Fit
II
O happen’d this handsel to Arthur at Yule,
When for vaunting vows of adventure he yearned;
Though brave wórds had been wanting when they went to their meat,
Now are they bestead with stern work in plenty.
To begin this game was Gawain full glad,
But if the end be heavy, have ye no wonder:
For though men’s minds are merry, when mead they have ta’en,
A year swiftly yerns and yields ne’er the same—
End and beginning agree not together.
So this Yule over-pass’d and the year after,
And each season full soon ensued upon other.
After Christmas came the crabbèd Lenten
That tries us with fish, and fare more meagre.
Then the weather of the world with winter it chides,
Cold shrinks adown, clouds rise on high
And shed the sheen rain in showers full warm,
To fall upon fair field; flowers peep forth,
Grassland and grove green is their raiment,
Birds busk them to build, and bravely they sing
For solace of the summer that sues thereafter,
by way,
And blossoms swell and blow
On hedgerows rich and gay;
Then noble notes enow
In holt are heard, in May.
Comes the season of summer with its soft breezes,
When Zephyr soughs gently o’er seedling and grass;
Oh! winsome is the wort on the wold that awakens
To bíde a blíssful glánce of the bright sun,
When the dripping dew drops from the leafage.
But Autumn soon hies with his harder weather,
And warns it ere winter to wax and be ripe;
Then drives he with drought the dust to arise,
That it flies on high, from the face of the fold.
Wroth winds of the welkin wrestle with the sun,
Leaves dart from linden and light to the ground,
And the grass grows gray that green was before.
Then all ripens and rots that rose up in springtime,
And thus yerns the year in yesterdays many,
And winter winds back, ’tis the world’s order,
(Ah true!)
Until Michelmas moon
Is come, and winter’s due;
Then thinks Gawain full soon
Of the ride that he must rue.
Yet till All Hallows with Arthur he bode,
Who made feast on that festival for his friend’s sake,
Amid revel full rich of the Round Table.
Then courteous Knights and comely ladies
All for love of that liege were in longing and sorrow,
But ne’er the less nor the latter they allow’d but mirth,
Though many were joyless, jesting the while.
After supper, full sadly he sought to his uncle,
And spoke of his passage in speech very plain:
“Now, liege lord of my life, your leave I would ask;
Ye know all the case, and I care no more
Of my trouble to talk, or to teen you one whit;
But I am bound for the buffet a bare night hence
And the Green Knight must seek, as God will me speed.”
Then the best of the burg busk’d them together,
Ewain and Eric, and others full many,
Sir Dodinal the Dour, the Duke of Clarence,
Launcelot, and Lionel, and Lucan the good,
Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, big men both,
And many another worthy, with Mador of the Port;
Came all this company seeking the King,
With care at their heart, to counsel Sir Gawain;
There was dole very dree that day in the hall
That so worthy as Gawain should wend on that errand,
To endúre a gríevous dínt, and deal nevermore
with brand.
The Knight made ay good cheer,
Said he, “Now grief is bann’d;
’Gainst destiny so drear
What may man do but stand?”
He dwells all that day and dresses on the morn,
Asks early for his arms, that were all to him brought;
There was raught on the floor a rich red carpet,
And much was the gilt gear that gleamèd thereon.
The stalwart on’t steps, and the steel handles.
All dearly dubb’d in a doublet of Tars
And a crafty capados, closely fitting,
Bounden and lined with a bright ermine.
First, on his soles the sabatons they set,
Lápped his légs in gréaves of lovely steelwork
With poleyns thereon pight, that were polisht full clean
And were girt round his knees with golden latchets;
Fair cuishes next, that cunningly enclosèd
His great thewèd thighs, and with thongs were fasten’d;
Then the brawden byrnie, with its bright steel rings,
That encasèd his body o’er cloth full costly;
Last, on both his arms, a brace well burnisht,
With good cowters and gay, and the gloves of plate,
And áll the góodly géar that should gainly serve him
that tide:—
His noble coat-armure,
His golden spurs of pride,
And then his brand full sure,
With silk girt round his side.
When he was haspèd in arms, his harness was splendid,
The least latchet or loop was of learning gold;
So arm’d as he was he hearken’d his mass,
Solemnly offer’d at the high altar.
Then he comes to the King and his court-brethren,
Takes kindly his leave of lords and of ladies,
Who kiss and escort him, and to Christ him commend.
By thén was Gríngolet gráith and girt with a saddle
That gleam’d full gaily with fringes of gold,
And with nails anew for the nonce was studded;
The bridle with bars of bright gold was striped,
The apparail of the poitrel and its proud trappings,
The crupper and the coverture, accorded with the arsons—
Rich studs all over, arrangèd on red,
That all glitter’d and gleam’d like the glent of the sun.
Then has he his helmet and eagerly it kisses;
It was stapled for strength, and stuffèd within,
And sat high on his head, well haspèd behind;
A kerchief bright o’er the beaver was bound,
Embroider’d and set with the bravest jewels
On the broad silk band, and birds on the seams,
Painted popinjays preening themselves,
Turtles and trueloves entailèd so thick
Mány a búrd had been búsy seven winters about them
in town.
I ween, of greater price
Was the circlet round his crown,
Of diamonds a device
That were both bright and brown.
Then they show’d him the shield—’twas of shéer gùles,
With the pentacle painted in pure gold on it.
By the baldric he caught it and cast o’er his neck,
And it became well the Knight, that comely armour
Now why it should ’long to the leal Gawain
I am intent to tell you, though my tale may linger;
’Tis a sign that Solomon sometime appointed
To be a tried token of truest fealty,
For ’tis a figure wherein there are five angles
And the lines overlap and lock in each other
Without end, every way: and Englishmen call it
Everywhere, as I hear, the Endless Knot.
For this cause it became the good Kníght to wear it,
For in five ways faithful and five times five
Was Gawain known for good, and as gold refinèd,
Void of all villainy, with virtues endued,
in moat;
So this pentangle new
He bore on shield and coat,
As wight of word most true
And gentlest knight of note.
First he was found faultless in his fíve wìts,
Nor failèd he ever in his five fingers,
And his affiance on field was in the fíve woùnds
That Christ got on Cross, as the creed tells us;
And whereso this man was in mellay bestead
His thought was on this, above all things else,
That his courage he caught from the five joys
That the high Queen of heaven had in her Child.
For which cause the good Knight becomingly bore
In the úpper hálf of his shíeld Her image depainted,
That when he glanced on that Fair his force never falter’d.
The fifth five, as I find, that this free usèd
Were fraunchise and fellowship before all else,
Cleanness and courtesy, known in him ever,
And pity, that passes all—these pure five
Were more happ’d on this athel than on all other knights.
And these thews, all five, were so throng upon him,
They ran each into other, nor any end had,
On five points fixt that failèd never,
Along ev’ry line neither link’d nor sunder’d,
But everywhere endless, at each angle alike,
Where the game e’er began, or glode to an end.
Wherefore on his sheen shield was shapen this knot
Royally, with red gold upon réd gùles.
Which the pure pentangle by people is call’d
of lore.
Now graith’d is Gawain gay,
His trusty lance he bore,
He gave them all Good-day,
He deem’d for evermore.
He put spurs to his steed and sprang on his way
So fast that the flint-sparks flew out behind him.
All that saw that sire sigh’d in their hearts,
And said to each other (it seemèd but sooth)
Grieving for Gawain, “By God, ’tis a pity
We should lose such a liege, in his life so noble!
To find his fellow on fold, in faith, is not easy.
More warily to have wrought had been wiser, in truth,
And to have dubb’d him, dear man, a duke to become,
A shining light in the land, a leader of men;
So ’twere better he had been than broken to naught,
Beheaded by an elfin, for idle pride.
Who knew ever King such counsel to take
As at Christmas games to catch men in quibbles?”
Many were the warm tears that wellèd from eyes
When that seemly sire sought from those wones
that day.
He made there no abode
But swiftly went his way:
A wildsome track he rode,
The book as I heard say.
Now rides he and roams through the realm of Logrès,
Sir Gawain, at God’s best, no game though he thought it.
Oft friendless, alone, he had lodging by nights
Where he found not before him the fare that he liked.
He had no fellow but his foal by frith and forest,
And no gossip but God to talk with by gate,
Till he drew full nigh into the North Wales.
All the isles of Anglesey held he to left-ward
And fared o’er the fords by the jutting forelands,
Over at the Holy Head, till eft he made shore
In the wilderness of Wirral; won’d there but few
That either God or man with a good heart lovèd.
And ever as he fared, of folks that befell
He ask’d if they had heard of any Green Knight,
In any ground thereabout, at the Green Chapel;
And all nick’d him with nay, said that never in their life
Had they seen any soul that such a hue had
as green.
He wander’d ways full strange
By dreary hill and dene,
His cheer full oft might change
Or e’er that chapel was seen.
Many a cliff he o’erclomb in countries unknown—
Far stray’d from his friends, a stranger he rode;
At each water or warth where the wight ever pass’d,
Ay found he before him a foe uncanny,
And that so foul and so fell, that to fight behoved him.
And marvels so many by mountains he found,
It were tedious to tell the tenth-deal thereof.
Now with worms did he war, and with wolves also,
Now with the satyrs that sought from the screes,
With wild bulls and bears and with boars otherwhiles,
And with ogres that snorted from the hígh fèlls.
Had he not doughtily dree’d, and dearly God loved,
Doubtless full often to death he had been done.
For if the warfare griev’d him, worse was the winter
When the clouds shed adown the clear cold water,
That froze ere it fall might, to the fallow earth;
Near slain by the sleet, he slept in his irons
More nights than enow in naked rocks,
Where clattering fro’ the crest the cold burn ran,
Or hung high o’er his head in icicles sharp.
Thus in peril and pain and plights very hard
Cross country he clomb till Christmas-even,
alone.
The knight full sore that tide
To Mary made his moan,
That she should well him guide
And win him to some wone.
By a mount that morning merrily rode he
Into a forest full deep that was fearful wild,
High hills on each hand and holtwoods thereunder
Of hoar oaks full huge, a hundred together;
The hazel and the hawthorn were all in a tangle
With rough moss and rank beraggèd all over,
And mány a bírd unblíthe on the bare twigs sitting
Piteously piped for pain of the cold.
This gallant on Gringolet glides them beneath,
Through mizzy and mire, a man full lonesome,
For ’twas much on his mind lest his mass he should miss
Nor see the service of that Sire, who that self-same night
Of a burd was born to abye our trouble;
And so sighing he said “I beseech thee, Lord,
And Mary, that art mildest mother so dear—
Some harbour where humbly the mass I may hearken
And thy matins tomorrow meekly I ask you,
And I presently pray my pater and avè
and creed.”
He pray’d and still rode on,
He cried for his misdeed,
Then sain’d himself anon
And said “Christ’s cross me speed.”
He had not sain’d himself, good soul, but thrice,
When he was ware in that wood of a wone in a moat,
Above a laund, on a low, that leam’d under branches
Of mány a búrly bóle at the brink of the ditches;
A castle the comeliest that knight ever own’d,
Built on a bentfield, and about it a park
Fencèd compactly with paling of pikes,
That, for more than two miles, trees many encompass’d.
Sir Gawain a while regarded that keep
As it shimmer’d and shone through the sheen branches,
Then he has off his helmet and thanks from his heart
Jesus and Saint Julian, those gentle watchers,
Who courtesy had shown him and his cry hearken’d.
“Good lodging,” cried Gawain, “grant, I beseech you!”
And with gilded heels he goads on Gringolet,
And by right good chance the road he has chosen
That brings him anon to the brídge-ènd
in haste.
The bridge was up, on height,
The gates were lockèd fast,
The walls were stoutly pight;
It might fear no wind’s blast.
Then the athel hoves and halts on the bank
Of the double ditch that engirdled that dwelling;
Wonderly deep stood the wall in water,
And a huge height also it heav’d up aloft
Of hard hewn stone úp to the cornice,
Emban’d under battlement in the bést wìse;
Garrets full gay were gear’d thereover.
With many a lovely casement that closèd full clean;
A better barbican that bearn never saw.
Further in, full high the hall he beheld,
With turrets atop all cuspèd and tined,
Crown’d with capitals craftily taper’d,
And carven finials curiously chisel’d.
There were chalk-white chimneys, the choicest of art,
That blink’d all bright on the bastel roof;
And painted pinnacles upon it were sprinkled,
Amid the crenellations cluster’d so thick,
They seem’d pared out of paper, a palace of fäerie.
To that free on the foal ’twas a fáir sìght;
Coúld he but compass, that cloister within,
In hostel to harbour, while holiday lasted
in hall!
He call’d, and soon appear’d
A porter at his call,
Kindly his errand heard
And hail’d him, from the wall.
“Good sir,” quoth Gawain, “would’st go mine errand
To the lord of this land, and a lodging crave me?”
“Aye! by Peter!” said the porter. “And I promise you sure,
Ye’ll be welcome, good wight, to wone while ye like!”
He hied on his errand and hasten’d again
With servants assembled the Knight to receive;
They did down the drawbridge, and drew out to meet him,
And for courtesy kneel’d to the cóld eàrth
To welcome that wight as worthy them thought;
The gates they set wide to give him a passage,
And he bade them arise, and the bridge rode over.
Some seiz’d him in saddle, to set him on foot,
And stout men busk’d them to stable his steed.
Knights with their squires escorted him then
To bring him full blithe with bliss into hall.
When he had off his helmet, there hied men enow
To receive it and serve him as seem’d to him good;
His brand and his blazon, both did they take.
Then the athel with courtesy hail’d them, each one,
And proud men there press’d that prince for to honour;
All haspèd in armour they brought him to hall,
Where a fire full fair on the floor burn’d bright,
And the master of the meiny moved from his chamber,
His guest to receive and graciously greet:
“Ye are welcome,” quoth he, “to wone as ye will,
What is here is your own, to have at your pleasure,
a space.”
“Gramercy,” said Gawain,
“Christ yield you of his grace.”
As knights that seemèd fain
Each other they embrace.
Gawain glanced at the goodman, that greeted him so fair,
And thought it a bold knight that the búrg òwn’d;
A huge athel he, in the prime of his eld,
His beard broad and bright, and all beaver-hued,
Grim, strong in his stance on stalwart shanks,
Fell face as the fire, and free of his speech;
And he seemèd in sooth (só Gawain thought)
Fit man for a lordship o’er loyal lieges.
He stepped to a chamber and straightway bade choose
A goodly esquire, to escort him and serve,
And there hied at his best henchmen enow
That brought him to a bower, with bedding full noble,
Gay silk hangings with golden hems,
Coverlets full comely of curious patchwork,
Broider’d and edg’d with the bright ermine,
Curtains running on ropes, red gold rings,
Rich tapestries of Tars tent on the walls,
And carpets as fair under foot on the floor.
Here was he despoil’d with speeches of mirth
Of his bráwden byrnie of máil and his bright armour.
Then robes full rich his servants him raught
For a change of clothing, to choose as he pleas’d.
Soon as he had drawn one and dress’d it upon him,
A fair-fitting robe with flowing skirts,
Like a picture of spring he seemèd in semblance,
With the robe around him so richly broider’d,
And his gear thereunder so glowing and gay,
That a comelier Knight Chríst never made,
they thought.
Came he from far or near,
Well seemèd that he ought
To be prince without peer
In field where brave men fought.
A chair by the chimney, where charcoal burn’d bright,
Was array’d all ready to rest the good Gawain,
With cushions full costly on coverings of quilt.
Then a merry mantle on the man was cast,
A bléaunt of brown, richly embroider’d
And lined full fair with furs of the finest,
And all edg’d with ermine; and the hood with the same.
He sat in that settle in his splendid array,
And warm’d himself well; then the wight’s cheer mended.
Soon was set up on trestles a table well tight
And a clean cloth on it that clear white shone,
A sanap and a saler, and silveren spoons.
Then he wash’d at his will and went to his meat;
Supper forthwith they seemlily served—
Sews of the daintiest, season’d with skill,
(Double fare as is fitting) and fishes full many,
Some baken in bread, some grill’d on the gledes,
Or seeth’d, or in stew well savour’d with spice;
And ay sauces they served as that sire might like.
A feast he call’d it full freely and oft
In his courtly way, when the courtiers cheer’d him
as friend:
“This penance now, Sir, take
And soon it shall amend.”
Much mirth did Gawain make
For wine to his head did wend.
Then tried him his host, and touch’d on his travel,
And by questions discreet enquired of his quest,
And he courteously granted he came from the court
Where Arthur the athel the sovranty held,
Ruler most royal of the Round Table,
And that ’twas Gawain himself who among them sat,
Come to that Christmas, as the case had befall’n.
But that lord when he learn’d that the leal man he was,
Loud laugh’d he thereat, he liked it so well;
And all in that household were overjoy’d
That tide to appear in the prince’s presence,
For all prowess and price, and all pure knighthood
To his person belong’d, and were prais’d in him ever;
Before all men on earth his honour was highest.
Then softly would each man say to his fellow:
“Now skill shall we see of seemly manners,
And the terms full clean of courteous converse,
What is speed in speech shall we learn unspeer’d,
Since among us we find this fine father of nurture.
God has giv’n us his grace in goodliest measure,
Such a guest as Gawain to grant at this tide
When blithe men on bench of His birth shall sit
and sing.
To know of knightly cheer
This beam now shall us bring,
Methinks all that him hear
Shall learn of love-talking.”
When the dinner was done, and the dais risen,
It was near to the night that the time drew nigh,
Chaplains to the chapel chose them the gate,
Rung a festal peal at that festal season,
For the high evensong of the holy tide.
Then the lord his lady led to the service,
(Into a comely closet queenly she enter’d,)
And Gawain full gay graithly them follow’d.
By the lap the lord took him, and led him to seat,
Accosted him couthly and call’d him by name,
And said he was the welcomest wight in the world;
From his heart he thank’d him, and they halchèd each other,
And full soberly sat while the service lasted.
Then list that lady to look on the knight
And she came from her closet with dames of the court;
She was the fairest of feature, and freshest of teint,
And the finest of figure of all women on fold;
More lovely than Gwenore she looks to Gawain,
As he goes through the chancel his greeting to give.
Anóther lády her léd by the left hand,
Who of age was the older, an ancient it seem’d,
Escorted by squires with a courtly respect.
But unlike to look on those ladies appear’d,
Fair of youth was the younger, but yellow the other,
In complexion of rose was the younger array’d,
Rough cheeks and wrinkled hung on the ancient;
Kerchiefs on the one, with clear-white pearls,
(Her breast and her bright throat all bare display’d,)
Like the sheen snow shone, that is shed upon hills;
The elder had a gorget gear’d o’er her throat,
A chin full swart, in a chalk-white chimble,
Fórehead fólden in sílk, her front all muffled,
Turreted and trick’d with trifles and gauds,
So that nothing was bare but the bláck bròws,
The nose and the eyes and the naked lips,
That were unsightly with sores and sorrily blear’d;
A worshipful wight you might wéll call her
fore God!
Her body was short and stout,
Her buttocks round and broad:
A tastier thing, no doubt,
Was she that by her strode.
Gawain glanced on that gay with the gracious mien,
And by leave of the lord, the ladies he greeted;
The ancient he salutes, louting full low,
The lovely one he laps a little in his arms,
Comelily kisses, and knightly bespeaks.
They crave his acquaintance, and quickly he asks
Their sooth servant to be, if só it them please.
Then they took him between them, and, talking the while,
Led to chamber and chimney, where spices full choice
They call’d for, that brisk men bustled to bring them,
And the winsome wine therewíth each time.
The lord so lovesome leapt up full oft,
By occasions many he made for them mirth,
Hád off his hood, and hung it on spear,
For any to hold the honour thereof
Who that Christmas—while most weal should waken:
“And I shall try, by my troth, to contend with the best,
Ere any shall help me that hood to forfeit.”
Thus with laughter and jest it lists him to laik,
For to gladden Sir Gawain with games in hall
that night;
’Tis time to end their play,
The lord bids bring the light;
Gawain “God-speed” did say,
And to his bed him dight.
On the morrow, as men remember the tide
When God for our destiny to die was born,
In ev’ry wone in the world waxes weal for His sake;
So the folk at the court had their festive fare,
Both at mess and at meal-time men full doughty
Daintiest dishes dress’d on the dais.
That ancient of eld at the end of the board,
With the lord at her side, full seemlily sat;
Gawain and the gay burd, together they ate,
Highest in honour, e’en as was meet;
And the rest by rank, as the rule orders,
Were seated on settle and served at table.
There was meat, there was mirth, there was measureless joy
Whereof for to tell were trouble o’ermuch,
Though I pain’d me perchance to point you the tale;
Yet I guess that Gawain and the gay lady
Of their company caught such comfort together
Through the dear dalliance of whisperèd words,
In careless converse, courteous and chaste.
That their play surpass’d any prince’s game,
I trow.
Some the loud trumpet wind,
Some on the shrill pipe blow;
Each man his note did mind
And they two theirs also.
Much merriment made they that day and the morrow,
And the third day as throng thereupon follow’d,
The jollity of St. John’s day was joyous to hear,
’Twas the last of the laik, those lieges well knew.
There were guests to go on the gray morning,
So with wassail and wine they wake all that night,
And dance uncaring the courtly carols;
At the last, full late their leave they have ta’en,
Each wight that must wend on his way towards home.
Gawain gives good-day to the goodman anon,
And he leads him to chamber, and the chimney beside
Draws him adree and dearly him thanks
For the winsome worship that the wight had deign’d him
By honouring his house at the holy tide
And adorning that place with his princely presence:
“And so long as I live, I shall be the better
Since Gawain was my guest at God’s own feast.”
“Gramercy, Sir,” said Gawain, “the gift is from you;
All the honour is my own, the High King reward you!
And therefore I plight me your pleasure to do,
As I am beholden, in high and in low,
by right.”
The lord said he were fain
Longer to keep the Knight
Then answer’d him Gawain
By no way that he might.
Then by courtesy craved he to know of Sir Gawain
What dréad deed had driv’n him at that déar tide
From the King and the court so keenly to seek,
Ere the holidays wholly were hied out of town.
“Forsooth, sir,” he said, “ye say but the truth,
A high errand and a hasty has sped me from home,
For I am summon’d, in sooth, to seek to a place,
That I wot not whither I must wend to find.
But I might not miss it on New-Year’s morn
For all the land in Logrès, so our Lord help me!
Wherefore this point, sir, I put to you presently,
That ye tell me with truth if ye tale ever heard
Of the Green Chapel, where on ground it stands,
And of the Knight its keeper, that of colour is green.
There was stablisht a tryst by statute between us
That I meet him at that mark, if I míght be alive;
Of the Néw-Year he named wants nów but a little,
And I would look on that liege, if God would allow me,
More gladly, by God’s son, than all góod upon earth!
And so, by your will, my way I must wend,
I have now but a bare three days to busy,
And as fain to fall fey as fail of mine errand.”
Said the lord with a laugh, “Now lodge here behoves you—
I shall take you to your tryst by the term of the time,
The Gréen Chapel on ground, let it grieve you no more;
Ye shall bide in your bed and be at your ease,
And the first of the year ye shall fare on your way
To your mark at midmorn, to make what you like
beside.
Dwell here till New-Year’s day,
Rise and depart that tide,
Ye shall be set on way,
A bare two mile to ride.”
Then was Gawain full glad and gaily he laugh’d;
“I thank you for this, before all other things;
Since my goal I have gain’d, I agree at your will
To dwell here, and do what else ye may deem.”
Then drew him that sire to a seat at his side,
And let fetch the ladies to like them the better.
Much jollity they enjoy’d, those gentles twain,
And the lord for his love spoke the leal man so fond
As he wist not of his words, like a wight unwitted.
Then cried he aloud, as he call’d to the Knight:
“Ye have deem’d ye will do the deed that I bid;
Will ye promise keep at this present time?”
“By my troth, sir, yes,” said the trusty Gawain,
“While I bide in your burg, I obey all your bidding.”
“Since ye have travell’d,” quoth he, “and toil’d from afar,
And have wakèd me wíth, your wants are uncared
Both of sleep and of sustenance; soothly I know it.
Ye shall lodge in your loft and lie at your ease
Tomorrow till mass, and to meat ye shall wend
When ye will, with my wife, who with you shall sit
And with company comfort, till to court I return;
Rest so;—
And I shall early rise,
A-hunting will I go.”
Sir Gawain grants him this,
And louts to him full low.
“Yet further,” quoth he, “a foreward we’ll make;
What I win in the woodland to you shall I waive,
And what here ye achieve, ye shall change it therefor.
A bargain, I beg ye! We’ll abide by it fair,
Whether worthless our wins or aught worth shall befall.”
“In God’s name,” said Gawain, “I grant it you fain;
The laik that ye list, it likes me full well.”
“Who brings us the beverage this bargain to seal?”
Said the lord of the land; they laugh’d everyone,
They drank and made dalliance, both dainty and free,
These lords and ladies, so long as they pleas’d;
Then with Frankish fare and with fashion of court
Stay’d they and stood, and stilly they whisper’d,
Comelily kiss’d, and cravèd their leave.
By lieges full lief, and with learning torches,
These bearns to their beds are brought at the last
well fain,
But to bed ere they repair,
Covenants record again;
That old lord debonair
His laik could well maintain.