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.