* * * * *
On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee;
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittìe.
Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 5
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte sir Gawaine to him came,[58]
And there to him these wordes did saye.
Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye 10
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.
For sir Launcelot is now in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe, 15
And will assiste yee in the fighte.
The kinge then call'd his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And tolde them howe sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye. 20
His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
Then twelve good knightes king Arthure chose, 25
The best of all that with him were:
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.
The king he charged all his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee: 30
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see