X.
Then cried he aloud, 2212
Thenne þe knyȝt con calle ful hyȝe,
"Who stiȝtleȝ in þis sted, me steuen to holde?
For now is gode Gawayn goande ryȝt here,
If any wyȝe oȝt wyl wynne hider fast,
Oþer now, oþer neuer, his nedeȝ to spede."
"Abyde," quod on on þe bonke, abouen ouer his hede,
"& þou schal haf al in hast, þat I þe hyȝt ones."
Ȝet he rusched on þat rurde, rapely a þrowe,
& wyth quettyng a-wharf, er he wolde lyȝt;
& syþen he keuereȝ bi a cragge, & comeȝ of a hole,
Whyrlande out of a wro, wyth a felle weppen,
A deneȝ ax nwe dyȝt, þe dynt with [t]o ȝelde
With a borelych bytte, bende by þe halme,
Fyled in a fylor, fowre fote large,
Hit watȝ no lasse, bi þat lace þat lemed ful bryȝt.
& þe gome in þe erene gered as fyrst,
Boþe þe lyre & þe leggeȝ, lokkeȝ, & berde,
Saue þat fayre on his fote he foundeȝ on þe erþe,
Sette þe stele to þe stone, & stalked bysyde.
When he wan to þe watter, þer he wade nolde,
He hypped ouer on hys ax, & orpedly strydeȝ,
Bremly broþe on a bent, þat brode watȝ a-boute,
on snawe.
Sir Gawayn þe knyȝt con mete.
He ne lutte hym no þyng lowe,
Þat oþer sayde, "now, sir swete,
Of steuen mon may þe trowe."