He scheweȝ hem þe scheldeȝ, & schapes hem þe tale,
Of þe largesse, & þe lenþe, þe liþerneȝ alse,
Of þe were of þe wylde swyn, in wod þer he fled.
Þat oþer knyȝt ful comly comended his dedeȝ,
& praysed hit as gret prys, þat he proued hade;
For suche a brawne of a best, þe bolde burne sayde,
Ne such sydes of a swyn, segh he neuer are.
Þenne hondeled þay þe hoge hed, þe hende mon hit praysed,
& let lodly þerat þe lorde forte here:
"Now Gawayn," quod þe god mon, "þis gomen is your awen,