XI.
On the morn Sir Gawayne finds himself in a deep forest, 740
Bi a mounte on þe morne meryly he rydes,
Into a forest ful dep, þat ferly wat3 wylde,
Hi3e hille3 on vche a halue, & holt wode3 vnder,
Of hore oke3 fill hoge a hundreth to-geder;
Þe hasel & þe ha3-þorne were harled al samen,
With ro3e raged mosse rayled ay-where,
With mony brydde3 vnblyþe vpon bare twyges,
Þat pitosly þer piped for pyne of þe colde.
Þe gome vpon Gryngolet glyde3 hem vnder,
Þur3 mony misy & myre, mon al hym one,
Carande for his costes, lest he ne keuer schulde,
To se þe seruy1 of þat syre, þat on þat self ny3t
Of a burde wat3 borne, oure baret to quelle;
& þerfore sykyng he sayde, "I be-seche þe, lorde,
& Mary, þat is myldest moder so dere.
Of sum herber, þer he3ly I my3t here masse.
Ande þy matyne3 to-morne, mekely I ask,
& þer-to prestly I pray my pater & aue,
& crede."
He rode in his prayere,
& cryed for his mysdede,
He sayned hym in syþes sere,
& sayde "cros Kryst me spede!"
1 seruyce (?).