As thou formit all frute to foster our fude,
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Grant me confort this day,
As thow art God verray!"
Thus prais the king in affray,
For Gawyne the gude.
LXXV.
Golagras at Gawyne in sic ane grief grew,
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As lyoune, for falt of fude, faught on the fold;
With baith his handis in haist that haltane couth hew;
Gart stanys hop of the hathill, that haltane war hold,
Birny and breist-plait, bright for to schew;
Mony mailye and plait war marrit on the mold.
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Knichtis ramyt for reuth, schir Gawyne thai rew,
That doughty delit with hym sa, for dout he war defold;
Sa wondir scharply he schare throu his schene schroud;
His scheild he chopit hym fra
In tuenty pecis and ma;
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Schir Wawane writhit for wa,
Witlese and woud.
LXXVI.
Thus wourthit schir Gawyne wraith and wepand,
And straik to that stern knight but stynt;
All engreuit the grome, with ane bright brand,
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And delt thairwith doughtely mony derf dynt;
Throw byrny and breistplait, bordour and band,
He leit fle to the freke, as fyre out of flynt.
He hewit on with grete haist, hartly with hand,
Hakkit throw the hard weid, to the hede hynt;
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Throw the stuf with the straik, stapalis and stanis,
Schir Wawine, wourthy in wail,
Half ane span at ane spail,
Quhare his harnes wes hail,
He hewit attanis.
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