VIII.

He spurs his horse and goes on his way. He sperred þe sted with þe spureȝ, & 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 seȝ 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 wroȝt had more wyt bene, & haf dyȝt ȝonder dere a duk to haue worþed; It would have been better for him to have been a leader of men, A lowande leder of ledeȝ in londe hym wel semeȝ, 680 & so had better haf ben þen britned to noȝt, than to die by the hands of "an elvish man." Hadet wyth an aluisch mon, for angardeȝ pryde. Who knew euer any kyng such counsel to take, As knyȝteȝ in cauelounȝ on cryst-masse gomneȝ!" Much was the warm water that poured from eyes that day. 684 Wel much watȝ þe warme water þat waltered of yȝen, When þat semly syre soȝt fro þo woneȝ þat¹ daye; He made non abode, 688 Bot wyȝtly 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.