Then he lift up his voice and loudly he called:
“Who is master in this mound, to meet me at the tryst?
For now the good Gawain is going right here;
If any wight ought will, let him win hither quick
(’Tis either now or never) that his needs he may speed.”
“Abide!” cried one, on the bank high above,
“Thou shalt have full promptly all that I promised.”
Yet came he not down, but kept up his clatter
And went on a-whetting, for a while longer;
Then clamb’ring by a crag, where a crevice there was,
The wight out-whirl’d him, with weapon in hand,
A Dane’s axe new-dight, to deal him the dint.
It had a blade right keen that curv’d by the haft,
Well sharpen’d and filed, full four foot in breadth—
’Twas no less, by the lace that leam’d on the handle;
And the grim man in green was gear’d as before,
Both his leer and his legs, his locks and his beard,
Save that firmly on foot he fared on the ground,
With the stale to the stone, as ye stalk with a crutch.
When he won to the water, he waded it not,
But hopp’d o’er on his axe with an agile stride,
A burly man on bent, and on that broad carpet
of snow.
Gawain the Knight did greet,
Yet louted nothing low;
The other said, “Now, Sir sweet,
Man true to tryst I know.”