He hypped ouer on hys ax, and orpedly strydeȝ,
Bremly broþe on a bent þat brode watȝ aboute, 165
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. 170
'Gawayn,' quod þat grene gome, 'God þe mot loke!
Iwysse þou art [welcom], wyȝe, to my place,
And þou hatȝ tymed þi trauayl as truee mon schulde,