord, and e'en his men made many a jest so gay,
Until at length the time for severance was o'er past,
Each baron to his bed betook him at the last.
Then first, Sir Gawain good, leave of his host would pray
Thanking him fair and free, and thus he spake alway:
'For this fair sojourning your honour be increased,
The High King grant ye this, I pray, at this high feast.
Your servant here am I, an so your will may be —
With morn I needs must fare, e'en as I told to ye,
A guide ye promised sure, to shew to me the way
To that same Chapel Green, where, on the New Year's Day
With God's will shall be dealt my doom, and this, my weird — '
'In good faith,' quoth the host, 'be not for that afeard,
Of good will shall I give all that to ye I hight — '
A servant then he called, to shew the way aright
Fair o'er the downs, that so Gawain should have no need
To wend by words, but through the copse, might make with speed
his way —
For gracious fare, Gawain,
With gracious words would pay,
And from the ladies twain
His leave was loth to pray.

Careful he kissed the twain, and spake them both full fair,
Well may they thrive for thanks he presseth on them there.
And in the selfsame wise those ladies make reply,
Commending him to Christ, with many a piteous sigh.
Then from the household all, in courteous wise he 'Id part,
And each man that he met, he thanked him from his heart
For service, solace fair, and for the pains they knew
In that they busied them to do him service true.
And all to say ' Farewell,' I trow, such sorrow felt
As if in worthy wise long years with him they 'd dwelt. ,
With torches burning bright, they to his chamber led,
And, that he well might rest, blithely brought him to bed.
But that he soundly slept, in sooth, I dare not say,
Matter enow had he, that came with dawning day
for thought — (
Now let him lie there still,
He nigheth what he sought —
If hearken me ye will
I'll tell ye how they wrought.