2189
“Now
i-wysse,”
indeed
quod
Wowayn,
Gawain
“wysty
desolate
is
here;
"Truly," says Sir Gawayne, "a desert is here,
2190
Þis
oritore
oratory
is
vgly,
evil-looking
with
erbeȝ
green plants
ouer-growen;
overgrown
2191
Wel
bisemeȝ
it becomes
þe
wyȝe
knight
wruxled
clad
in
grene
a fitting place for the man in green to 'deal here his devotions in devil fashion.'
2192
Dele
to perform
here
his
deuocioun,
devotions
on
þe
deueleȝ
devil’s
wyse;
manner
2193
Now
I
fele
perceive
hit
is
þe
fende,
fiend
in
my
fyue
wytteȝ,
senses
2194
Þat
hatȝ
stoken
imposed on
me
þis
steuen,
appointment
to
strye
destroy
me
here;
2195
Þis
is
a
chapel
of
meschaunce,
disaster
þat
(...hit) which
chekke
ill luck
hit
by-tyde,
befall
It is most cursed kirk that ever I entered."
2196
Hit
is
þe
corsedest
most cursed
kyrk,
church
þat
euer
i
com
came
inne!”
120b
2197
With
heȝe
high
helme
helmet
on
his
hede,
head
his
launce
lance
in
his
honde,
2198
He
romeȝ
makes his way
vp
to
þe
rokke
roof
of
þo
roȝ
rugged
woneȝ;
dwellings
Roaming about he hears a loud noise,
2199
Þene
then
herde
heard
he
of
from
þat
hyȝe
high
hil,
in
a
harde
roche,
rock
2200
Biȝonde
beyond
þe
broke,
stream
in
a
bonk,
slope
a
wonder
wonderfully
breme
loud
noyse,
from beyond the brook.
2201
Quat!
what
hit
clatered
clattered
in
þe
clyff,
rock
as
as if
hit
cleue
split
schulde,
It clattered like the grinding of a scythe on a grindstone.
2202
As
as if
one
vpon
a
gryndelston
grindstone
hade
grounden
ground
a
syþe;
scythe
2203
What!
hit
wharred,
whirred
&
whette,
made a grinding noise
as
like
water
at
a
mulne,
mill
It whirred like a mill-stream.
2204
What!
hit
rusched,
made a rushing noise
&
ronge,
rang
rawþe
grievous
to
here.
hear
2205
Þenne
“bi
Godde,”
quod
Gawayn,
“þat
gere
contrivance
as[1]
I
trowe,
believe
2206
Is
ryched
prepared
at þe reuerence,
in honour
me
renk
(as a) knight
to
mete,
meet
2207
bi rote;
with ceremony
2208
Let
God
worche
do (his will)
we loo,
alas
2209
Hit
helppeȝ
helps
me
not
a mote,
a bit
"Though my life I forgo," says the knight, "no noise shall terrify me."
2210
My
lif
þaȝ
though
I
for-goo,
lose
2211
Drede
be afraid
dotȝ
makes
me
no
lote.”
noise
`Now,' said Sir Gawain, 'this is a desert place, I trow. This oratory is loathsome, overgrown as it is with weeds, and well it befitteth that fellow clad in green, for his devotion to the devil. Now in my five wits I ween it is the very devil himself who has made this tryst with me, that he may destroy me. This is a chapel of ill-luck, and the most accursed kirk that I have ever seen, and may ill luck befall it.' With his helmet high on his head and lance in hand, he wandered up to that rocky dwelling. Then came there from a rock in that high hill beyond the brook a wondrous strange noise, and it clattered among the cliffs as though it would cleave them asunder, as though one were grinding a scythe upon a grindstone, and it made a whirring sound like water in a mill, and rushed and sang out and was terrible to hear. 'By God Himself,' said Gawain, 'that is the noise of armour which is being made ready for that fellow wherewith he may come forth to meet me
by rote.
Let God work me woe.
It helpeth me not a mote,
My life though I forgo,
No noise shall make me dote.'
Text and side-notes from Richard Morris (1869). Interlinear glosses from Brunetti. Translation from Ernest Kirtlan's Sir Gawain and the Green Knight: Rendered Literally Into Modern English.
Sources integrated and rendered by James K. Tauber.