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Ywain and Gawain

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YWAIN AND GAWAIN

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YWAIN AND GAWAIN

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Almyghti God þat made mankyn,
He schilde his servandes out of syn
And mayntene þam with might and mayne,
Þat herkens Ywayne and Gawayne;
Þai war knightes of þe tabyl rownde,
Þarfore listens a lytel stownde.
Arthure, þe Kyng of Yngland,
Þat wan al Wales with his hand
And al Scotland, als sayes þe buke,
And mani mo, if men wil luke,
Of al knightes he bare þe pryse.
In werld was none so war ne wise;
Trew he was in alkyn thing.
Als it byfel to swilk a kyng,
He made a feste, þe soth to say,
Opon þe Witsononday
At Kerdyf þat [es] in Wales,
And efter mete þare in þe hales
Ful grete and gay was þe assemble
Of lordes and ladies of þat cuntre,
And als of knyghtes war and wyse
And damisels of mykel pryse.
Ilkane with oþer made grete gamin
And grete solace als þai war samin.
Fast þai carped and curtaysly
Of dedes of armes and of veneri
And of gude knightes þat lyfed þen,
And how men might þam kyndeli ken
By doghtines of þaire gude ded
On ilka syde, wharesum þai ȝede;

For þai war stif in ilka stowre,
And þarfore gat þai grete honowre.
Þai tald of more trewth þam bitw[e]ne
Þan now omang men here es sene,
For trowth and luf es al bylaft;
Men uses now anoþer craft.
With worde men makes it trew and stabil,
Bot in þaire faith es noght bot fabil;
With þe mowth men makes it hale,
Bot trew trowth es nane in þe tale.
Þarfore hereof now wil I blyn,
Of þe Kyng Arthure I wil bygin
And of his curtayse cumpany;
Þare was þe flowre of chevallry.
Swilk lose þai wan with speres-horde,
Over al þe werld went þe worde.

After mete went þe kyng
Into chamber to slepeing,
And also went with him þe quene.
Þat byheld þai al bydene,
For þai saw þam never so
On high dayes to chamber go.
Bot sone, when þai war went to [s]l[epe],
Knyghtes sat þe dor to kepe:
Sir Dedyne and Sir Segramore,
Sir Gawayn and Sir Kay sat þore,
And also sat þare Sir Ywaine
And Colgrevance of mekyl mayn.
Þis knight þat hight Colgrevance,
Tald his felows of a chance
And of a stowre he had in bene,
And al his tale herd þe quene.
Þe chamber dore sho has unshet,
And down omang þam scho hir set;
Sodainli sho sat downright,
Or ani of þam of hir had sight.
Bot Colgrevance rase up in hy,

And þareof had Syr Kay envy,
For he was of his tong a skalde,
And forto boste was he ful balde.
‘Ow Colgrevance,’ said Sir Kay,
‘Ful light of lepes has þou bene ay.
Þou wenes now þat þe sal fall
Forto be hendest of us all.
And þe quene sal understand,
Þat here es none so unkunand;
Al if þou rase and we sat styll,
We ne dyd it for none yll,
Ne for no manere of fayntise,
Ne us denyd noght forto rise,
Þat we ne had resen had we hyr sene.’
‘Sir Kay, I wote wele,’ sayd þe quene,
‘And it war gude þou left swilk sawes
And noght despise so þi felawes.’

‘Madame,’ he said, ‘by Goddes dome,
We ne wist nothing of þi come
And if we did noght curtaysly,
Takes to no velany.
Bot pray ȝe now þis gentil man
To tel þe tale þat he bygan.’
Colgrevance said to Sir Kay:
‘Bi grete God þat aw þis day,
Na mare manes me þi flyt
Þan it war a flies byt.
Ful oft wele better men þan I
Has þou desspised desspytusely.
It es ful semeli, als me think,
A brok omang men forto stynk.
So it fars by þe, Syr Kay;
Of weked wordes has þou bene ay.
And, sen þi wordes er wikked and fell,
Þis time þarto na more I tell,
Bot of the thing þat I bygan.’

And sone Sir Kay him answerd þan
And said ful tite unto þe quene:
‘Madame, if ȝe had noght here bene,
We sold have herd a selly case;
Now let ȝe us of oure solace.
Þarfore, madame, we wald ȝow pray,
Þat ȝe cumand him to say
And tel forth, als he had tyght.’
Þan answerd þat hende knight:
‘Mi lady es so avyse,
Þat scho wil noght cumand me
To tel þat towches me to ill;
Scho es noght of so weked will.’

Sir Kai said þan ful smertli:
‘Madame, al hale þis cumpani
Praies ȝow hertly now omell,
Þat he his tale forth might tell.
If ȝe wil noght for oure praying,
For faith ȝe aw unto þe kyng,
Cumandes him his tale to tell,
Þat we mai here how it byfell.’
Þan said þe quene, ‘Sir Colgrevance,
I prai þe tak to no grevance
Þis kene karping of Syr Kay;
Of weked wordes has he bene ay,
So þat none may him chastise.
Þarfore I prai þe, on al wise,
Þat þou let noght for his sawes
At tel to me and þi felawes
Al þi tale, how it bytid.
For my luf I þe pray and byd.’

‘Sertes, madame, þat es [me] lath,
Bot for I wil noght mak ȝow wrath,
Ȝowre cumandment I sal fulfill,
If ȝe wil listen me untill,
With hertes and eres understandes;

And I sal tel ȝow swilk tithandes,
Þat ȝe herd never none slike
Reherced in no kynges ryke.
Bot word fares als dose þe wind,
Bot if men it in hert bynd;
And, wordes wo so trewly tase,
By þe eres into þe hert it gase,
And in þe hert þare es þe horde
And knawing of ilk mans worde.

‘Herkens, hende, unto my spell,
Trofels sal I ȝow nane tell,
Ne lesinges forto ger ȝow lagh,
Bot I sal say right als I sagh.
Now als þis time sex ȝere
I rade allane, als ȝe sal here,
Obout forto seke aventurs,
Wele armid in gude armurs.
In a frith I fand a strete
Ful thik and hard, I ȝow bihete,
With thornes, breres and moni a quyn.
Nerehand al day I rade þareyn,
And thurgh I past with mekyl payn.
Þan come I sone into a playn,
Whare I gan se a bretise brade,
And þederward ful fast I rade.
I saw þe walles and þe dyke,
And hertly wele it gan me lyke;
And on þe drawbrig saw I stand
A knight with fawkon on his hand.
Þis ilk knight, þat be ȝe balde,
Was lord and keper of þat halde.
I hailsed him kindly als I kowth;
He answerd me mildeli with mowth.
Mi sterap toke þat hende knight
And kindly cumanded me to lyght;
His cumandment I did onane,
And into hall sone war we tane.

He thanked God, þat gude man,
Sevyn sithes or ever he blan,
And þe way þat me þeder broght,
And als þe aventurs þat I soght.

‘Þus went we in, God do him mede,
And in his hand he led my stede.
When we war in þat fayre palays
(It was ful worthly wroght always),
I saw no man of moder born.
Bot a burde hang us biforn,
Was nowther of yren ne of tre,
Ne I ne wist whareof it might be,
And by þat bord hang a mall.
Þe knyght smate on þar-with-all
Thrise, and by þen might men se
Bifore him come a faire menȝe,
Curtayse men in worde and dede;
To stabil sone þai led mi stede.

‘A damisel come unto me,
Þe semeliest þat ever I se,
Lufsumer lifed never in land.
Hendly scho toke me by þe hand,
And sone þat gentyl creature
Al unlaced myne armure.
Into a chamber sho me led,
And with a mantil scho me cled:
It was of purpure faire and fine
And þe pane of rich ermyne.
Al þe folk war went us fra,
And þare was none þan bot we twa.
Scho served me hendely te hend;
Hir maners might no man amend.
Of tong sho was trew and renable
And of hir semblant soft and stabile.
Ful fain I wald, if þat I might,
Have woned with þat swete wight.
And, when we sold go to sopere,
Þat lady with a lufsom chere
Led me down into þe hall.

Þare war we served wele at all;
It nedes noght to tel þe mese,
For wonder wele war we at esse.
Byfor me sat þe lady bright
Curtaisly my mete to dyght;
Us wanted nowþer baken ne roste.
And efter soper sayd myne oste
Þat he cowth noght tel þe day
Þat ani knight are with him lay,
Or þat ani aventures soght.
Þarfore he prayed me, if I moght,
On al wise, when I come ogayne,
Þat I sold cum to him sertayne.
I said, “Sir, gladly, yf I may.”
It had bene shame have said him nay.

‘Þat night had I ful gude rest
And mi stede esed of þe best.
Alsone als it was dayes lyght,
Forth to fare sone was I dyght.
Mi leve of mine ost toke I þare
And went mi way withowten mare,
Aventures forto layt in land.
A faire forest sone I fand.
Me thoght mi hap þare fel ful hard,
For þare was mani a wilde lebard,
Lions, beres, bath bul and bare,
Þat rewfully gan rope and rare.
Oway I drogh me, and with þat
I saw sone whare a man sat
On a lawnd, þe fowlest wight
Þat euer ȝit man saw in syght.
He was a lathly creature,
For fowl he was out of mesure;
A wonder mace in hand he hade,
And sone mi way to him I made.
His hevyd, me thoght, was als grete

Als of a rowncy or a nete;
Unto his belt hang his hare,
And efter þat byheld I mare.
To his forhede byheld I þan,
Was bradder þan twa large span;
He had eres als ane olyfant
And was wele more þan geant.
His face was ful brade and flat;
His nese was cutted als a cat;
His browes war like litel buskes;
And his tethe like bare-tuskes.
A ful grete bulge opon his bak
(Þare was noght made withowten lac);
His chin was fast until his brest;
On his mace he gan him rest.
Also it was a wonder-wede,
Þat þe cherle yn ȝede;
Nowther of wol ne of line
Was þe wede þat he went yn.

'When he me sagh, he stode upright.
I frayned him if he wolde fight,
For þarto was I in gude will,
Bot als a beste þan stode he still.
I hopid þat he no wittes kowth,
No reson forto speke with mowth.
To him I spak ful hardily
And said, “What ertow, belamy?”
He said ogain, “I am a man.”
I said, “Swilk saw I never nane.”
“What ertow?” alsone said he.
I said, “Swilk als þou here may se.”
I said, “What dose þou here allane?”
He said, “I kepe þir bestes ilkane.”
I said, “Þat es mervaile, think me;
For I herd never of man bot þe
In wildernes ne in forestes,
Þat kepeing had of wilde bestes,
Bot þai war bunden fast in halde.”

He sayd, “Of þire es none so balde
Nowþer by day ne bi night
Anes to pas out of mi sight.”
I sayd, “How so? Tel me þi scill.”
“Parfay”, he said, “gladly I will.”

‘He said, “In al þis faire foreste
Es þare none so wilde beste,
Þat remu dar, bot stil stand,
When I am to him cumand.
And ay, when þat I will him fang
With mi fingers þat er strang
I ger him cri on swilk manere,
Þat al þe bestes when þai him here,
Obout me þan cum þai all,
And to mi fete fast þai fall,
On þaire manere merci to cry.
Bot understand now redyli,
Olyve es þare lifand no ma
Bot I þat durst omang þam ga,
Þat he ne sold sone be al torent.
Bot þai er at my comandment;
To me þai cum when I þam call,
And I am maister of þam all.”
Þan he asked onone right,
What man I was. I said, a knight
Þat soght aventurs in þat land,
My body to asai and fande.
“And I þe pray of þi kownsayle,
Þou teche me to sum mervayle.”

‘He sayd, “I can no wonders tell,
Bot here-bisyde es a well.
Wend þeder and do als I say;
Þou passes noght al quite oway.
Folow forth þis ilk strete,
And sone sum mervayles sal þou mete.
Þe well es under þe fairest tre,
Þat ever was in þis cuntre;
By þat well hinges a bacyne

Þat es of gold gude and fyne,
With a cheyne, trewly to tell,
Þat wil reche into þe well.
Þare es a chapel nere þarby,
Þat nobil es and ful lufely;
By þe well standes a stane.
Tak þe bacyn sone onane
And cast on water with þi hand,
And sone þou sal se new tithand.
A storme sal rise and a tempest
Al obout, by est and west;
Þou sal here mani thonor-blast
Al obout þe blawand fast.
And þare sal cum slik slete and rayne
Þat unnese sal þou stand ogayne;
Of lightnes sal þou se a lowe,
Unnethes þou sal þi selven knowe.
And, if þou pas withowten grevance,
Þan has þou þe fairest chance,
Þat ever ȝit had any knyght,
Þat þeder come to kyth his myght.”

‘Þan toke I leve and went my way
And rade unto þe midday.
By þan I come whare I sold be,
I saw þe chapel and þe tre.
Þare I fand þe fayrest t[h]orne
Þat ever groued sen God was born.
So thik it was with leves grene,
Might no rayn cum þarbytwene;
And þat grenes lastes ay,
For no winter dere yt may.
I fand þe bacyn als he talde,
And þe wel with water kalde.
An amerawd was þe stane,
Richer saw I never nane,
On fowre rubyes on heght standand;
Þaire light lasted over al þe land.
And when I saw þat semely syght,
It made me bath joyful and lyght.

I toke þe bacyn sone onane
And helt water opon þe stane.
Þe weder wex þan wonder-blak,
And þe thoner fast gan crak.
Þare come slike stormes of hayl and rayn,
Unnethes I might stand þare ogayn;
Þe store windes blew ful lowd,
So kene come never are of clowd.
I was drevyn with snaw and slete,
Unnethes I might stand on my fete;
In my face þe levening smate,
I wend have brent, so was it hate,
Þat weder made me so will of rede,
I hopid sone to have my dede;
And sertes, if it lang had last,
I hope I had never þeþin past.
Bot thorgh his might þat tholed wownd,
Þe storme sesed within a stownde.
Þan wex þe weder fayre ogayne,
And þareof was I wonder-fayne;
For best comforth of al thing
Es solace efter myslikeing.

‘Þan saw I sone a mery syght:
Of al þe fowles þat er in flyght,
Lighted so thik opon þat tre,
Þat bogh ne lefe none might I se.
So merily þan gon þai sing,
Þat al þe wode bigan to ring;
Ful mery was þe melody
Of þaire sang and of þaire cry.
Þare herd never man none swilk,
Bot if ani had herd þat ilk.
And when þat mery dyn was done,
Anoþer noyse þan herd I sone,
Als it war of horsmen
Mo þan owþer nyen or ten.

‘Sone þan saw I cum a knyght,
In riche armurs was he dight;
And sone, when I gan on him loke,

Mi shelde and spere to me I toke.
Þat knight to me hied ful fast,
And kene wordes out gan he cast.
He bad þat I sold tel him tite,
Whi I did him swilk despite,
With weders wakend him of rest
And [did] him wrang in his forest.
‘Þarfore’, he said, ‘þou sal aby.’
And with þat come he egerly
And said I had ogayn resowne
Done him grete destrucciowne
And might it never more amend,
Þarfore he bad I sold me fend.
And sone I smate him on þe shelde,
Mi schaft brac out in þe felde,
And þan he bare me sone bi strenkith
Out of my sadel my speres lenkith.
I wate þat he was largely
By þe shuldres mare þan I;
And bi þe ded þat I sal thole,
Mi stede by his was bot a fole.
For mate I lay down on þe grownde,
So was I stonayd in þat stownde.
A worde to me wald he noght say,
Bot toke my stede and went his way.
Ful sarily þan þare I sat,
For wa I wist noght what was what.
With my stede he went in hy
Þe same way þat he come by.
And I durst folow him no ferr
For dout me solde bit[id]e werr;
And also ȝit, by Goddes dome,
I ne wist whare he bycome.

‘Þan I thoght how I had hight
Unto myne ost, þe hende knyght,
And also til his lady bryght,
To com ogayn if þat I myght.

Mine armurs left I þare ilkane,
For els myght I noght have gane.
Unto myne in I come by day.
Þe hende knight and þe fayre may
Of my come war þai ful glade,
And nobil semblant þai me made.
In al thinges þai have þam born
Als þai did þe night biforn.
Sone þai wist whare I had bene,
And said þat þai had never sene
Knyght þat ever þeder come,
Take þe way ogayn home.
On þis wise þat tyme I wroght;
I fand þe folies þat I soght.’

‘Now sekerly,’ said Sir Ywayne,
‘Þou ert my cosyn jermayne;
Trew luf suld be us bytwene,
Als sold bytwyx breþer bene.
Þou ert a fole at þou ne had are
Tald me of þis ferly fare,
For sertes I sold onone ryght
Have venged þe of þat ilk knyght.
So sal I ȝit, if þat I may.’
And þan als smertly sayd Syr Kay
(He karpet to þam wordes grete):
‘It es sene now es efter mete!
Mare boste es in a pot of wyne
Þan in a karcas of Saynt Martyne.
Arme þe smertly, Syr Ywayne,
And sone, þat þou war cumen ogayne;
Luke þou fil wele þi panele,
And in þi sadel set þe wele;
And, when þou wendes, I þe pray,
Þi baner wele þat þou desplay;
And, rede I, or þou wende,
Þou tak þi leve at ilka frende;
And if it so bytide þis nyght,
Þat þe in slepe dreche ani wight

Or any dremis mak þe rad,
Turn ogayn and say I bad.’

Þe quene answerd with milde mode
And said, ‘Sir Kay, ertow wode?
What þe devyl es þe withyn,
At þi tong may never blyn
Þi felows so fowly to shende?
Sertes, Sir Kay, þou ert unhende.
By him þat for us sufferd pine,
Syr, and þe tong war myne,
I sold bical it tyte of treson,
And so might þou do, by gude reson.
Þi tong dose þe grete dishonowre,
And þarefore es it þi traytowre.’
And þan alsone Syr Ywayne
Ful hendly answerd ogayne,
Al if men sayd hym velany,
He karped ay ful curtaysly:
‘Madame,’ he said unto þe quene,
‘Þare sold na stryf be us bytwene.
Unkowth men wele may he shende
Þat to his felows es so unhende.
And als, madame, men says sertayne
Þat, wo so flites or turnes ogayne,
He bygins al þe melle:
So wil I noght it far by me.
Lates him say halely his thoght;
His wordes greves me right noght.’

Als þai war in þis spekeing
Out of þe chamber come þe kyng.
Þe barons þat war þare, sertayn,
Smertly rase þai him ogayne.
He bad þam sit down al bydene,
And down he set him by þe quene.
Þe quene talde him fayre and wele,
Als sho kowth, everilka dele
Ful apertly al þe chance
Als it bifel Syr Colgrevance.

When sho had talde him how it ferd,
And þe king hyr tale had herd,
He sware by his owyn crowne
And his fader sowl Uterpendragowne,
Þat he sold se þat ilk syght
By þat day þeþin a fowretenight,
On Saint Johns evyn, þe Baptist,
Þat best barn was under Crist.
‘Swith,’ he sayd, ‘wendes with me,
Who so wil þat wonder se.’

Þe kynges word might noght be hid,
Over al þe cowrt sone was it kyd;
And þare was none so litel page
Þat he ne was fayn of þat vayage;
And knyghtes and swiers war ful fayne;
Mysliked none bot Syr Ywayne.
To himself he made grete mane,
For he wald have went allane;
In hert he had grete myslykyng
For þe wending of þe kyng,
Al for he hopid, withowten fayle,
Þat Sir Kay sold ask þe batayle,
Or els Sir Gawayn, knyght vailant;
And owþer wald þe king grant.
Who so it wald first crave
Of þam two, sone might it have.

Þe kynges wil wald he noght bide,
Worth of him, what may bityde;
Bi him allane he thoght to wend
And tak þe grace þat God wald send.
He thoght to be wele on hys way,
Or it war passed þe thryd day,
And to asay if he myght mete
With þat ilk narow strete
With thornes and with breres set,
Þat mens way might lightli let,
And also forto fynd þe halde,

Þat Sir Colgrevance of talde,
Þe knyght and þe mayden meke.
Þe forest fast þan wald he seke
And als þe karl of Kaymes kyn
And þe wilde bestes with him,
Þe tre with briddes þareopon,
Þe chapel, þe bacyn and þe stone.
His thoght wald he tel to no frende,
Until he wyst how it wald ende.

Þan went Ywaine to his yn;
His men he fand redy þareyn.
Unto a swier gan he say,
‘Go swith and sadel my palfray,
And so þou do my strang stede,
And tak with þe my best wede.
At ȝone ȝate I wil out ryde,
Withowten town I sal þe bide;
And hy þe smertly unto me,
For I most make a jorne,
Ogain sal þou bring my palfra,
And forbede þe oght to say.
If þou wil any more me se,
Lat none wit of my prevete;
And if ani man þe oght frayn,
Luke now lely þat þou layn.’
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘with ful gude will,
Als ȝe byd, I sal fulfyll;
At ȝowre awyn wil may ȝe ride,
For me ȝe sal noght be ascryed.’

Forth þan went Sir Ywayne;
He thinkes, or he cum ogayne,
To wreke his cosyn at his myght.
Þe squier has his hernays dyght;
He did right als his mayster red;
His stede, his armurs he him led.
When Ywayn was withowten town,

Of his palfray lighted he down
And dight him right wele in his wede
And lepe up on his gude stede.
Furth he rade onone right,
Until it neghed nere þe nyght.
He passed many high mowntayne
In wildernes and mony a playne,
Til he come to þat leþir sty,
Þat him byhoved pass by.
Þan was he seker forto se
Þe wel and þe fayre tre.
Þe chapel saw he at þe last,
And þeder hyed he ful fast.
More curtaysi and more honowre
Fand he with þam in þat toure,
And mare conforth by monyfalde,
Þan Colgrevance had him of talde.
Þat night was he herberd þare:
So wele was he never are.

At morn he went forth by þe strete,
And with þe cherel sone gan he mete
Þat sold tel to him þe way.
He sayned him, þe soth to say,
Twenty sith or ever he blan;
Swilk mervayle had he of þat man;
For he had wonder þat nature
Myght mak so fowl a creature.
Þan to þe well he rade gude pase,
And doun he lighted in þat place;
And sone þe bacyn has he tane
And kest water opon þe stane;
And sone þare wex withowten fayle,
Wind and thonor, rayn and haile.
When it was sesed, þan saw he
Þe fowles light opon þe tre;
Þai sang ful fayre opon þat thorn,
Right als þai had done byforn.

And sone he saw cumand a knight
Als fast so þe fowl in flyght
With rude sembland and sterne chere,
And hastily he neghed nere.
To speke of lufe na time was þare,
For aiþer hated uþer ful sare.
Togeder smertly gan þai drive,
Þaire sheldes sone bigan to ryve,
Þaire shaftes cheverd to þaire hand,
Bot þai war bath ful wele syttand.
Out þai drogh þaire swerdes kene
And delt strakes þam bytwene;
Al to peces þai hewed þaire s[h]eldes,
Þe culpons flegh out in þe feldes.
On helmes strake þay so with yre,
At ilka strake outbrast þe fyre.
Aiþer of þam gude buffettes bede,
And nowþer wald styr of þe stede;
Ful kenely þai kyd þaire myght
And feyned þam noght forto fight.
[At] þaire hauberkes, þat men myght ken,
Þe blode out of þaire bodyes ren;
Aiþer on oþer laid so fast,
Þe batayl might noght lang last.
Hauberkes er broken and helmes reven,
Stif strakes war þare gyfen;
Þai faght on hors stifly always;
Þe batel was wele more to prays.
Bot at þe last Syr Ywayne
On his felow kyd his mayne;
So egerly he smate him þan,
He clefe þe helme and þe hernpan.

Þe knyght wist he was nere ded;
To fle þan was his best rede,
And fast he fled with al hys mayne,
And fast folow[d] Syr Ywayne.

Bot he ne might him overtake,
Þarfore grete murning gan he make;
He folowd him ful stowtlyk
And wald have tane him ded or quik;
He folowd him to þe cete,
Na man lyfand met he.
When þai come to þe kastel-ȝate,
In he folowd fast þareate.
At aiþer entre was, iwys,
Straytly wroght a portculis
Shod wele with yren and stele
And also grunden wonder wele.
Under þat þan was a swyke,
Þat made Syr Ywain to myslike.
His hors fote toched þareon,
Þan fel þe portculis onone
Bytwyx him and his hinder arsown,
Thorgh sadel and stede it smate al down;
His spores of his heles it schare;
Þan had Ywaine murnyng mare.
Bot so he wend have passed quite,
Þa[n] fel þe toþer bifore als tyte.
A faire grace ȝit fel him swa,
Al if it smate his hors in twa
And his spors of aiþer hele,
Þat himself passed so wele.

Bytwene þa ȝates now es he tane;
Þarfore he mase ful mykel mane,
And mikel murnyng gan he ma,
For þe knyght was went him fra.
Als he was stoken in þat stall,
He herd byhind him in a wall
A dore opend faire and wele,
And þareout come a damysel.
Efter hir þe dore sho stak,
Ful hinde wordes to him sho spak.
‘Syr,’ sho said, ‘by Saint Myghell,
Here þou has a febil ostell.

Þou mon be ded (es noght at laine)
For my lord þat þou has slayne.
Seker it es þat þou him slogh;
My lady makes sorow ynogh
And al his menȝe everilkane.
[He]re has þou famen many ane;
To be þi bane er þai ful balde,
Þou brekes noght out of þis halde.
And, for þai wate, þai may noght fayl,
Þ[ai] wil þe sla in playn batayl.’

He sayd, ‘Þai ne sal, so God me rede.
For al þaire might do me to dede,
Ne no handes opon me lay.’
Sho said, ‘Na, sertes, if þat I may!
Al if þou be here straytly stad,
Me think þou ert noght ful adrad.
And sir,’ sho said, ‘on al wise
I aw þe honore and servyse;
I was in message at þe king
Bifore þis time, whils I was ȝing.
I was noght þan savese,
Als a damysel aght to be;
Fro þe tyme þat I was lyght
In cowrt was none so hend knyght,
Þat unto me þan walde take hede,
Bot þou allane, God do þe mede.
Grete honore þou did to me,
And þat sal I now quite þe.
I wate, if þou be seldom sene,
Þou ert þe Kyng son Uriene,
And þi name es Sir Ywayne.
Of me may þou be sertayne.
If þou wil my kownsail leve,
Þou sal find na man þe to greve;
I sal lene þe here mi ring,
Bot ȝelde it me at myne askyng;
When þou ert broght of al þi payn,

Ȝelde it þan to me ogayne.
Als þe bark hilles þe tre,
Right so sal my ring do þe;
When þou in hand has þe stane,
Dere sal þai do þe nane;
For þe stane es of swilk myght,
Of þe sal men have na syght.’

Wit ȝe wele þat Sir Ywayne
Of þir wordes was ful fayne.
In at þe dore sho him led
And did him sit opon hir bed.
A quylt ful nobil lay þareon,
Richer saw he never none.
Sho said if he wald any thing,
He sold be served at his liking.
He said þat ete wald he fayn.
Sho went and come ful sone ogain;
A capon rosted broght sho sone,
A clene klath and brede þarone
And a pot with riche wine
And a pece to fil it yne.
He ete and drank with ful gude chere,
For þarof had he grete mystere.

When he had eten and dronken wele,
Grete noyse he herd in þe kastele.
Þai soght over al him to have slayn;
To venge þaire lorde war þai ful bayn,
Or þat þe cors in erth was layd.
Þe damysel sone to him sayd,
‘Now seke þai þe fast forto sla,
Bot whosoever com or ga,
Be þou never þe more adred,
Ne styr þou noght out of þis stede;
In þis here seke þai wyll,
Bot on þis bed, luke þou be styll,
Of þam al mak þou na force.
Bot when þat þai sal bere þe cors
Unto þe kyrk forto bery,

Þan sal þou here a sary cry;
So sal þai mak a doleful dyn.
Þan will þai seke þe eft herein;
Bot loke þou be of hert lyght,
For of þe sal þai have no syght.
Here sal þou be mawgre þaire berd,
And þarefore be þou noght aferd,
þi famen sal be als þe blynd;
Both byfor þe and byhind,
On ilka side sal þou be soght.
Now most I ga, bot drede þe noght,
For I sal do þat þe es lefe,
If al it turn me to mischefe.’

When sho come unto þe ȝate,
Ful many men fand sho þarate
Wele armed, and wald ful fayn
Have taken and slane Sir Ywaine.
Half his stede þare fand þai
Þat within þe ȝates lay;
Bot þe knight þare fand þai n[o]ght:
Þan was þare mekil sorow unsoght.
Dore ne window was þare nane,
Whare he myght oway gane.
Þai said he sold þare be laft,
Or els he cowth of wechecraft;
Or he cowth of nygromancy;
Or he had wenges forto fly.

Hastily þan went þai all
And soght him in þe maydens hall,
In chambers high (es noght at hide)
And in solers on ilka side.
Sir [Ywaine] saw ful wele al þat,
And still opon þe bed he sat.
Þare was nane þat anes mynt
Unto þe bed at smyte a dynt;

Al obout þai smate so fast,
Þat mani of þaire wapins brast.
Mekyl sorow þai made ilkane,
For þai ne myght wreke þaire lord bane.

Þai went oway with dreri chere,
And sone þareefter come þe bere.
A lady folowd white so mylk,
In al þat land was none swilk;
Sho wrang hir fingers, outbrast þe blode;
For mekyl wa sho was nere wode.
Hir fayre hare scho al todrogh,
And ful oft fel sho down in swogh;
Sho wepe with a ful dreri voice.
Þe hali water and þe croyce
Was born bifore þe procession;
Þare folowd mani a moder son;
Bifore þe cors rade a knyght
On his stede þat was ful wight,
In his armurs wele arayd,
With spere and target gudely grayd.
Þan Sir Ywayn herd þe cry
And þe dole of þat fayre lady;
For more sorow myght nane have,
Þan sho had when he went to grave.
Prestes and monkes on þaire wyse
Ful solempnly did þe servyse.

Als Lunet þare stode in þe thrang,
Until Sir Ywaine thoght hir lang;
Out of þe thrang þe wai sho tase,
Unto Sir Ywaine fast sho gase.
Sho [said], ‘Sir, how ertow stad?
I hope ful wele þou has bene rad,’
‘Sertes,’ he said, ‘þou sais wele þare;
So abayst was I never are.’

He said, ‘Leman, I pray þe,
If it any wise may be,
Þat I might luke a litel throw

Out at sum hole or sum window,
For wonder fayn,’ he sayd, ‘wald I
Have a sight of þe lady.’
Þe maiden þan ful sone unshet
In a place a preve weket.
Þare of þe lady he had a syght.
Lowd sho cried to God almyght,
‘Of his sins do hym pardowne,
For sertanly in no regyowne
Was never knight of his bewte,
Ne efter him sal never nane be;
In al þe werld fro end to ende
Es none so curtayse ne so hende.
God grante þe grace þou mai won
In hevyn with his owyn son;
For so large lifes none in lede
Ne none so doghty of gude dede.’
When sho had þus made hir spell,
In swowny[n]g ful oft sithes sho fell.

Now lat we þe lady be,
And of Sir Ywaine speke we.
Luf, þat es so mekil of mayne,
Sare had wownded Sir Ywayne,
Þat whare so he sal ride or ga,
His hert sho has þat es his fa.
His hert he has set al bydene,
Whare himself dar noght be sene.
Bot þus in langing bides he
And hopes þat it sal better be.
Al þat war at þe enterement,
Toke þaire leve at þe lady gent,
And hame now er þai halely [g]ane;
And þe lady left allane
Dweland with hir chamberere
And oþer mo þat war hir dere.
Þan bigan hir noyes al new,
For sorow failed hir hide and hew.

Unto his sawl was sho ful hulde;
Opon a sawter al of gulde
To say þe salmes fast sho bigan
And toke no tent unto no man.

Þan had Sir Ywain mekyl drede,
For he hoped noght to spede;
He said, ‘I am mekil to blame,
Þat I luf þam þat wald me shame.
Bot ȝit I wite hir al with wogh,
Sen þat I hir lord slogh.
I can noght se by nakyn gyn,
How þat I hir luf sold wyn.
Þat lady es ful gent and small,
Hir yghen clere als es cristall;
Sertes þare es no man olive,
Þat kowth hir bewtese wele descrive.’
Þus was Syr Ywayne sted þat sesowne;
He wroght fu[l] mekyl ogayns resowne
To set his luf in swilk a stede,
Whare þai hated him to þe dede.
He sayd he sold have hir to wive,
Or els he sold lose his lyve.

Þus als he in stody sat,
Þe mayden come to him with þat.
Sho sayd, “How hasto farn þis day,
Sen þat I went fro þe oway?’
Sone sho saw him pale and wan,
Sho wist wele what him ayled þan.
Sho [said], ‘I wote þi hert es set,
And sertes I ne sal noght it let;
Bot I sal help þe fra presowne
And bring þe to þi warisowne.’
He said, ‘Sertes, damysele,
Out of þis place wil I noght stele;
Bot I wil wende by dayes lyght,
Þat men may of me have sight
Opinly on ilka syde.
Worth of me what so bityde,

Manly wil I heþin wende.’
Þan answerd þe mayden hende,
‘Sir, þow sal wend with honowre,
For þou sal have ful gude socowre.
Bot, sir, þou sal be here sertayne
A while unto I cum ogayne.’

Sho [kend] al trewly his entent,
And þarfore es sho wightly went
Unto þe lady faire and bright.
For unto hir right wele sho myght
Say whatsom hyr willes es;
For sho was al hir maystres,
Her keper and hir cownsaylere.
To hir sho said, als ȝe sal here,
Bytwix þam twa in gude cownsayl,
‘Madame,’ sho sayd, ‘I have mervayl
Þat ȝe sorow þus ever onane.
For Goddes luf, lat be ȝowre mane.
Ȝe sold think over alkyn thyng
Of þe Kinges Arthurgh cumyng.
Menes ȝow noght of þe message
Of þe Damysel Savage,
Þat in hir lettre to ȝow send?
Allas, who sal ȝow now defend
Ȝowre land and al þat es þareyn,
Sen ȝe wil never of wepeing blyn?
A, madame, takes tent to me.
Ȝe ne have na knyght in þis cuntre,
Þat durst right now his body bede
Forto do a doghty dede,
Ne forto bide þe mekil boste
Of King Arthurgh and of his oste;
And if he find none hym ogayn,
Ȝowre landes er lorn, þis es sertayn.’

Þe lady understode ful wele,
How sho hyr cownsaild ilka dele;
Sho bad hyr go hir way smertly,

And þat sho war na more hardy
Swilk wordes to hyr at speke;
For wa hir hert wold al tobreke.
Sho bad, ‘Go wightly heþin oway.’
Þan þe maiden þus gan say,
‘Madame, it es oft wemens will
Þam forto blame þat sais þam scill.’
Sho went oway, als sho noght roght,
And þan þe lady hyr bythoght,
Þat þe maiden said no wrang,
And so sho sat in stody lang.
In stody þus allane sho sat,
Þe mayden come ogayn with þat.
‘Madame,’ she said, ‘ȝe er a barn;
Þus may ȝe sone ȝowre self forfarn.’
Sho sayd, ‘Chastise þi hert, madame;
To swilk a lady it es grete shame
Þus to wepe and make slike cry;
Think opon þi grete gentri.
Trowes þou þe flowre of chevalry
Sold al with þi lord dy
And with him be put in molde?
God forbede þat it so solde!
Als gude als he and better bene.’
‘Þou lyes,’ sho sayd, ‘by hevyn-quene!
Lat se if þoue me tel kan,
Whare es any so doghty man,
Als he was þat wedded me.’
‘Ȝis, and ȝe kun me [na] mawgre,
And þat ȝe mak me sekernes,
Þat ȝe sal luf me never þe les.’
Sho said, ‘Þou may be ful sertayn,
Þat for na thing þat þou mai sayn,
Wil I me wreth on nane manere.’
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘þan sal ȝe here;
I sal ȝow tel a prevete,

And na ma sal it wit bo[t] we.
Yf twa knyghtes be in þe felde
On twa stedes with spere and shelde
And þe tane þe toþer may sla,
Wheþer es þe better of þa?’
Sho said, ‘He þat has þe bataile.’
‘Ȝa,’ said þe mayden, ‘sawnfayle,
Þe knyght þat lifes es mare of maine
Þan ȝowre lord þat was slayne.
Ȝowre lord fled out þe place,
And þe toþer gan hym chace
Heder into his awyn halde;
Þare may ȝe wit, he was ful balde.’
Þe lady said, ‘Þis es grete scorne,
Þat þou nevyns him me biforne;
Þou sais nowþer soth ne right.
Swith, out of myne eghen syght!’
Þe mayden said, ‘So mot I the,
Þus ne hight ȝe noght me,
Þat ȝe sold so me myssay.’
With þat sho turned hir oway,
And hastily sho went ogayn
Unto þe chameber to Sir Ywayne.

Þe lady thoght þan al þe nyght,
How þat sho had na knyght
Forto seke hir land thorghout
To kepe Arthurgh and hys rowt.
Þan bigan hir forto shame
And hirself fast forto blame.
Unto hirself fast gan sho flyte
And said, ‘With wrang now I hir wite.
Now hopes sho I wil never mare
Luf hir als I have done are.
I wil hir luf with main and mode;
For þat sho said was for my gode.’

On þe morn þe mayden rase,
And unto chamber sone sho gase.
Þare sho fyndes þe faire lady
Hingand hir hevyd ful drerily

In þe place whare sho hir left;
And ilka dele sho talde hir eft,
Als sho had said to hir bifore.
Þan said þe lady, ‘Me rewes sore,
Þat I missayd þe ȝisterday.
I wil amend, if þat I may.
Of þat knyght now wald I here,
What he war and wheþen he were.
I wate þat I have sayd omys;
Now wil I do als þou me wys.
Tel me baldely, or þou blin,
If he be cumen of gentil kyn.’
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘I dar warand,
A genteler lord es none lifand;
Þe hendest man ȝe sal him fynde,
Þat ever come of Adams kynde.’
‘How hat he? Sai me for sertayne.’
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘Sir Ywayne;
So gentil knight have ȝe noght sene,
He es þe Kin[g]s son Uryene.’
Sho held hir paid of þat tiþ[y]ng,
For þat his fader was a kyng;
‘Do me have [him] here in my sight
Bitwene þis and þe thrid night
And are, if þat it are myght be.
Me langes sare him forto se;
Bring him, if þou mai, þis night.’
‘Madame,’ sho sayd, ‘þat I ne might,
For his wonyng es heþin oway
More þan þe jorne of a day.
Bot I have a wele rinand page,
Wil stirt þider right in a stage
And bring him by to-morn at nyght.’
Þe lady saide, ‘Loke yf he myght
To-morn by evyn be here ogayn.’
Sho said, ‘Madame, with al his mayn.’

‘Bid him hy on alkyn wyse.
He sal be quit wele his servyse;
Avancement sal be hys bone,
If he wil do þis erand sone.’
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘I dar ȝow hight
To have him here or þe thrid nyght.
Towhils efter ȝowre kownsayl send
And ask þam wha sal ȝow defend
Ȝowre well, ȝowre land, kastel and towre
Ogayns þe nobil King Arthure.
For þare es nane of þam ilkane,
Þat dar þe batel undertane.
Þan sal ȝe say, “Nedes bus me take
A lorde to do þat ȝe forsake.”’
Nedes bus ȝow have sum nobil knyght,
Þat wil and may defend ȝowre right;
And sais also, to suffer ded
Ȝe wil noght do out of þaire rede.
Of þat worde sal þai be blyth
And thank ȝow ful many siþe.’
Þe lady said, ‘By God of myght,
I sal areson þam þis night.
Me think þou dwelles ful lang here;
Send forth swith þi messangere.’

Þan was þe lady blith and glad.
Sho did al als hir mayden bad.
Efter hir cownsail sho sent onane.
And bad þai sold cum sone ilkane.
Þe maiden redies hyr ful rath;
Bilive sho gert Syr Ywaine bath
And cled him seþin in gude scarlet
Forord wele and with gold fret,
A girdel ful riche for þe nanes
Of perry and of preciows stanes.
Sho talde him al how he sold do,
When þat he come þe lady to.
And þus when he was al redy,
Sho went and talde to hyr lady,
Þat cumen was hir messagere.

Sho said smertly, ‘Do lat me here,
Cumes he sone als have þou wyn?’
‘Medame,’ sho said, ‘I sal noght blin,
Or þat he be byfor ȝow here.’
Þan said þe lady with light chere,
‘Go bring him heder prevely,
Þat none wit bot þou and I,’

Þan þe maiden went ogayn
Hastily to Sir Ywayn.
‘Sir,’ sho sayd, ‘als have I wyn,
My lady wate þou ert hereyn.
To cum bifore hir, luke þou be balde,
And tak gode tent what I have talde.’
By þe hand sho toke þe knyght
And led him unto chamber right
Byfor hir lady (es noght at layne),
And of þat come was sho ful fayne.
Bot ȝit Sir Ywayne had grete drede,
When he unto chamber ȝede.
Þe chamber-flore and als þe bed
With klothes of gold was al overspred
Hir thoght [he] was withowten lac;
Bot no word to him sho spak,
And he for dred oway he drogh.
Þan þe mayden stode and logh.
Sho sayd, ‘Mawgre have þat knyght
Þat haves of swilk a lady syght
And can noght shew to hir his nede.
Cum furth, sir; þe thar noght drede,
Þat mi lady wil þe smyte;
Sho loves þe wele withouten lite.
Pray to hir of hir mercy,
And for þi sake right so sal I,
Þat sho forgif þe in þis stede
Of Salados þe Rouse ded,
Þat was hir lord, þat þou has slayne.’

On knese him set þan Syr Ywaine;
‘Madame, I ȝelde me ȝow untill

Ever to be at ȝowre wyll;
Yf þat I might, I ne wald noght fle.’
Sho [said], ‘Na[y], whi sold so be?
To ded yf I gert do þe now,
To me it war ful litel prow.
Bot for I find þe so bowsum,
Þat þou wald þus to me cum,
And for þou dose þe in my grace,
I forgif þe þi trispase.
Syt down,’ sho said, ‘and lat me here,
Why þou ert þus debonere.’
‘Madame,’ he said, ‘anis with a luke
Al my hert with þe þou toke;
Sen I first of þe had syght,
Have I þe lufed with al my might.
To mo þan þe, mi lady hende,
Sal never more my luf wende;
For þi luf ever I am redy
Lely forto lif or dy.’
Sho said, ‘Dar þou wele undertake
In my land pese forto make
And forto maintene al mi rightes
Ogayns King Arthure and his knyghtes?’
He said, ‘Þat dar I undertane
Ogaynes ilka lyfand man.’
Swilk kownsail byfore had sho tane;
Sho said, ‘Sir, þan er we at ane.’
Hir barons hir ful rathly red
To tak a lord hir forto wed.

Þan hastily sho went to hall;
Þare abade hir barons all
Forto hald þaire parlement
And mari hir by þaire asent.
Sho sayd, ‘Sirs, with an acorde,
Sen me bus nedely have a lord
My landes forto lede and ȝeme,
Sais me sone howe ȝe wil deme.’
‘Madame,’ þai said, ‘how so ȝe will,

Al we sal assent þartyll.’

Þan þe lady went ogayne
Unto chameber to Sir Ywaine.
‘Sir,’ sho said, ‘so God me save,
Oþer lorde wil I nane have;
If I þe left, I did noght right,
A king son and a noble knyght.’

Now has þe maiden done hir thoght:
Sir Ywayne out of anger broght.
Þe lady led him unto hall;
Ogains him rase þe barons all,
And al þai said ful sekerly:
‘Þis knight sal wed þe lady.’
And ilkane said þamself bitwene,
So faire a man had þai noght sene:
‘For his bewte in hal and bowre
Him semes to be an emperowre.
We wald þat þai war trowth-plight
And weded sone þis ilk night.’
Þe lady set hir on þe dese
And cumand al to hald þaire pese,
And bad hir steward sumwhat say,
Or men went fra cowrt oway.
Þe steward said, ‘Sirs, understandes,
Were es waxen in þir landes:
Þe king Arthure es redy dight
To be here byn þis fowretenyght.
He and his menȝe ha thoght
To win þis land if þai moght.
Þai wate ful wele þat he es ded,
Þat was lord here in þis stede.
None es so wight wapins to welde
Ne þat so boldly mai us belde,
And wemen may maintene no stowre,
Þai most nedes have a governowre.
Þarefor mi lady most nede
Be weded hastily for drede;
And to na lord wil sho tak tent,
Bot if it be by ȝowre assent.’

Þan þe lordes al on raw
Held þam wele payd of þis saw;
Al assented hyr untill
To tak a lord at hyr owyn wyll.
Þan said þe lady onone right,
‘How hald ȝe ȝow paid of þis knight?
He profers hym on al wyse
To myne honore and my servyse;
And sertes, sirs, þe soth to say,
I saw him never or þis day;
Bot talde unto me has it bene,
He es þe kyng son Uriene.
He es cumen of hegh parage
And wonder doghty of vasselage.
War and wise and ful curtayse,
He ȝernes me to wife alwayse,
And nere þe lese, I wate, he might
Have wele better, and so war right.’
With a voice halely þai sayd,
‘Madame, ful wele we hald us payd.
Bot hastes fast, al þat ȝe may,
Þat ȝe war wedded þis ilk day.’
And grete prayer gan þai make
On al wise, þat sho suld hym take.

Sone unto þe kirk þai went
And war wedded in þaire present.
Þare wedded Ywaine in plevyne
Þe riche lady Alundyne,
Þe dukes doghter of Landuit;
Els had hyr lande bene destruyt.
Þus þai made þe maryage
Omang al þe riche barnage;
Þai made ful mekyl mirth þat day,
Ful grete festes on gude aray.
Grete mirthes made þai in þat stede,
And al forgetyn es now þe ded
Of him þat was þaire lord fre.
Þai say þat þis es worth swilk thre,
And þat þai lufed him mekil more

Þan him þat lord was þare byfore.

Þe bridal sat, for soth to tell,
Til Kyng Arthure come to þe well
With al his knyghtes everilkane;
Byhind leved þare noght ane.
Þan sayd Sir Kay, ‘Now, whare es he,
Þat made slike bost here forto be
Forto venge his cosyn germayne?
I wist his wordes war al in vayne;
He made grete boste bifor þe quene,
And here now dar he noght be sene.
His prowd wordes er now al purst,
For, in fayth, ful ill he durst
Anes luke opon þat knyght
Þat he made bost with to fyght.’
Þan sayd Gawayn hastily:
‘Syr, for Goddes luf, mercy!
For I dar hete þe for sertayne,
Þat we sal here of Sir Ywayne
Þis ilk day, þat be þou balde,
Bot he be ded or done in halde;
And never in no cumpany
Herd I him speke þe velany.’
Þan sayd Sir Kay, ‘Lo, at þi will
Fra þis time forth I sal be still.’

Þe king kest water on þe stane;
Þe storme rase ful sone onane
With wikked weders, kene and calde,
Als it was byforehand talde.
Þe king and his men ilkane
Wend þarwith to have bene slane,
So blew it store with slete and rayn;
And hastily þan Syr Ywayne
Dight him graythly in his gere
With nobil shelde and strong spere.
When he was dight in seker wede,
Þan he umstrade a nobil stede;
Him thoght þat he was als lyght,

Als a fowl es to þe flyght.
Unto þe well fast wendes he,
And sone when þai myght him se,
Syr Kay (for he wald noght fayle)
Smertly askes þe batayl;
And alsone þan said þe kyng,
‘Sir Kay, I grante þe þine askyng.’
Þan Sir Ywayn neghed þam nere
Þaire cowntenance to se and here.
Sir Kay þan on his stede gan spring;
‘Bere þe wele now,’ sayd þe kyng.
Ful glad and blith was Syr Ywayne,
When Sir Kay come him ogayn.
Bot Kay wist noght wha it was;
He findes his fere now or he pas.
Syr Ywaine thinkes now to be wroken
On þe grete wordes þat Kay has spoken.

Þai rade togeder with speres kene;
Þare was no reverence þam bitwene.
Sir Ywayn gan Sir Kay bere
Out of his sadel lenkith of his spere;
His helm unto þe erth smate,
A fote depe þarein yt bate.
He wald do him na more despite,
Bot down he lighted als tyte;
Syr Kay stede he toke in hy
And presand þe king ful curtaysly.
Wonder glad þan war þai all
Þat Kay so fowl a shame gan fall;
And ilkone sayd til oþer þen,
‘Þis es he þat scornes al men’;
Of his wa war þai wele paid.
Syr Ywain þan to þe kyng said,
‘Sir Kyng, I gif to þe þis stede,
For he may help þe in þi nede;
And to me war it grete trispas
Forto withhald þat ȝowres was.’
‘What man ertow?’ quod þe kyng;

‘Of þe have I na knawyng,
Bot if þou unarmed were
Or els þi name þat I might here.’
‘Lord,’ he sayd, ‘I am Ywayne.’
Þan was þe king ferly fayne;
A sari man þan was Sir Kay,
Þat said þat he was stollen oway;
Al descumfite he lay on grownde,
To him þat was a sary stownde.
Þe king and his men war ful glad,
Þat þai so Syr Ywayne had;
And ful glad was Sir Gawayne
Of þe welefare of Sir Ywayne;
For nane was to him half so dere
Of al þat in þe court were.
Þe king Sir Ywayn sone bisoght
To tel him al how he had wroght;
And sone Sir Ywaine gan him tell
Of al his fare how it byfell:
With þe knight how þat he sped,
And how he had þe lady wed,
And how þe mayden hym helped wele;
Þus tald he to him ilka dele.

‘Sir King,’ he sayd, ‘I ȝow byseke
And al ȝowre menȝe milde and meke,
Þat ȝe wald grante to me þat grace
At wend with me to my purchace,
And se my kastel and my towre;
Þan myght ȝe do me grete honowre.’
Þe kyng granted him ful right
To dwel with him a fowretenyght.
Sir Ywayne thanked him oft sith;
Þe knyghtes war al glad and blyth
With Sir Ywaine forto wend;
And sone a squier has he send.
Unto þe kastel þe way he nome
And warned þe lady of þaire come,
And þat his lord come with þe kyng;

And when þe lady herd þis thing,
It es no lifand man with mowth,
Þat half hir cumforth tel kowth.

Hastily þat lady hende
Cumand al hir men to wende
And dight þam in þaire best aray
To kepe þe king þat ilk day.
Þai keped him in riche wede
Rydeand on many a nobil stede;
Þai hailsed him ful curtaysly
And also al his cumpany.
Þai said he was worthy to dowt,
Þat so fele folk led obowt.
Þare was grete joy, I ȝow bihete,
With clothes spred in ilka strete
And damysels danceand ful wele
With trompes, pipes and with fristele.
Þe castel and þe cete rang
With mynstralsi and nobil sang.
Þai ordand þam ilkane infere
To kepe þe king on faire manere.
Þe lady went withowten towne
And with hir many bald barowne
Cled in purpure and ermyne
With girdels al of gold ful fyne;
Þe lady made ful meri chere,
Sho was al dight with drewries dere.
Abowt hir was ful mekyl thrang;
Þe puple cried and sayd omang,
‘Welkum ertou, Kyng Arthoure;
Of al þis werld þou beres þe flowre,
Lord Kyng of al kynges,
And blissed be he þat þe brynges.’

When þe lady þe kyng saw,
Unto him fast gan sho draw
To hald his sterap whils he lyght.

Bot sone, when he of hir had syght,
With mekyl myrth þai samen met.
With hende wordes sho him gret,
‘A thowsand sithes welkum,’ sho says,
‘And so es Sir Gawayne þe curtayse.’
Þe king said, ‘Lady white so flowre,
God gif þe joy and mekil honowre,
For þou ert fayre with body gent.’
With þat he hir in armes hent,
And ful faire gan hir falde;
Þare was many to bihalde.
It es no man with tong may tell
Þe mirth þat was þam omell.
Of maidens was þare so gude wane,
Þat ilka knight myght tak ane.
Ful mekil joy Syr Ywayn made
Þat he þe king til his hows hade;
Þe lady omang þam al samen
Made ful mekyl joy and gamen.

In þe kastel þus þai dwell,
Ful mekyl myrth wase þam omell;
Þe king was þare with his knyghtes
Aght dayes and aght nyghtes;
And Ywayn þam ful mery made
With alkyn gamyn þam for [to] glade.
He prayed þe kyng to thank þe may,
Þat hym had helpid in his jornay;
And ilk day had þai solace sere
Of huntyng and als of revere;
For þare was a ful fayre cuntre
With wodes and parkes grete plente,
And castels wroght with lyme and stane,
Þat Ywayne with his wife had tane.

Now wil þe king no langer lende,
Bot til his cuntre wil he wende.
Aywhils þai war þare, for sertayne,
Syr Gawayn did al his mayne
To pray Sir Ywaine on al manere

Forto wende with þam infere.
He said, ‘Sir, if þou ly at hame,
Wonderly men wil þe blame.
Þat knyght es nothing to set by,
Þat leves al his chevalry
And ligges bekeand in his bed,
When he haves a lady wed.
For when þat he has grete endose,
Þan war tyme to win his lose;
For when a knyght es chevalrouse,
His lady es þe more jelows,
Also sho lufes him wele þe bet.
Þarfore, sir, þou sal noght let
To haunt armes in ilk cuntre;
Þan wil men wele more prayse þe.
Þou has inogh to þi despens;
Now may þow wele hante turnamentes.
Þou and I sal wende infere,
And I will be at þi banere.
I dar noght say, so God me glad,
If I so fayre a leman had,
Þat I ne most leve al chevalry
At hame ydel with hir to ly.
Bot ȝit a fole þat litel kan,
May wele cownsail anoþer man.’

So lang Sir Gawayn prayed so,
Syr Ywayne grantes him forto go
Unto þe lady and tak his leve;
Loth him was hir forto greve.
Til hyr onane þe way he nome,
Bot sho ne wist noght whi he come.
In his arms he gan hir mete,
And þus he said, ‘My leman swete,
My life, my hele and al my hert,
My joy, my comforth and my quert,
A thing prai I þe unto
For þine honore and myne also.’
Þe lady said, ‘Sir, verrayment,
I wil do al ȝowre cumandment.’

‘Dame,’ he said, ‘I wil þe pray,
Þat I might þe king cumvay
And also with my feres founde
Armes forto haunte a stownde.
For in bourding men wald me blame,
If I sold now dwel at hame.’

Þe lady was loth him to greve;
‘Sir,’ sho said, ‘I gif ȝow leve
Until a terme þat I sal sayn,
Bot þat ȝe cum þan ogayn!
Al þis ȝere hale I ȝow grante
Dedes of armes forto hante;
Bot, syr, als ȝe luf me dere,
On al wise þat ȝe be here
Þis day twelmoth how som it be,
For þe luf ȝe aw to me.
And if ȝe com noght by þat day,
My luf sal ȝe lose for ay.
Advise ȝow wele now or ȝe gone.
Þis day es þe evyn of Saint Jon;
Þat warn I ȝow now or ȝe wende,
Luke ȝe cum by þe twelmoth ende.’

‘Dame,’ he sayd, ‘I sal noght let
To hald þe day þat þou has set;
And if I might be at my wyll,
Ful oft are sold I cum þe till.
Bot, madame, þis understandes,
A man þat passes divers landes,
May sum tyme cum in grete destres,
In preson or els in sekenes;
Þarefore I pray ȝow, or I ga,
Þat ȝe wil out-tak þir twa.’
Þe lady sayd, ‘Þis grant I wele,
Als ȝe ask, everilka dele;
And I sal lene to ȝow my ring,
Þat es to me a ful dere thing:
In nane anger sal ȝe be,
Whils ȝe it have and thinkes on me.
I sal tel to ȝow onane

Þe vertu þat es in þe stane:
It es na preson ȝow sal halde,
Al if ȝowre fase be manyfalde;
With sekenes sal ȝe noght be tane,
Ne of ȝowre blode ȝe sal lese nane;
In batel tane sal ȝe noght be,
Whils ȝe it have and thinkes on me;
And ay, whils ȝe er trew of love,
Over al sal ȝe be obove.
I wald never for nakyn wight
Lene it are unto na knyght.
For grete luf I it ȝow take;
Ȝemes it wele now for my sake.’

Sir Ywayne said, ‘Dame, gramercy!’
Þan he gert ordain in hy
Armurs and al oþer gere,
Stalworth stedes, both sheld and spere,
And also squyere, knave and swayne.
Ful glad and blith was Sir Gawayne.
No lenger wald Syr Ywayne byde,
On his stede sone gan he stride,
And þus he has his leve tane;
For him murned many ane.
Þe lady toke leve of þe kyng
And of his menȝe ald and ȝing;
Hir lord, Sir Ywayne, sho bisekes
With teris trikland on hir chekes,
On al wise þat he noght let
To halde þe day þat he had set.

Þe knightes þus þaire ways er went
To justing and to turnament.
Ful dughtily did Sir Ywayne,
And also did Sir Gawayne;
Þai war ful doghty both infere,
Þai wan þe prise both fer and nere.
Þe kyng þat time at Cester lay;
Þe knightes went þam forto play.

Ful really þai rade obout
Al þat twelmoth out and out
To justing and to turnament;
Þan wan grete wirships, als þai went;
Sir Ywayne oft had al þe lose,
Of him þe word ful wide gose;
Of þaire dedes was grete renown
To and fra in towre and towne.
On þis wise in þis life þai last,
Unto Saint Johns day was past;
Þan hastily þai hied home,
And sone unto þe kyng þai come;
And þare þai held grete mangeri,
Þe kyng with al his cumpany.

Sir Ywaine umbithoght him þan,
He had forgeten his leman.
‘Broken I have hir cumandment.
Sertes,’ he said, ‘now be I shent;
Þe terme es past þat sho me set.
How ever sal þis bale be bet?’
Unnethes he might him hald fra wepe;
And right in þis þan toke he kepe,
Into court come a damysele
On a palfray ambland wele;
And egerly down gan sho lyght
Withouten help of knave or knyght;
And sone sho lete hyr mantel fall
And hasted hir fast into hall.
‘Syr Kyng,’ sho sayd, ‘God mot þe se,
My lady gretes þe wele by me,
And also Sir gude Gawayne
And al þi knyghtes bot Sir Ywayne.
He es ateyned for trayture,
A fals and lither losenjoure;
He has bytrayed my lady,
Bot sho es war with his gilry.
Sho hopid noght, þe soth to say,
Þat he wald so have stollen oway;
He made to hir ful mekyl boste
And said of al he lufed hir moste.

Al was treson and trechery,
And þat he sal ful dere haby.
It es ful mekyl ogains þe right
To cal so fals a man a knight.
My lady wend he had hir hert
Ay forto kepe and hald in quert,
Bot now with grefe he has hir gret
And broken þe term þat sho him set,
Þat was þe evyn of Saynt John;
Now es þat tyme for ever gone.
So lang gaf sho him respite,
And þus he haves hir led with lite.
Sertainly, so fals a fode
Was never cumen of kynges blode,
Þat so sone forgat his wyfe,
Þat lofed him better þan hyr life.’

Til Ywayne sais sho þus, ‘Þou es
Traytur untrew and trowthles
And also an unkind cumlyng.
Deliver me my lady ring!’
Sho stirt to him with sterne loke,
Þe ring fro his finger sho toke;
And alsone als sho had þe ring,
Hir leve toke sho of þe king
And stirted up on hir palfray.
Withowten more sho went hir way;
With hir was nowþer knave ne grome,
Ne no man wist where sho bycome.

Sir Ywayn, when he þis gan here,
Murned and made simpil chere;
In sorow þan so was he stad,
Þat nere for murni[n]g wex he mad.
It was no mirth þat him myght mend;
At worth to noght ful wele he wend,
For wa he es ful wil of wane.
‘Allas, I am myne owin bane;
Allas,’ he sayd, ‘þat I was born,
Have I my leman þus forlorn,

And al es for myne owen foly.
Allas, þis dole wil mak me dy.’
An evyl toke him als he stode;
For wa he wex al wilde and wode.
Unto þe wod þe way he nome;
No man wist whore he bycome.
Obout he welk in þe forest,
Als it wore a wilde beste;
His men on ilka syde has soght
Fer and nere and findes him noght.

On a day als Ywayne ran
In þe wod, he met a man;
Arowes brade and bow had he,
And when Sir Ywaine gan him se,
To him he stirt with bir ful grim,
His bow and arwes reft he him.
Ilka day þan at þe leste
Shot he him a wilde beste;
Fless he wan him ful gude wane,
And of his arows lost he nane.
Þare he lifed a grete sesowne
With rotes and raw venysowne;
He drank of þe warm blode,
And þat did him mekil gode.

Als he went in þat boskage,
He fand a litil ermytage.
Þe ermyte saw and sone was war,
A naked man a bow bare.
He hoped he was wode þat tide;
Þarefore no lenger durst he bide.
He sperd his ȝate and in he ran
Forfered of þat wode man;
And for him thoght it charite,
Out at his window set he
Brede and water for þe wode man;
And þarto ful sone he ran.
Swilk als he had, swilk he him gaf,
Barly-brede with al þe chaf;
Þarof ete he ful gude wane,

And are swilk ete he never nane.
Of þe water he dra[n]k þarwith;
Þan ran he forth into þe frith,
For if a man be never so wode,
He wil kum whare man dose him gode,
And, sertanly, so did Ywayne.
Everilka day he come ogayne,
And with him broght he redy boun
Ilka day new venisowne;
He laid it at þe ermite ȝate
And ete and drank and went his gate.
Ever alsone als he was gane,
Þe ermyt toke þe flesh onane;
He flogh it and seth it fayre and wele;
Þan had Ywayne at ilke mele
Brede and sothen venysowne.
Þan went þe ermyte to þe towne
And salde þe skinnes þat he broght,
And better brede þarwith he boght;
Þan fand Sir Ywayne in þat stede
Venyson and better brede.
Þis life led he ful fele ȝere,
And sethen he wroght als ȝe sal here.

Als Ywaine sleped under a tre,
By him come þare rideand thre:
A lady, twa bourewemen alswa.
Þan spak ane of þe maidens twa,
‘A naked [man] me think I se;
Wit I wil what it may be.’
Sho lighted doun and to him ȝede,
And unto him sho toke gude hede;
Hir thoght wele sho had him sene
In many stedes whare sho had bene.
Sho was astonyd in þat stownde,
For in hys face sho saw a wonde,
Bot it was heled and hale of hew;

Þarby, hir thoght, þat sho him knew.
Sho sayd, ‘By God þat me has made,
Swilk a wound Sir Ywayne hade.
Sertaynly þis ilk es he.
Allas,’ sho sayd, ‘how may þis be?
Allas, þat him es þus bityd,
So nobil a knyght als he was kyd.
It es grete sorow þat he sold be
So ugly now opon to se.’
So tenderly for him sho gret,
Þat hir teres al hir chekes wet.
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘for sertayn,
Here have we funden Sir Ywayne,
Þe best knyght þat on grund mai ga.
Allas, him es bytid so wa;
In sum sorow was he stad,
And þarefore es he waxen mad.
Sorow wil meng a mans blode
And make him forto wax wode.
Madame, and he war now in quert
And al hale of will and hert,
Ogayns ȝowre fa he wald ȝow were,
Þat has ȝow done so mekyl dere.
And he ware hale, so God we mend,
Ȝowre sorow war sone broght to end.’
Þe lady said, ‘And þis ilk be he
And [þat] he wil noght heþin fle,
Thorgh Goddes help þan, hope I, ȝit
We sal him win ynto his wyt.
Swith at hame I wald we were,
For þare I have an unement dere;
Morgan þe Wise gaf it to me
And said als I sal tel to þe.
He sayd, “Þis unement es so gode,
Þat if a man be braynwode
And he war anes anoynt with yt,
Smertly sold he have his wit.”’

Fro hame þai wer bot half a myle;
Þeder come þai in a whyle.

Þe lady sone þe boyst has soght,
And þe unement has sho broght.
‘Have,’ sho said, ‘þis unement here,
Unto me it es ful dere;
And smertly þat þou wend ogayne.
Bot luke þou spend it noght in vaine;
And fra þe knight anoynted be,
Þat þou leves, bring it to me.’
Hastily þat maiden meke
Tok hose and shose and serk and breke.
A riche robe als gan sho ta
And a saint of silk alswa
And also a gude palfray;
And smertly come sho whare he lay;
On slepe fast ȝit sho him fande.
Hir hors until a tre sho band,
And hastily to him sho ȝede,
And þat was a ful hardy dede.
Sho enoynt hys heved wele
And his body ilka dele;
Sho despended al þe unement
Over hir ladies cumandment;
For hir lady wald sho noght let;
Hir thoght þat it was ful wele set.
Al his atyre sho left hym by
At his rising to be redy,
Þat he might him cleth and dyght,
Or he sold of hyr have syght.

Þan he wakend of his slepe;
Þe maiden to him toke gude kepe;
He luked up ful sarily
And said, ‘Lady Saynt Mary,
What hard grace to me es maked,
Þat I am here now þus naked?
Allas, where any have here bene?
I trow, sum has my sorow sene.’
Lang he sat so in a thoght,
How þat gere was þeder broght.
Þan had he noght so mekyl myght

On his fete to stand upright;
Him failed might of fete and hand,
Þat he myght nowþer ga ne stand.
Bot ȝit his clathes on he wan;
Þarfore ful wery was he þan.
Þan had he mister forto mete
Sum man þat myght his bales bete.
Þan lepe þe maiden on hir palfray
And nere byside him made hir way.
Sho lete als sho him noght had sene
Ne wetyn þat he þare had bene.
Sone when he had of hir had syght,
He cried unto hyr on hight;
Þan wald sho ne ferrer ride,
Bot fast sho luked on ilka syde
And waited obout fer and nere.
He cried and sayd, ‘I am here.’
Þan sone sho rade him till
And sayd, ‘Sir, what es þi will?’
‘Lady, þi help war me ful lefe,
For I am here in grete meschefe,
I ne wate never by what chance
Þat I have al þis grevance.
P[ar] charite I walde þe pray
Forto lene me þat palfray,
Þat in þi hand es redy bowne,
And wis me sone unto some towne.
I wate noght how I had þis wa,
Ne how þat I sal heþin ga.’
Sho answerd him with wordes hende,
‘Syr, if þou wil with me wende,
Ful gladly wil I ese þe,
Until þat þou amended be.’

Sho helped him up on his hors ryg,
And sone þai come until a bryg;
Into þe water þe boist sho cast,
And seþin hame sho hied fast.
When þai come to þe castel-ȝate,

Þai lighted and went in þarate.
Þe maiden to þe chameber went;
Þe lady asked þe unement.
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘þe boyst es lorn,
And so was I nerehand þarforn.’
‘How so,’ sho said, ‘for Goddes tre?’
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘I sal tel þe
Al þe soth how þat it was.
Als I over þe brig sold pas,
Evyn inmyddes, þe soth to say,
Þare stombild my palfray;
On þe brig he fell al flat,
And þe boyst right with þat
Fel fra me in þe water down;
And had I noght bene titter boun
To tak my palfray bi þe mane,
Þe water sone had bene my bane.’
Þe lady said, ‘Now am I shent,
Þat I have lorn my gude unement;
It was to me, so God me glade,
Þe best tresure þat ever I hade.
To me it es ful mekil skath,
Bot better es lose it þan ȝow bath.
Wend, sho said, unto þe knight
And luke þou ese him at þi myght.’
‘Lady,’ sho said, ‘els war me lathe.’
Þan sho gert him washe and bathe
And gaf him mete and drink of main,
Til he had geten his might ogayn.
Þai ordand armurs ful wele dight,
And so þai did stedes ful wight.

So it fell sone on a day,
Whils he in þe castel lay,
Þe ryche eryl, Syr Alers,
With knightes, serjantes and swiers,
And with swith grete vetale
Come þat kastel to asayle.
Sir Ywain þan his armurs tase

With oþer socure þat he hase.
Þe erel he kepes in þe felde,
And sone he hit ane on þe shelde,
Þat þe knyght and als þe stede
Stark ded to þe erth þai ȝede.
Sone anoþer, þe thrid, þe ferth
Feld he doun ded on þe erth;
He stird him so omang þam þan,
At ilka dint he slogh a man.
Sum he losed of hys men,
Bot þe eril lost swilk ten;
Al þai fled fast fra þat syde,
Whare þai saw Sir Ywayn ride.
He herted so his cumpany,
Þe moste coward was ful hardy
To fel al þat þai fand in felde.

Þe lady lay ever and bihelde;
Sho sais, ‘Yon es a nobil knyght,
Ful eger and of ful grete myght;
He es wele worthy forto prayse,
Þat es so doghty and curtayse.’
Þe mayden said, ‘Withowten let,
Ȝowre oynement mai ȝe think wele set;
Sese, madame, how [h]e prikes,
And sese also, how fele he stikes.
Lo, how he fars omang his fase;
Al þat he hittes sone he slase.
War þare swilk oþer twa als he,
Þan, hope I, sone þaire fase sold fle.
Sertes, þan sold we se ful tyte,
Þe eril sold be descumfite.
Madame, God gif, his wil were
To wed ȝow and be loverd here.’

Þe erils folk went fast to ded;
To fle þan was his best rede.
Þe eril sone bigan to fle,
And þan might men bourd se,
How Sir Ywayne and his feres
Folowd þam on fel maners;

And fast þai slogh þe erils men,
Olive þai left noght over ten.
Þe eril fled ful fast for drede,
And þan Sir Ywaine strake his stede
And overtoke him þat tide
At a kastel þarbysyde.
Sir Ywayne sone withset þe ȝate,
Þat þe eril myght noght in þarate.
Þe eril saw al might noght gain;
He ȝalde him sone to Sir Ywayn,
And sone he has his trowth plyght
To wend with him þat ilk night
Unto þe lady of grete renowne
And profer him to hir presowne,
And to do him in hir grace
And also to mend his trispase.

Þe eril þan unarmed his hevid,
And none armure on him he levid.
Helm, shelde and als his brand,
Þat he bare naked in his hand,
Al he gaf to Sir Ywayne,
And hame with him he went ogaine.
In þe kastel made þai joy ilkane,
When þai wist þe eril was tane;
And when þai saw þam cumand nere,
Ogayns him went þai al infere;
And when þe lady gan þam mete,
Sir Ywaine gudely gan hir grete.
He said, ‘Madame, have þi presoun
And hald him here in þi baundoun.’
Bot he gert hir grante him grace
To mak amendes yn þat space.
On a buke þe erl sware
Forto restore bath les and mare,
And big ogayn bath toure and toune,
Þat by him war casten doune,
And evermare to be hir frende.

Umage made he to þat hende;
To þis forward he borows fand,
Þe best lordes of al þat land.

Sir Ywaine wald no lenger lend,
Bot redies him fast forto wend.
At þe lady his leve he takes,
Grete murnyng þarfore sho makes.
Sho said, ‘Sir, if it be ȝowre will,
I pray ȝow forto dwel here still;
And I wil ȝelde into ȝowre handes
Myne awyn body and al my landes.’
Hereof fast sho hym bysoght,
Bot al hir speche avayles noght.
He said, ‘I wil no thing to mede
Bot myne armurs and my stede.’
Sho said, ‘Bath stede and oþer thing
Es ȝowres at ȝowre owyn likyng;
And if ȝe walde herewith us dwell,
Mekyl mirth war us omell.’
It was na bote to bid him bide,
He toke his stede and on gan stride;
Þe lady and hyr maydens gent
Wepid sare when þat he went.

Now rides Ywayn als ȝe sal here,
With hevy herte and dreri chere
Thurgh a forest by a sty;
And þare he herd a hydose cry.
Þe gaynest way ful sone he tase,
Til he come whare þe noys was.
Þan was he war of a dragoun,
Had asayled a wilde lyown;
With his tayl he drogh him fast,
And fire ever on him cast;
Þe lyoun had over litel myght
Ogaynes þe dragon forto fyght.
Þan Sir Ywayn made him bown
Forto sucore þe lyown;

His shelde bifore his face he fest
For þe fyre þat þe dragon kest;
He strake þe dragon in at þe chavyl,
Þat it come out at þe navyl;
Sunder strake he þe throte-boll,
Þat fra þe body went þe choll.
By þe lioun tail þe hevid hang ȝit,
For þarby had he tane his bit;
Þe tail Sir Ywayne strake in twa,
Þe dragon hevid þan fel þarfra.
He thoght, ‘If þe lyoun me asayle,
Redy sal he have batayle.’
Bot þe lyoun wald noght fyght,
Grete fawnyng made he to þe knyght.
Down on þe grund he set him oft,
His forþerfete he held oloft,
And thanked þe knyght als he kowth,
Al if he myght noght speke with mowth;
So wele þe lyon of him lete,
Ful law he lay and likked his fete.
When Syr Ywayne þat sight gan se,
Of þe beste him thoght pete,
And on his way forth gan he ride;
Þe lyown folowd by hys syde.
In þe forest al þat day
Þe lyoun mekely foloud ay,
And never for wele ne for wa
Wald he part Sir Ywayn fra.

Þus in þe forest als þai ware,
Þe lyoun hungerd swith sare.
Of a beste savore he hade;
Until hys lord sembland he made,
Þat he wald go to get his pray;
His kind it wald, þe soth to say.
For his lorde sold him noght greve,
He wald noght go withowten leve.
Fra his lord þe way he laght
Þe mountance of ane arow-draght;
Sone he met a barayn da,

And ful sone he gan hir sla;
Hir throte in twa ful sone he bate
And drank þe blode whils it was hate.
Þat da he kest þan in his nek,
Als it war a mele-sek.
Unto his lorde þan he it bare;
And Sir Ywayn parsayved þare,
Þat it was so nere þe nyght,
Þat no ferrer ride he might.

A loge of bowes sone he made,
And flynt and fire-yren bath he hade,
And fire ful sone þare he slogh
Of dry mos and many a bogh.
Þe lion has þe da undone;
Sir Ywayne made a spit ful sone,
And rosted sum to þaire sopere.
Þe lyon lay als ȝe sal here:
Unto na mete he him drogh
Until his maister had eten ynogh.
Him failed þare bath salt and brede,
And so him did whyte wine and rede;
Bot of swilk thing als þai had,
He and his lyon made þam glad.
Þe lyon hungerd for þe nanes,
Ful fast he ete raw fless and banes.
Sir Ywayn in þat ilk telde
Laid his hevid opon his shelde;
Al nyght þe lyon about ȝede
To kepe his mayster and his stede.
Þus þe lyon and þe knyght
Lended þare a fouretenyght.

On a day so it byfell,
Syr Ywayne come unto þe well.
He saw þe chapel and þe thorne
And said allas þat he was born;
And when he loked on þe stane,
He fel in swowing sone onane.
Als he fele his swerde outshoke;

Þe pomel into þe erth toke,
Þe poynt toke until his throte.
(Wel nere he made a sari note.)
Thorgh his armurs sone it smate,
A litel intil hys hals it bate;
And wen þe lyon saw his blude,
He brayded als he had bene wode.
Þan kest he up so lathly rerde,
Ful mani fok myght he have ferde;
He wend wele, so God me rede,
Þat his mayster had bene ded.
It was ful grete pete to here
What sorow he made on his manere.
He stirt ful hertly, I ȝow hete,
And toke þe swerde bytwix his fete;
Up he set it by a stane,
And þare he wald himself have slane;
And so he had sone, for sertayne,
Bot right in þat rase Syr Ywayne;
And alsone als he saw hym stand,
For fayn he liked fote and hand.
Sir Ywayn said oft sithes, ‘Allas,
Of alkins men hard es my grace.
Mi leman set me sertayn day,
And I it brak, so wayloway.
Allas, for dole how may I dwell
To se þis chapel and þis well,
Hir faire thorn, hir riche stane?
My gude dayes er now al gane,
My joy es done now al bidene,
I am noght worthi to be sene.
I saw þis wild beste was ful bayn
For my luf himself have slayne.
Þan sold I, sertes, by more right
Sla my self for swilk a wyght
Þat I have for my foly lorn.
Allas þe while þat I was born!’

Als Sir Ywayn made his mane
In þe chapel ay was ane

And herd his murnyng haly all
Thorgh a crevice of þe wall,
And sone it said with simepel chere,
‘What ertou, þat murnes here?’
‘A man,’ he sayd, ‘sum tyme I was.
What ertow? Tel me or I pas.’
‘I am,’ it sayd, ‘þe sariest wight,
Þat ever lifed by day or nyght.’
‘Nay,’ he said, ‘by Saynt Martyne,
Þare es na sorow mete to myne,
Ne no wight so wil of wane.
I was a man, now am I nane;
Whilom I was a nobil knyght
And a man of mekyl myght;
I had knyghtes of my menȝe
And of reches grete plente;
I had a ful fayre seignory,
And al I lost for my foly.
Mi maste sorow als sal þou here:
I lost a lady þat was me dere.’

Þe toþer sayd, ‘Allas, allas,
Myne es a wele sarier case:
To-morn I mun bere my jewyse,
Als my famen wil devise.’
‘Allas,’ he said, ‘what es þe skill?’
‘Þat sal þou here, sir, if þou will.
I was a mayden mekil of pride
With a lady here-nere-biside;
Men me bikalles of tresown
And has me put here in presown;
I have no man to defend me,
Þarfore to-morn brent mun I be.’
He sayd, ‘What if þou get a knyght,
Þat for þe with þi fase wil fight?’
‘Syr,’ sho sayd, ‘als mot I ga,
In þis land er bot knyghtes twa,
Þat me wald help to cover of care:
Þe tane es went, I wate noght whare;

Þe toþer es dweland with þe king
And wate noght of my myslykyng.
Þe tane of þam hat Syr Gawayn,
And þe toþer hat Syr Ywayn.
For hym sal I be done to dede
To-morn right in þis same stede;
He es þe Kinges son Uriene.’
‘Parfay,’ he sayd, ‘I have hym sene;
I am he, and for my gilt
Sal þou never more be spilt.
Þou ert Lunet, if I can rede,
Þat helpyd me yn mekyl drede;
I had bene ded had þou noght bene.
Þarfore tel me us bytwene,
How bical þai þe of treson
Þus forto sla and for what reson?’

‘Sir, þai say þat my lady
Lufed me moste specially,
And wroght al efter my rede;
Þarefore þai hate me to þe ded.
Þe steward says þat done have I
Grete tresone unto my lady.
His twa breþer sayd it als,
And I wist þat þai said fals;
And sone I answerd als a sot—
For fole bolt es sone shot—
I said þat I sold find a knyght,
Þat sold me mayntene in my right
And feght with þam al thre;
Þus þe batayl wajed we.
Þan þai granted me als tyte
Fourty dayes unto respite;
And at þe kynges court I was;
I fand na cumfort ne na solase
Nowþer of knyght, knave ne swayn.’
Þan said he, ‘Whare was Syr Gawayn?
He has bene ever trew and lele,
He fayled never no damysele.’

Scho said, ‘In court [he] was noght sene,
For a knyght led oway þe quene.
Þe king þarfore es swith grym;
Syr Gawayn folowd efter him,
He coms noght hame, for sertayne,
Until he bryng þe quene ogayne.
Now has þou herd, so God me rede,
Why I sal be done to ded.’
He said, ‘Als I am trew knyght,
I sal be redy forto fyght
To-morn with þam al thre,
Leman, for þe luf of þe.
At my might I sal noght fayl,
Bot how so bese of þe batayle,
If ani man my name þe frayne,
On al manere luke þou yt layne;
Unto na man my name þou say.’
‘Syr,’ sho sayd, ‘for soth, nay.
I prai to grete God alweldand,
Þat þai have noght þe hegher hand;
Sen þat ȝe wil my murnyng mend,
I tak þe grace þat God wil send.’
Syr Ywayn sayd, ‘I sal þe hyght
To mend þi murnyng at my myght;
Thorgh grace of God in trenyte
I sal þe wreke of þam al thre.’

Þan rade he forth into frith,
And hys lyoun went hym with.
Had he redyn bot a stownde,
A ful fayre castell he fownde;
And Syr Ywaine, þe soth to say,
Unto þe castel toke þe way.
When he come at þe castel-ȝate,
Foure porters he fand þarate.
Þe drawbryg sone lete þai doun,
Bot al þai fled for þe lyown.
Þai said, ‘Syr, withowten dowt,

Þat beste byhoves þe leve þarout,’
He sayd, ‘Sirs, [so] have I wyn,
Mi lyoun and I sal noght twyn;
I luf him als wele, I ȝow hete,
Als my self at ane mete;
Owþer sal we samyn lende,
Or els wil we heþin wende.’
Bot right with þat þe lord he met—
And ful gladly he him gret—
With knyghtes and swiers grete plente
And faire ladies and maydens fre;
Ful mekyl joy of him þai made,
Bot sorow in þaire hertes þai hade.
Unto a chameber was he led
And unarmed and seþin cled
In cloþes þat war gay and dere.
Bot ofttymes changed þaire chere;
Sum tyme, he saw, þai weped all
Als þai wald to water fall;
Þai made slike murny[n]g and slik mane
Þat gretter saw he never nane;
Þai feynyd þam oft for hys sake
Fayre semblant forto make.
Ful grete wonder Sir Ywayn hade
For þai swilk joy and sorow made;
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘if ȝowre wil ware,
I wald wyt why ȝe make slike kare.’

‘Þis joy,’ he said, ‘þat we mak now,
Sir, es al for we have ȝow;
And, sir, also we mak þis sorow
For dedys þat sal be done to-morow.
A geant wons here-nere-bysyde,
Þat es a devil of mekil pryde;
His name hat Harpyns of Mowntain.
For him we lyf in mekil payn;
My landes haves he robbed and reft,

Noght bot þis kastel es me left;
And, by God þat in hevyn wons,
Syr, I had sex knyghtis to sons;
I saw my self þe twa slogh he,
To-morn þe foure als slane mun be—
He has al in hys presowne—
And, sir, for nane oþer enchesowne,
Bot for I warned hym to wyve
My doghter, fayrest fode olyve.
Þarfore es he wonder-wrath,
[And] depely has he sworn hys ath,
With maystry þat he sal hir wyn,
And þat þe laddes of his kychyn
And also þat his werst fote-knave
His wil of þat woman sal have,
Bot I to-morn might find a knight,
Þat durst with hym selven fyght;
And I have none to him at ga.
What wonder es if me be wa?’

Syr Ywayn lystend hym ful wele,
And when he had talde ilka dele,
‘Syr,’ he sayd, ‘me think mervayl
Þat ȝe soght never no kounsayl
At þe kynges hous here-bysyde;
For, sertes, in al þis werld so wyde
Es no man of so mekil myght,
Geant, champioun ne knight,
Þat he ne has knyghtes of his menȝe
Þat ful glad and blyth wald be
Forto mete with swilk a man
Þat þai myght kyth þaire myghtes on.’
He said, ‘Syr, so God me mend,
Unto þe kynges kourt I send
To seke my mayster Syr Gawayn;
For he wald socore me ful fain.
He wald noght leve for luf ne drede,

Had he wist now of my nede;
For his sister es my wyfe,
And he lufes hyr als his lyfe.
Bot a knyght þis oþer day,
Þai talde, has led þe quene oway;
Forto seke hyr went Sir Gawayn,
And ȝit ne come he noght ogayn.’

Þan Syr Ywayne sighed sare
And said unto þe knyght right þare;
‘Syr,’ he sayd, ‘for Gawayn sake
Þis batayl wil I undertake
Forto fyght with þe geant;
And þat opon swilk a covenant,
Yif he cum at swilk a time,
So þat we may fight by prime.
No langer may I tent þarto,
For oþer thing I have to do;
I have a dede þat most be done
To-morn nedes byfor þe none.’
Þe knyght sare sighand sayd him till,
‘Sir, God ȝelde þe þi gode wyll.’
And al þat ware þare in þe hall,
On knese byfor hym gan þai fall.
Forth þare come a byrd ful bryght,
Þe fairest man might se in sight;
Hir moder come with hir infere,
And both þai morned and made yll chere.
Þe knight said, ‘Lo, verraiment,
God has us gude socure sent,
Þis knight þat of his grace wil grant
Forto fyght with þe geant.’
On knese þai fel doun to his fete
And thanked him with wordes swete.
‘A, God forbede’, said Sir Ywain,
‘Þat þe sister of Sir Gawayn
Or any oþer of his blode born
Sold on þis wise knel me byforn.’
He toke þam up tyte both infere
And prayd þam to amend þaire chere:
‘And praies fast to God alswa,

Þat I may venge ȝow on ȝowre fa,
And þat he cum swilk tyme of day,
Þat I by tyme may wend my way
Forto do anoþer dede;
For, sertes, þeder most I nede.
Sertes, I wald noght þam byswike
Forto win þis kinges rike.’
His thoght was on þat damysel,
Þat he left in þe chapel.
Þai said, ‘He es of grete renowne,
For with hym dwels þe lyoun.’
Ful wele confort war þai all
Bath in boure and als in hall;
Ful glad war þai of þaire gest;
And when tyme was at go to rest,
Þe lady broght him to his bed;
And for þe lyoun sho was adred.
Na man durst negh his chamber nere,
Fro þai war broght þareyn infere.

Sone at morn, when it was day,
Þe lady and þe fayre may
Til Ywayn chamber went þai sone,
And þe dore þai have undone.
Sir Ywayn to þe kyrk ȝede
Or he did any oþer dede;
He herd þe servise of þe day
And seþin to þe knyght gan say,
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘now most I wend,
Lenger here dar I noght lende;
Til oþer place byhoves me fare.’
Þan had þe knyght ful mekel care;
He said, ‘Syr, dwells a litel thraw
For luf of Gawayn þat ȝe knaw;
Socore us now or ȝe wende.
I sal ȝow gif withowten ende
Half my land with toun and toure,
And ȝe wil help us in þis stoure.’

Sir Ywayn said, ‘Nai, God forbede
Þat I sold tak any mede.’
Þan was grete dole, so God me glade,
To se þe sorow þat þai made.
Of þam Sir Ywayn had grete pete;
Him thoght his hert myght breke in thre;
For in grete drede ay gan he dwell
For þe mayden in þe chapell;
For, sertes, if sho war done to ded,
Of him war þan none oþer rede
Bot oiþer he sold hymselven sla
Or wode ogain to þe wod ga.

Ryght with þat þare come a grome
And said þam þat geant come:
‘Ȝowre sons bringes he him byforn,
Wel nere naked als þai war born.’
With wreched ragges war þai kled
And fast bunden; þus er þai led.
Þe geant was bath large and lang
And bare a levore of yren ful strang;
Þarwith he bet þam bitterly;
Grete rewth it was to here þam cry;
Þai had nothing þam forto hyde.
A dwergh ȝode on þe toþer syde;
He bare a scowrge with cordes ten;
Þarewith he bet þa gentil men
Ever onane als he war wode.
Efter ilka band brast out þe blode;
And when þai at þe walles were,
He cried loud þat men myght here,
‘If þou wil have þi sons in hele,
Deliver me þat damysele.
I sal hir gif to warisowne
Ane of þe foulest quisteroun,
Þat ever ȝit ete any brede;
He sal have hir maydenhede.
Þar sal none oþer lig hir by
Bot naked herlotes and lowsy.’
When þe lord þir wordes herd,
Als he war wode for wa he ferd.

Sir Ywayn þan þat was curtays,
Unto þe knyght ful sone he sais:
‘Þis geant es ful fers and fell
And of his wordes ful kruell;
I sal deliver hir of his aw
Or els be ded within a thraw.
For, sertes, it war a misaventure
Þat so gentil a creature
Sold ever so foul hap byfall
To be defouled with a thrall.’

Sone was he armed, Sir Ywayn;
Þarfore þe ladies war ful fayn.
Þai helpid to lace him in his wede,
And sone he lepe up on his stede.
Þai prai to God þat grace him grant
Forto sla þat foul geant.
Þe drawbrigges war laten doun,
And forth he rides with his lioun.
Ful mani sari murnand man
Left he in þe kastel þan,
Þat on þaire knese to God of might
Praied ful hertly for þe knyght.

Syr Ywayn rade into þe playne,
And þe geant come hym ogayne.
His levore was ful grete and lang
And himself ful mekyl and strang;
He said, ‘What devil made þe so balde
Forto cum heder out of þi halde?
Whosoever þe heder send,
Lufed þe litel, so God me mend;
Of þe he wald be wroken fayn.’
‘Do forth þi best,’ said Sir Ywayn.
Al þe armure he was yn,
Was noght bot of a bul-skyn.
Sir Ywayn was to him ful prest,
He strake to him inmiddes þe brest;
Þe spere was both stif and gode;
Whare it toke bit, outbrast þe blode;

So fast Sir Ywayn on yt soght,
Þe bul-scyn availed noght.
Þe geant stombild with þe dynt,
And unto Sir Ywayn he mynt,
And on þe shelde he hit ful fast,
It was mervayl þat it myght last.
Þe levore bended þarwithall,
With grete force he lete it fall,
Þe geant was so strong and wight,
Þat never for no dint of knyght
Ne for batayl þat he sold make,
Wald he none oþer wapyn take.
Sir Ywain left his spere of hand
And strake obout him with his brand,
And þe geant mekil of mayn
Strake ful fast to him ogayn,
Til at þe last within a throw
He rest him on his sadelbow;
And þat parcayved his lioun,
Þat his hevid so hanged doun,
He hopid þat hys lord was hyrt,
And to þe geant sone he styrt.
Þe scyn and fless bath rafe he down
Fro his hals to hys cropoun;
His ribbes myght men se onane,
For al was bare unto bane.
At þe lyown oft he mynt,
Bot ever he lepis fro his dynt,
So þat no strake on him lyght.
By þan was Ywain cumen to myght,
Þan wil he wreke him if he may.
Þe geant gaf he ful gude pay;
He smate oway al his left cheke,
His sholder als of gan he kleke,
Þat both his levore and his hand
Fel doun law op[o]n þe land.
Seþin with a stoke to him he stert
And smate þe geant unto þe hert:
Þan was nane oþer tale to tell,

Bot fast unto þe erth he fell,
Als it had bene a hevy tre.

Þan myght men in þe kastel se
Ful mekil mirth on ilka side.
Þe ȝates kest þai opyn wyde;
Þe lord unto Syr Ywaine ran,
Him foloud many a joyful man;
Also þe lady ran ful fast,
And hir doghter was noght þe last.
I may noght tel þe joy þai had;
And þe foure brether war ful glad,
For þai war out of bales broght.
Þe lord wist it helpid noght
At pray Sir Ywayn forto dwell,
For tales þat he byfore gan tell;
Bot hertly with his myght and mayn
He praied him forto cum ogayn
And dwel with him a litel stage,
When he had done hys vassage.
He said, ‘Sir, þat may I noght do;
Bileves wele, for me bus go.’
Þam was ful wo he wald noght dwell,
Bot fain þai war þat it so fell.

Þe neghest way þan gan he wele,
Until he come to þe chapele.
Þare he fand a mekil fire;
And þe mayden with lely lire
In hyr smok was bunden fast
Into þe fire forto be kast.
Unto himself he sayd in hy
And prayed to God almyghty,
Þat he sold for his mekil myght
Save fro shame þat swete wight.
‘Yf þai be many and mekil of pryse,
I sal let for no kouwardise;
For with me es bath God and right,
And þai sal help me forto fight,
And my lyon sal help me;
Þan er we foure ogayns þam thre.’

Sir Ywayn rides and cries þen,
‘Habides, I bid ȝow, fals men!
It semes wele þat ȝe er wode,
Þat wil spill þis sakles blode.
Ȝe sal noght so, yf þat I may.’
His lyown made hym redy way.
Naked he saw þe mayden stand
Bihind hir bunden aiþer hand:
Þan sighed Ywain wonder-oft,
Unnethes might he syt oloft.
Þare was no sembland þam bitwene,
Þat ever owþer had oþer sene.
Al obout hyr myght men se
Ful mykel sorow and grete pete
Of oþer ladies þat þare were,
Wepeand with ful sory chere.
‘Lord,’ þai sayd, ‘what es oure gylt?
Oure joy, oure confort sal be spilt.
Who sal now oure erandes say?
Allas, who sal now for us pray?’

Whils þai þus karped, was Lunet
On knese byfore þe prest set,
Of hir syns hir forto schrive.
And unto hir he went bylive,
Hir hand he toke, and up sho rase;
‘Leman,’ he sayd, ‘whore er þi fase?’
‘Sir, lo þam ȝonder in ȝone stede
Bideand until I be ded;
Þai have demed me with wrang.
Wel nere had ȝe dwelt over lang.
I pray to God he do ȝow mede
Þat ȝe wald help me in þis nede.’
Þir wordes herd þan þe steward;
He hies him unto hir ful hard.
He said, ‘Þou lies, fals woman!
For þi treson ertow tane.
Sho has bitraied hir lady,
And, sir, so wil sho þe in hy.

And þarefore, syr, by Goddes dome,
I rede þou wend right als þou com;
Þou takes a ful febil rede,
If þou for hir will suffer ded.’

Unto þe steward þan said he,
‘Who so es ferd, I rede he fle;
And, sertes, I have bene þis day,
Whare I had ful large pay;
And ȝit,’ he sayd, ‘I sal noght fail.’
To þam he waged þe batayl.
‘Do oway þi lioun,’ said þe steward;
‘For þat es noght oure forward.
Allane sal þou fight with us thre.’
And unto him þus answerd he,
‘Of my lioun no help I crave;
I ne have none oþer fote-knave;
If he wil do ȝow any dere,
I rede wele þat ȝe ȝow were.’
Þe steward said, ‘On alkins wise
Þi lyoun, sir, þou most chastise,
Þat he do here no harm þis day,
Or els wend forth on þi way;
For hir warand mai þou noght be,
Bot þou allane fight with us thre.
Al þir men wote, and so wote I,
Þa[t] sho bitrayed hir lady.
Als traytures sal sho have hyre,
Sho be brent here in þis fire.’
Sir Ywayn sad, ‘Nai, God forbede!’
(He wist wele how þe soth ȝede)
‘I trow to wreke hir with þe best.’
He bad his lyoun go to rest;
And he laid him sone onane
Doun byfore þam everilkane;
Bitwene his legges he layd his tail
And so biheld to þe batayl.

Al thre þai ride to Sir Ywayn,
And smertly rides he þam ogayn;
In þat time nothing tint he,

For his an strake was worth þaires thre.
He strake þe steward on þe shelde,
Þat he fel doun flat in þe felde;
Bot up he rase ȝit at þe last
And to Sir Ywayn strake ful fast.
Þarat þe lyoun greved sare,
No lenger wald he þan lig þare;
To help his mayster he went onane;
And þe ladies everilkane,
Þat war þare forto se þat sight,
Praied ful fast ay for þe knight.

Þe lyoun hasted him ful hard,
And sone he come to þe steward.
A ful fel mynt to him he made:
He bigan at þe shulder-blade,
And with his pawm al rafe he downe
Bath hauberk and his actoune
And al þe fless doun til his kne,
So þat men myght his guttes se;
To ground he fell so al torent
Was þare no man þat him ment.
Þus þe lioun gan hym sla.
Þan war þai bot twa and twa,
And, sertanly, þare Sir Ywayn
Als with wordes did his main
Forto chastis hys lyowne;
Bot he ne wald na more lig doun.
Þe liown thoght, how so he sayd,
Þat with his help he was wele payd.
Þai smate þe lyoun on ilka syde
And gaf him many woundes wide.

When þat he saw hys lyoun blede,
He ferd for wa als he wald wede,
And fast he strake þan in þat stoure,
Might þare none his dintes doure.
So grevosly þan he bygan
Þat doun he bare bath hors and man.
Þai ȝald þam sone to Sir Ywayn,
And þarof war þe folk ful fayne;

And sone quit to þam þaire hire,
For both he kest þam in þe fire
And said, ‘Wha juges men with wrang,
Þe same jugement sal þai fang.’
Þus he helpid þe maiden ȝing,
And seþin he made þe saghtelyng
Bitwene hyr and þe riche lady.

Þan al þe folk ful hastily
Proferd þam to his servise
To wirship him ever on al wise.
Nane of þam al wist bot Lunet,
Þat þai with þaire lord war met.
Þe lady prayed him als þe hend
Þat he hame with þam wald wende
Forto sojorn þare a stownd,
Til he wer warist of his wound.
By his sare set he noght a stra,
Bot for his lioun was him wa.
‘Madame,’ he said, ‘sertes, nay,
I mai noght dwel, þe soth to say.’
Sho said, ‘Sir, sen þou wyl wend,
Sai us þi name, so God þe mend.’
‘Madame,’ he said, ‘bi Saint Symoun,
I hat þe knight with þe lyoun.’
Sho said, ‘We saw ȝow never or now,
Ne never herd we speke of ȝow.’
‘Þarby,’ he sayd, ‘ȝe understand,
I am noght knawen wide in land.’
Sho said, ‘I prai þe forto dwell,
If þat þou may, here us omell.’
If sho had wist wele wha it was,
She wald wele lever have laten him pas;
And þarefore wald he noght be knawen
Both for hir ese and for his awyn.
He said, ‘No lenger dwel I ne may;
Beleves wele and haves goday.
I prai to Crist, hevyn kyng,

Lady, len ȝow gude lifing,
And len grace, þat al ȝowre anoy
May turn ȝow unto mykel joy.’
Sho said, ‘God grant þat it so be.’
Unto himself þan þus said he,
‘Þou ert þe lok and kay also
Of al my wele and al my wo.’

Now wendes he forth and morning mase,
And nane of þam wist what he was,
Bot Lunet þat he bad sold layn;
And so sho did with al hir mayne,
Sho cunvayd him forth on his way.
He said, ‘Gude leman, I þe pray,
Þat þou tel to no moder son,
Who has bene þi champion;
And als I pray þe, swete wight,
Late and arly þou do þi might
With speche unto my lady fre
Forto make hir frende with me.
Sen ȝe er now togeder glade,
Help þou þat we war frendes made.’
‘Sertes, sir,’ sho sayd, ‘ful fayn
Þareobout wil I be bayn;
And þat ȝe have done me þis day,
God do ȝow mede, als he wele may.’

Of Lunet þus his leve he tase,
Bot in hert grete sorow he hase;
His lioun feled so mekill wa,
Þat he ne myght no ferrer ga.
Sir Ywayn puld gres in þe felde
And made a kouche opon his shelde;
Þareon his lyoun laid he þare,
And forth he rides and sighes sare;
On his shelde so he him led,
Þan was he ful evyl sted.
Forth he rides by frith and fell,
Til he come to a fayre castell.
Þare he cald and swith sone

Þe porter has þe ȝates undone,
And to him made he ful gude chere.
He said, ‘Sir, ȝe er welcum here.’
Syr Ywain said, ‘God do þe mede,
For þarof have I mekil nede.’
Yn he rade right at þe ȝate;
Faire folk kepid hym þarate.
Þai toke his shelde and his lyoun,
And ful softly þai laid it doun;
Sum to stabil led his stede,
And sum also unlaced his wede.

Þai talde þe lord þan of þat knyght;
And sone he and his lady bryght
And þaire sons and doghters all
Come ful faire him forto kall;
Þai war ful fayn he þore was sted.
To chaumber sone þai have him led;
His bed was ordand richely,
And his lioun þai laid him by;
Him was no mister forto crave,
Redy he had what he wald have.
Twa maydens with him þai laft
Þat wele war lered of lechecraft;
Þe lordes doghters both þai wore
Þat war left to kepe hym þore.
Þai heled hym everilka wound,
And hys lyoun sone made þai sownd.
I can noght tel how lang he lay;
When he was helyd he went his way.

Bot whils he sojorned in þat place,
In þat land byfel þis case.
A litil þeþin in a stede
A grete lord of þe land was ded.
Lifand he had none oþer ayre
Bot two doghters þat war ful fayre.
Als sone als he was laid in molde,
Þe elder sister sayd sho wolde
Wend to court sone als sho myght,

Forto get hir som doghty knyght
Forto win hir al þe land
And hald it halely in hir hand.
Þe ȝonger sister saw sho ne myght
Have þat fell until hir right,
Bot if þat it war by batail;
To court sho wil at ask cownsayl.
Þe elder sister sone was ȝare,
Unto þe court fast gan sho fare.
To Sir Gawayn sho made hir mane,
And he has granted hyr onane,
‘Bot yt bus be so prevely,
Þat nane wit bot þou and I.
If þou of me makes any ȝelp,
Lorn has þou al my help.’

Þan efter on þe toþer day
Unto kourt come þe toþer may,
And to Sir Gawayn sone sho went
And talde unto him hir entent;
Of his help sho him bysoght.
‘Sertes,’ he sayd, ‘þat may I noght.’
Þan sho wepe and wrang hir handes;
And right with þat come new tithandes,
How a knyght with a lyoun
Had slane a geant ful feloun.
Þe same knight þare talde þis tale
Þat Syr Ywayn broght fra bale
Þat had wedded Gawayn sister dere.
Sho and hir sons war þare infere;
Þai broght þe dwergh, þat be ȝe balde,
And to Sir Gawayn have þai talde
How þe knyght with þe lyowne
Delivred þam out of presowne,
And how he for Syr Gawayn sake
Gan þat batayl undertake,
And als how nobilly þat he wroght.
Sir Gawayn said, ‘I knaw him n[o]ght.’
Þe ȝonger mayden þan alsone

Of þe king askes þis bone
To have respite of fourti dais,
Als it fel to landes lays.
Sho wist þare was no man of main
Þat wald fyght wi[t]h Sir Gawayn;
Sho thoght to seke by frith and fell
Þe knyght þat sho herd þam of tell.
Respite was granted of þis thing;
Þe mayden toke leve at [þe] king
And seþen at al þe baronage,
And forth sho went on hir vayage.

Day ne nyght wald sho noght spare;
Thurgh al þe land fast gan sho fare,
Thurgh castel and thurgh ilka toun
To seke þe knight with þe lyown:
He helpes al in word and dede,
Þat unto him has any nede.
Sho soght hym thurgh al þat land,
Bot of hym herd sho na tythand;
Na man kouth tel hir whare he was;
Ful grete sorow in hert sho has.
So mikel murning gan sho make
Þat a grete sekenes gan sho take.
Bot in hir way right wele sho sped;
At þat kastell was sho sted,
Whare Sir Ywayn are had bene
Helid of his sekenes clene.
Þare sho was ful wele knawen
And als welcum als til hyr awyn;
With alkyn gamyn þai gan hir glade,
And mikel joy of hir þai made.
Unto þe lord sho tald hyr case,
And helping hastily sho hase.

Stil in lecheing þare sho lay;
A maiden for hir toke þe way
Forto seke yf þat sho myght
In any land here of þat knyght;
And þat same kastel come sho by,

Whare Ywayn wedded þe lavedy;
And fast sho spird in ylk sesown
Efter þe knight with þe lioun.
Þai tald hir how he went þam fra,
And also how þay saw him sla
Thre nobil knyghtes for þe nanes
Þat faght with him al at anes.
Sho said, ‘Par charite, I ȝow pray,
If þat ȝe wate wil ȝe me say,
Whederward þat he es went?’
Þai said, for soth, þai toke na tent;
‘Ne here es nane þat þe can tell,
Bot if it be a damysell,
For whas sake he heder come,
And for hir þe batayl he name.
We trow wele þat sho can þe wis;
Ȝonder in ȝone kyrk sho ys;
Þarfore we rede to hyr þou ga’;
And hastily þan did sho swa.
Aiþer oþer ful gudeli gret,
And sone sho frayned at Lunet
If sho kouth ani sertain sayne;
And hendly answerd sho ogayne,
‘I sal sadel my palfray
And wend with þe forth on þi way
And wis þe als wele als I can.’
Ful oft siþes thanked sho hir þan.

Lunet was ful smertly ȝare,
And with þe mayden forth gan sho fare.
Als þai went, al sho hyr talde,
How sho was taken and done in halde,
How wikkedly þat sho was wreghed,
And how þat trayturs on hir leghed,
And how þat sho sold have bene brent,
Had noght God hir socore sent
Of þat knight with þe lyoun—
‘He lesed me out of presoun.’
Sho broght hir sone into a playn,
Whare sho parted fra Sir Ywayn;
Sho said, ‘Na mare can I tel þe,

Bot here parted he fra me.
How þat he went wate I no mare;
Bot wounded was he wonder-sare.
God þat for us sufferd wounde,
Len us to se him hale and sownde.
No lenger with þe may I dwell;
Bot cumly Crist þat heried hell,
Len þe grace þat þou may spede
Of þine erand als þou has nede.’
Lune[t] hastily hies hir home,
And þe mayden sone to þe kastel come
Whare he was helid byforehand.
Þe lord sone at þe ȝate sho fond
With knyghtes and ladies grete cumpani;
Sho haylsed þam al ful hendely,
And ful fayre praied sho to þam þen
If þai couth þai sold hyr ken
Whare sho myght fynd in toure or toun
A kumly knyght with a lyoun.
Þan said þe lord, ‘By swete Jhesus,
Right now parted he fra us;
Lo here þe steppes of his stede,
Evyn unto him þai wil þe lede.’

Þan toke sho leve and went hir way,
With sporrs sho sparid noght hir palfray;
Fast sho hyed with al hyr myght,
Until sho of him had a syght
And of hys lyoun þat by him ran.
Wonder-joyful was sho þan,
And with hir force sho hasted so fast
Þat sho overtoke him at þe last.
Sho hailsed him with hert ful fayn,
And he hir hailsed fayre ogayn.
Sho said, ‘Sir, wide have I ȝow soght;
And for my self ne es it noght,
Bot for a damysel of pryse
Þat halden es both war and wise.
Men dose to hir ful grete outrage,

Þai wald hir reve hyr heritage;
And in þis land now lifes none
Þat sho traystes hyr opone
Bot anly opon God and þe,
For þou ert of so grete bounte;
Thorgh help of þe sho hopes wele
To win hyr right everilka dele.
Scho sais no knyght þat lifes now
Mai help hir half so wele als þou;
Gret word sal gang of þi vassage,
If þat þou win hir heritage.
For thoght sho toke slike sekenes sare,
So þat sho might travail no mare,
I have ȝow soght on sydes sere;
Þarfore ȝowre answer wald I here,
Wheþer ȝe wil with me wend,
Or elswhare ȝow likes to lend.’
He said, ‘þat knyght þat idil lies
Oft siþes winnes ful litel pries.
Forþi mi rede sal sone be tane:
Gladly with þe wil I gane,
Wheder so þou wil me lede,
And hertly help þe in þi nede.
Sen þou haves me so wide soght,
Sertes, fail þe sal I noght.’

Þus þaire wai forth gan þai hald
Until a kastel þat was cald
Þe Castel of þe Hevy Sorow.
Þare wald he bide until þe morow;
Þare to habide him thoght it best,
For þe son drogh fast to rest.
Bot al þe men þat þai met,
Grete wonder sone on þam þai set
And [said], ‘Þou wreche, unsely man,
Whi wil þou here þi herber tane?
Þou passes noght without despite.’

Sir Ywain answerd þam als tyte
And said, ‘For soth, ȝe er unhende
An unkouth man so forto shende;
Ȝe sold noght say hym velany,
Bot if ȝe wist encheson why.’
Þai answerd þan and said ful sone,
‘Þou sal wit or to-morn at none.’
Syr Ywaine said, ‘For al ȝowre saw
Unto ȝon castel wil I draw.’
He and his lyoun and þe may
Unto þe castel toke þe way.
When þe porter of þam had sight,
Sone he said unto þe knight,
‘Cumes forth,’ he said, ‘ȝe al togeder!
Ful ille hail er ȝe cumen heder.’

Þus war þai welkumd at þe ȝate,
And ȝit þai went al in þarate;
Unto þe porter no word þai said.
A hal þai fand ful gudeli graid,
And als Sir Ywaine made entre,
Fast bisyde him þan saw he
A proper place and faire, iwis
Enclosed obout with a palis.
He loked in bitwix þe trese,
And many maidens þare he sese
Wirkand silk and gold-wire;
Bot þai war al in pover atire.
Þaire cloþes war reven on evil arai;
Ful tenderly al weped þai.
Þaire face war lene and als unclene,
And blak smokkes had þai on bidene;
Þai had mischef[s] ful manifalde
Of hunger, of threst and of calde;
And ever onane þai weped all,
Als þai wald to water fall.

When Ywaine al þis understode,
Ogayn unto þe ȝates he ȝode;
Bot þai war sperred ferli fast
With lokkes þat ful wele wald last.

Þe porter kepid þam with his main
And said, ‘Sir, þou most wend ogain;
I wate þou wald out at þe ȝate,
Bot þou mai noght by na gate.
Þi herber es tane til to-morow,
And þarfore getes þou mekill sorow.
Omang þi fase here sted ertow.’
He said, ‘So have I bene or now
And past ful wele; so sal I here.
Bot, leve frend, wiltou me lere
Of þise maidens what þai are,
Þat wirkes al þis riche ware?’
He said, ‘If þou wil wit trewly,
Forþermare þou most aspy.’
‘Þarfore,’ he said, ‘I sal n[o]ght lett.’
He soght and fand a dern weket,
He opind it and in he ȝede.
‘Maidens,’ he said, ‘God mot ȝow spede,
And als he sufferd woundes sare,
He send ȝow covering of ȝowre care,
So þat ȝe might mak merier chere.’
‘Sir,’ þai said, ‘God gif so were.’
‘Ȝowre sorow,’ he said, ‘unto me say,
And I sal mend it, yf I may.’

Ane of þam answerd ogayne
And said, ‘Þe soth we sal noght layne;
We sal ȝow tel or ȝe ga ferr,
Why we er here and what we err.
Sir, ȝe sal understand
Þat we er al of Maydenland.
Oure kyng opon his jolite
Passed thurgh many cuntre
Aventures to spir and spy
Forto asay his owen body.
His herber here anes gan he ta;
Þat was biginyng of oure wa.
For heryn er twa champions;
Men sais þai er þe devil sons,
Geten of a woman with a ram;

Ful many man have þai done gram.
What knight so herbers here a nyght,
With both at ones bihoves him fight.
So bus þe do, by bel and boke;
Allas, þat þou þine yns here toke.
Oure king was wight himself to welde
And of fourtene ȝeres of elde,
When he was tane with þam to fyght;
Bot unto þam had he no myght,
And when he saw him bud be ded,
Þan he kouth no better rede,
Bot did him haly in þaire grace
And made þam surete in þat place,
Forto ȝeld þam ilka ȝere,
So þat he sold be hale and fere,
Threty maidens to trowage,
And al sold be of hegh parage
And þe fairest of his land;
Herto held he up his hand.
Þis ilk rent byhoves hym gyf,
Als lang als þe fendes lyf,
Or til þai be in batayl tane,
Or els unto þai be al slane.
Þan sal we pas al heþin quite,
Þat here suffers al þis despite.
Bot herof es noght for speke;
Es none in werld þat us mai wreke.
We wirk here silver, silk and golde,
Es none richer on þis molde,
And never þe better er we kled,
And in grete hunger er we sted;
For al þat we wirk in þis stede,
We have noght half oure fil of brede;
For þe best þat sewes here any styk,
Takes bot foure penys in a wik,
And þat es litel wha som tase hede,
Any of us to kleth and fede.
Ilkone of us withouten lesyng

Might win ilk wike fourty shilling;
And ȝit, bot if we travail mare,
Oft þai bete us wonder-sare.
It helpes noght to tel þis tale,
For þare bese never bote of oure bale.
Oure maste sorow, sen we bigan,
Þat es þat we se mani a man,
Doghty dukes, yrels and barouns,
Oft sithes slane with þir champiowns;
With þam to-morn bihoves þe fight.’
Sir Ywayn said, ‘God, maste of myght,
Sal strenkith me in ilka dede
Ogains þa devils and al þaire drede;
Þat lord deliver ȝow of ȝowre fase.’
Þus takes he leve and forth he gase.

He passed forth into þe hall,
Þare fand he no man him to call;
No bewtese wald þai to him bede,
Bot hastily þai toke his stede
And also þe maydens palfray,
War served wele with corn and hay,
For wele þai hoped þat Sir Ywayn
Sold never have had his stede ogayn.
Thurgh þe hal Sir Ywain gase
Intil ane orcherd playn pase;
His maiden with him ledes he.
He fand a knyght under a tre,
Opon a clath of gold he lay;
Byfor him sat a ful fayre may;
A lady sat with þam infere.
Þe mayden red at þai myght here,
A real romance in þat place;
Bot I ne wote of wham it was.
Sho was bot fiftene ȝeres alde;
Þe knyght was lord of al þat halde,
And þat mayden was his ayre;
Sho was both gracious, gode and fare.

Sone, when þai saw Sir Ywaine,
Smertly rase þai hym ogayne,
And by þe hand þe lord him tase,

And unto him grete myrth he mase.
He said, ‘Sir, by swete Jhesus,
Þou ert ful welcum until us.’
Þe mayden was bowsom and bayne
Forto unarme Syr Ywayne;
Serk and breke bath sho hym broght,
Þat ful craftily war wroght
Of riche cloth soft als þe sylk
And þarto white als any mylk.
Sho broght hym ful riche wedes to were,
Hose and shose and alkins gere.
Sho payned hir with al hir myght
To serve him and his mayden bright.
Sone þai went unto sopere,
Ful really served þai were
With metes and drinkes of þe best,
And seþin war þai broght to rest.
In his chaumber by hym lay
His owin lyoun and his may.

At morn, when it was dayes lyght,
Up þai rase and sone þam dyght.
Sir Ywayn and hys damysele
Went ful sone til a chapele,
And þare þai herd a mes in haste
Þat was sayd of þe haly gaste.
Efter mes ordand he has
Forth on his way fast forto pas;
At þe lord hys leve he tase,
And grete thanking to him he mase.
Þe lord said, ‘Tak it to na greve,
To gang heþin ȝit getes þou na leve.
Herein es ane unsely law,
Þat has bene used of ald daw
And bus be done for frend or fa.
I sal do com byfor þe twa
Grete serjantes of mekil myght;
And, wheþer it be wrang or right,
Þou most tak þe shelde and spere

Ogaynes þam þe forto were.
If þou overcum þam in þis stoure,
Þan sal þou have al þis honoure
And my doghter in mariage
And also al myne heritage.’
Þan said Sir Ywayn, ‘Als mot I the,
Þi doghter sal þou have for me;
For a king or ane emparoure
May hir wed with grete honoure.’
Þe lord said, ‘Here sal cum na knyght,
Þat he ne sal with twa champions fight;
So sal þou do on al wise,
For it es knawen custum assise.’
Sir Ywaine said, ‘Sen I sal so,
Þan es þe best þat I may do
To put me baldly in þaire hend
And tak þe grace þat God wil send.’

Þe champions sone war forth broght.
Sir Ywain sais, ‘By him me boght,
Ȝe seme wele þe devils sons,
For I saw never swilk champions.’
Aiþer broght unto þe place
A mikel rownd talvace
And a klub ful grete and lang,
Thik fret with mani a thwang;
On bodies armyd wele þai ware,
Bot þare hedes bath war bare.
Þe lioun bremly on þam blist;
When he þam saw ful wele he wist
Þat þai sold with his mayster fight;
He thoght to help him at his myght;
With his tayl þe erth he dang,
For to fyght him thoght ful lang.
Of him a party had þai drede;
Þai said, ‘Syr knight, þou most nede
Do þi lioun out of þis place
For to us makes he grete manace,
Or ȝelde þe til us als creant.’

He said, ‘Þat war noght mine avenant.’
Þai said, ‘Þan do þi beste oway,
And als sone sal we samyn play.’
He said, ‘Sirs, if ȝe be agast,
Takes þe beste and bindes him fast.’
Þai said, ‘He sal be bun or slane,
For help of him sal þou have nane;
Þi self allane sal with us fight,
For þat es custume and þe right.’
Þan said Sir Ywain to þam sone:
‘Whare wil ȝe þat þe best be done?’
‘In a chamber he sal be loken
With gude lokkes ful stifly stoken.’
Sir Ywain led þan his lioun
Intil a chamber to presoun;
Þan war bath þa devils ful balde,
When þe lioun was in halde.

Sir Ywayn toke his nobil wede
And dight him yn, for he had nede;
And on his nobil stede he strade,
And baldely to þam bath he rade.
His mayden was ful sare adred,
Þat he was so straitly sted,
And unto God fast gan sho pray
Forto wyn him wele oway.
Þan strake þai on him wonder-sare
With þaire clubbes þat ful strang ware;
Opon his shelde so fast þai feld
Þat never a pece with oþer held;
Wonder it es þat any man
Might bere þe strakes þat he toke þan.
Mister haved he of socoure,
For he come never in swilk a stoure;
Bot manly evyr with al his mayn
And graithly hit he þam ogayn;
And als it telles in þe boke,
He gaf þe dubbil of þat he toke.

Ful grete sorow þe lioun has
In þe chameber whare he was;
And ever he thoght opon þat dede,

How he was helpid in his nede,
And he might now do na socowre
To him þat helpid him in þat stoure;
Might he out of þe chamber breke,
Sone he walde his maister wreke.
He herd þaire strakes þat war ful sterin,
And ȝern he waytes in ilka heryn,
And al was made ful fast to hald.
At þe last he come to þe thriswald;
Þe erth þare kest he up ful sone,
Als fast als foure men sold have done
If þai had broght bath bill and spade;
A mekil hole ful sone he made.
Yn al þis was Sir Ywayn
Ful straitly parred with mekil payn,
And drede he had, als him wele aght,
For nowþ[e]r of þam na woundes laght.
Kepe þam cowth þai wonder-wele
Þat dintes derid þam never a dele;
It was na wapen þat man might welde,
Might get a shever out of þaire shelde.
Þarof cowth Ywayn no rede,
Sare he douted to be ded;
And also his damysel
Ful mekil murny[n]g made omell,
And wele sho wend he sold be slane,
And, sertes, þan war hir socore gane.
Bot fast he stighteld in þat stowre,
And hastily him come socowre.

Now es þe lioun outbroken,
His maister sal ful sone be wroken.
He rynnes fast with ful fell rese,
Þan helpid it noght to prai for pese;
He stirt unto þat a glotowne,
And to þe erth he brayd him downe.
Þan was þare nane obout þat place,
Þat þai ne war fayn of þat faire chace
(Þe maiden had grete joy in hert);

Þai said, ‘He sal never rise in quert.’
His felow fraisted with al his mayn
To raise him smertly up ogayn;
And right so als he stowped doun,
Sir Ywain with his brand was boun,
And strake his nek-bane right insonder,
Þareof þe folk had mekil wonder.
His hevid trindeld on þe sand;
Þus had Ywain þe hegher hand.

When he had feld þat fowl feloun,
Of his stede he lighted down.
His lioun on þat oþer lay;
Now wil he help him, if he may.
Þe lioun saw his maister cum,
And to hys part he wald have som.
Þe right sholder oway he rase,
Both arm and klob with him he tase,
And so his maister gan he wreke;
And, als he might, ȝit gan he speke
And said, ‘Sir knight, for þi gentry,
I pray þe have of me mercy;
And by scill sal he mercy have,
What man so mekely wil it crave,
And þarfore grantes mercy to me.’
Sir Ywain said, ‘I grant it þe,
If þat þou wil þi selven say,
Þat þou ert overcumen þis day.’
He said, ‘I grant, withowten fail,
I am overcumen in þis batail
For pure ataynt and recreant.’
Sir Ywayn said, ‘Now I þe grant
Forto do þe na mare dere,
And fro my liown I sal þe were;
I grant þe pese at my powere.’

Þan come þe folk ful faire infere;
Þe lord and þe lady als
Þai toke him faire obout þe hals;

Þai [saide], ‘Sir, now saltou be
Lord and syre in þis cuntre,
And wed oure doghter, for sertayn.’
Sir Ywain answerd þan ogayn;
He said, ‘Sen ȝe gif me hir now,
I gif hir evyn ogayn to ȝow;
Of me forever I grant hir quite.
Bot, sir, takes it til no despite;
For, sertes, whif may I none wed,
Until my nedes be better sped.
Bot þis thing, sir, I ask of þe,
Þat al þir prisons may pas fre.
God has granted me þis chance,
I have made þaire delyverance.’
Þe lord answerd þan ful tyte
And said, ‘I grant þe þam al quite.
My doghter als, I rede, þou take;
Sho es noght worthi to forsake.’
Unto þe knyght Sir Ywain sais,
‘Sir, I sal noght hir mysprays;
For sho es so curtays and hende,
Þat fra hethin to þe werldes ende
Es no king ne emparoure
Ne no man of so grete honowre,
Þat he ne might wed þat bird bright;
And so wald I, if þat I myght.
I wald hir wed with ful gude chere,
Bot, lo, I have a mayden here;
To folow hir now most I nede,
Wheder so sho wil me lede.
Þarfore at þis time haves goday.’
He said, ‘Þou passes noght so oway.
Sen þou wil noght do als I tell,
In my prison sal þou dwell.’
He said, ‘If I lay þare al my live,
I sal hir never wed to wive;
For with þis maiden most I wend
Until we cum whare sho wil lend.’
Þe lord saw it was na bote

Obout þat mater more to mote.
He gaf him leve oway to fare,
Bot he had lever he had bene þare.

Sir Ywayn takes þan forth infere
Al þe prisons þat þare were;
Bifore hym sone þai come ilkane,
Nerehand naked and wo-bigane;
Stil he hoved at þe ȝate,
Til þai war went al forth þareate.
Twa and twa ay went þai samyn
And made omang þam mikel gamyn;
If God had cumen fra hevyn on hight
And on þis mold omang þam light,
Þai had noght made mare joy, sertain,
Þan þai made to Syr Ywayne.
Folk of þe toun com him biforn
And blissed þe time þat he was born;
Of his prowes war þai wele payd:
‘In þis werld es none slike,’ þai said.
Þai cunvayd him out of þe toun
With ful faire processiowne.
Þe maidens þan þaire leve has tane,
Ful mekil myrth þai made ilkane;
At þaire departing prayed þai þus:
‘Oure lord God, mighty Jhesus,
He help ȝow, sir, to have ȝowre will
And shilde ȝow ever fra alkyns ill.’
‘Maidens,’ he said, ‘God mot ȝow se
And bring ȝow wele whare ȝe wald be.’
Þus þaire way forther þai went:
Na more unto þam wil we tent.

Sir Ywayn and his faire may
Al þe sevenight traveld þai.
Þe maiden knew þe way ful wele
Hame until þat ilk castele
Whare sho left þe seke may;
And þeder hastily come þai.
When þai come to þe castel-Ȝate,
Sho led Sir Ywain yn þareate.

Þe mayden was ȝit seke lyand;
Bot, when þai talde hir þis tithand,
Þat cumen was hir messagere
And þe knyght with hyr infere,
Swilk joy þareof sho had in hert,
Hir thoght þat sho was al in quert.
Sho said, ‘I wate my sister will
Gif me now þat falles me till.’
In hir hert sho was ful light;
Ful hendly hailsed sho þe knight:
‘A, sir,’ sho said, ‘God do þe mede,
Þat þou wald cum in swilk a nede’;
And al þat in þat kastel were
Welkumd him with meri chere.
I can noght say, so God me glade,
Half þe myrth þat þai him made.
Þat night he had ful nobil rest
With alkins esement of þe best.
Als sone als þe day was sent,
Þai ordaind þam and forth þai went.

Until þat town fast gan þai ride
Whare þe kyng sojorned þat tide;
And þare þe elder sister lay,
Redy forto kepe hyr day.
Sho traisted wele on Sir Gawayn,
Þat no knyght sold cum him ogayn;
Sho hopid þare was no knyght lifand,
In batail þat might with him stand.
Al a sevenight dayes bidene
Wald noght Sir Gawayn be sene,
Bot in ane oþer toun he lay;
For he wald cum at þe day
Als aventerous into þe place,
So þat no man sold se his face;
Þe armes he bare war noght his awyn,
For he wald noght in court be knawyn.

Syr Y[w]ayn and his damysell
In þe town toke þaire hostell;

And þare he held him prevely,
So þat none sold him ascry.
Had þai dwelt langer by a day,
Þan had sho lorn hir land for ay.
Sir Ywain rested þare þat nyght,
And on þe morn he gan hym dyght;
On slepe left þai his lyowne
And wan þam wightly out of toun.
It was hir wil and als hys awyn
At cum to court als knyght unknawyn.

Sone obout þe prime of day
Sir Gawayn fra þeþin þare he lay,
Hies him fast into þe felde
Wele armyd with spere and shelde;
No man knew him, les ne more,
Bot sho þat he sold fight fore.
Þe elder sister to court come
Unto þe king at ask hir dome;
Sho said, ‘I am cumen with my knyght
Al redy to defend my right.
Þis day was us set sesowne,
And I am here al redy bowne;
And sen þis es þe last day,
Gifes dome and lates us wend oure way.
My sister has al sydes soght,
Bot, wele I wate, here cums sho noght;
For, sertainly, sho findes nane,
Þat dar þe batail undertane
Þis day for hir forto fyght
Forto reve fra me my right.
Now have I wele wonnen my land
Withowten dint of knightes hand;
What so my sister ever has mynt,
Al hir part now tel I tynt;
Al es myne to sell and gyf,
Als a wreche ay sal sho lyf.
Þarfore, Sir King, sen it es swa,
Gifes ȝowre dome and lat us ga.’

Þe king said, ‘Maiden, think noght lang.’

(Wele he wist sho had þe wrang.)
‘Damysel, it es þe assyse,
Whils sityng es of þe justise,
Þe dome nedes þou most habide;
For par aventure it may bityde,
Þi sister sal cum al bi tyme,
For it es litil passed prime.’
When þe king had tald þis scill,
Þai saw cum rideand over a hyll
Þe ȝonger sister and hir knyght;
Þe way to town þai toke ful right.
On Ywains bed his liown lay,
And þai had stollen fra him oway.
Þe elder maiden made il chere,
When þai to court cumen were.
Þe king withdrogh his jugement,
For wele he trowed in his entent
Þat þe ȝonger sister had þe right,
And þat sho sold cum with sum knyght;
Himself knew hyr wele inogh.
When he hir saw, ful fast he logh;
Him liked it wele in his hert,
Þat he saw hir so in quert.

Into þe court sho toke þe way,
And to þe king þus gan sho say,
‘God þat governs alkin thing,
Þe save and se, Syr Arthure þe Kyng,
And al þe knyghtes þat langes to þe,
And also al þi mery menȝe.
Unto ȝowre court, sir, have I broght
An unkouth knyght þat ȝe knaw noght;
He sais þat sothly for my sake
Þis batayl wil he undertake;
And he haves ȝit in oþer land
Ful felle dedes under hand;
Bot al he leves, God do him mede,
Forto help me in my nede.’
Hir [elder] sister stode hyr by,

And tyl hyr sayd sho hastily,
‘For hys luf þat lens us life,
Gif me my right withouten strife,
And lat no men þarfore be slayn.’
Þe elder sister sayd ogayn:
‘Þi right es noght, for al es myne,
And I wil have yt mawgre þine.
Þarfore, if þou preche al day,
Here sal þou nothing bere oway.’
Þe ȝonger mayden to hir says,
‘Sister, þou ert ful curtays,
And gret dole es it forto se,
Slike two knightes al[s] þai be,
For us sal put þamself to spill.
Þarefore now, if it be þi will,
Of þi gude wil me þou gif
Sumthing þat I may on lif.’

Þe elder said, ‘So mot I the,
Who so es ferd, I rede þai fle.
Þou getes right noght, withowten fail,
Bot if þou win yt thurgh batail.’
Þe ȝonger said, ‘Sen þou wil swa,
To þe grace of God here I me ta;
And lord als he es maste of myght,
He send his socore to þat knyght
Þat þus in dede of charite
Þis day antres hys lif for me.’

Þe twa knightes come bifor þe king
And þare was sone ful grete gedering;
For ilka man þat walk might,
Hasted sone to se þat syght.
Of þam þis was a selly case,
Þat nowþer wist what oþer wase;
Ful grete luf was bitwix þam twa,
And now er aiþer oþer fa;
Ne þe king kowth þam noght knaw,
For þai wald noght þaire faces shew.
If owþer of þam had oþer sene,

Grete luf had bene þam bitwene;
Now was þis a grete selly
Þat trew luf and so grete envy,
Als bitwix þam twa was þan,
Might bath at anes be in a man.
Þe knightes for þase maidens love
Aiþer til oþer kast a glove,
And wele armed with spere and shelde
Þai riden both forth to þe felde;
Þai stroke þaire stedes þat war kene;
Litel luf was þam bitwene.
Ful grevosly bigan þat gamyn,
With stalworth speres strake þai samen;
And þai had anes togeder spoken,
Had þare bene no speres broken;
Bot in þat time bitid it swa,
Þat aiþer of þam wald oþer sla.
Þai drow swerdes and swang obout,
To dele dyntes had þai no dout.
Þaire sheldes war shiferd and helms rifen,
Ful stalworth strakes war þare gifen.
Bath on bak and brestes þare
War bath wounded wonder-sare;
In many stedes might men ken
Þe blode out of þaire bodies ren.
On helmes þai gaf slike strakes kene
Þat þe riche stanes al bidene
And oþer gere þat was ful gude,
Was overcoverd al in blode.
Þaire helmes war evel brusten bath,
And þai also war wonder-wrath.
Þaire hauberkes als war al totorn
Both bihind and als byforn;
Þaire sheldes lay sheverd on þe ground.
Þai rest þan a litil stound
Forto tak þaire ande þam till,
And þat was with þaire boþer will.
Bot ful lang rested þai noght,
Til aiþer of þam on oþer soght;

A stronge stowre was þam bitwene,
Harder had men never sene.

Þe king and oþer þat þare ware,
Said þat þai saw never are
So nobil knightes in no place
So lang fight bot by Goddes grace.
Barons, knightes, squiers and knaves
Said, ‘It es no man þat haves
So mekil tresore ne nobillay,
Þat might þam quite þaire dede þis day.’
Þir wordes herd þe knyghtes twa,
It made þam forto be more thra.

Knightes went obout gude wane
To mak þe two sisters at ane:
Bot þe elder was so unkinde,
In hir þai might no mercy finde;
And þe right þat þe ȝonger hase,
Puttes sho in þe kinges grace.
Þe king himself and als þe quene
And oþer knightes al bidene
And al þat saw þat dede þat day,
Held al with þe ȝonger may;
And to þe king al þai bisoght,
Wheþer þe elder wald or noght,
Þat he sold evin þe landes dele
And gif þe ȝonger damysele
Þe half or els sum porciowne,
Þat sho mai have to warisowne,
And part þe two knightes intwyn.
‘For, sertis,’ þai said, ‘it war grete syn,
Þat owþer of þam sold oþer sla,
For in þe werld es noght swilk twa.
When oþer knightes,’ said þai, ‘sold sese,
Þamself wald noght asent to pese.’
Al þat ever saw þat batayl,
Of þaire might had grete mervayl;
Þai saw never under þe hevyn
Twa knightes þat war copled so evyn.

Of al þe folk was none so wise,
Þat wist wheþer sold have þe prise;
For þai saw never so stalworth stoure,
Ful dere boght þai þat honowre.
Grete wonder had Sir Gawayn,
What he was þat faght him ogain;
And Sir Ywain had grete ferly,
Wha stode ogaynes him so stifly.
On þis wise lasted þat fight
Fra midmorn unto mirk night;
And by þat tyme, I trow, þai twa
War ful weri and sare alswa.
Þai had bled so mekil blode,
It was grete ferly þat þai stode;
So sare þai bet on bak and brest,
Until þe sun was gone to rest;
For nowþer of þam wald oþer spare.
For mirk might þai þan na mare,
Þarfore to rest þai both þam ȝelde.

Bot or þai past out of þe felde,
Bitwix þam two might men se
Both mekil joy and grete pete.
By speche might no man Gawain knaw,
So was he hase and spak ful law;
And mekil was he out of maght
For þe strakes þat he had laght;
And Sir Ywain was ful wery,
Bot þus he spekes and sais in hy;
He said, ‘Syr, sen us failes light,
I hope it be no lifand wight,
Þat wil us blame if þat we twin.
For of al stedes I have bene yn,
With no man ȝit never I met
Þat so wele kowth his strakes set;
So nobil strakes has þou gifen
Þat my sheld es al toreven.’

Sir Gawayn said, ‘Sir, sertanly,
Þou ert noght so weri als I;

For if we langer fightand were,
I trow I might do þe no dere.
Þou ert nothing in my det
Of strakes þat I on þe set.’
Sir Ywain said, ‘In Cristes name,
Sai me what þou hat at hame.’
He said, ‘Sen þou my name wil here
And covaites to wit what it were,
My name in þis land mani wote;
I hat Gawayn, þe King son Lote.’
Þan was Sir Ywayn sore agast;
His swerde fra him he kast.
He ferd right als he wald wede,
And sone he stirt down of his stede.
He said, ‘Here es a fowl mischance
For defaut of conisance.
A, sir,’ he said, ‘had I þe sene,
Þan had here no batel bene;
I had me ȝolden to þe als tite,
Als worthi war for descumfite.’
‘What man ertou?’ said Sir Gawain.
‘Syr,’ he sayd, ‘I hat Ywayne,
Þat lufes þe more by se and sand
Þan any man þat es lifand,
For mani dedes þat þou me did,
And curtaysi ȝe have me kyd.
Þarfore, sir, now in þis stoure
I sal do þe þis honowre:
I grant þat þou has me overcumen
And by strenkyth in batayl nomen.’

Sir Gawayn answerd als curtays:
‘Þou sal noght do, sir, als þou sais;
Þis honowre sal noght be myne,
Bot, sertes, it aw wele at be þine;
I gif it þe here withowten hone
And grantes þat I am undone.’
Sone þai light, so sais þe boke,
And aiþer oþer in armes toke

And kissed so ful fele sithe;
Þan war þai both glad and blithe.

In armes so þai stode togeder,
Unto þe king com ridand þeder;
And fast he covait forto here
Of þir knightes what þai were,
And whi þai made so mekil gamyn,
Sen þai had so foghten samyn.
Ful hendli þan asked þe king,
Wha had so sone made saghteling
Bitwix þam þat had bene so wrath
And aiþer haved done oþer scath.
He said, ‘I wend ȝe wald ful fain
Aiþer of ȝow have oþer slayn,
And now ȝe er so frendes dere’
‘Sir King,’ said Gawain, ‘ȝe sal here.
For unknawing and hard grace
Þus have we foghten in þis place;
I am Gawayn, ȝowre awin nevow,
And Sir Ywayn faght with me now.
When we war nere weri, iwys,
Mi name he frayned and I his;
When we war knawin, sone gan we sese.
Bot, sertes, sir, þis es no lese,
Had we foghten forth a stownde,
I wote wele I had gone to grounde;
By his prowes and his mayne,
I wate, for soth, I had bene slayne.’

Þir wordes menged al þe mode
Of Sir Ywain als he stode;
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘so mot I go,
Ȝe kn[a]w ȝowre self it es noght so.
Sir King,’ he said, ‘withowten fail,
I am overcumen in þis batayl.’
‘Nai, sertes,’ said Gawain, ‘bot am I.’
Þus nowþer wald have þe maistri,
Bifore þe king gan aiþer grant,
Þat himself was recreant.
Þan þe king and hys menȝe

Had bath joy and grete pete;
He was ful fayn þai frendes were,
And þat þai ware so funden infere.

Þe kyng said, ‘Now es wele sene
Þat mekil luf was ȝow bitwene.’
He said, ‘Sir Ywain, welkum home!’
For it was lang sen he þare come.
He said, ‘I rede ȝe both assent
To do ȝow in my jujement;
And I sal mak so gude ane ende
Þat ȝe sal both be halden hende.’
Þai both assented sone þartill
To do þam in þe kynges will,
If þe maydens wald do so.
Þan þe king bad knyghtes two
Wend efter þe maydens bath,
And so þai did ful swith rath.

Bifore þe kyng when þai war broght,
He tald unto þam als him thoght,
‘Lystens me now, maydens hende,
Ȝowre grete debate es broght til ende;
So fer forth now es it dreven
Þat þe dome most nedes be gifen,
And I sal deme ȝow als I can.’
Þe elder sister answerd þan:
‘Sen ȝe er king þat us sold were,
I pray ȝow do to me na dere.’
He said, ‘I wil let for na saw
Forto do þe landes law.
Þi ȝong sister sal have hir right,
For I se wele þat þi knyght
Es overcumen in þis were.’
Þus said he anely hir to fere,
And for he wist hir wil ful wele,
Þat sho wald part with never a dele.
‘Sir,’ sho said, ‘sen þus es gane,
Now most I wheþer I wil or nane,
Al ȝowre cumandment fufill,
And þarfore dose right als ȝe will.’
Þe king said, ‘Þus sal it fall,

100

Al ȝowre landes depart I sall.
Þi wil es wrang, þat have I knawin;
Now sal þou have noght bot þin awin,
Þat es þe half of al bydene.’
Þan answerd sho ful tite in tene
And said, ‘Me think ful grete outrage
To gif hir half myne heritage.’
Þe king said, ‘For ȝowre bother esse
In hir land I sal hir sese,
And sho sal hald hir land of þe
And to þe þarfore mak fewte;
Sho sal þe luf als hir lady,
And þou sal kith þi curtaysi,
Luf hir efter þine avenant,
And sho sal be to þe tenant.’
Þis land was first, I understand,
Þat ever was parted in Ingland.
Þan said þe king, withow[t]en fail,
For þe luf of þat batayl
Al sisters þat sold efter bene
Sold part þe landes þam bitwene.

Þan said þe king to Sir Gawain,
And als he prayed Sir Ywain
Forto unlace þaire riche wede;
And þarto had þai bath grete nede.
Als þai þusgate stod and spak,
Þe lyown out of þe chamber brak.
Als þai þaire armurs sold unlace,
Come he rinand to þat place.
Bot he had, or he come þare,
Soght his mayster whideware;
And ful mekil joy he made
When he his mayster funden hade.
On ilka side þan might men se,
Þe folk fast to toun gan fle;
So war þai ferd for þe liowne
Whan þai saw him þeder bown.
Syr Ywain bad þam cum ogayn

101

And said, ‘Lordinges, for sertayn,
Fra þis beste I sal ȝow were,
So þat he sal do ȝow no dere;
And, sirs, ȝe sal wele trow mi sawes;
We er frendes and gude felaws.
He es mine and I am his;
For na tresore I wald him mys.’

When þai saw þis was sertain,
Þan spak þai al of Sir Ywaine,
‘Þis es þe knight with þe liown,
Þat es halden of so grete renown.
Þis ilk knight þe geant slogh;
Of dedis he es doghty inogh.’
Þan said Sir Gawayn sone in hi,
‘Me es bitid grete velani;
I cri þe mercy, Sir Ywayne,
Þat I have trispast þe ogayn.
Þou helped mi syster in hir nede;
Evil have I quit þe now þi mede.
Þou anterd þi life for luf of me;
And als mi sister tald of þe,
Þou said þat we ful fele dawes
Had bene frendes and gude fel[a]wes.
Bot wha it was ne wist I noght
Sethen have I had ful mekil thoght,
And ȝit for al þat I do can,
I cowth never here of na man,
Þat me cowth tell in toure ne town
Of þe knight with þe liown.’

When þai had unlaced þaire wede,
Al þe folk toke ful gode hede,
How þat beste his bales to bete
Likked his maister both hend and fete.
Al þe men grete mervail hade
Of þe mirth þe lyown made.
When þe knightes war broght to rest,
Þe king gert cum sone of þe best
Surgiens þat [e]ver war sene

102

Forto hele þam both bidene.

Sone so þai war hale and sownd,
Sir Ywayn hies him fast to found.
Luf was so in his hert fest,
Night ne day haved he no rest;
Bot he get grace of his lady,
He most go wode or for luf dy.
Ful preveli forth gan he wende
Out of þe court fra ilka frende.
He rides right unto þe well,
And þare he thinkes forto dwell.
His gode lyon went with him ay,
He wald noght part fro him oway.
He kest water opon þe stane:
Þe storm rase ful sone onane,
Þe thoner grisely gan outbrest;
Him thoght als al þe grete forest
And al þat was obout þe well
Sold have sonken into hell.

Þe lady was in mekyl dout,
For al þe kastel walles obout
Quoke so fast þat men might think
Þat al into þe erth sold synk;
Þai trembled fast, both boure and hall,
Als þai unto þe grund sold fall.
Was never in þis mydlerde
In no kastell folk so ferde.
Bot wha it was wele wist Lunet;
Sho said, ‘Now er we hard byset;
Madame, I ne wate what us es best,
For here now may we have no rest.
Ful wele I wate ȝe have no knight,
Þat dar wende to ȝowre wel and fight
With him þat cumes ȝow to asaile;
And, if he have here no batayle
Ne findes none ȝow to defend,
Ȝowre lose bese lorn withouten end.’
Þe lady said sho wald be dede;
‘Dere Lunet, what es þi rede?
Wirk I wil by þi kounsail,

103

For I ne wate noght what mai avail.’
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘I wald ful fayn
Kownsail ȝow if it might gayn.
Bot in þis case it war mystere
To have a wiser kownsaylere.’
And by desait þan gan sho say,
‘Madame, par chance þis ilk day
Sum of ȝowre knightes mai cum hame
And ȝow defend of al þis shame.’
‘A,’ sho said, ‘Lunet, lat be;
Speke na more of my menȝe;
For wele I wate, so God me mend,
I have na knight me mai defend.
Þarfore my kownsail bus þe be,
And I wil wirk al efter þe,
And þarfore help at al þi myght.’
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘had we þat knyght,
Þat es so curtais and avenant
And has slane þe grete geant,
And als þat þe thre knightes slogh,
Of him ȝe myght be trist inogh.
Bot forþermar, madame, I wate,
He and his lady er at debate
And has bene so ful many day;
And als I herd hym selvyn say,
He wald bileve with no lady
Bot on þis kownand utterly,
Þat þai wald mak sertayn ath
To do þaire might and kunyng bath
Trewly both by day and naght
To mak him and hys lady saght.’

Þe lady answerd sone hir tyll,
‘Þat wil I do with ful gode will;
Unto þe here mi trowth I plight
Þat I sal þarto do mi might.’
Sho said, ‘Mada[m]e, be ȝe noght wrath,
I most nedes have of ȝow an ath,
So þat I mai be sertayn.’
Þe lady said, ‘Þat will I fayn.’

104

Lunet þan riche relikes toke,
Þe chalis and þe mes-boke;
On knese þe lady down hir set
(Wit ȝe wele, þan liked Lunet),
Hir hand opon þe boke sho laid,
And Lunet alþus to hir said,
‘Madame,’ sho said, ‘þou salt sw[e]re here
Þat þou sal do þi powere
Both dai and night opon al wise
Withouten a[ni]kyns fayntise
To saghtel þe knyght with þe liown
And his lady of grete renowne,
So þat no faut be funden in þe.’
Sho said, ‘I grant, it sal so be.’
Þan was Lunet wele paid of þis;
Þe boke sho gert hir lady kys.

Sone a palfray sho bistrade,
And on hir way fast forth sho rade;
Þe next way ful sone sho nome,
Until sho to þe well come.
Sir Ywain sat under þe thorn,
And his lyoun lay him byforn.
Sho knew him wele by his lioun,
And hastily sho lighted downe;
And als sone als he Lunet sagh,
In his hert þan list him lagh.
Mekil mirth was when þai met,
Aiþer oþer ful faire has gret.
Sho said, ‘I love grete God in trone
Þat I have ȝow fun so sone,
And tiþandes tel I ȝow biforn;
Oþer sal my lady be manesworn
On relikes and bi bokes brade,
Or els ȝe twa er frendes made.’
Sir Ywain þan was wonder-glad
For þe tiþandes þat he had;

105

He thanked hir ful fele sith
Þat sho wald him slike gudenes kith,
And sho him thanked mekill mare
For þe dedes þat war done are.
So aþer was in oþer det,
Þat both þaire travail was wele set.
He sais, ‘Talde þou hir oght my name?’
Sho said, ‘Nay, þan war I to blame;
Þi name sho sal noght wit for me,
Til ȝe have kyssed and saghteld be.’

Þan rade þai forth toward þe town,
And with þam ran þe gude lyoun.
When þai come to þe castel-ȝate,
Al went þai in þareat.
Þai spak na word to na man born
Of al þe folk þai fand byforn.
Als sone so þe lady herd sayn,
Hir damisel was cumen ogayn
And als þe liown and þe knight,
Þan in hert sho was ful lyght;
Scho covait ever of al thing
Of him to have knawlageing.
Sir Ywain sone on knese him set,
When he with þe lady met.
Lunet said to þe lady sone,
‘Take up þe knight, madame, have done!
And, als covenand bituix us was,
Makes his pese fast or he pas.’
Þan did þe ladi him up rise;
‘Sir,’ sho said, ‘opon al wise,
I wil me pain in al thing
Forto mak þi saghtelyng
Bitwix þe and þi lady bryght.’
‘Medame,’ said Lunet, ‘þat es right,
For nane bot ȝe has þat powere.
Al þe soth now sal ȝe here.
Madame,’ sho said, ‘es noght at layn,
Þis es my lord Sir Ywaine.

106

Swilk luf God bitwix ȝow send,
Þat may last to ȝowre lives end.’

Þan went þe lady fer obak,
And lang sho stode or þat sho spak.
Sho said, ‘How es þis, damysele?
I wend þou sold be to me lele,
Þat makes me, whether I wil or noght,
Luf þam þat me wa has wroght,
So þat me bus be forsworn
Or luf þam þat wald I war lorn.
Bot, wheþer it torn to wele or ill,
Þat I have said, I sal fulfill.’
Wit ȝe wele, þan Sir Ywaine
Of þa wordes was ful fayne.
‘Madame,’ he said, ‘I have miswroght,
And þat I have ful dere boght.
Grete foly I did, þe soth to say,
When þat I past my terme-day;
And, sertes, wha so had so bityd,
Þai sold have done right als I dyd.
Bot I sal never thorgh Goddes grace
At mi might do more trispase;
And what man so wil mercy crave,
By Goddes law he sal it have.’
Þan sho asented saghteling to mak;
And sone in arms he gan hir tak
And kissed hir ful oft sith:
Was he never are so blith.

Now has Sir Ywain ending made
Of al þe sorows þat he hade.
Ful lely lufed he ever hys whyfe
And sho him als hyr owin life;
Þat lasted to þaire lives ende.
And trew Lunet, þe maiden hende,
Was honord ever with ald and ȝing
And lifed at hir owin likyng;
Of alkins thing sho has maystri
Next þe lord and þe lady;

107

Al honord hir in toure and toun.
Þus þe knyght with þe liown
Es turned now to Syr Ywayn
And has his lordship al ogayn;
And so Sir Ywain and his wive
In joy and blis þai led þaire live.
So did Lunet and þe liown
Until þat ded haves dreven þam down.

Of þam na mare have I herd tell
Nowþer in rumance ne in spell.
Bot Jhesu Criste for his grete grace
In hevyn-blis grante us a place
To bide in, if his wills be.
Amen, amen, par charite.