VII.
"Mary!" quoth the other, "since it pleases thee to lose thy life, 2140
"Mary!" quod þat oþer mon, "now þou so much spelleȝ,
Þat þou wylt þyn awen nye nyme to þy-seluen,
& þe lyst lese þy lyf, þe lette I ne kepe;
Haf here þi helme on þy hede, þi spere in þi honde,
& ryde me doun þis ilk rake, bi ȝon rokke syde,
Til þou be broȝt to þe boþem of þe brem valay;
Þenne loke a littel on þe launde, on þi lyfte honde,
& þou schal se in þat slade þe self chapel,
& þe borelych burne on bent, þat hit kepeȝ.
Now fareȝ wel on Godeȝ half, Gawayn þe noble,
For alle þe golde vpon grounde I nolde go with þe,
Ne bere þe felaȝschip þurȝ þis fryth on fote fyrre."
Bi þat þe wyȝe in þe wod wendeȝ his brydel,
Hit þe hors with þe heleȝ, as harde as he myȝt,
Lepeȝ hym ouer þe launde, & leueȝ þe knyȝt þere,
al one.
"Bi Goddeȝ self," quod Gawayn,
"I wyl nauþer grete ne grone,
To Goddeȝ wylle I am ful bayn,
& to hym I haf me tone."