XI

"Gawayn," quod þat grene gome, "God þe mot loke!

I-wysse þou art welcom, wyȝe, to my place,

& þou hatȝ tymed þi trauayl as true mon schulde;

& þou knoweȝ þe couenaunteȝ kest vus by-twene,

At þis tyme twelmonyth þou toke þat þe falled,

& I schulde at þis nwe ȝere ȝeply þe quyte.

& we ar in þis valay, verayly oure one,

Here ar no renkes vs to rydde, rele as vus likeȝ;

Haf þy helme of þy hede, & haf here þy pay;

Busk no more debate þen I þe bede þenne,

"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;

Botstyȝtel þe vpon on strok, & I schal stonde stylle,

& warp þe no wernyng, to worch as þe lykeȝ,

no whare."
He lened with þe nek, & lutte,
& schewed þat schyre al bare,
& lette as he noȝt dutte,
For drede he wolde not dare.

welcon, in MS. truee in MS. MS. þy þy.