Stanzas CXLI–CXLIII

In with his modir he glade,
Als he sayse that it made;
With siche clothes als thay hade,
Thay happed hir forthy.
The geant had a drynk wroghte,
The portere sone it forthe broghte,
For no mane was his thoghte,
Bot for that lady;
Thay wolde not lett long thone,
Bot lavede in hir with a spone,
Then scho one slepe felle also sone,
Reght certeyne in hy.
Thus the lady there lyes
Thre nyghttis and thre dayes,
And the portere alwayes
Lay wakande hir by.

Thus the portare woke [by],
Ther whills hir luffed s[icurly],
Tille at the laste the lady
Wakede, als I wene.
Thenne scho was in hir awenne [wate],
And als wele in hir gate,
Als scho hadde nowthir arely ne late
Never ther owte bene.
Thay sett thame downe one thaire kne,
Thanked Godde alle three,
That he wolde so appone thame see,
As it was there sene.
Sythene aftir gane thay ta
A riche bathe for to ma,
And made the lady in to ga,
In graye and in grene.

Thane syr Percevelle in hy
Toke his modir hym by,
I say ȝow than certenly,
And home went hee;
Grete lordes and the qwene
Welcomed hym al-bydene,
Whenne thay hym one lyfe sene,
Than blythe myghte thay bee!
Sythen he went into the Holy Londe,
Wanne many cites fulle stronge,
And there was he slayne, I undirstonde,
Thus gatis endis hee.
Now Jhesu Criste, hevens kyng,
Als he es Lorde of alle thyng,
Grante us alle his blyssyng!
Amene for charyte!