Trawe ȝe me þat trwely—þaȝ ȝe had twenty lyues
to spende. 45
He hatȝ wonyd here ful ȝore,
On bent much baret bende,
Aȝayn his dynteȝ sore
Ȝe may not yow defende.
'Forþy, goude Sir Gawayn, let þe gome one, 50
And gotȝ away sum oþer gate, vpon Goddeȝ halue!
Cayreȝ bi sum oþer kyth, þer Kryst mot yow spede,
And I schal hyȝ me hom aȝayn, and hete yow fyrre