ll. 1-24from Harl.3810: om. MS.ll. 7-8followll. 9-10in Harl.12o loue] to loweHarl.26In Inglond] And in his tymeHarl.33-46from Harl. 3810: om. MS.49-50om. Harl., Ashm.51Þe king] HeHarl.: AndAshm.82reueysed] rauysedAshm.: reueydMS.: wode outHarl.230no] neAshm.: om. MS.333wreche] wrocheMS.406lef] liifMS.478Winchester] TraciensAshm.: CrassensHarl.
ll. 1-24from Harl.3810: om. MS.
ll. 7-8followll. 9-10in Harl.
12o loue] to loweHarl.
26In Inglond] And in his tymeHarl.
33-46from Harl. 3810: om. MS.
49-50om. Harl., Ashm.
51Þe king] HeHarl.: AndAshm.
82reueysed] rauysedAshm.: reueydMS.: wode outHarl.
230no] neAshm.: om. MS.
333wreche] wrocheMS.
406lef] liifMS.
478Winchester] TraciensAshm.: CrassensHarl.
Michael of Northgate was a monk of St. Augustine's, Canterbury. From a library catalogue of the monastery it appears that he was a lover of books, for he is named as the donor of twenty-five MSS., a considerable collection for those days. Their titles show a taste not merely for religious works, but for science—mathematics, chemistry, medicine, as they were known at the time. Four of these MSS. have been traced, and one of them, British Museum MS. Arundel 57, is Michael's autograph copy of theAyenbyte. On folio 2 of the MS. are the words:Þis boc is Dan Michelis of Northgate, ywrite an Englis of his oȝene hand, þet hatte 'Ayenbyte of Inwyt'; and is of the boc-house of Saynt Austines of Canterberi, mid þe lettres. CC.'CC.' is the press-mark given in the catalogue. A note at the end of the text shows that it was finished on October 27, 1340:
Ymende þet þis boc is uolueld ine þe eue of þe holy apostles Symon an Iudas[i.e. Oct. 27]of ane broþer of the cloystre of Sauynt Austin of Canterberi, in the yeare of oure Lhordes beringe 1340.
TheAyenbytehas been edited for the Early English Text Society by R. Morris. The title means literally 'Remorse of Conscience', but from the contents of the work it would appear that the writer meant rather 'Stimulus to the Conscience', or 'Prick of Conscience'. It is in fact a translation from the FrenchSomme des Vices et des Vertues, compiled by Friar Lorens in 1279 for King Philip le Hardi, and long held to be the main source of Chaucer'sParson's Tale. Caxton rendered theSommeinto English prose asThe Royal Book. It treats of the Commandments, the Creed, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Seven Petitions of the Paternoster, and the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit.
DanMichael's purpose is stated in some doggerel lines at the end:
Nou ich wille þet ye ywyteHou hit is ywentÞet þis boc is ywriteMid Engliss of Kent.Þis boc is ymad uor lewede men,Vor uader, and uor moder, and uor oþer ken,Ham uor to berȝe uram alle manyere zen,Þet ine hare inwytte ne bleue no uoul wen.
Nou ich wille þet ye ywyte
Hou hit is ywent
Þet þis boc is ywrite
Mid Engliss of Kent.
Þis boc is ymad uor lewede men,
Vor uader, and uor moder, and uor oþer ken,
Ham uor to berȝe uram alle manyere zen,
Þet ine hare inwytte ne bleue no uoul wen.
His translation is inaccurate, and sometimes unintelligible, and the treatment is so barren of interest that the work seems to have fallen flat even in its own day, when the popular appetite for edification was keen and unspoiled. But if its literary merit is slight, linguistically it is one of the most important works in Middle English. It provides a long prose text, exactly dated and exactly localized; we have the author's autograph copy to work from; and the dialect is well distinguished. These circumstances, unique in Middle English, make it possible to study the Kentish dialect of the mid-fourteenth century under ideal conditions.
Hou Merci multiplieþ þe timliche guodes, hyerof we habbeþ uele uayre
uorbisnen, huerof ich wille hier zome telle. Me ret of Saint Germain of
Aucerre þet, þo he com uram Rome, ate outguoinge of Melane, he acsede
at onen of his diaknen yef he hedde eny zeluer, and he ansuerede þet{05}he ne hedde bote þri pans, uor Say
Efterwardme ret ine þe lyue of Ion þe Amoner, þet wes zuo ycleped uor þe greate elmesses þet he dede: A riche ientilman wes yrobbed of þieues, zuo þet him naȝt ne blefte. He him com to playni to þe uorzede manne, and he him zede his cas. He hedde greate reuþe þerof, and het his{20}desspendoure þet he him yeaue uyftene pond of gold. Þe spendere, be his couaytise, ne yeaf bote vyf. An haste a gentil wymman wodewe zente to þe uore-yzede Ion uif hondred pond of gold. Þo he clepede his spendere, and him acsede hou moche he hedde yyeue to þe kniȝte. He ansuerede{25}'vyftene pond.' Þe holy man ansuerede þet 'nay, he ne hedde bote vyf'; and huanne he hit wiste þe ilke zelue þet his hedde onderuonge, zuo zayde to his spendere þet yef he hedde yyeue þe viftene pond þet he hedde yhote, oure Lhord him hede yzent be þe guode wyfman a þouzond and vyf{30}hondred pond. And huanne he acsede ate guode wyfman, þo he hedde hise ycleped, hou moche hi hedde him ylete, hi andzuerede þet uerst hi hedde ywrite ine hare testament þet hi him let a þousend and vyf hondred pond. Ac hi lokede efterward ine hare testament, and hi yzeȝ þe þousend pond{35}defaced of hire write, and zuo ylefde þe guode wyfman þet God wolde þet hi ne zente bote vif hondred.
Efterward Saint Gregori telþ þet Saint Boniface uram þet he wes child he wes zuo piteuous þet he yaf ofte his kertel and his sserte to þe poure uor God, þaȝ his moder him byete{40}ofte þeruore. Þanne bevil þet þet child yzeȝ manie poure þet hedden mezeyse. He aspide þet his moder nes naȝt þer. An haste he yarn to þe gerniere, and al þet his moder hedde ygadered uor to pasi þet yer he hit yaf þe poure. And þo his moder com, and wyste þe ilke dede, hy wes al out of hare{45}wytte. Þet child bed oure Lhorde, and þet gernier wes an haste al uol.
Efterward þer wes a poure man, ase me zayþ, þet hedde ane cou; and yhyerde zigge of his preste ine his prechinge þetGod zede ine his spelle þet God wolde yelde an hondreduald{50}al þet me yeaue uor him. Þe guode man, mid þe rede of his wyue, yeaf his cou to his preste, þet wes riche. Þe prest his nom bleþeliche, and hise zente to þe oþren þet he hedde. Þo hit com to euen, þe guode mannes cou com hom to his house ase hi wes ywoned, and ledde mid hare alle þe{55}prestes ken, al to an hondred. Þo þe guode man yzeȝ þet, he þoȝte þet þet wes þet word of þe Godspelle þet he hedde yyolde; and him hi weren yloked beuore his bissoppe aye þane prest. Þise uorbisne sseweþ wel þet merci is guod chapuare, uor hi deþ wexe þe timliche guodes.{60}
Richard Rolle was born at Thornton-le-Dale, near Pickering, in Yorkshire. He was sent to Oxford, already a formidable rival to the University of Paris; but the severer studies were evidently uncongenial to his impulsive temperament. He returned home without taking orders, improvised for himself a hermit's dress, and fled into solitude. His piety attracted the favour of Sir John and Lady Dalton, who gave him a cell on their estate. Here, in meditation, he developed his mystical religion. He did not immure himself, or cut himself off from human companionship. For a time he lived near Anderby, where was the cell of the recluse Margaret Kirkby, to whom he addressed hisForm of Perfect Living. Another important work,Ego Dormio et Cor Meum Vigilat, was written for a nun of Yedingham (Yorks.). Towards the end of his life he lived in close friendship with the nuns of Hampole, and for one of them he wrote hisCommandment of Love to God. At Hampole he died in 1349, the year of the Black Death. By the devout he was regarded as a saint, and had his commemoration day, his office, and his miracles; but he was never canonized.
He wrote both in Latin and in English, and it is not always easy to distinguish his work from that of his many followers and imitators. The writings attributed to him are edited by C. Horstmann,Yorkshire Writers, 2 vols., London 1895-6. Besides the prose works noted above, he wrote, at the request of Margaret Kirkby, aCommentary on the Psalms(ed. Bramley, Oxford 1884), based on the Latin of Peter Lombard. A long didactic poem in Northern English, thePrick of Conscience, has been attributed tohim from Lydgate's time onwards; but his authorship has recently been questioned, chiefly on the ground that the poem is without a spark of inspiration. It is not certain that he wroteLove is Life, which is included here because it expresses in characteristic language his central belief in the personal bond, the burning love, between God and man. The first prose selection shows that he did not disdain the examples from natural history that were so popular in the sermons of the time. The second is chapter xi of theForm of Perfect Living, which is found as a separate extract from an early date.
With Rolle began a movement of devotional piety, which, as might be expected from its strong appeal to the emotions, was taken up first among religious women; and signs of a striving for effect in his style suggest that the hermit was not indifferent to the admiration of his followers. He brings to his teaching more heart than mind. He escapes the problems of the world, which seemed so insistent to his contemporaries, by denying the world's claims. His ideas and temperament are diametrically opposed to those of the other great figure in the religious life of fourteenth-century England—Wiclif, the schoolman, politician, reformer, controversialist. Yet they have in common a sincerity and directness of belief that brushes aside conventions, and an enthusiasm that made them leaders in an age when the Church as a whole suffered from apathy.
For wele ne wa it chaunge may, als wryten has men wyseste.
Þe nyght it tournes intil þe day, þi trauel intyll reste;
If þou wil luf þus as I say, þou may be wyth þe beste.
Lufe es thoght wyth grete desyre of a fayre louyng;5Lufe I lyken til a fyre þat sloken may na thyng;Lufe vs clenses of oure syn; luf vs bote sall bryng;Lufe þe Keynges hert may wyn; lufe of ioy may syng.
Lufe es thoght wyth grete desyre of a fayre louyng;5
Lufe I lyken til a fyre þat sloken may na thyng;
Lufe vs clenses of oure syn; luf vs bote sall bryng;
Lufe þe Keynges hert may wyn; lufe of ioy may syng.
Þesettel of lufe es lyft hee, for intil heuen it ranne;Me thynk in erth it es sle, þat makes men pale and wanne;10Þe bede of blysse it gase ful nee, I tel þe as I kanne:Þof vs thynk þe way be dregh, luf copuls God and manne.
Þesettel of lufe es lyft hee, for intil heuen it ranne;
Me thynk in erth it es sle, þat makes men pale and wanne;10
Þe bede of blysse it gase ful nee, I tel þe as I kanne:
Þof vs thynk þe way be dregh, luf copuls God and manne.
Lufe es hatter þen þe cole; lufe may nane beswyke.Þe flawme of lufe wha myght it thole, if it war ay ilyke?Luf vs comfortes, and mase in qwart, and lyftes tyl heuenryke;15Luf rauysches Cryste intyl owr hert; I wate na lust it lyke.
Lufe es hatter þen þe cole; lufe may nane beswyke.
Þe flawme of lufe wha myght it thole, if it war ay ilyke?
Luf vs comfortes, and mase in qwart, and lyftes tyl heuenryke;15
Luf rauysches Cryste intyl owr hert; I wate na lust it lyke.
Lere to luf, if þou wyl lyfe when þou sall hethen fare;All þi thoght til Hym þou gyf þat may þe kepe fra kare:Loke þi hert fra Hym noght twyn, if þou in wandreth ware;Sa þou may Hym welde and wyn, and luf Hym euermare.20
Lere to luf, if þou wyl lyfe when þou sall hethen fare;
All þi thoght til Hym þou gyf þat may þe kepe fra kare:
Loke þi hert fra Hym noght twyn, if þou in wandreth ware;
Sa þou may Hym welde and wyn, and luf Hym euermare.20
Iesu, þat me lyfe hase lent, intil Þi lufe me bryng!Take til Þe al myne entent, þat Þow be my ȝhernyng.Wa fra me away war went, and comne war my couaytyng,If þat my sawle had herd and hent þe sang of Þi louyng.
Iesu, þat me lyfe hase lent, intil Þi lufe me bryng!
Take til Þe al myne entent, þat Þow be my ȝhernyng.
Wa fra me away war went, and comne war my couaytyng,
If þat my sawle had herd and hent þe sang of Þi louyng.
Þi lufe es ay lastand, fra þat we may it fele;25Þarein make me byrnand, þat na thyng gar it kele.My thoght take into Þi hand, and stabyl it ylk a dele,Þat I be noght heldand to luf þis worldes wele.
Þi lufe es ay lastand, fra þat we may it fele;25
Þarein make me byrnand, þat na thyng gar it kele.
My thoght take into Þi hand, and stabyl it ylk a dele,
Þat I be noght heldand to luf þis worldes wele.
If I lufe any erthly thyng þat payes to my wyll,And settes my ioy and my lykyng when it may comm me tyll,30I mai drede of partyng, þat wyll be hate and yll:For al my welth es bot wepyng when pyne mi saule sal spyll.
If I lufe any erthly thyng þat payes to my wyll,
And settes my ioy and my lykyng when it may comm me tyll,30
I mai drede of partyng, þat wyll be hate and yll:
For al my welth es bot wepyng when pyne mi saule sal spyll.
Þe ioy þat men hase sene es lyckend tyl þe haye,Þat now es fayre and grene, and now wytes awaye.Swylk es þis worlde, I wene, and bees till Domesdaye,35All in trauel and tene, fle þat na man it maye.
Þe ioy þat men hase sene es lyckend tyl þe haye,
Þat now es fayre and grene, and now wytes awaye.
Swylk es þis worlde, I wene, and bees till Domesdaye,35
All in trauel and tene, fle þat na man it maye.
If þou luf in all þi thoght, and hate þe fylth of syn,And gyf Hym þi sawle þat it boght, þat He þe dwell within,Als Crist þi sawle hase soght, and þerof walde noght blyn,Sa þou sal to blys be broght, and heuen won within.40
If þou luf in all þi thoght, and hate þe fylth of syn,
And gyf Hym þi sawle þat it boght, þat He þe dwell within,
Als Crist þi sawle hase soght, and þerof walde noght blyn,
Sa þou sal to blys be broght, and heuen won within.40
Þekynd of luf es þis, þar it es trayst and trew,To stand styll in stabylnes, and chaunge it for na new.Þe lyfe þat lufe myght fynd, or euer in hert it knew,Fra kare it tornes þat kyend, and lendes in myrth and glew.
Þekynd of luf es þis, þar it es trayst and trew,
To stand styll in stabylnes, and chaunge it for na new.
Þe lyfe þat lufe myght fynd, or euer in hert it knew,
Fra kare it tornes þat kyend, and lendes in myrth and glew.
For now,lufe þow, I rede, Cryste, as I þe tell,45And with aungels take þi stede: þat ioy loke þou noght sell!In erth þow hate, I rede, all þat þi lufe may fell,For luf es stalworth as þe dede, luf es hard as hell.
For now,lufe þow, I rede, Cryste, as I þe tell,45
And with aungels take þi stede: þat ioy loke þou noght sell!
In erth þow hate, I rede, all þat þi lufe may fell,
For luf es stalworth as þe dede, luf es hard as hell.
Luf es a lyght byrthen; lufe gladdes ȝong and alde;Lufe es withowten pyne, as lofers hase me talde;50Lufe es a gastlywyne, þat makes men bygge and balde;Of lufe sal he na thyng tyne þat hit in hert will halde.
Luf es a lyght byrthen; lufe gladdes ȝong and alde;
Lufe es withowten pyne, as lofers hase me talde;50
Lufe es a gastlywyne, þat makes men bygge and balde;
Of lufe sal he na thyng tyne þat hit in hert will halde.
Lufe es þe swettest thyng þat man in erth hase tane;Lufe es Goddes derlyng; lufe byndes blode and bane.In lufe be owre lykyng, I ne wate na better wane,55For me and my lufyng lufe makes bath be ane.
Lufe es þe swettest thyng þat man in erth hase tane;
Lufe es Goddes derlyng; lufe byndes blode and bane.
In lufe be owre lykyng, I ne wate na better wane,55
For me and my lufyng lufe makes bath be ane.
Bot fleschly lufe sal fare as dose þe flowre in May,And lastand be na mare þan ane houre of a day,And sythen syghe ful sare þar lust, þar pryde, þar play,When þai er casten in kare til pyne þat lastes ay.60
Bot fleschly lufe sal fare as dose þe flowre in May,
And lastand be na mare þan ane houre of a day,
And sythen syghe ful sare þar lust, þar pryde, þar play,
When þai er casten in kare til pyne þat lastes ay.60
When þair bodys lyse in syn, þair sawls mai qwake and drede,For vp sal ryse al men, and answer for þair dede.If þai be fonden in syn, als now þair lyfe þai lede,Þai sal sytt hel within, and myrknes hafe to mede.
When þair bodys lyse in syn, þair sawls mai qwake and drede,
For vp sal ryse al men, and answer for þair dede.
If þai be fonden in syn, als now þair lyfe þai lede,
Þai sal sytt hel within, and myrknes hafe to mede.
Riche men þairhendsal wryng, and wicked werkes sal by65In flawme of fyre, bath knyght and keyng, with sorow schamfully.If þou wil lufe, þan may þou syng til Cryst in melody;Þe lufe of Hym ouercoms al thyng, þarto þou traiste trewly.
Riche men þairhendsal wryng, and wicked werkes sal by65
In flawme of fyre, bath knyght and keyng, with sorow schamfully.
If þou wil lufe, þan may þou syng til Cryst in melody;
Þe lufe of Hym ouercoms al thyng, þarto þou traiste trewly.
sygh and sob, bath day and nyght, for ane sa fayre of hew!Þar es na thyng my hert mai light, bot lufe þat es ay new.70Wha sa had Hym in his syght, or in his hert Hym knew,His mournyng turned til ioy ful bryght, his sang intil glew.
sygh and sob, bath day and nyght, for ane sa fayre of hew!
Þar es na thyng my hert mai light, bot lufe þat es ay new.70
Wha sa had Hym in his syght, or in his hert Hym knew,
His mournyng turned til ioy ful bryght, his sang intil glew.
In myrth he lyfes, nyght and day, þat lufes þat swete chylde;It es Iesu, forsoth I say, of al mekest and mylde.Wreth fra hym walde al away, þof he wer neuer sa wylde,75He þat in hert lufed Hym þat day, fra euel He wil hym schylde.
In myrth he lyfes, nyght and day, þat lufes þat swete chylde;
It es Iesu, forsoth I say, of al mekest and mylde.
Wreth fra hym walde al away, þof he wer neuer sa wylde,75
He þat in hert lufed Hym þat day, fra euel He wil hym schylde.
Of Iesu mast lyst me speke, þat al my bale may bete;Me thynk my hert may al tobreke when I thynk on þat swete;In lufe lacyd He hase my thoght, þat I sal neuer forgete.Ful dere me thynk He hase me boght with blodi hende and fete.80
Of Iesu mast lyst me speke, þat al my bale may bete;
Me thynk my hert may al tobreke when I thynk on þat swete;
In lufe lacyd He hase my thoght, þat I sal neuer forgete.
Ful dere me thynk He hase me boght with blodi hende and fete.80
For luf my hert es bowne to brest, when I þat faire behalde;Lufe es fair þare it es fest, þat neuer will be calde;Lufe vs reues þe nyght-rest, in grace it makes vs balde;Of al warkes luf es þe best, als haly men me talde.
For luf my hert es bowne to brest, when I þat faire behalde;
Lufe es fair þare it es fest, þat neuer will be calde;
Lufe vs reues þe nyght-rest, in grace it makes vs balde;
Of al warkes luf es þe best, als haly men me talde.
Na wonder gyf I syghand be, and sithen in sorow be sette:85Iesu was nayled apon þe tre, and al blody forbette.To thynk on Hym es grete pyté—how tenderly He grette—Þis hase He sufferde, man, for þe, if þat þou syn wyll lette.
Na wonder gyf I syghand be, and sithen in sorow be sette:85
Iesu was nayled apon þe tre, and al blody forbette.
To thynk on Hym es grete pyté—how tenderly He grette—
Þis hase He sufferde, man, for þe, if þat þou syn wyll lette.
Þare es na tonge in erth may tell of lufe þe swetnesse.Þat stedfastly in lufe kan dwell, his ioy es endlesse.90God schylde þat he sulde til hell, þat lufes and langand es,Or euer his enmys sulde hym qwell, or make his luf be lesse.
Þare es na tonge in erth may tell of lufe þe swetnesse.
Þat stedfastly in lufe kan dwell, his ioy es endlesse.90
God schylde þat he sulde til hell, þat lufes and langand es,
Or euer his enmys sulde hym qwell, or make his luf be lesse.
Iesu es lufe þat lastes ay, til Hym es owre langyng;Iesu þe nyght turnes to þe day, þe dawyng intil spryng.Iesu, thynk on vs now and ay, for Þe we halde oure keyng;95Iesu, gyf vs grace, as Þou wel may, to luf Þe withowten endyng.
Iesu es lufe þat lastes ay, til Hym es owre langyng;
Iesu þe nyght turnes to þe day, þe dawyng intil spryng.
Iesu, thynk on vs now and ay, for Þe we halde oure keyng;95
Iesu, gyf vs grace, as Þou wel may, to luf Þe withowten endyng.
45For now] ForþiMS. Lambeth 583.51wyne] = wynneMS.65hend] handesMS., apparently altered fromhend.69I]so MS. Lambeth 583.
45For now] ForþiMS. Lambeth 583.
51wyne] = wynneMS.
65hend] handesMS., apparently altered fromhend.
69I]so MS. Lambeth 583.
The bee has thre kyndis. Ane es þat scho es neuer ydill, and scho es noghte with thaym þat will noghte wyrke, bot castys thaym owte, and puttes thaym awaye. Anothire es þat when scho flyes scho takes erthe in hyr fette, þat scho be noghte lyghtly ouerheghede in the ayere of wynde. The{05}thyrde es þat scho kepes clene and bryghte hire wyngeȝ.
Thus ryghtwyse men þat lufes God are neuer in ydyllnes. For owthyre þay ere in trauayle, prayand, or thynkande, or redande, or othere gude doande; or withtakand ydill mene, and schewand thaym worthy to be put fra þe ryste of heuene,{10}for þay will noghte trauayle here.
Þay take erthe, þat es, þay halde þamselfe vile and erthely, that thay be noghte blawene with þe wynde of vanyté and of pryde. Thay kepe thaire wynges clene, that es, þe twa commandementes of charyté þay fulfill in gud concyens, and{15}thay hafe othyre vertus, vnblendyde with þe fylthe of syne and vnclene luste.
Arestotill sais þat þe bees are feghtande agaynes hym þat will drawe þaire hony fra thayme. Swa sulde we do agayne deuells, þat afforces thame to reue fra vs þe hony of poure{20}lyfe and of grace. For many are, þat neuer kane halde þe ordyre oflufeynenceþaire frendys, sybbe or fremmede. Bot outhire þay lufe þaymouermekill, settand thaire thoghte vnryghtwysely on thaym, or þay luf thayme ouer lyttill, yf þay doo noghte all as þey wolde till þame. Swylke kane{25}noghte fyghte for thaire hony, forthy þe deuelle turnes it to wormes, and makes þeire saules oftesythes full bitter inangwys, and tene, and besynes of vayne thoghtes, and oþer wrechidnes. For thay are so heuy in erthely frenchype þat þay may noghte flee intill þe lufe of Iesu Criste, in þe wylke{30}þay moghte wele forgaa þe lufe of all creaturs lyfande in erthe.
Wharefore, accordandly, Arystotill sais þat some fowheles are of gude flyghyng, þat passes fra a lande to anothire. Some are of ill flyghynge, for heuynes of body, and for<þi>{35}þaire neste es noghte ferre fra þe erthe. Thus es it of thayme þat turnes þame to Godes seruys. Some are of gude flyeghynge, for thay flye fra erthe to heuene, and rystes thayme thare in thoghte, and are fedde in delite of Goddes lufe, and has thoghte of na lufe of þe worlde. Some are þat{40}kan noghte flyghe fra þis lande, bot in þe waye late theyre herte ryste, and delyttes þaym in sere lufes of mene and womene, als þay come and gaa, nowe ane and nowe anothire. And in Iesu Criste þay kan fynde na swettnes; or if þay any tyme fele oghte, it es swa lyttill and swa schorte, for othire thoghtes{45}þat are in thayme, þat it brynges thaym till na stabylnes.
22ynence] ynescheMS.23mekill]MS. follows with: or thay lufe þame ouer lyttill,caught up from below.
22ynence] ynescheMS.
23mekill]MS. follows with: or thay lufe þame ouer lyttill,caught up from below.
Þe seuene gyftes of þe Haly Gaste, þat ere gyfene to men and wymmene þat er ordaynede to þe ioye of heuene, and ledys theire lyfe in this worlde reghtwysely. Thire are thay:—Wysdome,{55}Undyrstandynge, Counsayle, Strenghe, Connynge,Peté, the Drede of God. Begynne we at Consaile, for þareof es myster at the begynnynge of oure werkes, þat vs myslyke noghte aftyrwarde. With thire seuene gyftes þe HalyGastetechessere mene serely.{60}
Consaile es doynge awaye of worldes reches, and of all delytes of all thyngeȝ þat mane may be tagyld with, in thoghte or dede,andþarwith drawynge intill contemplacyone of Gode.
Undyrstandynge es to knawe whate es to doo, and whate{65}es to lefe, and þat that sall be gyffene, to gyffe it to thaym þat has nede, noghte till oþer þat has na myster.
Wysedome es forgetynge of erthely thynges and thynkynge of heuen, with discrecyone ofallmensdedys. In þis gyfte schynes contemplacyone, þat es, Saynt Austyne says, a gastely{70}dede of fleschely affeccyones, thurghe þe ioye of a raysede thoghte.
Strenghe es lastynge to fullfill gude purpose, þat it be noghte lefte, for wele ne for waa.
Peté es þat a man be mylde, and gaynesay noghte Haly{75}Writte whene it smyttes his synnys, whethire he vndyrstand it or noghte; bot in all his myghte purge he þe vilté of syne in hyme and oþer.
Connynge es þat makes a man ofgude
The Drede of God es þat we turne noghte agayne till oure syne thurghe any ill eggyng.Andþanes drede perfite in vs and gastely, when we drede to wrethe God in þe leste syne{85}þat we kane knawe, and flese it als venyme.
60teches] towchesCambridge MS. DD. 5. 64.63þar] þatMS. Thornton.69mens]so Cambridge MS. DD. 5. 64= meneMS. Thornton.79hope]from Cambridge MS. DD. 5. 64: om. MS. Thornton.84þan]Cambridge MS. DD. 5. 64: þenMS. Arundel 507: þatMS. Thornton.
60teches] towchesCambridge MS. DD. 5. 64.
63þar] þatMS. Thornton.
69mens]so Cambridge MS. DD. 5. 64= meneMS. Thornton.
79hope]from Cambridge MS. DD. 5. 64: om. MS. Thornton.
84þan]Cambridge MS. DD. 5. 64: þenMS. Arundel 507: þatMS. Thornton.
Sir Gawaynehas been admirably edited by Sir F. Madden for the Bannatyne Club, 1839, and later by R. Morris for the Early English Text Society. It is found in British Museum MS. Nero A X, together with three other alliterative poems, named from their first wordsPearl,Patience, andCleanness.Pearlsupplies the next specimen;Patienceexemplifies the virtue by the trials of Jonah;Cleannessteaches purity of life from Scriptural stories. All these poems are in the same handwriting; all are in a West-Midland dialect; all appear to be of the same age; and none is without literary merit. For these reasons, which are good but not conclusive, they are assumed to be by the same author. Attempts to identify this author have been unsuccessful.
The story runs as follows:
King Arthur is making his Christmas feast with his court at Camelot. On New Year's Day he declares that he will not eat until he has seen or heard some marvel. The first course of the feast is barely served when a tall knight, clad all in green, with green hair, and a green horse to match, rides into the hall. He carries a holly bough and a huge axe, and tauntingly invites any knight to strike him a blow with the axe, on condition that he will stand a return blow on the same day a year hence. Gawayne accepts the challenge and strikes off the Green Knight's head. The Green Knight gathers up his head, gives Gawayne an appointment for next New Year's Day at the Green Chapel, and rides off.
The year passes, and Gawayne, despite the fears of the court, sets out in quest of the Green Chapel. On Christmas Eve hearrives at a splendid castle, and finding that the Green Chapel is close at hand, accepts an invitation to stay and rest until New Year's Day. On each of three days the knight of the castle goes hunting, and persuades Gawayne to rest at home. They make an agreement that each shall give the other whatever he gets. The lady of the castle makes love to Gawayne, and kisses him once on the first day, twice on the second day, thrice on the third day; and on the third day she gives him her girdle, which he accepts because it has the magic power of preserving the wearer from wounds. Each evening he duly gives the kisses to the knight, and receives in return the spoils of the hunting of deer and boar and fox. But he conceals the girdle.
The extract begins with Gawayne preparing on New Year's morning to stand the return blow at the Green Chapel.
The poem ends by the Green Knight revealing that he is himself the lord of the castle; that he went to Arthur's court at the suggestion of Morgan la Fay; that he had urged his wife to make love to Gawayne and try his virtue; and that he would not have harmed him at all, if he had not committed the slight fault of concealing the girdle. Gawayne returns to the court, bearing the girdle as a sign of his shame, and tells his story. The knights of the court agree in future to wear a bright green belt for Gawayne's sake.
Sir Gawayneis admittedly the best of the alliterative romances. It must have come down to us practically as it was written by the poet, for it is free from the flatness and conventional phrasing which is characteristic of romances that have passed through many popular recensions. The descriptions of nature, of armour and dresses, the hunting scenes, and the love making, are all excellently done; and the poet shows the same richness of imagination and skill in producing pictorial effects that are so noticeable inPearl. He has too a quiet humour that recalls Chaucer in some of his moods.
The brygge watȝ brayde doun, and þe brode ȝateȝVnbarred and born open vpon boþe halue.Þe burne blessed hym bilyue, and þe bredeȝ passed;Prayses þe porter bifore þe prynce kneled,Gef hym God and goud day, þat Gawayn He saue,5And went on his way with his wyȝe one,Þat schulde teche hym to tourne to þat tene placeÞer þe ruful race he schulde resayue.Þay boȝen bi bonkkeȝ þer boȝeȝ ar bare;Þay clomben bi clyffeȝ þer clengeȝ þe colde.10Þe heuen watȝ vp halt, bot vgly þer vnder,—Mist muged on þe mor, malt on þe mounteȝ,Vch hille hade a hatte, a myst-hakel huge.Brokeȝ byled and breke bi bonkkeȝ aboute,Schyre schaterande on schoreȝ, þer þay doun schowued.15Wela wylle watȝ þe way þer þay bi wod schulden,Til hit watȝ sone sesoun þat þe sunne rysesþat tyde.Þay were on a hille ful hyȝe,Þe quyte snaw lay bisyde;20Þe burne þat rod hym byBede his mayster abide.'For I haf wonnen yow hider, wyȝe, at þis tyme,And now nar ȝe not fer fro þat note placeÞat ȝe han spied and spuryed so specially after.25Bot I schal say yow for soþe, syþen I yow knowe,And ȝe ar a lede vpon lyue þat I wel louy,Wolde ȝe worch bi my wytte, ȝe worþed þe better.Þe place þat ȝe prece to ful perelous is halden.Þer woneȝ a wyȝe in þat waste, þe worst vpon erþe,30Forhe is stiffe and sturne, and to strike louies,And more he is þen any mon vpon myddelerde,And his body bigger þen þe best fowreÞat ar in Arþureȝ hous,Hector, oþer oþer.He cheueȝ þat chaunce at þe chapel grene,35Þer passes non bi þat place so proude in his armesÞat he nedyngeȝhym to deþe with dynt of his honde;For he is a mon methles, and mercy non vses,For be hit chorle oþer chaplayn þat bi þe chapel rydes,Monk oþer masse-prest, oþer any mon elles,40Hym þynk as queme hym to quelle as quyk go hymseluen.Forþy I say þe, as soþe as ȝe in sadel sitte,Com ȝe þere, ȝe be kylled, may þe, knyȝt, rede—Trawe ȝe me þat trwely—þaȝ ȝe had twenty lyuesto spende.45He hatȝ wonyd here ful ȝore,On bent much baret bende,Aȝayn his dynteȝ soreȜe may not yow defende.'Forþy, goude Sir Gawayn, let þe gome one,50And gotȝ away sum oþer gate, vpon Goddeȝ halue!Cayreȝ bi sum oþer kyth, þer Kryst mot yow spede,And I schal hyȝ me hom aȝayn, and hete yow fyrreÞat I schal swere bi God and alle His gode halȝeȝ,As help me God and þe halydam, and oþeȝ innoghe,55Þat I schal lelly yow layne, and lance neuer taleÞat euer ȝe fondet to fle for freke þat I wyst.''Grant merci,' quod Gawayn, and gruchyng he sayde:'Wel worth þe, wyȝe, þat woldeȝ my gode,And þat lelly me layne I leue wel þou woldeȝ.60Bot helde þou hit neuer so holde, and I here passed,Founded for ferde for to fle, in fourme þat þou telleȝ,I were a knyȝt kowarde, I myȝtnotbe excused.BotI wyl to þe chapel, for chaunce þat may falle,And talk wyth þat ilk tulk þe tale þat me lyste,65Worþe hit wele oþer wo, as þe wyrde lykeȝhit hafe.Þaȝe he be a sturn knapeTo stiȝtel,andstad with staue,Ful wel con Dryȝtyn schape70His seruaunteȝ for to saue.''Mary!' quod þat oþer mon, 'now þou so much spelleȝÞat þou wylt þyn awen nye nyme to þyseluen,And þe lyst lese þy lyf, þe lette I ne kepe.Haf here þi helme on þy hede, þi spere in þi honde,75And ryde me doun þis ilk rake bi ȝon rokke sydeTil þou be broȝt to þe boþem of þe brem valay.Þenne loke a littel on þe launde, on þi lyfte honde,And þou schal se in þat slade þe self chapel,And þe borelych burne on bent þat hit kepeȝ.80Now fareȝ wel, on Godeȝ half! Gawayn þe noble;For alle þe golde vpon grounde I nolde go wyth þe,Ne bere þe felaȝschip þurȝ þis fryth on fote fyrre.'Bi þat þe wyȝe in þe wod wendeȝ his brydel,Hit þe hors with þe heleȝ as harde as he myȝt,85Lepeȝ hym ouer þe launde, and leueȝ þe knyȝt þereal one.'Bi Goddeȝ self!' quod Gawayn,'I wyl nauþer grete ne grone;To Goddeȝ wylle I am ful bayn,90And to Hym I haf me tone.'Thenne gyrdeȝ he to Gryngolet, and gedereȝ þe rake,Schowueȝ in bi a schore at a schaȝe syde,Rideȝ þurȝ þe roȝe bonk ryȝt to þe dale;And þenne he wayted hym aboute, and wylde hit hym þoȝt,95And seȝe no syngne of resette bisydeȝ nowhere,Bothyȝe bonkkeȝ and brent vpon boþe halue,And ruȝe knokled knarreȝ with knorned stoneȝ;Þe skweȝ of þe scowtes skayned hym þoȝt.Þenne he houed, and wythhylde his hors at þat tyde,100And ofte chaunged his cher þe chapel to seche:He seȝ non suche in no syde, and selly hym þoȝtSone, a lyttel on a launde, a lawe as hit we
The brygge watȝ brayde doun, and þe brode ȝateȝVnbarred and born open vpon boþe halue.Þe burne blessed hym bilyue, and þe bredeȝ passed;Prayses þe porter bifore þe prynce kneled,Gef hym God and goud day, þat Gawayn He saue,5And went on his way with his wyȝe one,Þat schulde teche hym to tourne to þat tene placeÞer þe ruful race he schulde resayue.Þay boȝen bi bonkkeȝ þer boȝeȝ ar bare;Þay clomben bi clyffeȝ þer clengeȝ þe colde.10Þe heuen watȝ vp halt, bot vgly þer vnder,—Mist muged on þe mor, malt on þe mounteȝ,Vch hille hade a hatte, a myst-hakel huge.Brokeȝ byled and breke bi bonkkeȝ aboute,Schyre schaterande on schoreȝ, þer þay doun schowued.15Wela wylle watȝ þe way þer þay bi wod schulden,Til hit watȝ sone sesoun þat þe sunne rysesþat tyde.Þay were on a hille ful hyȝe,Þe quyte snaw lay bisyde;20Þe burne þat rod hym byBede his mayster abide.'For I haf wonnen yow hider, wyȝe, at þis tyme,And now nar ȝe not fer fro þat note placeÞat ȝe han spied and spuryed so specially after.25Bot I schal say yow for soþe, syþen I yow knowe,And ȝe ar a lede vpon lyue þat I wel louy,Wolde ȝe worch bi my wytte, ȝe worþed þe better.Þe place þat ȝe prece to ful perelous is halden.Þer woneȝ a wyȝe in þat waste, þe worst vpon erþe,30Forhe is stiffe and sturne, and to strike louies,And more he is þen any mon vpon myddelerde,And his body bigger þen þe best fowreÞat ar in Arþureȝ hous,Hector, oþer oþer.He cheueȝ þat chaunce at þe chapel grene,35Þer passes non bi þat place so proude in his armesÞat he nedyngeȝhym to deþe with dynt of his honde;For he is a mon methles, and mercy non vses,For be hit chorle oþer chaplayn þat bi þe chapel rydes,Monk oþer masse-prest, oþer any mon elles,40Hym þynk as queme hym to quelle as quyk go hymseluen.Forþy I say þe, as soþe as ȝe in sadel sitte,Com ȝe þere, ȝe be kylled, may þe, knyȝt, rede—Trawe ȝe me þat trwely—þaȝ ȝe had twenty lyuesto spende.45He hatȝ wonyd here ful ȝore,On bent much baret bende,Aȝayn his dynteȝ soreȜe may not yow defende.'Forþy, goude Sir Gawayn, let þe gome one,50And gotȝ away sum oþer gate, vpon Goddeȝ halue!Cayreȝ bi sum oþer kyth, þer Kryst mot yow spede,And I schal hyȝ me hom aȝayn, and hete yow fyrreÞat I schal swere bi God and alle His gode halȝeȝ,As help me God and þe halydam, and oþeȝ innoghe,55Þat I schal lelly yow layne, and lance neuer taleÞat euer ȝe fondet to fle for freke þat I wyst.''Grant merci,' quod Gawayn, and gruchyng he sayde:'Wel worth þe, wyȝe, þat woldeȝ my gode,And þat lelly me layne I leue wel þou woldeȝ.60Bot helde þou hit neuer so holde, and I here passed,Founded for ferde for to fle, in fourme þat þou telleȝ,I were a knyȝt kowarde, I myȝtnotbe excused.BotI wyl to þe chapel, for chaunce þat may falle,And talk wyth þat ilk tulk þe tale þat me lyste,65Worþe hit wele oþer wo, as þe wyrde lykeȝhit hafe.Þaȝe he be a sturn knapeTo stiȝtel,andstad with staue,Ful wel con Dryȝtyn schape70His seruaunteȝ for to saue.''Mary!' quod þat oþer mon, 'now þou so much spelleȝÞat þou wylt þyn awen nye nyme to þyseluen,And þe lyst lese þy lyf, þe lette I ne kepe.Haf here þi helme on þy hede, þi spere in þi honde,75And ryde me doun þis ilk rake bi ȝon rokke sydeTil þou be broȝt to þe boþem of þe brem valay.Þenne loke a littel on þe launde, on þi lyfte honde,And þou schal se in þat slade þe self chapel,And þe borelych burne on bent þat hit kepeȝ.80Now fareȝ wel, on Godeȝ half! Gawayn þe noble;For alle þe golde vpon grounde I nolde go wyth þe,Ne bere þe felaȝschip þurȝ þis fryth on fote fyrre.'Bi þat þe wyȝe in þe wod wendeȝ his brydel,Hit þe hors with þe heleȝ as harde as he myȝt,85Lepeȝ hym ouer þe launde, and leueȝ þe knyȝt þereal one.'Bi Goddeȝ self!' quod Gawayn,'I wyl nauþer grete ne grone;To Goddeȝ wylle I am ful bayn,90And to Hym I haf me tone.'Thenne gyrdeȝ he to Gryngolet, and gedereȝ þe rake,Schowueȝ in bi a schore at a schaȝe syde,Rideȝ þurȝ þe roȝe bonk ryȝt to þe dale;And þenne he wayted hym aboute, and wylde hit hym þoȝt,95And seȝe no syngne of resette bisydeȝ nowhere,Bothyȝe bonkkeȝ and brent vpon boþe halue,And ruȝe knokled knarreȝ with knorned stoneȝ;Þe skweȝ of þe scowtes skayned hym þoȝt.Þenne he houed, and wythhylde his hors at þat tyde,100And ofte chaunged his cher þe chapel to seche:He seȝ non suche in no syde, and selly hym þoȝtSone, a lyttel on a launde, a lawe as hit we
The brygge watȝ brayde doun, and þe brode ȝateȝ
Vnbarred and born open vpon boþe halue.
Þe burne blessed hym bilyue, and þe bredeȝ passed;
Prayses þe porter bifore þe prynce kneled,
Gef hym God and goud day, þat Gawayn He saue,5
And went on his way with his wyȝe one,
Þat schulde teche hym to tourne to þat tene place
Þer þe ruful race he schulde resayue.
Þay boȝen bi bonkkeȝ þer boȝeȝ ar bare;
Þay clomben bi clyffeȝ þer clengeȝ þe colde.10
Þe heuen watȝ vp halt, bot vgly þer vnder,—
Mist muged on þe mor, malt on þe mounteȝ,
Vch hille hade a hatte, a myst-hakel huge.
Brokeȝ byled and breke bi bonkkeȝ aboute,
Schyre schaterande on schoreȝ, þer þay doun schowued.15
Wela wylle watȝ þe way þer þay bi wod schulden,
Til hit watȝ sone sesoun þat þe sunne ryses
þat tyde.
Þay were on a hille ful hyȝe,
Þe quyte snaw lay bisyde;20
Þe burne þat rod hym by
Bede his mayster abide.
'For I haf wonnen yow hider, wyȝe, at þis tyme,
And now nar ȝe not fer fro þat note place
Þat ȝe han spied and spuryed so specially after.25
Bot I schal say yow for soþe, syþen I yow knowe,
And ȝe ar a lede vpon lyue þat I wel louy,
Wolde ȝe worch bi my wytte, ȝe worþed þe better.
Þe place þat ȝe prece to ful perelous is halden.
Þer woneȝ a wyȝe in þat waste, þe worst vpon erþe,30
Forhe is stiffe and sturne, and to strike louies,
And more he is þen any mon vpon myddelerde,
And his body bigger þen þe best fowre
Þat ar in Arþureȝ hous,Hector, oþer oþer.
He cheueȝ þat chaunce at þe chapel grene,35
Þer passes non bi þat place so proude in his armes
Þat he nedyngeȝhym to deþe with dynt of his honde;
For he is a mon methles, and mercy non vses,
For be hit chorle oþer chaplayn þat bi þe chapel rydes,
Monk oþer masse-prest, oþer any mon elles,40
Hym þynk as queme hym to quelle as quyk go hymseluen.
Forþy I say þe, as soþe as ȝe in sadel sitte,
Com ȝe þere, ȝe be kylled, may þe, knyȝt, rede—
Trawe ȝe me þat trwely—þaȝ ȝe had twenty lyues
to spende.45
He hatȝ wonyd here ful ȝore,
On bent much baret bende,
Aȝayn his dynteȝ sore
Ȝe may not yow defende.
'Forþy, goude Sir Gawayn, let þe gome one,50
And gotȝ away sum oþer gate, vpon Goddeȝ halue!
Cayreȝ bi sum oþer kyth, þer Kryst mot yow spede,
And I schal hyȝ me hom aȝayn, and hete yow fyrre
Þat I schal swere bi God and alle His gode halȝeȝ,
As help me God and þe halydam, and oþeȝ innoghe,55
Þat I schal lelly yow layne, and lance neuer tale
Þat euer ȝe fondet to fle for freke þat I wyst.'
'Grant merci,' quod Gawayn, and gruchyng he sayde:
'Wel worth þe, wyȝe, þat woldeȝ my gode,
And þat lelly me layne I leue wel þou woldeȝ.60
Bot helde þou hit neuer so holde, and I here passed,
Founded for ferde for to fle, in fourme þat þou telleȝ,
I were a knyȝt kowarde, I myȝtnotbe excused.
BotI wyl to þe chapel, for chaunce þat may falle,
And talk wyth þat ilk tulk þe tale þat me lyste,65
Worþe hit wele oþer wo, as þe wyrde lykeȝ
hit hafe.
Þaȝe he be a sturn knape
To stiȝtel,andstad with staue,
Ful wel con Dryȝtyn schape70
His seruaunteȝ for to saue.'
'Mary!' quod þat oþer mon, 'now þou so much spelleȝ
Þat þou wylt þyn awen nye nyme to þyseluen,
And þe lyst lese þy lyf, þe lette I ne kepe.
Haf here þi helme on þy hede, þi spere in þi honde,75
And ryde me doun þis ilk rake bi ȝon rokke syde
Til þou be broȝt to þe boþem of þe brem valay.
Þenne loke a littel on þe launde, on þi lyfte honde,
And þou schal se in þat slade þe self chapel,
And þe borelych burne on bent þat hit kepeȝ.80
Now fareȝ wel, on Godeȝ half! Gawayn þe noble;
For alle þe golde vpon grounde I nolde go wyth þe,
Ne bere þe felaȝschip þurȝ þis fryth on fote fyrre.'
Bi þat þe wyȝe in þe wod wendeȝ his brydel,
Hit þe hors with þe heleȝ as harde as he myȝt,85
Lepeȝ hym ouer þe launde, and leueȝ þe knyȝt þere
al one.
'Bi Goddeȝ self!' quod Gawayn,
'I wyl nauþer grete ne grone;
To Goddeȝ wylle I am ful bayn,90
And to Hym I haf me tone.'
Thenne gyrdeȝ he to Gryngolet, and gedereȝ þe rake,
Schowueȝ in bi a schore at a schaȝe syde,
Rideȝ þurȝ þe roȝe bonk ryȝt to þe dale;
And þenne he wayted hym aboute, and wylde hit hym þoȝt,95
And seȝe no syngne of resette bisydeȝ nowhere,
Bothyȝe bonkkeȝ and brent vpon boþe halue,
And ruȝe knokled knarreȝ with knorned stoneȝ;
Þe skweȝ of þe scowtes skayned hym þoȝt.
Þenne he houed, and wythhylde his hors at þat tyde,100
And ofte chaunged his cher þe chapel to seche:
He seȝ non suche in no syde, and selly hym þoȝt
Sone, a lyttel on a launde, a lawe as hit we
A balȝ berȝ bi a bonke, þe brymme bysyde,
Bi a forȝ of a flode þat ferked þare;105
Þe borne blubred þerinne as hit boyled hade.
Þe knyȝt kacheȝ his caple, and com to þe lawe,
Liȝteȝ doun luflyly, and at a lynde tacheȝ
Þe rayne and his riche with a roȝe braunche.
Þenne he boȝeȝ to þe berȝe, aboute hit he walkeȝ,110
Debatande with hymself quat hit be myȝt.
Hit hade a hole on þe ende and on ayþer syde,
And ouergrowen with gresse in glodes aywhere,
And al watȝ holȝ inwith, nobot an olde caue,
Or a creuisse of an olde cragge, he couþe hit noȝt deme115
with spelle.
'We! Lorde,' quod þe gentyle knyȝt,
'Wheþer þis be þe grene chapelle?
He
Þe dele his matynnes telle!120
'Now iwysse,' quod Wowayn, 'wysty is here;
Þis oritore is vgly, with erbeȝ ouergrowen;
Wel bisemeȝ þe wyȝe wruxled in grene
Dele here his deuocioun on þe deueleȝ wyse.
Now I fele hit is þe fende, in my fyue wytteȝ,125
Þat hatȝ stoken me þis steuen to strye me here.
Þis is a chapel of meschaunce, þat chekke hit bytyde!
Hit is þe corsedest kyrk þat euer I com inne!'
With heȝe helme on his hede, his launce in his honde,
He romeȝ vp to þe rokke of þo roȝ woneȝ.130
Þeneherde he, of þat hyȝe hil, in a harde roche,
Biȝonde þe broke, in a bonk, a wonder breme noyse.
Quat! hit clatered in þe clyff, as hit cleue schulde,
As one vpon a gryndelston hade grounden a syþe;
What! hit wharred and whette, as water at a mulne;135
What! hit rusched and ronge, rawþe to here.
Þenne 'Bi Godde!' quod Gawayn, 'þat gereasI trowe
Is ryched at þe reuerence me, renk, to mete
bi rote.
Let God worche, we loo!140
Hit helppeȝ me not a mote.
My lif þaȝ I forgoo,
Drede dotȝ me no lote.'
Thenne þe knyȝt con calle ful hyȝe:
'Who stiȝtleȝ in þis sted, me steuen to holde?145
For now is gode Gawayn goande ryȝt here.
If any wyȝe oȝt wyl, wynne hider fast,
Oþer now oþer neuer, his nedeȝ to spede.'
'Abyde,' quod on on þe bonke abouen ouer his hede,
'And þou schal haf al in hast þat I þe hyȝt ones.'150
Ȝet he rusched on þat rurde rapely a þrowe,
And wyth quettyng awharf, er he wolde lyȝt;
And syþen he keuereȝ bi a cragge, and comeȝ of a hole,
Whyrlande out of a wro wyth a felle weppen,
A Deneȝ ax nwe dyȝt, þe dynt with
With a borelych bytte bende by þe halme,
Fyled in a fylor, fowre fote large,—
Hit watȝ no lasse bi þat lace þat lemed ful bryȝt,—
And þe gome in þe grene gered as fyrst,
Boþe þe lyre and þe leggeȝ, lokkeȝ and berde,160
Saue þat fayre on his fote he foundeȝ on þe erþe,
Sette þe stele to þe stone, and stalked bysyde.
Whan he wan to þe watter, þer he wade nolde,
Hehypped ouer on hys ax, and orpedly strydeȝ,
Bremly broþe on a bent þat brode watȝ aboute,165
on snawe.
Sir Gawayn þe knyȝt con mete,
He ne lutte hym no þyng lowe;
Þat oþer sayde 'Now, sir swete,
Of steuen mon may þe trowe.170
'Gawayn,' quod þat grene gome, 'God þe mot loke!
Iwysse þou artwelcom, wyȝe, to my place,
And þou hatȝ tymed þi trauayl as truee mon schulde,
And þou knoweȝ þe couenaunteȝ kest vus bytwene:
At þis tyme twelmonyth þou toke þat þe falled,175
And I schulde at þis nwe ȝere ȝeply þe quyte.
And we ar in þis valay verayly oure one;
Here ar no renkes vs to rydde, rele as vus likeȝ.
Haf þy helme ofþyhede, and haf here þy pay.
Busk no more debate þen I þe bede þenne180
When þou wypped of my hede at a wap one.'
'Nay, bi God' quod Gawayn, 'þat me gost lante!
I schal gruch þe no grwe for grem þat falleȝ.
Bot styȝtel þe vpon on strok, and I schal stonde stylle
And warp þe no wernyng to worch as þe lykeȝ,185
nowhare.'
He lened with þe nek, and lutte,
And schewed þat schyre al bare,
And lette as he noȝt dutte;
For drede he wolde not dare.190
Then þe gome in þe grene grayþed hym swyþe,
Gedereȝ vp hys grymme tole Gawayn to smyte;
With alle þe bur in his body he ber hit on lofte,
Munt as maȝtyly as marre hym he wolde:
Hade hit dryuen adoun as dreȝ as he atled,195
Þer hade ben ded of his dynt þat doȝty watȝ euer.
BotGawayn on þat giserne glyfte hym bysyde,
As hit com glydande adoun on glode hym to schende,
And schranke a lytel with þe schulderes for þe scharp yrne.
Þat oþer schalk wyth a schunt þe schene wythhaldeȝ,200
And þenne repreued he þe prynce with mony prowde wordeȝ:
'Þou art not Gawayn,' quod þe gome, 'þat is so goud halden,
Þat neuer arȝed for no here, by hylle ne be vale,
And now þou fles for ferde er þou fele harmeȝ!
Such cowardise of þat knyȝt cowþe I neuer here.205
Nawþer fyked I ne flaȝe, freke, quen þou myntest,
Ne kest no kauelacion, in kyngeȝ hous Arthor.
My hede flaȝ to my fote, and ȝet flaȝ I neuer;
And þou, er any harme hent, arȝeȝ in hert;
Wherfore þe better burne me burde be called210
þerfore.'
Quod Gawayn 'I schunt oneȝ,
And so wyl I no more;
Bot þaȝ my hede falle on þe stoneȝ,
I con not hit restore.215
Bot busk, burne, bi þi fayth! and bryng me to þe poynt.
Dele to me my destiné, and do hit out of honde,
For I schal stonde þe a strok, and start no more
Til þyn ax haue me hitte: haf here my trawþe.'
'Haf at þe þenne!' quod þat oþer, and heueȝ hit alofte,220
And wayteȝ as wroþely as he wode were.
He mynteȝ at hym maȝtyly, bot not þe mon ryueȝ,
Withhelde heterly hs honde, er hit hurt myȝt.
Gawayn grayþely hit bydeȝ, and glent with no membre,
Bot stode stylle as þe ston, oþer a stubbe auþer225
Þat raþeled is in roché grounde with roteȝ a hundreth.
Þen muryly efte con he mele, þe mon in þe grene:
'So now þou hatȝ þi hert holle, hitte me bihou
Halde þe now þe hyȝe hode þat Arþur þe raȝt,
Andkepe þy kanel at þis kest, ȝif hit keuer may.'230
Gawayn ful gryndelly with greme þenne sayde:
'Wy! þresch on, þou þro mon, þou þreteȝ to longe.
I hope þat þi hert arȝe wyth þyn awen seluen.'
'For soþe,' quod þat oþer freke, 'so felly þou spekeȝ,
I wyl no lenger on lyte lette þin ernde235
riȝt nowe.'
Þenne tashehym stryþe to stryke,
And frounses boþe lyppe and browe.
No meruayle þaȝ hym myslyke
Þat hoped of no rescowe.240
He lyftes lyȝtly his lome, and let hit doun fayre,
With þe barbe of þe bitte bi þe bare nek,
Þaȝ he homered heterly, hurt hym no more,
Bot snyrt hym on þat on syde, þat seuered þe hyde;
Þe scharp schrank to þe flesche þurȝ þe schyre grece245
Þat þe schene blod ouer his schulderes schot to þe erþe;
And quen þe burne seȝ þe blode blenk on þe snawe,
He sprit forth spenne fote more þen a spere lenþe,
Hent heterly his helme, and on his hed cast,
Schot with his schuldereȝ, his fayre schelde vnder,250
Braydeȝ out a bryȝt sworde, and bremely he spekeȝ;—
Neuer syn þat he watȝ burne borne of his moder
Watȝ he neuer in þis worlde wyȝe half so blyþe—
'Blynne, burne, of þy bur, bede me no mo!
I haf a stroke in þis stede withoute stryf hent,255
And if þow recheȝ me any mo, I redyly schal quyte,
And ȝelde ȝederly aȝayn—and þer to ȝe tryst—
and foo.
Bot on stroke here me falleȝ—
Þe couenaunt schop ryȝt so260
And þerfore, hende, now hoo!'
Thehaþel heldet hym fro, and on his ax rested,
Sette þe schaft vpon schore, and to þe scharp lened,
And loked to þe leude þat on þe launde ȝede,265
How þat doȝty, dredles, deruely þer stondeȝ
Armed, ful aȝleȝ: in hert hit hym lykeȝ.
Þenn he meleȝ muryly wyth a much steuen,
And wyth a ry
'Bolde burne, on þis bent be not so gryndel.270
No mon here vnmanerly þe mysboden habbe<ȝ>
Ne kyd, bot as couenaunde at kyngeȝ kort schaped.
I hyȝt þe a strok and þou hit hatȝ; halde þe wel payed.
I relece þe of þe remnaunt of ryȝtes alle oþer.
Iif I deliuer had bene, a boffet paraunter275
I couþe wroþeloker haf waret,—to þe haf wroȝt anger.
Fyrst I mansed þe muryly with a mynt one,
And roue þe wyth no rof sore, with ryȝt I þe profered
For þe forwarde þat we fest in þe fyrst nyȝt,
And þou trystyly þe trawþe and trwly me haldeȝ,280
Al þe gayne þow me gef, as god mon schulde.
Þat oþer munt for þe morne, mon, I þe profered,
Þou kyssedes my clere wyf, þe cosseȝ me raȝteȝ.
For boþe two here I þe bede bot two bare myntes
boute scaþe.285
Trwe mon trwe restore,
Þenne þar mon drede no waþe.
At þe þrid þou fayled þore,
And þerfor þat tappe ta þe.
For hit is my wede þat þou wereȝ, þat ilke wouen girdel,290
Myn owen wyf hit þe weued, I wot wel forsoþe.
Now know I wel þy cosses, and þy costes als,
And þe wowyng of my wyf: I wroȝt hit myseluen.
I sende hir to asay þe, and sothly me þynkkeȝ
On þe fautlest freke þat euer on fote ȝede.295
As perle bi þe quite pese is of prys more,
Sois Gawayn, in god fayth, bi oþer gay knyȝteȝ.
Bot here yow lakked a lyttel, sir, and lewté yow wonted;
Bot þat watȝ for no wylyde werke, ne wowyng nauþer,
Bot for ȝe lufed your lyf; þe lasse I yow blame.'300
Þat oþer stif mon in study stod a gret whyle,
So agreued for greme he gryed withinne;
Alle þe blode of his brest blende in his face,
Þat al he schrank for schome þat þe schalk talked.
Þe forme worde vpon folde þat þe freke meled:305
'Corsed worth cowarddyse and couetyse boþe!
In yow is vylany and vyse þat vertue disstryeȝ.'
Þenne he kaȝt to þe knot, and þe kest lawseȝ,
Brayde broþely þe belt to þe burne seluen:
'Lo! þer þe falssyng! foule mot hit falle!310
For care of þy knokke cowardyse me taȝt
To acorde me with couetyse, my kynde to forsake,
Þat is larges and lewté þat longeȝ to knyȝteȝ.
Now am I fawty and falce, and ferde haf ben euer
Of trecherye and vntrawþe: boþe bityde sorȝe315
and care!
I biknowe yow, knyȝt, here stylle,
Al fawty is my fare;
Leteȝ me ouertake your wylle
And efte I schal be ware.'320
Thenn loȝe þat oþer leude, and luflyly sayde:
'I halde hithardilyhole, þe harme þat I hade.
Þou art confessed so clene, beknowen of þy mysses,
And hatȝ þe penaunce apert of þe poynt of myn egge,
I halde þe polysed of þat plyȝt, and pured as clene325
As þou hadeȝ neuer forfeted syþen þou watȝ fyrst borne;
And I gif þe, sir, þe gurdel þat is golde-hemmed,
For hit is grene as my goune. Sir Gawayne, ȝe maye
Þenk vpon þis ilke þrepe, þer þou forth þryngeȝ
Amongprynces of prys; and þis a pure token330
Of þe chaunceatþe grene chapelofcheualrous knyȝteȝ.
And ȝe schal in þis nwe ȝer aȝayn to my woneȝ,
And we schyn reuel þe remnaunt of þis ryche fest
ful bene.'
Þer laþed hym fast þe lord,335
And sayde 'With my wyf, I wene,
We schal yow wel acorde,
Þat watȝ your enmy kene.'
'Nay, for soþe,' quod þe segge, and sesed hys helme,
And hatȝ hit of hendely, and þe haþel þonkkeȝ,340
'I haf soiorned sadly; sele yow bytyde!
And He ȝelde hit yow ȝare þat ȝarkkeȝ al menskes!
And comaundeȝ me to þat cortays, your comlych fere,
Boþe þat on and þat oþer myn honoured ladyeȝ,
Þat þus hor knyȝt wyth hor kest han koyntly bigyled.345
Bot hit is no ferly þaȝ a fole madde,
And þurȝ wyles of wymmen be wonen to sorȝe,
For so watȝ Adam in erde with one bygyled,
And Salamon with fele sere, and Samson eftsoneȝ
Dalyda dalt hym hys wyrde, and Dauyth þerafter350
Watȝ blended with Barsabe, þat much bale þoled.
Now þese were wrathed wyth her wyles, hit were a wynne huge
To luf hom wel, and leue hem not, a leude þat couþe.
For þes wer forne þe freest, þat folȝed alle þe sele
Exellently of alle þyse oþer vnder heuenryche355
þat mused;
And alle þay were biwyled
Withwymmen þat þay vsed.
Þaȝ I be now bigyled,
Me þink me burde be excused.'360