Sir Gawaine, who seems to have been of a stature as gigantic as the famous Sir Hugh Cæsar, who is buried at Penrith, conquered him by enchantment: his sinews lost their strength, his arms sank powerless at his side; and he only received the boon of life at the hands of his enemy by swearing upon his faith as a knight, to return upon New Year's day, and bring "true word what thing it was that women most desired."
Go fetch my sword Excalibar:
Goe saddle mee my steede,
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.
And when he came to Tearne-Wadling,
Beneath the castle-walle;
"Come forth; come forth; thou proud baròne,
Or yielde thyself my thralle."
On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.
Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,
King Arthur felte the charme:
His sturdy sinews lost their strengthe,
Down sunke his feeble arme.
Nowe yield thee, yield thee, King Arthùre,
Nowe yield thee unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better terms maye bee.
Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling
Upon the New Yeare's daye:
And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women moste desyre:
This is thy ransome, Arthùre, he says,
Ile have noe other hyre.
King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sweare upon his faye,
Then tooke his leave of the grimme baròne,
And faste hee rode awaye.
And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.