Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

The King lay at Camelot at Christmastide, With many a lovesome lord, leal men of the best, All the royal brethren of the Round Table, Amid revel full rich and reckless mirths. There true knights tourney’d, by times, full many, Jousted right jollily these gentle peers, Then came to the court their carols to dance. For the feast went on full fifteen days, With all the meat and mirth that men could avise⁠— Such gladsome glee glorious to hear, Merry din by day, and dancing o’ nights, That all was happiness in hall and in chamber Among lords and ladies: ’twas the liege king’s pleasure. With all the weal of the world they wonèd together⁠— Knights noblest known under Christ himself, And the loveliest ladies that life ever had, And he the comeliest King, that the court ruled, And these fair folk all, in the flower of their age, so free, On earth the happiest ay, And the proudest Prince was he; Ye might not find today So brave a company.

IV

The year was yet young, ’twas the day of New Year, And double (as is due) on the dais was served; Soon as the King with his knights had come into hall And

Now shall I of their service say you no more, For well may ye weet, no wánt was among them. Another note full new was sounded anon, That the folk might have leave to fall to their vittails. But the noise of that note had nó while ceas’d Or the first course in the court full kindly been serv’d, When there flúng in, on foal, a fearsome master, His stature the tallest and stoutest on earth, His body to the waist so broad and so burly, And his loins and his limbs so long and so great, Half giant at first they judg’d he might be, But a man he was truly, the mightiest of mould And the finest of figure that on foal might ride. For of back and of breast his body was big, Yet his waist and his womb were worthily small, And his members, each one, match’d them in measure, full clean. All wonder’d at his hue, And eke his lordly mien; He seem’d bold knight and true, But glow’d all over green.

VIII

XIII

“Nay, in faith,” said the fell man, “no fight do I challenge; The boys on this bench are but beardless children. Were I haspèd in arms on a hígh stèed. No man here could match me, their might is too feeble. Wherefore I crave in this court but a Christmas game, For ’tis Yule and New Year, and youth ye have here: If any in this house so hardy him hold, Be so bold in his blood, and of brain so wild, As stiffly to strike one stroke for another, I give him for gift this gísarm noble, This axe so heavy, to handle as he likes, And I bide the first blow, as bare as I sit. If any be so true as to test what I tell ye, Let him leap to me lightly, I lend him this weapon (He may keep it his own, I quit-claim it for ever) To stand him a stroke full stoutly on floor; And I bargain for naught but a blow in return, barlay: Yet give I him respite, A twelvemonth and a day; Now haste! Will any wight Herein dare ought to say?”

XIX

The Green Knight on ground graithly him dresses, A little he louts, to let the skin show, His long lovely locks he lays o’er his crown, And the naked nape for the knock makes ready. Gawain gripp’d his axe and heav’d it on high (His left foot forward, firm on the floor), Then swung it adown full swift on the bare, That the sharp edge shore, sheer through the báckbone, Cut the flesh cleanly, and clove him in two. The blade of the bright steel bit in the ground, The head from a-high to the earth bounded, So that many foin’d it with their feet, as forward it roll’d. The blood from the body blink’d on the green: Yet nor falter’d nor fell the fey man for all that, But started forth stoutly on stalwart shanks, And roughly he reach’d, mid the ranks on the floor, For his lovely head, that he lifted at once: Then he turns to his colt and, catching the bridle, Steps into steelbow and strides aloft, Holding by the hair his head in his hand, And as soberly seats him in saddle again As no únhap had ail’d him, though headless he was. Sans head, He writhèd every way The gruesome trunk that bled; Ere he had said his say Many of him had dread.

XX

So this lord is laiking by linden-wood eaves, And the good man, Gawain, in gay bed sleeping Lies snug till any gleam glimmers on wall, Under coverlet clean, curtain’d about. As on slumber he slid, a sly noise heard he, A little din at his door, which daintily open’d; He heav’d up his head out of the clothes, A corner of the curtain he caught up a little, And watched full warily what it might be. ’Twas the lady herself, lovely to look on, Who drew the door after, so stealthy and still, And boun’d toward the bed; and he blush’d and shamed him, Slipt him down slyly, and look’d as if sleeping. Then stepped she stilly, and stole to the bed, Cast up the curtain, and creeping within it Sat her full softly on the béd-sìde, And waited a while to watch when he waken’d. Long time did Gawain lie there lurking, Cast in his conscience what such a case Might mean or amount to: marvel him thought it! Yet he said to himself more seemly it were By speech or by spell to aspy her intent. Then he waken’d, and wroth him, and toward her turn’d, And opening his eye-lids with an air of surprise For his safety him sain’d, and in secret a prayer he said.