Quhen wourschipfull Wawane, the wit of our were,
Is led to ane presoune;
Now failyeis gude fortoune!"
The king, cumly with croune,
Line 1140
Grat mony salt tere.
LXXXIX.
Quhen that Gawyne the gay, grete of degre,
Wes cummyn to the castel, cumly and cleir,
Gromys of that garisoune maid gamyn and gle,
And ledis lofit thair lord, lufly of lyere;
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Beirdis beildit in blise, brightest of ble;
The tothir knightis maid care of Arthuris here;
Al thus with murnyng and myrth thai maid melle.
Ay, quhil the segis war set to the suppere,
The seymly souerane of the sail marschel he wes;
Line 1150
He gart schir Gawyne vpga,
His wife, his doghter alsua,
And of that mighty na ma
War set at the des.
XC.
He gart at ane sete burd the strangearis begin,
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The maist seymly in sale ordanit thame sete;
Ilk knyght ane cumly lady, that cleir wes of kyn;
With kynde contenance the renk couth thame rehete,
Quhen thai war machit at mete, the mare and the myn,
And ay the meryest on mold marschalit at mete.
Line 1160
Than said he lowd vpone loft, the lord of that in,
To al the beirnys about, of gre that wes grete:
"Lufly ledis in land, lythis me til!"
He straik the burd with ane wand,
The quilk he held in hand;
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Thair wes na word muuand,
Sa war thai all stil. [thair.]
