XII.
Scarcely had he blessed himself thrice
Nade he sayned hym-self, segge, bot þrye,
Er he watȝ war in þe wod of a won in a mote.
Abof a launde, on a lawe, loken vnder boȝeȝ,
Of mony borelych bole, aboute bi þe diches;
A castel þe comlokest þat euer knyȝt aȝte,
Pyched on a prayere, a park al aboute,
With a pyked palays, pyned ful þik,
Þat vmbe-teȝe mony tre mo þen two myle.
Þat holde on þat on syde þe haþel auysed,
As hit schemered & schon þurȝ þe schyre okeȝ;
Þenne hatȝ he hendly of his helme, & heȝly he þonkeȝ
Iesus & say[nt] Gilyan, þat gentyle ar boþe,
Þat cortaysly hade hym kydde, & his cry herkened.
"Now bone hostel," coþe þe burne, "I be-seche yow ȝette!"
Þenne gedereȝ he to Gryngolet with þe gilt heleȝ,
& he ful chauncely hatȝ chosen to þe chef gate,
Þat broȝt bremly þe burne to þe bryge ende,
in haste;
Þe bryge watȝ breme vp-brayde,
Þe ȝateȝ wer stoken faste,
Þe walleȝ were wel arayed,
Hit dut no wyndeȝ blaste.