And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye:
"Come turne to me, mine owne wed-lord,
Come turne to mee, I praye."
Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for care;
When lo! instead of that lothelye dame,
He sawe a young ladye faire.
Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,
Her eyen were blacke as sloe;
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.
Agreeably surprised at the change, Sir Gawaine soon learns to love the lady. She informs him that, by a cruel fate, she cannot be fair both night and day; and asks him which he prefers. He hints that the night would be most pleasant; to which she replies:—
What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes
To drinke the ale and wine;
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not go, with mine?
"My faire ladyè, Sir Gawaine sayd,
I yield me to thy skille;
Because thou art my owne ladye
Thou shalt have all thy wille."
The spell is broken. She tells him her history; and that henceforth she shall be fair both night and day.
My father was an aged knighte,
And yet it chanced soe,
He took to wife a false ladyè,
Whiche broughte me to this woe.
Shee witch'd mee, being a faire younge maide,
In the grene forèst to dwelle;
And there to abide in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle.
Midst mores and mosses, woods, and wilds;
To lead a lonesome life:
Till some yonge faire and courtlye knighte
Wolde marrye me for his wife: