Властелин Колец - Колец - Sir Gawayne and the Grene KnyghtФантастика >> Зарубежная фантастика >> Толкиен, Дж.Р.Р. >> Властелин Колец
John Ronald Ruel Tolkien. Sir Gawayne and the Grene Knyght
Tolkien and Gordon, editors.
2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967.
Sir Gawayne and the Grene Knyght
The bor3 brittened and brent to brondeygh and aske3,
The tulk that the trammes of tresoun ther wro3t
Wat3 tried for his tricherie, the trewest on erthe:
Hit wat3 Ennias the athel, and his highe kynde,
That sithen depreced prouinces, and patrounes bicome
Welne3e of al the wele in the west iles.
Fro riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym swythe,
With gret bobbaunce that bur3e he biges vpon fyrst,
And neuenes hit his aune nome, as hit now hat;
Tirius to Tuskan and teldes bigynnes,
Langaberde in Lumbardie lyftes vp homes,
And fer ouer the French flod Felix Brutus
On mony bonkkes ful brode Bretayn he sette3
Where werre and wrake and wonder
Bi sythe3 hatz wont therinne,
And oft bothe blysse and blunder
Ful skete hat3 skyfted synne.
Ande quen this Bretayn wat3 bigged bi this burn rych,
Bolde bredden therinne, baret that lofden,
In mony turned tyme tene that wro3ten.
Mo ferlyes on this folde han fallen here oft
Then in any other that I wot, syn that ilk tyme.
Bot of alle that here bult, of Bretaygne kynges,
Ay wat3 Arthur the hendest, as I haf herde telle.
Forthi an aunter in erde I attle to schawe,
That a selly in si3t summe men hit holden,
And an outtrage awenture of Arthure3 wonderez.
If 3e wyl lysten this laye bot on littel quile,
I schal telle hit as-tit, as I in toun herde,
As hit is stad and stoken
In stori stif and stronge,
With lel letteres loken,
In londe so hat3 ben longe.
This kyng lay at Camylot vpon Krystmasse
With mony luflych lorde, lede3 of the best,
Rekenly of the Rounde Table alle tho rich brether,
With rych reuel ory3t and rechles merthes.
Ther tournayed tulkes by tyme3 ful mony,
Justed ful jolile thise gentyle kni3tes,
Sythen kayred to the court caroles to make.
For ther the fest wat3 ilyche ful fiften dayes,
With alle the mete and the mirthe that men couthe avyse;
Such glaum ande gle glorious to here,
Dere dyn vpon day, daunsyng on ny3tes,
Al wat3 hap vpon he3e in hallez and chambrez
With lorde3 and ladies, as leuest him tho3t.
With all the wele of the worlde thay woned ther samen,
The most kyd kny3te3 vnder Krystes seluen,
And the louelokkest ladies that euer lif haden,
And he the comlokest kyng that the court haldes;
For al wat3 this fayre folk in her first age,
The hapnest vnder heuen,
Kyng hy3est mon of wylle;
Hit were now gret nye to neuen
So hardy a here on hille.
Wyle Nw Ygher wat3 so 3ep that hit watz nwe cummen,
That day doubble on the dece wat3 the douth serued.
Fro the kyng wat3 cummen with kny3tes into the halle,
The chauntre of the chapel cheued to an ende,
Loude crye wat3 ther kest of clerkez and other,
Nowel nayted onewe, neuened ful ofte;
And sythen riche forth runnen to reche hondeselle,
Yghe3ed ygheres-yghiftes on hiygh, yghelde hem bi hond,
Debated busyly aboute tho giftes;
Ladies la3ed ful loude, thoygh thay lost haden,
And he that wan wat3 not wrothe, that may 3e wel trawe.
Alle this mirthe thay maden to the mete tyme;
When thay had waschen worthyly thay wenten to sete,
The best burne ay abof, as hit best semed,
Whene Guenore, ful gay, graythed in the myddes,
Dressed on the dere des, dubbed al aboute,
Smal sendal bisides, a selure hir ouer
Of tryed tolouse, and tars tapites innoghe,
That were enbrawded and beten wyth the best gemmes
That my3t be preued of prys wyth penyes to bye,
The comlokest to discrye
Ther glent with y3en gray,
A semloker that euer he sy3e
Soth mo3t no mon say.
Bot Arthure wolde not ete til al were serued,
He wat3 so joly of his joyfnes, and sumquat childgered:
His lif liked hym ly3t, he louied the lasse
Auther to longe lye or to longe sitte,
So bisied him his 3onge blod and his brayn wylde.
And also an other maner meued him eke
That he thur3 nobelay had nomen, he wolde neuer ete
Vpon such a dere day er hym deuised were
Of sum auenturus thyng an vncouthe tale,
Of sum mayn meruayle, that he my3t trawe,
Of alderes, of armes, of other auenturus,
Other sum segg hym biso3t of sum siker knyyght
To joyne wyth hym in iustyng, in joparde to lay,
Lede, lif for lyf, leue vchon other,
As fortune wolde fulsun hom, the fayrer to haue.
This wat3 the kynges countenaunce where he in court were,
At vch farand fest among his fre meny
Therfore of face so fere
He sti3tle3 stif in stalle,
Ful 3ep in that Nw Yghere
Much mirthe he mas withalle.
Thus ther stondes in stale the stif kyng hisseluen,
Talkkande bifore the hy3e table of trifles ful hende.
There gode Gawan wat3 graythed Gwenore bisyde,
And Agrauayn a la dure mayn on that other syde sittes,
Bothe the kynges sistersunes and ful siker kni3tes;
Bischop Bawdewyn abof bigine3 the table,
And Ywan, Vryn son, ette with hymseluen.
Thise were di3t on the des and derworthly serued,
And sithen mony siker segge at the sidborde3.
Then the first cors come with crakkyng of trumpes,
Wyth mony baner ful bry3t that therbi henged;
Nwe nakryn noyse with the noble pipes,
Wylde werbles and wy3t wakned lote,
That mony hert ful hi3e hef at her towches.
Dayntes dryuen therwyth of ful dere metes,
Foysoun of the fresche, and on so fele disches
That pine to fynde the place the peple biforne
For to sette the sylueren that sere sewes halden
Iche lede as he loued hymselue
Ther laght withouten lothe;
Ay two had disches twelue,
Good ber and bry3t wyn bothe.
Now wyl I of hor seruise say yow no more,
For vch wy3e may wel wit no wont that ther were.
An other noyse ful newe ne3ed biliue,
That the lude my3t haf leue liflode to cach;
For vnethe wat3 the noyce not a whyle sesed,
And the fyrst cource in the court kyndely serued,
Ther hales in at the halle dor an aghlich mayster,
On the most on the molde on mesure h3e;
Fro the swyre to the swange so sware and so thik,
And his lyndes and his lymes so longe and so grete,
Half etayn in erde I hope that he were,
Bot mon most I algate mynn hym to bene,
And that the myriest in his muckel that my3t ride;
For of bak and of brest al were his bodi sturne,
Both his wombe and his wast were worthily smale,
And alle his fetures fol3ande, in forme that he hade,
For wonder of his hwe men hade,
Set in his semblaunt sene;
He ferde as freke were fade,
And oueral enker-grene.
Ande al graythed in grene this gome and his wedes:
A strayte cote ful stre3t, that stek on his sides,
A mere mantile abof, mensked withinne
With pelure pured apert, the pane ful clene
With blythe blaunner ful bry3t, and his hod bothe,
That wat3 la3t fro his lokkez and layde on his schulderes;
Heme wel-haled hose of that same,
That spenet on his sparlyr, and clene spures vnder
Of bry3t golde, vpon silk bordes barred ful ryche,
And scholes vnder schankes there the schalk rides;
And alle his vesture uerayly wat3 clene verdure,
Bothe the barres of his belt and other blythe stones,
That were richely rayled in his aray clene
Aboutte hymself and his sadel, vpon silk werke3.
That were to tor for to telle of tryfles the halue
That were enbrauded abof, wyth bryddes and fly3es,
With gay gaudi of grene, the golde ay inmyddes.
The pendauntes of his payttrure, the proude cropure,
His molaynes, and alle the metail anamayld was thenne,
The steropes that he stod on stayned of the same,
And his arsoun3 al after and his athel skyrtes,
That euer glemered and glent al of grene stones;
The fole that he ferkkes on fyn of that ilke,
A grene hors gret and thikke,
A stede ful stif to strayne,
In brawden brydel quik--
To the gome he wat3 ful gayn.
Wel gay wat3 this gome gered in grene,
And the here of his hed of his hors swete.
Fayre fannand fax vmbefoldes his schulderes;
A much berd as a busk ouer his brest henges,
That wyth his hi3lich here that of his hed reches
Wat3 euesed al vmbetorne abof his elbowes,
That half his armes ther-vnder were halched in the wyse
Of a kynge3 capados that closes his swyre;
The mane of that mayn hors much to hit lyke,
Wel cresped and cemmed, wyth knottes ful mony
Folden in wyth fildore aboute the fayre grene,
Ay a herle of the here, an other of golde;
The tayl and his toppyng twynnen of a sute,
And bounden bothe wyth a bande of a bry3t grene,
Dubbed wyth ful dere stone3, as the dok lasted,
Sythen thrawen wyth a thwong a thwarle knot alofte,
Ther mony belle3 ful bry3t of brende golde rungen.
Such a fole vpon folde, ne freke that hym rydes,
Wat3 neuer sene in that sale wyth sy3t er that tyme,
He loked as layt so ly3t,
So sayd al that hym sy3e;
Hit semed as no mon my3t
Vnder his dyntte3 dry3e.
Whether hade he no helme ne hawbergh nauther,
Ne no pysan ne no plate that pented to armes,
Ne no schafte ne no schelde to schwue ne to smyte,
Bot in his on honde he hade a holyn bobbe,
That is grattest in grene when greue3 ar bare,
And an ax in his other, a hoge and vnmete,
A spetos sparthe to expoun in spelle, quoso my3t.
The lenkthe of an eln3erde the large hede hade,
The grayn al of grene stele and of golde hewen,
The bit burnyst bry3t, with a brod egge
As wel schapen to schere as scharp rasores,
The stele of a stif staf the sturne hit bi grypte,
That wat3 wounden wyth yrn to the wandez ende,
And al bigrauen with grene in gracios werkes;
A lace lapped aboute, that louked at the hede,
And so after the halme halched ful ofte,
Wyth tryed tassele3 therto tacched innoghe
On botoun3 of the bry3t grene brayden ful ryche.
This hathel helde3 hym in and the halle entres,
Driuande to the he3e dece, dut he no wothe,
Haylsed he neuer one, bot he3e he ouer loked.
The fyrst word that he warp, "Wher is," he sayd,
"The gouernour of this gyng? Gladly I wolde
Se that segg in sy3t, and with hymself speke
To kny3te3 he kest his yyghe,
And reled hym vp and doun;
He stemmed, and con studie
Quo walt ther most renoun.
Ther wat3 lokyng on lenthe the lude to beholde,
For vch mon had meruayle quat hit mene my3t
That a hathel and a horse my3t such a hwe lach,
As growe grene as the gres and grener hit semed,
Then grene aumayl on golde glowande bry3ter.
Al studied that ther stod, and stalked hym nerre
Wyth al the wonder of the worlde what he worch schulde.
For fele sellye3 had thay sen, bot such neuer are;
Forthi for fantoum and fayry3e the folk there hit demed.
Therfore to answare wat3 ar3e mony athel freke,
And al stouned at his steuen and stonstil seten
In a swoghe sylence thur3 the sale riche;
As al were slypped vpon slepe so slaked hor lote3
I deme hit not al for doute,
Bot sum for cortaysye--
Bot let hym that al schulde loute
Cast vnto that wy3e.
Thenn Arthour bifore the hi3 dece that auenture byholde3,
And rekenly hym reuerenced, for rad was he neuer,
And sayde, "Wy3e, welcum iwys to this place,
The hede of this ostel Arthour I hat;
Li3t luflych adoun and lenge, I the praye,
And quat-so thy wylle is we schal wyt after."
"Nay, as help me," quoth the hathel, "he that on hy3e syttes,
To wone any quyle in this won, hit wat3 not myn ernde;
Bot for the los of the, lede, is lyft vp so hy3e,
And thy bur3 and thy burnes best ar holden,
Stifest vnder stel-gere on stedes to ryde,
The wy3test and the worthyest of the worldes kynde,
Preue for to play wyth in other pure layke3,
And here is kydde cortaysye, as I haf herd carp,
And that hat3 wayned me hider, iwyis, at this tyme.
Yghe may be seker bi this braunch that I bere here
That I passe as in pes, and no ply3t seche;
For had I founded in fere in fe3tyng wyse,
I haue a hauberghe at home and a helme bothe,
A schelde and a scharp spere, schinande bry3t,
Ande other weppenes to welde, I wene wel, als;
Bot for I wolde no were, my wede3 ar softer.
Bot if thou be so bold as alle burne3 tellen,
Thou wyl grant me godly the gomen that I ask
Arthour con onsware,
And sayd, "Sir cortays kny3t,
If thou craue batayl bare,
Here fayle3 thou not to fy3t."
"Nay, frayst I no fy3t, in fayth I the telle,
Hit arn aboute on this bench bot berdle3 chylder.
If I were hasped in armes on a he3e stede,
Here is no mon me to mach, for my3te3 so wayke.
Forthy I craue in this court a Crystemas gomen,
For hit is Yghol and Nwe Ygher, and here ar 3ep mony:
If any so hardy in this hous holde3 hymseluen,
Be so bolde in his blod, brayn in hys hede,
That dar stifly strike a strok for an other,
I schal gif hym of my gyft thys giserne ryche,
This ax, that is heue innogh, to hondele as hym lykes,
And I schal bide the fyrst bur as bare as I sitte.
If any freke be so felle to fonde that I telle,
Lepe ly3tly me to, and lach this weppen,
I quit-clayme hit for euer, kepe hit as his auen,
And I schal stonde hym a strok, stif on this flet,
Elle3 thou wyl di3t me the dom to dele hym an other
And 3et gif hym respite,
A twelmonyth and a day;
Now hy3e, and let se tite
Dar any herinne o3t say."
If he hem stowned vpon fyrst, stiller were thanne
Alle the heredmen in halle, the hy3 and the loyghe.
The renk on his rounce hym ruched in his sadel,
And runischly his rede y3en he reled aboute,
Bende his bresed bro3e3, blycande grene,
Wayued his berde for to wayte quo-so wolde ryse.
When non wolde kepe hym with carp he co3ed ful hyyghe,
Ande rimed hym ful richly, and ry3t hym to speke:
"What, is this Arthures hous," quoth the hathel thenne,
"That al the rous rennes of thur3 ryalmes so mony?
Where is now your sourquydrye and your conquestes,
Your gryndellayk and your greme, and your grete wordes?
Now is the reuel and the renoun of the Rounde Table
Ouerwalt wyth a worde of on wy3es speche,
For al dares for drede withoute dynt schewed!"
Wyth this he la3es so loude that the lorde greued;
The blod schot for scham into his schyre face
He wex as wroth as wynde,
So did alle that ther were.
The kyng as kene bi kynde
Then stod that stif mon nere,
Ande sayde, "Hathel, by heuen, thyn askyng is nys,
And as thou foly hat3 frayst, fynde the behoues.
I know no gome that is gast of thy grete wordes;
Gif me now thy geserne, vpon Gode3 halue,
And I schal baythen thy bone that thou boden habbes."
Ly3tly lepe3 he hym to, and layght at his honde.
Then feersly that other freke vpon fote ly3tis.
Now hat3 Arthure his axe, and the halme grypez,
And sturnely sture3 hit aboute, that stryke wyth hit tho3t.
The stif mon hym bifore stod vpon hy3t,
Herre then ani in the hous by the hede and more.
Wyth sturne schere ther he stod he stroked his berde,
And wyth a countenaunce dry3e he droygh doun his cote,
No more mate ne dismayd for hys mayn dinte3
Then any burne vpon bench hade bro3t hym to drynk
Gawan, that sate bi the quene,
To the kyng he can enclyne:
"I beseche now with sa3e3 sene
This melly mot be myne.
"Wolde 3e, worthilych lorde," quoth Wawan to the kyng,
"Bid me bo3e fro this benche, and stonde by yow there,
That I wythoute vylanye my3t voyde this table,
And that my legge lady lyked not ille,
I wolde com to your counseyl bifore your cort ryche.
For me think hit not semly, as hit is soth knawen,
Ther such an askyng is heuened so hy3e in your sale,
Tha3 yghe yghourself be talenttyf, to take hit to yourseluen,
Whil mony so bolde yow aboute vpon bench sytten,
That vnder heuen I hope non ha3erer of wylle,
Ne better bodyes on bent ther baret is rered.
I am the wakkest, I wot, and of wyt feblest,
And lest lur of my lyf, quo laytes the sothe--
Bot for as much as 3e ar myn em I am only to prayse,
No bounte bot your blod I in my bodш knowe;
And sythen this note is so nys that no3t hit yow falles,
And I haue frayned hit at yow fyrst, folde3 hit to me;
And if I carp not comlyly, let alle this cort rych
Ryche togeder con roun,
And sythen thay redden alle same
To ryd the kyng wyth croun,
And gif Gawan the game.
Then comaunded the kyng the kny3t for to ryse;
And he ful radly vpros, and ruchched hym fayre,
Kneled doun bifore the kyng, and cache3 that weppen;
And he luflyly hit hym laft, and lyfte vp his honde,
And gef hym Godde3 blessyng, and gladly hym biddes
That his hert and his honde schulde hardi be bothe.
"Kepe the cosyn," quoth the kyng, "that thou on kyrf sette,
And if thou rede3 hym ryyght, redly I trowe
That thou schal byden the bur that he schal bede after."
Gawan got3 to the gome with giserne in honde,
And he baldly hym byde3, he bayst neuer the helder.
Then carppe3 to Sir Gawan the kny3t in the grene,
"Refourme we oure forwardes, er we fyrre passe.
Fyrst I ethe the, hathel, how that thou hattes
That thou me telle truly, as I tryst may."
"In god fayth," quoth the goode kny3t, "Gawan I hatte,
That bede the this buffet, quat-so bifalle3 after,
And at this tyme twelmonyth take at the an other
Wyth what weppen so thou wylt, and wyth no wy3 elle3
That other onsware3 agayn,
"Sir Gawan, so mot I thryue
As I am ferly fayn
This dint that thou schal dryue.
"Bigog," quoth the grene kny3t, "Sir Gawan, me lykes
That I schal fange at thy fust that I haf frayst here.
And thou hat3 redily rehersed, bi resoun ful trwe,
Clanly al the couenaunt that I the kynge asked,
Saf that thou schal siker me, segge, bi thi trawthe,
That thou schal seche me thiself, where-so thou hopes
I may be funde vpon folde, and foch the such wages
As thou deles me to-day bifore this douthe ryche."
"Where schulde I wale the," quoth Gauan, "where is thy place?
I wot neuer where thou wonyes, bi hym that me wro3t,
Ne I know not the, kny3t, by cort ne thi name.
Bot teche me truly therto, and telle me how thou hattes,
And I schal ware alle my wyt to wynne me theder,
And that I swere the for sothe, and by my seker traweth."
"That is innogh in Nwe Ygher, hit nedes no more,"
Quoth the gome in the grene to Gawan the hende;
"Yghif I the telle trwly, quen I the tape haue
And thou me smothely hat3 smyten, smartly I the teche
Of my hous and my home and myn owen nome,
Then may thou frayst my fare and forwarde3 holde;
And if I spende no speche, thenne spede3 thou the better,
For thou may leng in thy londe and layt no fyrre--
Ta now thy grymme tole to the,
And let se how thou cnoke3."
"Gladly, sir, for sothe,"
Quoth Gawan; his ax he strokes.
The grene kny3t vpon grounde graythely hym dresses,
A littel lut with the hede, the lere he discouere3,
His longe louelych lokke3 he layd ouer his croun,
Let the naked nec to the note schewe.
Gauan gripped to his ax, and gederes hit on hy3t,
The kay fot on the folde he before sette,
Let him doun ly3tly lyyght on the naked,
That the scharp of the schalk schyndered the bones,
And schrank thur3 the schyire grece, and schade hit in twynne,
That the bit of the broun stel bot on the grounde.
The fayre hede fro the halce hit to the erthe,
That fele hit foyned wyth her fete, there hit forth roled;
The blod brayd fro the body, that blykked on the grene;
And nawther faltered ne fel the freke neuer the helder,
Bot stythly he start forth vpon styf schonkes,
And runyschly he ra3t out, there as renkke3 stoden,
La3t to his lufly hed, and lyft hit vp sone;
And sythen bo3e3 to his blonk, the brydel he cachchez,
Steppe3 into stelbawe and strydez alofte,
And his hede by the here in his honde halde3;
And as sadly the segge hym in his sadel sette
As non vnhap had hym ayled, tha3 hedle3 he were
He brayde his bulk aboute,
That vgly bodi that bledde;
Moni on of hym had doute,
Bi that his resoun3 were redde.
For the hede in his honde he halde3 vp euen,
Toward the derrest on the dece he dresse3 the face,
And hit lyfte vp the y3e-lydde3 and loked ful brode,
And meled thus much with his muthe, as 3e may now here:
"Loke, Gawan, thou be graythe to go as thou hette3,
And layte as lelly til thou me, lude, fynde,
As thou hat3 hette in this halle, herande thise kny3tes;
To the grene chapel thou chose, I charge the, to fotte
Such a dunt as thou hat3 dalt--disserued thou habbez
To be 3ederly ygholden on Nw Ygheres morn.
The kny3t of the grene chapel men knowen me mony;
Forthi me for to fynde if thou frayste3, faylez thou neuer.
Therfore com, other recreaunt be calde the behoues."
With a runisch rout the rayne3 he tornez,
Halled out at the hal dor, his hed in his hande,
That the fyr of the flynt fla3e fro fole houes.
To quat kyth he becom knwe non there,
Neuer more then thay wyste from quethen he wat3 wonnen.
The kyng and Gawen thare
At that grene thay la3e and grenne,
Yghet breued wat3 hit ful bare
A meruayl among tho menne.
Tha3 Arther the hende kyng at hert hade wonder,
He let no semblaunt be sene, bot sayde ful hy3e
To the comlych quene wyth cortays speche,
"Dere dame, to-day demay yow neuer;
Wel bycommes such craft vpon Cristmasse,
Laykyng of enterlude3, to la3e and to syng,
Among thise kynde caroles of kny3te3 and ladyez.
Neuer the lece to my mete I may me wel dres,
For I haf sen a selly, I may not forsake."
He glent vpon Sir Gawen, and gaynly he sayde,
"Now, sir, heng vp thyn ax, that hat3 innogh hewen";
And hit wat3 don abof the dece on doser to henge,
Ther alle men for meruayl my3t on hit loke,
And bi trwe tytel therof to telle the wonder.
Thenne thay bo3ed to a borde thise burnes togeder,
The kyng and the gode kny3t, and kene men hem serued
Of alle dayntye3 double, as derrest my3t falle;
Wyth alle maner of mete and mynstralcie bothe,
Wyth wele walt thday, til worthed an ende
Now thenk wel, Sir Gawan,
For wothe that thou ne wonde
This auenture for to frayn
That thou hat3 tan on honde.
THIS hanselle hat3 Arthur of auenturus on fyrst
In 3onge ygher, for he ygherned yghelpyng to here.
Tha3 hym worde3 were wane when thay to sete wenten,
Now ar thay stoken of sturne werk, stafful her hond.
Gawan wat3 glad to begynne those gomnez in halle,
Bot tha3 the ende be heuy haf yghe no wonder;
For tha3 men ben mery in mynde quen thay han mayn drynk,
A 3ere yghernes ful ygherne, and yghelde3 neuer lyke,
The forme to the fynisment folde3 ful selden.
Forthi this Yghol ouer3ede, and the yghere after,
And vche sesoun serlepes sued after other:
After Crystenmasse com the crabbed lentoun,
That frayste3 flesch wyth the fysche and fode more symple;
Bot thenne the weder of the worlde wyth wynter hit threpe3,
Colde clenge3 adoun, cloudez vplyften,
Schyre schede3 the rayn in schowrez ful warme,
Falle3 vpon fayre flat, flowrez there schewen,
Bothe grounde3 and the greuez grene ar her wedez,
Brydde3 busken to bylde, and bremlych syngen
For solace of the softe somer that sues therafter
And blossume3 bolne to blowe
Bi rawe3 rych and ronk,
Then note3 noble inno3e
Ar herde in wod so wlonk.
After the sesoun of somer wyth the soft wynde3
Quen Zeferus syfle3 hymself on sedez and erbez,
Wela wynne is the wort that waxes theroute,
When the donkande dewe drope3 of the leuez,
To bide a blysful blusch of the bry3t sunne.
Bot then hy3es heruest, and hardenes hym sone,
Warne3 hym for the wynter to wax ful rype;
He dryues wyth dro3t the dust for to ryse,
Fro the face of the folde to fly3e ful hyyghe;
Wrothe wynde of the welkyn wrastele3 with the sunne,
The leue3 lancen fro the lynde and ly3ten on the grounde,
And al grayes the gres that grene wat3 ere;
Thenne al rype3 and rotez that ros vpon fyrst,
And thus 3irne3 the yghere in yghisterdayez mony,
And wynter wynde3 a3ayn, as the worlde askez,
Til Me3elmas mone
Wat3 cumen wyth wynter wage;
Then thenkke3 Gawan ful sone
Of his anious uyage.
Yghet quyl Al-hal-day with Arther he lenges;
And he made a fare on that fest for the freke3 sake,
With much reuel and ryche of the Rounde Table.
Kny3te3 ful cortays and comlych ladies
Al for luf of that lede in longynge thay were,
Bot neuer the lece ne the later thay neuened bot merthe:
Mony ioyle3 for that ientyle iapez ther maden.
For aftter mete with mournyng he mele3 to his eme,
And speke3 of his passage, and pertly he sayde,
"Now, lege lorde of my lyf, leue I yow ask;
Yghe knowe the cost of this cace, kepe I no more
To telle yow tene3 therof neuer bot trifel;
Bot I am boun to the bur barely to-morne
To sech the gome of the grene, as God wyl me wysse."
Thenne the best of the bur3 boyghed togeder,
Aywan, and Errik, and other ful mony,
Sir Doddinaual de Sauage, the duk of Clarence,
Launcelot, and Lyonel, and Lucan the gode,
Sir Boos, and Sir Byduer, big men bothe,
And mony other menskful, with Mador de la Port.
Alle this compayny of court com the kyng nerre
For to counseyl the kny3t, with care at her hert.
There wat3 much derue doel driuen in the sale
That so worthe as Wawan schulde wende on that ernde,
To dry3e a delful dynt, and dele no more
The kny3t mad ay god chere,
And sayde, "Quat schuld I wonde?
Of destines derf and dere
What may mon do bot fonde?"
He dowelle3 ther al that day, and dressez on the morn,
Aske3 erly hys armez, and alle were thay bro3t.
Fyrst a tule tapit ty3t ouer the flet,
And miche wat3 the gyld gere that glent theralofte;
The stif mon steppe3 theron, and the stel hondelez,
Dubbed in a dublet of a dere tars,
And sythen a crafty capados, closed aloft,
That wyth a bry3t blaunner was bounden withinne.
Thenne set thay the sabatoun3 vpon the segge fotez,
His lege3 lapped in stel with luflych greuez,
With polayne3 piched therto, policed ful clene,
Aboute his kne3 knaged wyth knotez of golde;
Queme quyssewes then, that coyntlych closed
His thik thrawen thy3e3, with thwonges to tachched;
And sythen the brawden bryne of bry3t stel rynge3
Vmbeweued that wy3 vpon wlonk stuffe,
And wel bornyst brace vpon his bothe armes,
With gode cowters and gay, and gloue3 of plate,
And alle the godlych gere that hym gayn schulde
Wyth ryche cote-armure,
His gold spore3 spend with pryde,
Gurde wyth a bront ful sure
With silk sayn vmbe his syde.
When he wat3 hasped in armes, his harnays watz ryche:
The lest lachet ouer loupe lemed of golde.
So harnayst as he wat3 he herknez his masse,
Offred and honoured at the he3e auter.
Sythen he come3 to the kyng and to his cort-ferez,
Lache3 lufly his leue at lordez and ladyez;
And thay hym kyst and conueyed, bikende hym to Kryst.
Bi that wat3 Gryngolet grayth, and gurde with a sadel
That glemed ful gayly with mony golde frenges,
Ayquere naylet ful nwe, for that note ryched;
The brydel barred aboute, with bry3t golde bounden;
The apparayl of the payttrure and of the proude skyrte3,
The cropore and the couertor, acorded wyth the arsoune3;
And al wat3 rayled on red ryche golde naylez,
That al glytered and glent as glem of the sunne.
Thenne hentes he the helme, and hastily hit kysses,
That wat3 stapled stifly, and stoffed wythinne.
Hit wat3 hy3e on his hede, hasped bihynde,
Wyth a ly3tly vrysoun ouer the auentayle,
Enbrawden and bounden wyth the best gemme3
On brode sylkyn borde, and brydde3 on semez,
As papiaye3 paynted peruyng bitwene,
Tortors and trulofe3 entayled so thyk
As mony burde theraboute had ben seuen wynter
The cercle wat3 more o prys
That vmbeclypped hys croun,
Of diamaunte3 a deuys
That bothe were bry3t and broun.
THEN thay schewed hym the schelde, that was of schyr goule3
Wyth the pentangel depaynt of pure golde hwe3.
He brayde3 hit by the bauderyk, aboute the hals kestes,
That bisemed the segge semlyly fayre.
And quy the pentangel apende3 to that prynce noble
I am in tent yow to telle, thof tary hyt me schulde:
Hit is a syngne that Salamon set sumquyle
In bytoknyng of trawthe, bi tytle that hit habbe3,
For hit is a figure that halde3 fyue poyntez,
And vche lyne vmbelappe3 and loukez in other,
And ayquere hit is endele3; and Englych hit callen
Oueral, as I here, the endeles knot.
Forthy hit acorde3 to this kny3t and to his cler armez,
For ay faythful in fyue and sere fyue sythe3
Gawan wat3 for gode knawen, and as golde pured,
Voyded of vche vylany, wyth vertue3 ennourned
Forthy the pentangel nwe
He ber in schelde and cote,
As tulk of tale most trwe
And gentylest kny3t of lote.
Fyrst he wat3 funden fautlez in his fyue wyttez,
And efte fayled neuer the freke in his fyue fyngres,
And alle his afyaunce vpon folde wat3 in the fyue woundez
That Cryst ka3t on the croys, as the crede telle3;
And quere-so-euer thys mon in melly wat3 stad,
His thro tho3t wat3 in that, thurygh alle other thyngez,
That alle his forsnes he feng at the fyue joye3
That the hende heuen-quene had of hir chylde;
At this cause the kny3t comlyche hade
In the inore half of his schelde hir ymage depaynted,
That quen he blusched therto his belde neuer payred.
The fyft fyue that I finde that the frek vsed
Wat3 fraunchyse and fela3schyp forbe al thyng,
His clannes and his cortaysye croked were neuer,
And pite, that passe3 alle poyntez, thyse pure fyue
Were harder happed on that hathel then on any other.
Now alle these fyue sythe3, for sothe, were fetled on this kny3t,
And vchone halched in other, that non ende hade,
And fyched vpon fyue poynte3, that fayld neuer,
Ne samned neuer in no syde, ne sundred nouther,
Withouten ende at any noke I oquere fynde,
Whereeuer the gomen bygan, or glod to an ende.
Therfore on his schene schelde schapen wat3 the knot
Ryally wyth red golde vpon rede gowle3,
That is the pure pentaungel wyth the peple called
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