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Gij him turned & gan to smite;
He nold spare him bot lite;
He smot þe douke on þe scheld,
Þat it fleye in þe feld,
& bar þe douke Reyner saunfeil
Ouer & oue[r] his hors tayl.
Þe stede bi þe reyn he haþ y-nome,
Oȝain to þe douke he is y-come.
‘Here is þine hors, y ȝiue it te;
When ichaue nede, aquite it me!’
& wele he ȝalt him his while,
As gode kniȝt wiþ-outen gile;
I schal ȝou tel feir & wel
Hou he it ȝald him eueridel.
When þe douk Otus y-seye þis,
To-ȝaines Gij he come, y-wis:
‘Sir kniȝt,’ he seyd, ‘y prey þe,
Tel me þi name and whenne tow be.’

Sir Gij answerd wel freliche,
‘Y schal þe tel ful bleþeliche:
Gij of Warwike men clepeþ me;
Ich was y-born in þat cuntre.’
Þe douk Lowayn cam wiþ þis,
A gode spere in his hond, y-wis;
To Gij he smot wiþ gret hete,
& Gij oȝain to him smite:
To-gider so hard gun þai driue,
Þat her speres gan al to-riue.
Þai smiten togider hard & wel
Wiþ her swerdes of grounden stiel
Þurch scheld & hauberk also:
Strong fiȝt was bi-tven hem to.
Wiþ that come Herhaud priking;
Þe douk he met coming,
& of his hors him haþ y-feld
Riȝt long streȝt in þe feld.
Wiþ þat come þe douke Gaudiner,
& mett wiþ sir Torold þer;
Sir Torold smot him on þe scheld,
Þat he feld him in the feld;
He semed kniȝt gode & hardi.
Wiþ þat come prikeing sir Urri;
Þan gan þe fiȝt to ben aferd;
Of swiche ne haue ȝe nouȝt y-herd,
No ich it nouȝt telle no miȝt,
For long dueling, y ȝou pliȝt,
No no clerk vnder sonne,
Þat þe soþe ȝou telle conne;
Bot al þe folk of þat cuntre
Seyd þat Gij þe best miȝt be.
& þat oþer day y-same
Sir Gij wan þat ich game;
& þer-fore, on euerich a side,
On him was leyd al þe pride.
So opon þe þridde day
Þe kniȝtes tok her leue and went oway.

Wiþ þis come þe douk prikeing,
A gode kniȝt and wele doing.
‘Lordinges,’ he seyd, ‘herkeneþ to me:
Ichil ȝou telle hou it schal be;
& who so þer-oȝain sey ouȝt,
Of bateyl no þarf him feyl nouȝt.’
Þai seyden al couinliche,
Þe dome was ȝouen sikerliche;
Þe gerfauk and þe gode stede,
Þe grehoundes schul haue to mede
Gij of Warwike, þe noble kniȝt,
For best nov doand in þis fiȝt.

Þus þe kniȝtes ben departed y-wis;
Sir Gij to jn y-comen is,
& dede him vnarmi:
Of turnament he was weri.

Wiþ þat come a seriant prikeinde,
Gentil he was & wele spekeinde;
To sir Gyes in he is y-come,
& him he gret atte frome:
‘Thou art y-chesen chef & pris
Of al þis cuntre for soþe y-wis;
For þou hast y-won þis turnament,
Y make þe here þis present
Fram þe maiden Blancheflour,
Þat is mi lordes douhter þemperour:
Þe gerfauk & þe stede also,
& þe tvay grehoundes þer-to;
& ȝete hir loue wiþ þan,
Bot þou haue a fairer leman.
Sche þat is þe tour wiþ-inne,
To day þou miȝt hir loue winne.’