In riche Arthures halle
The barne playes at þe balle,
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Þat outray shalle you alle
Delfully þat day.
XXV.
¶ Haue gode day, Gaynour, and Gawayne þe gode!
I haue no lenger tome tidinges telle;
I mot walke one my wey, þorgh þis wilde wode,
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In my wonyng stid in wo for to dwelle.
Fore him þat rightwisly rose, and rest one þe rode,
Þenke one þe danger þat I yne dwelle;
Fede folke, fore my sake, þat failene þe fode,
And menge me with matens and masse in melle.
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Masses arne medecynes to vs þat bale bides;
Vs þenke a masse as swete
As eny spice þat euer ye yete."
With a grisly grete
Þe goste a-wey glides.
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XXVI.
¶ Withe a grisly grete þe goost a-wey glides,
And goes withe gronyng sore þorgh þe greues grene.
Þe wyndes, þe weders, þe welkene vnhides;
Þene vnclosed þe cloudes, þe sone con shene.
The king his bugle has blowene, and one þe bent bides; [folio 6a]
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His fare folke in þe frithe þei flokkene by-dene,
And al þe rialle route to þe quene rides;
She sayes hem þe selcouþes þat þei hadde þer seene;
The wise of þe weder for-wondred þey were;
