Than faid the fyre of the faill and the fouerane,
"I will na vittale be fauld your fenyeour vntill."
"That is at your avne will," faid wourthy Gawane,
"To mak you lord of your avne, me think it grete skill."
Than right gudly that grome anfuerit agane,
Quhy I tell the this taill, tak tent now thair till ;
Pase on thi purpos, furth to the plane ;
For all the wyis I weild ar at his avne will,
How to luge, and to leynd, and in my land lent;
Gif I fauld hym his awin,
It war wrang to be knawin,
Than war I wourthy to be drawin,
"Thare come ane laithles leid air to this place,
With ane girdill ourgilt, and vthir light gere;
It kythit be his cognifance ane knight that he wes,
Bot he wes ladlike of laite, and light of his fere;
The verray cause of his come I knew noght the cace,
Bot wondirly wraighly he wroght, and all as of were.
Yit wait I noght quhat he is, be Goddis grete grace!
Bot gif it happin that he be ane knyght of youris here,
Has done my lord to difpleife, that I hym said ryght,
And his presence plane,
I say yow in certane',
He falbe fet agane,
Schir Gavyne gettis his leif, and grathis to his steid,
And broght to the bauld king boid-word of blis,-
"Weill gretis yow, lord, yone lusty in leid,
And fays hym likis in land your langour to lis;
All the wyis and' welth he weildis in theid
Sall halely be at your will, all that is his."
Than he merkit with myrth our ane grene meid,
With all the best, to the burgh, of lordis, I wis;-
The knight kepit the king, cumly and cleir;
With lordis and ladyis of estate,
Met hym furth on the gate,
Syne tuke him in at yate,
He had that heynd to ane hall, hiely on hight,
With dukis, and digne lordis, doughty in deid;—
"Ye ar welcum, cumly king," said the kene knyght,
Ay, quhil you likis and lift, to luge in this leid.
Heir I mak yow of myne maister of myght,
Of all the wyis and welth I weild in this steid;
Thair is na ridand roy, be refoun and right,
Sa deir welcum this day, doutles but dreid.
I am your coufin* of kyn, I mak to yow knawin;
This kyth and this caftell,
Firth, foreft, and fell,
Ay, quhill yow likis to duell,
I may refresch yow with folk, to feght gif you nedis,
With thretty thousand tald, and traiftfully tight,
Of wife, wourthy, and wight, in thair were wedis,
Baith with birny and brand to ftrenth you ful ftright,
Weill stuffit in fteill, on thair stout stedis."
Than faid king Arthur hym felf, feymly be fight,
"Sic frendschip I hald fair, that forffis thair dedis;
Thi kyndnes falbe quyt, as I am trew knight !"
Than thay bufkit to the bynke, beirnis of the best;
The king crovnit with gold,
Thair myght feruice be fene, with fegis in faill,
Thoght all felcought war foght, fra the fon to the fee
Wynis went within þt wane, maift wourthy to vaill,
In coupis of cleir gold, brichtest of blee;
It war full teir for to tell, treuly in taill,
The feir courffis that war set, in that semblee
The meriest war' menfkit on mete, at the maill,
With menstralis myrthfully makand thame glee.
Thus thay folaist thame selvin, futhly to fay,
Al thay four dais to end ;-
The king thankit the heynd,
Syne tuke his leve for to wend,
Thus refreschit he his folk, in grete fufioun,
With outin wanting in waill, wastell, or wyne ;
Thai turffit vp tentis, and turnit of toun,
The roy with his Round Tabill, richest of ryne.
Thay drive on the da deir, be dalis & doun,
And of the nobillest be-name, noumerit of nyne;
Quhen it drew to be dirk nycht, and þe day yeid doun,
Thai plantit doun pauillonis, proudly fra thine.
Thus iournait gentilly thyr cheualrouse knichtis,
Ithandly ilk day,
Throu mony fer contray,
Our the mountains gay,
Thai paffit in thare pilgramage, pe proudeft in pall,
The prince provit in prese, that prife wes and deir ;
Syne war þai war of ane wane, wrocht with ane wal,
Reirdit on ane riche roche, beside ane riveir,
With doubill dykis be-dene drawin our all;
Micht nane pame note with invy, nor nyt þame to neir.
The land wes likand in large, and' luffum to call ;
Propir schene schane þe fon, feymly and feir.
The king stude vefiand þe wall, maist vailyeand to se;
On þat river he saw,
Cumly towris to knaw;
The roy rekinnit on raw,
Apone þat riche river, randonit full evin,
The fide-wallis war fet, fad to ye fee;
Scippis faland þame by, fexty and sevyn,
To send, quhen þame self list, in feir cuntre;
That al þai that ar wrocht vndir þe hie hevin,
Micht nocht warne þame, at wil to ische, nor entre.
Than carpit þe cumly king, with ane lowd stevin,
"Yone is þe feymliast sicht, þat euer couth I se.
Gif þair be ony keyne knycht, þat can tell it,
Quha is lord of yone land,
Or quham of is he haldand,
Than fchir Spynagrose with speche spak to ye king,"Yone lord' haldis of nane leid, that yone land aw,
But euer-lefting but legiance, to his leving,
As his eldaris has done, enduring his daw."
"Hevinly god!" said the heynd, "how happynis this thing?
Herd thair euer ony sage sa felcouth ane saw!
Sal neuer myne hart be in saill, na in liking,
Bot gif I loiffing my life, or be laid law,
Be the pilgramage compleit I pas for faull prow,
Bot dede be my destenyng,
He fall at my agane cumyng,
Mak homage and obliffing,
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