VIII.

He spurs his horse and goes on his way. He sperred þe sted with þe spure3, & sprong on his way, So stif þat þe ston fyr stroke out þer-after; All that saw that seemly one mourned in their hearts. 672 Al þat se3 þat semly syked in hert, & sayde soþly al same segges til oþer, Carande for þat comly, "bi Kryst, hit is scaþe, Þat þou, leude, schal be lost, þat art of lyf noble! They declared that his equal was not to be found upon earth. 676 To fynde hys fere vpon folde, in fayth is not eþe; Warloker to haf wro3t had more wyt bene, & haf dy3t 3onder dere a duk to haue worþed; It would have been better for him to have been a leader of men, A lowande leder of lede3 in londe hym wel seme3, 680 & so had better haf ben þen britned to no3t, than to die by the hands of "an elvish man." Hadet wyth an aluisch mon, for angarde3 pryde. Who knew euer any kyng such counsel to take, As kny3te3 in caueloun3 on cryst-masse gomne3!" Much was the warm water that poured from eyes that day. 684 Wel much wat3 þe warme water þat waltered of y3en, When þat semly syre so3t fro þo wone3 þat¹ daye; He made non abode, 688 Bot wy3tly went hys way, Meanwhile many a weary way goes Sir Gawayne. Mony wylsum way he rode, Þe bok as I herde say. ¹ MS. þad.