University of Virginia Library

[OMITTED] And sayde, “I dreede no threte;
I haue founde youe here in my chase,”—
And in hys armes he gan her brace,
With kyssynge of mowthes sweete.
There Syr Gawayne made such chere,
That greate frendeshyp he founde there,
With that fayre lady so gaye;
Suche chere he made, and suche semblaunce,
That longed to loue he had her countenaunce,
With oute any more delaye.
He had not taryed with her longe,
But there came a knyght tall and stronge,
Vnto the pauylion he wente;
He founde Syr Gawayne with that lady fayre,—
“Syr knyght, thow makest an euyll repayre,
That wyll make the shente.
Yt ys my doughter that thow lyest by,
Thowe hast done me great vyllanye,
Amende yt mayst thou nought;
Thou haste greate fortune with that dame,
Tyll nowe neuer man coulde for shame,
I see, Syr knyght, that thou hast wrought.
Wherefore I see fortune ys thy frynde,
But hastely vnto harnes nowe thou wynde,”
Than sayed that bolde knyght;
“Thou hast done me muche dyshonoure,
And may not amende yt, by Mary floure!
Therefore hastelye the dyght.”
Than bespake Syr Gawayne, and thus he sayde,
“I suppose I haue the loue of the mayde,
Suche grace on her haue I founde;
But and youe be her father deere,
Syr, amendes nowe wyll I make here,
As I am to knyght-hode bounde.
Nowe all forewardes I wyll fullfyll,
And make amendes youe vntyll,
And lette me passe quyte;”
“Naye,” sayed the olde knyght than,
“Fyrst wyll we assaye oure myghtes as we can,
Or else yt were a dyspyte.”
Nowe sayde Gawayne, “I graunte yt the,
Sythe yt none otherwise wyll be,
Nedes must that nedes shall;”
He toke hys stronge horse by the brydle,
And lyghtly lepte in to the saddle,
As a knyght good and royall.
He toke a spere that was greate and stronge,
And forthe he wente, a large furlonge,
And turned hys horse with mayne;
They feutred theyr speares, these knyghtes good,
And russhed together with eger moode,
Aboue on the mountayne.
Gawayne smotte thys knyght so soore,
That hys horse with strenght he ouerthrewe thore,
And on the grounde he laye vpright;
Syr Gawayne turned hys horse agayne,
And sayde, “syr knyght, wyll ye any more sayne?”
“Naye,” he sayed, for he ne myght.
“I yelde me, Syr knyght, in to thy hande,
For thou arte to styffe for me to stande,
My lyfe thou graunte me;”
“On thys couenaunte,” Syr Gawayne sayde,
“That ye do no harme vnto the mayde,
I am a-greed that yt so be.
Also ye shall swere on my swerde here,
That none armes agaynst me ye shall beare,
Neyther to daye nor to nyght;
And then take your horse, and wende your waye,
And I shall do the best that I maye,
As I am a trewe knyght.”
There thys knyght sware, and dyd passe,
Syr Gylbert called he was,
A ryche earle, styffe and stoure;
He sayde, “Syr knyght, take good kepe,
For better shalt thou be assayled or thou slepe,
With many a sharpe shoure.”
Than sayd Gawayne, “I beleue right well,
Whan they come, youe shall here tell
Howe the game shall goo;
I am nowe here in my playnge,
I wyll not go awaye for no threatynge,
Or that I will feele more woo.”
Than Syr Gylberte wente hys waye,
Hys horse was gone downe the valaye,
On foote he must hym abyde;
He yode downe, without wordes more,
The strokes greaued hym full soore,
That bated muche hys pryde.
Syr Gawayne had smytten hym in the sholder-blade,
After hys walkynge the blode out shade,
He rested hym vnder a tree;
He had not rested hym but a lyttell space,
But one of hys sonnes came to that place,
Syr Gyamoure called was he.
“Father,” he sayde, “what ayleth youe nowe?
Hathe any man in thys forrest hurte youe?
Me thynke full faste ye blede;”
“Yea, sonne,” he sayde, “by goddes grame!
A knyght hath done me spyte and shame,
And lost I haue my stede.
Also he hath layne by thy syster, by the rode!
That greueth me more than shedynge of my blode,
And the despyte was well more;
And he hath made me to sweare,
That to daye none armes shall I beare,
A-gaynst hym, by goddes ore!”
“Father, nowe be of good chere,
And I shall rewarde hym, as ye shall here,
As I am a trewe knyght!
He shall beate me, or I shall beate hym,
I shall hym beate be he neuer so grymme,
And hys death to-dyght.”
“Lett be, sonne Gyamoure, nowe I the praye,
Thou speakest more than thou maye,
That shalt thoue feele soone;
There shalt thoue mete with a knyght stronge,
That wyll paye hys lyueray large and longe,
Or thy iourney be all done.”

“Nowe farewell, father,” Gyamoure sayde,
He toke the waye to hys syster the mayde,
As fast as he myght on the gate;
Vnto the pauylion he toke the waye,
There as Syr Gawayne and hys syster laye,
That thought on no debate.
“A-ryse,” he sayed, “thou knyght stronge of hande,
And geue me battaylle on thys lande,
Hye the fast anone right;
Thou hast hurte my father to-daye,
And layne by my syster, that fayre may,
Therfore thy deathe ys dyght.”
Than sayde Gawayne, “though yt be so,
A-mendes I wyll make or that I goo,
Yf that I haue mysdone;
Better yt ys nowe to accorde right,
Than we two nowe in battayll shulde fyght,
Therfore go from me soone.”
“Nay,” sayed Gyamoure, “that shall not bee,
That daye, knyght, shalt thow neuer see,
For to suffer suche a skorne;
A-ryse in haste, and that anone,
For with the wyll I syght alone,
As god lett me be borne!”
Gawayne sawe no better bote,
And wyghtelye he lepte on foote,
Hys horse was fast hym bye;
In to the saddle wightelye he sprente,
And in hys hande hys speare he hentte,
And loked full egerlye.
Eyther turned hys horse than a-waye,
A furlonges lenght, I dare well saye,
Aboue on the mountayne;
They ranne together, those knightes good,
That theyr horses sydes ranne on bloode,
Eyther to other, certayne.
What nedeth nowe more tale to tell?
Gawayne smotte hym with hys speare so well,
That he fell flatte to the grounde;
Hys horse was fyers, and went hys waye,
And hurte was the knyght there as he laye,
Syr Gawayne asked hym in that stounde.
“Syr knight, wyll ye any more?”
“Naye,” he sayde, “I am hurte so sore,
I maye not my selfe welde;
I yelde me, syr knyght, and saue my lyfe,
For with the I wyll no more stryffe,
For thowe hast wonne the felde.”
“Syr, on thys couenaunte I the graunte,
So ye wyll make me faythe and warraunte,
To-daye agaynst me no armes to beare;
Sweare thys othe on my swearde bright.”—
“Yes,” he sayde, “I wyll, as I am trewe knight,
That thys daye I wyll not youe deare.
Nowe fare well, knyght, so god me amende!
For I see fortune ys thy greate frende,
That sheowith in the to-daye;
There ys no bote to stryde agayne,
For thou arte a knyght full stronge of mayne,
Fare well, and haue good daye.”
Thus Gyamoure wente downe the mountayne hye,
On foote he wente full werelye,
Hys father soone hym spyed;
“A! wellcome,” he sayed, “my sonne Gyamoure,
Me thynke thou hast not spede well thys stoure,
That full well I see thys tyde.
Thou went on horse-backe, lyke a good knyght,
And nowe I see thou arte dolefully dyght,
That maketh all my care;”
“Father,” he sayde, “yt wyll none otherwise be,
Yonder knyght hath wonne me in warre so fre,
And hathe wounded me full sore.
Forsothe,” sayde Gyamoure, “I wyll not lye,
He ys a stronge knyght, bolde and hardye,
Of Arthures courte I trowe he ys;
I suppose on of the Rounde Table,
For at nede he ys both stronge and hable,
So haue I founde hym, withouten mysse.”
Right so as they spake the one to the other,
There came to them the seconde brother,
Syr Tyrry was hys name;
He came rydynge on a iolye coursyer,
Dryvinge by leapes, as the wylde fyer,
The knyght was of good fame.
He was not ware of hys father deare,
But hys brother called hym neare,
And sayde, “Syr, nowe abyde;”
He than turned hys horse, that knyght so gaye,
By leapes out of straye,
Hys hearte was full of pryde.
Than founde he hys father all blodye,
And hys brother was wounded syckerlye,
In hys hearte he began to be syke:
“A! syr, who hath wounded youe?” quod he,
“A-venged on hym nowe wyll I be,
That shall hym myslyke.”
“I wys, sonne, yt ys a knyght stronge,
That hath done vs thys wronge,
Aboue on the mountayne;
He hath me wounded passynge soore,
And I trowe thy brother he hathe well more,
And by thy syster he hathe layne.
Therfore go nowe, as a knyght good,
And auenge the shedynge of thy fathers blood,
As faste as euer thou maye;
Loke that thou fayle not for no cowardyse,
But mete hym in the myghtyest wyse,
For he ys good at a-saye.”
“I see well, father, he ys a knyght stronge,
But he hathe done youe greate wronge,
Yt woulde be harde hym to wynne;
But neuer the later I shall do my myght,
Hys strenght assaye nowe I shall in fyght,
Yf he were of the deuyls kynne.”

Thys knyght Syr Terry turned hys horse,
And vp the mountayne he rode with force,
As fast as he myght dryue;
He came to the pauylion, with greate pryde,—
“Haue done, syr knyght, thy horse bestryde,
For with the I am at stryue.”
Syr Gawayne loked out at the pauylyon doore,
And sawe thys knyght armed hym before,
To hym he sayed verelye;
“Syr, yf I haue ought to youe offended,
I am ready to make yt to be amended,
By mylde mother Marye!”
“Naye, Syr knyght, yt maye not so be,
Therfore make the ready faste to me,
In all the haste that thou maye;
For be god that me dere bought,
Make a-mendes mayest thou nought,
Therfore nowe lett vs playe.”
Gawayne sawe none other bote than,
Hys horse he toke as a worthye man,
And into the saddle he sprente;
He toke hys horse with a greate randone,—
“Nowe, Syr knyght, lette me haue done,
What in youre hearte ys mente.”
“Lo! here I am,” sayde Syr Terrye,
“For to the I haue greate enuye,”
And together gan they dasshe;
They russhed to-gether with suche debate,
That marueyll yt was howe that they sate,
They gaue suche a crasshe!
Syr Terrye spake in that place,
And Gawayne fought faste in that race,
And throughe the sholder hym pyght;
And caste hym ouer the horse backe,
That in the earth hys helme stacke,
That nyghe hys death he was dyght.
Syr Gawayne than sayed on hyght,
“Syr knyght, wyll ye any more fyght?”
He aunswered hym, “naye,
I am so soore hurte I may no more stande,
Therfore I yelde me in to thy hande,
Of mercye I the praye.”
“What,” sayde Gawayne, “ys that youre boast greate?
I wende youe woulde haue foughten tyll ye had sweate,
Ys youre strenght all done?”
“Yea, syr, in fayth, so god me nowe saue!
Of me thou mayste no more craue,
For all my myght ys gone.
Thou haste to-day wonne thre knyghtes,
The father, and two sonnes, that well fyghtes,
Worshypfullye vnder thy shyelde;
And yf thou maye wynne our eldest brother,
I call thee the best knyght, and none other,
That euer fought in fyelde.
For he ys full wyght, I warne youe welle,
He endureth better than doth the steele,
And that shalte thou soone see;
But he be thy matche I can not knowe,
Of knyghthode thoue haste no felowe,
On my fayth I ensure thee.”
“Nowe,” quod Gawayne, “lette hym be,
And, Syr knyght, make an othe to me,
Yt ys daye thou do me no greue;
And thou shalt passe fro me all quyte,
Where as ys nowe thy moste delyght,
With oute any moore repreue.”
Syr Terrye sayde, “therto I graunte,
Fare well nowe, God be thy warrante,”—
Full weykelye he wente on foote;
He lefte neuer tyll he came there,
Where as hys father and Gyamoure were,
That carefull heartes had, god wote.
Than bespake Gyamoure, hys yongest brother,
“Syr, thou hast gotten as we haue, and non other,
That knewe I well yt shoulde so be;”
“By god!” sayde Syr Terrye, “so nowe yt ys,
He ys a deuyll, forsothe ywys,
And that ys proued on me.”
“Yea,” quod Syr Gylbart, that Earle so olde,
“He ys a knyght bothe stronge and bolde,
And fortune ys hys frende;
My doughters loue he hath clene wanne,
Therfore I dare well saye he ys a manne,
Where euer that he wende.”
As they thre stode thus talkynge,
They hearde a manne full loude synge,
That all the woode ronge;—
“That ys my sonne Brandles so gaye,
Whan he seeth vs in suche araye,
He wyll leaue hys songe.”
By than they sawe the knight comynge,
A grene boughe in hys hande he dyd brynge,
Syttynge on a ioylye coursyere;
Hys horse was trapped in redde veluett,
Many ouches of golde theron was sette,
Of knyghthode he had no peere.
Also hys horse was armed before,
The headde and the brest, and no more,
And that in fyne steele;
Hym selfe was armed passynge sure,
In harneys that woulde strokes endure,
That had bene proued right wele.
Thys knyght bare on hys hedde a pomell gaye,
Syttynge on hys horse, stertynge oute of the waye,
By leapes he came aboute;
A shyelde he had, that was of renowne,
He bare theryn a blacke fawcowne,
The shyelde was of syluer withoute.
Also in hys hande a spere he bare,
Bothe stronge and longe, I make youe ware,
And of a trustye tree;
There was an headde theron of steele wrought,
The best that myght be made or bought,
And well assayed had be.
Theron of pleasaunce a kercheyf dyd honge,
I wote yt was more than thre elles longe,
Enbrodered all withe golde;
He was a knyght of large and lenght,
And proued well of muche strenght,
Assaye hym who so woulde.
Spurres of golde also he had on,
And a good swerde, that wolde byte a-bone,
Thus came he dryuynge;
Tyll he came there as hys father was,
Whan he all sawe, he sayde, “alas!
Thys ys an euyll tydynge.”
Whan he sawe hys father all blodye,
And hys two brethern hurte full syckerlye,
“Alas!” sayde Brandles than,
“Who hath done youe suche a dyspite?
Tell me in haste, that I maye yt quyte,
For my hearte ys wo begone.”
Than saide the father, “sonne, I shall the tell,
All thys hathe done a knyght full fell,
And layne by thy syster also;
He beete me fyrst, and them all,
And made vs swere that we ne shall,
Thys daye do hym no wo.”
Nowe saide Brandles, “thys ys yll come,
I ensure youe by my holydome,
I shall proue hys myght;
Were he as stronge as Sampson was,
In fayth shall I neuer from hym pas,
Tyll the one of vs to death be dyght.”
“Yea, sonne Brandles, thou shalt not soo,
Thoughe he haue done wronge, lett hym goo,
The knyght ys passynge sure;
I wyll not for more than I wyll sayne,
See the, Syr Brandels, there slayne,
For I warraunte the he wyll endure.
The knyght ys stronge, and well fight can,
And when he hathe at hande a man,
He wyll do hym none yll;
But gentle wordes speake agayne,
And do hym no harme ne mayne,
Thus gentyll he ys in skyll.”

“Nowe lette hym be,” sayde Brandles than,
“Sone shall we see yf he be a manne,”
And sayed “haue good daye;”
Streyght to the pauylyon he rode,
That sawe the mayden as she stode,
That yt was her brother gaye.
“Syr knyght,” she sayde, “here cometh one,
Yt wyl be harde hym to ouergone,
Beholde nowe and see;
Yonder cometh one wyll dure in fyght,
I warraunte ye sawe neuer a better knight,
Than ye shall fynde hym, syckerlye.
Beholde nowe my brother, Syr Brandles,
He ys in warre full slye, y-wys,
And that thowe shalt fynde;
Me thynke hym passynge lyke a knyght,
Haue no drede ye shall fynde hym wight,
Nowe vnder thys lynde.”
“By god!” sayde Gawayne, “he ys full lyke,
To abyde a buffette, and to stryke,
And of hys handes a man;
I sawe not or nowe thys yeares thre,
A man more lyke a man to be,
By god and by Saynt Johan!”
Right so Syr Brandles, the knyght gaye,
Spake on hyghe, and thus gan saye,
“Where arte thou, good Squyer?
Come forthe in haste,” he sayde on hyght,
“For with the will I fyght,
A newe game thoue shalt leere.
Thou haste done me dysworship greate,
And mayst not nowe amendement gette,
Yt ys no tyme of peace to speake;”
Syr Gawayne saide, “Syr, I the praye,
Let me make a-mendes, and youe maye,
Or thou begynne thys wreke.
Syr, and I haue ought mysdone,
Tell me, and it shalbe amended soone,
All gentlenes to fullfyll;
I haue bene be-stad to daye full soore,
Shame yt were to proue me any moore,
But here I am at youre wyll.”
“Ywys,” quod Brandles, “that ys sothe,
But I must nedes holde myne othe,
Thou haste done so yll;
My father and my brethren thou hast beaten bothe,
To accorde with the I were therof lothe,
My worshippe to full-fyll.”
Nowe sayed Gawayne, “sythe yt ys so,
I muste nedes me dryue ther to,
Thys daye god lende me grace;
For my worde shall do none aduauntage,
Let vs see howe well we can outrage,
Yf I maye dare ought in thys trace.”
“Gramarcy,” sayde Brandles, “in good faye,
Nowe shall youe see me make good playe,
Of knight-hode thou hast no peere;
I am right gladde thou hast myght,
But sorye I am we lacke the daye-lyght,
But a-mended ys my cheere.”
They fought together, those knightes good,
Throughe theyr haburgeons ran out the redde blode,
That pytte yt was to see;
They fought together with suche yre,
That after flamed out the fyre,
They spake of no mercye.
Thus full longe than gan they fyght,
Tyll at the laste they wanted lyght,
They wyste not what to done;
Than sayde Syr Brandles, that knyght so gaye,
“Syr knyght, we wante lyght of the daye,
Therfore I make my mone.
Yf we fyght thus in the darke together,
Throughe myshappe the one myght sle the other,
And therefore by myne assent;
Lett vs sweare on oure sweardes bothe,
Where that we mete for leyfe or lothe,
Yf that we mete in present,
Neuer to leaue the battayll tyll the one be slayne,”—
“I assent me therunto,” than sayde Gawayne,
“And ye wyll that yt so be;”
Than sayde Syr Brandles, “I may none other do,
For suche promesse I made my father vnto,
Therefore thys othe make we.
I wotte there ys no stroke that thou gauest me,
But I shall quyte yt full syckerlye,
And thou arte not in my debte;
Full large of lyueray thou arte, Syr knyght,
Neuer none that proued so well my myght,
We bene euen as we mette.
Lett vs make an othe on our swerdes here,
In that place we mete, farre or nere,
Euen there as ether other may fynde;
Euen so we shall do the battayle vtterlye,”—
“I holde,” sayde Gawayne, “by mylde Marye!
And thus we make an ende.”
Syr Gawayne put vp hys swerde than,
“Syr knight, be frende to that gentle woman,
As ye be gentle knyght;”
“As for that,” sayde Brandles than,
“She hathe caused to day, 'pardye, much shame,
Yt ys pyttye she hathe her syght.”
“Syr knyght,” sayde Gawayne, “haue good daye,
For on foote 'I haue a longe waye,
And horse were wonders deare;
Some tyme good horses I haue good wone,
And nowe on foote I muste nedes gone,
God in haste amende my chere!”
Syr Gawayne was armed passynge heavy,
On fote myght he not endure, trewely,
Hys knyfe he toke in hande;
Hys armure good he cutte hym fro,
Els on foote myght he not goo,
Thus with care was he bande.

Leaue we nowe of Syr Gawayne in wo,
And speake we more of Syr Brandles tho,
When he with hys syster mette;
He sayed, “fye on the harlot stronge!
Yt ys pyttie thou lyuest so longe,
Strypes harde I wyll the sette.”
He bete her bothe backe and syde,
And than woulde he not a-byde,
But to hys father streight he wentte;
And he asked hym how he fared,
He sayde, “sonne, for the haue I cared,
I wende thou haddest be shente.”
Brandles sayde, “I haue beate my syster,
And the knyght, I made hym sweare,
Than whan we mete a-gayne;
He and I wyll together fyght,
Tyll that we haue spended our myght,
And that one of vs be slayne.”
So home they went all foure together,
And eche of them helped other,
As well as they myght go;
Than the lady gate her a-waye,
They sawe her neuer after that daye,
She went wandrynge to and fro.
Also Syr Gawayne on hys partye,
On foote he went full werylye,
Tyll he to the courte came home;
All hys aduentures he shewed the kinge,
That with those foure knyghtes he had fyghtynge,
And eche after other alone.
And after that tyme they neuer mette more,
Full gladde were those knyghtes therfore,
So there was made the ende;—
I praye god geue vs good reste,
And those that haue harde thys lyttell Jeste,
And in hye heauen to be dwellynge;
And that we all maye, vpon domes-daye,
Come to the blysse that lasteth aye,
Where we maye here thy Aungels synge.