IX.

"Truly," says Sir Gawayne, "a desert is here, "Now i-wysse," quod Wowayn, "wysty is here; Þis oritore is vgly, with erbeȝ ouer-growen; a fitting place for the man in green to 'deal here his devotions in devil fashion.' Wel bisemeȝ þe wyȝe wruxled in grene 2192 Dele here his deuocioun, on þe deueleȝ wyse; Now I fele hit is þe fende, in my fyue wytteȝ, Þat hatȝ stoken me þis steuen, to strye me here; It is most cursed kirk that ever I entered." Þis is a chapel of meschaunce, þat chekke hit by-tyde, 2196 Hit is þe corsedest kyrk, þat euer i com inne!" [Fol. 120b.] With heȝe helme on his hede, his launce in his honde, Roaming about he hears a loud noise, He romeȝ vp to þe rokke of þo roȝ woneȝ; Þene herde he of þat hyȝe hil, in a harde roche, from beyond the brook. 2200 Biȝonde þe broke, in a bonk, a wonder breme noyse, It clattered like the grinding of a scythe on a grindstone. Quat! hit clatered in þe clyff, as hit cleue schulde, As one vpon a gryndelston hade grounden a syþe; It whirred like a mill-stream. What! hit wharred, & whette, as water at a mulne, 2204 What! hit rusched, & ronge, rawþe to here. Þenne "bi Godde," quod Gawayn, "þat gere as¹ I trowe, Is ryched at þe reuerence, me renk to mete, bi rote; 2208 Let God worche we loo, "Though my life I forgo," says the knight, "no noise shall terrify me." Hit helppeȝ me not a mote, My lif þaȝ I for-goo, Drede dotȝ me no lote." ¹ at, in MS.