Syr Gawayne asked hym in that stounde.
"Syr knight, wyll ye any more?”
"Naye," he fayde, "I am hurte fo fore,
I maye not my felfe welde;

I yelde me, fyr knyght, and faue my lyfe,
For with the I wyll no more ftryffe,
For thowe hast wonne the felde."
"Syr, on thys couenaunte I the graunte,
So ye wyll make me faythe and warraunte,
To-daye agaynst me no armes to beare;
Sweare thys othe on my fwearde bright.”—
“Yes,” he fayde, "I wyll, as I am trewe knight,
That thys daye I will not your deare.
Nowe fare well, knyght, fo god me amende !
For I fee fortune ys thy greate frende,

That fheowith in the to-daye;

There ys no bote to ftrydel agayne,

160

165

170

175

Fare well, and haue good daye.”

For thou arte a knyght full ftronge of mayne,

Thus Gyamoure wente downe the mountayne hye,

180

[fol. 18] On foote he wente full werelve,

Hys father foone hym fpyed;

*A! wellcome." he fayed, my fonne Gramoure,
Me thynke thou hast not fpede well thys ftoure,
That full well I fee thys tyde.

Thou went on horie-backe, lyke a good knyght,
And nowe I fee thou arte dolefully dyght,
That maketh all my care:"

“Father,” he fayde, “yt wyll none otherwise be,
Yonder knyght hath wonne me in warre fo fre,
And hathe wounded me full fore.
Forfothe,” fayde Gyamoure, “I wyll not lye,
Heys a ftronge knyght, bolde and hardye.
Of Arthures courte I trowe be ys:

185

190

I fuppofe on of the Rounde Table,
For at nede he ys both stronge and hable,
So haue I founde hym, withouten myfse."
Right fo as they fpake the one to the other,
There came to them the feconde brother,
Syr Tyrry was hys name;

He came rydynge on a iolye courfyer,
Dryvinge by leapes, as the wylde fyer,
The knyght was of good fame.

He was not ware of hys father deare,

But hys brother called hym neare,

And fayde, "Syr, nowe abyde;"

He than turned hys horfe, that knyght fo gaye,

By leapes out of straye,

Hys hearte was full of pryde.

Than founde he hys father all blodye,

And hys brother was wounded fyckerlye,

[fol. 19.]

In hys hearte he began to be syke:

"A! fyr, who hath wounded youe?” quod he,
"A-venged on hym nowe wyll I be,

That shall hym myslyke.”

66

"I wys, fonne, yt ys a knyght stronge,

That hath done vs thys wronge,

Aboue on the mountayne;

He hath me wounded pafsynge foore,

And I trowe thy brother he hathe well more,

And by thy syster he hathe layne.

Therfore go nowe, as a knyght good,

And auenge the fhedynge of thy fathers blood,

As faste as euer thou maye;

Loke that thou fayle not for no cowardyfe,
But mete hym in the myghtyest wyse,

For he ys good at a-faye."

"I fee well, father, he ys a knyght stronge,

But he hathe done youe greate wronge,

Yt woulde be harde hym to wynne;

195

200

205

210

215

220

225

But neuer the later I fhall do my myght,
Hys ftrenght afsaye nowe I fhall in fyght,
Yf he were of the deuyls kynne."

T

HYS knyght Syr Tey turned hys horse,
And vp the mountayne he rode with force,
As fast as he myght dryue;

He came to the pauylion, with greate pryde,—

"Haue done, fyr knyght, thy horse bestryde,
For with the I am at ftryue."

Syr Gawayne loked out at the pauylyon doore,
And fawe thys knyght armed hym before,

To hym he fayed verelye;

"Syr, yf I haue ought to youe offended, [fol. 19b.] I am ready to make yt to be amended,

By mylde mother Marye!"

"Naye, Syr knyght, yt maye not fo be,
Therfore make the ready faste to me,
In all the haste that thou maye;
For be god that me dere bought,
Make a-mendes mayest thou nought,
Therfore nowe lett vs playe."
Gawayne fawe none other bote than,
Hys horse he toke as a worthye man,
And into the faddle he fprente;

230

235

240

245

250

He toke hys horfe with a greate randone,-
"Nowe, Syr knyght, lette me haue done,

255

What in youre hearte ys mente."

"Lo! here I am," fayde Syr Terrye,

"For to the I haue greate enuye,"

And together gan they dafshe;

They rufshed to-gether with fuche debate,

That marueyll yt was howe that they sate,
They gaue fuche a crafshe!

Syr Terrye fpake in that place,

And Gawayne fought faste in that race,

260

[fol. 20.]

"What," fayde Gawayne, "ys that youre boast greate?
I wende youe woulde haue foughten tyll ye had fweate,

Ys youre ftrenght all done?"

"Yea, fyr, in fayth, fo god me nowe faue!

Of me thou mayste no more craue,

For all my myght ys gone.

Thou haste to-day wonne thre knyghtes,

The father, and two fonnes, that well fyghtes,
Worfhypfullye vnder thy fhyelde;

And yf thou maye wynne our eldest brother,

[fol. 20b.] I call thee the best knyght, and none other, That euer fought in fyelde.

For he ys full wyght, I warne youe welle,

He endureth better than doth the steele,

And that fhalte thou foone fee;

But he be thy matche I can not knowe,

Of knyghthode thoue haste no felowe,

On my fayth I ensure thee."

"Nowe," quod Gawayne, "lette hym be,
And, Syr knyght, make an othe to me,

Yt ys daye thou do me no greue;
And thou fhalt pafse fro me all quyte,
Where as ys nowe thy moste delyght,

' that, MS.

265

270

275

280

285

290

295

With oute any moore repreue."

Syr Terrye fayde, "therto I graunte,

Fare well nowe, God be thy warrante,”-
Full weykelye he wente on foote;

He lefte neuer tyll he came there,

Where as hys father and Gyamoure were,

300

That carefull heartes had, god wote.

Than befpake Gyamoure, hys yongest brother,

305

"Syr, thou hast gotten as we haue, and non other,
That knewe I well yt fhoulde fo be;"

"By god!” fayde Syr Terrye, "fo nowe yt ys,
He ys a deuyll, forfothe ywys,

And that ys proued on me."

66

Yea," quod Syr Gylbart, that Earle fo olde,
"He ys a knyght bothe stronge and bolde,
And fortune ys hys frende;

My doughters loue he hath clene wanne,
Therfore I dare well faye he ys a manne,
Where euer that he wende."

As they thre ftode thus talkynge,

[fol. 21.] They hearde a manne full loude fynge,
That all the woode ronge;

"That ys my fonne Brandles fo gaye,
Whan he feeth vs in fuche araye,

He wyll leaue hys fonge."

By than they fawe the knight comynge,

A grene boughe in hys hande he dyd brynge,
Syttynge on a ioylye courfyere;

Hys horfe was trapped in redde veluett,

Many ouches of golde theron was fette,

Of knyghthode he had no peere.

Alfo hys horse was armed before,

The headde and the brest, and no more,

And that in fyne steele;

Hym felfe was armed pafsynge fure,

In harneys that woulde ftrokes endure,

310

315

320

325

330