XVI.

For my weed (woven by my wife) thou wearest. For hit is my wede þat þou were3, þat ilke wouen girdel, Myn owen wyf hit þe weued, I wot wel forsoþe; I know thy kisses and my wife's wooing. 2360 Now know I wel þy cosses, & þy costes als, & þe wowyng of my wyf, I wro3t hit myseluen; I sent her to try thee, and faultless I found thee. I sende hir to asay þe, & sothly me þynkke3, On þe fautlest freke, þat euer on fote 3ede; 2364 As perle bi þe quite pese is of prys more, So is Gawayn, in god fayth, bi oþer gay kny3te3. But yet thou sinnedst a little, Bot here you lakked a lyttel, sir, & lewte yow wonted, Bot þat wat3 for no wylyde werke, ne wowyng nauþer, for love of thy life." 2368 Bot for 3e lufed your lyf, þe lasse I yow blame." Þat oþer stif mon in study stod a gret whyle; So agreued for greme he gryed with-inne, Gawayne stands confounded. Alle þe blode of his brest blende in his face, 2372 Þat al he schrank for schome, þat þe schalk talked. Þe forme worde vpon folde, þat þe freke meled,— "Cursed," he says, "be cowardice and covetousness both!" "Corsed worth cowarddyse & couetyse boþe! In yow is vylany & vyse, þat vertue disstrye3." Then he takes off the girdle and throws it to the knight. 2376 Þenne he ka3t to þe knot, & þe kest lawse3, Brayde broþely þe belt to þe burne seluen: "Lo! þer þe falssyng, foule mot hit falle! He curses his cowardice, For care of þy knokke cowardyse me ta3t 2380 To a-corde me with couetyse, my kynde to for-sake, Þat is larges & lewte, þat longe3 to kny3te3. and confesses himself to have been guilty of untruth. Now am I fawty, & falce, & ferde haf ben euer; Of trecherye & vn-trawþe boþe bityde sor3e 2384 & care! [Fol. 123.] I bi-knowe yow, kny3t, here stylle, Al fawty is my fare, Lete3 me ouer-take your wylle, 2388 & efle I schal be ware."