“Now, I wis,” said the wight, “ ’tis wildsome here, + 

An evil orat’ry, with herbs grown over! + 

Well beseems it that sire in his suit of green + 

Here to deal his devotions in the devil’s wise. + 

I feel ’tis the fiend, in my five wits, + 

That has stablisht this tryst, to destroy me herein; + 

’Tis a chapel unchancy, (ill-cheer it betide!) + 

The cursedest kirk I cáme ever into!” + 

With high helm on his head and lance in his hand + 

He roams up anon to that rough rocky dwelling, + 

When he hears, up the hill, in a hígh cràg + 

On a bank o’er the brook, a boisteous noise; + 

How it clatter’d in the cliff as though it should cleave it, + 

Like one on a grindlestone grinding a scythe! + 

How it hiss’d and whirr’d like water at a mill! + 

How it rush’d and rung! ’twas ruth to hear it! + 

“By God,” said the gallant, “this gear, as I trow, + 

As a greeting is meant for the good Sir Gawain + 

by way. + 

If God so work, alas! + 

It daunts me not nor may. + 

Though out of life I pass, + 

No noise shall me affray.” + 