IV.
The gates are soon opened.
The brygge watȝ brayde doun, & þe brode ȝateȝ
Vnbarred, & born open, vpon boþe halue;
Þe burne blessed hym bilyue, & þe bredeȝ passed;
Prayses þe porter, bifore þe prynce kneled,
Gef hym God & goud day, þat Gawayn he saue;
& went on his way, with his wyȝe one,
Þat schulde teche hym to tourne to þat tene place,
Þer þe ruful race he schulde re-sayue.
Þay boȝen bi bonkkeȝ, þer boȝeȝ ar bare,
Þay clomben bi clyffeȝ, þer clengeȝ þe colde;
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, & breke, bi bonkkeȝ aboute,
Schyre schaterande on schoreȝ, þer þay doun schowued.
Welawylle 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;
Þe burne þat rod hym by
Bede his mayster abide.