The freik na forthir he faris, bot foundis away;
The tothir drew hym on dreigh, in derne to the dure,
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Hyit hym hard throu the hall to his haiknay,
And sped hym on spedely on the spare mure.
The renk restles he raid to Arthour the king;
Said: "lord, wendis on your way,
Yone berne nykis yow with nay;
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To prise hym forthir to pray,
It helpis na thing."
X.
Than spak schir Gawane the gay, gratious and gude:
"Schir, ye knaw that schir Kay is crabbit of kynde;
I rede ye mak furth ane man, mekar of mude,
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That will with fairnes fraist frendschip to fynd.
Your folk ar febill and faynt for falt of thair fude;
Sum better boid-word to abide, vndir wod lynd."
"Schir Gawyne, graith ye that gait, for the gude rude!
Is nane sa bowsum ane berne, brith for to bynd."
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The heynd knight at his haist held to the tovne;
The yettis wappit war wyde,
The knyght can raithly in ryde;
Reynit his palfray of pryde,
Quhen he ves lightit doune.
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XI.
Schir Gawyne gais furth the gait, that graithit wes gay,
The quhilk that held to the hall heyndly to se;
Than wes the syre in the saill, with renkis of array,
And blith birdis hym about, that bright wes of ble.
Wourthy schir Gawyne went on his way;
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Sobirly the souerane salust has he:
"I am send to your self, ane charge for to say,
Fra cumly Arthur, the king, cortesse and fre;
Quhilk prays for his saik and your gentrice,
