¶Capitulum primum

NOw sayth the tale that whan syr launcelot was ryden after syre Galahad / the whiche had alle these aduentures aboue sayd / Sir Percyual tor¦ned ageyne vnto the recluse / where he demed to haue tydynges of that knyʒt that Launcelot fo¦lowed / And soo he kneled at her wyndow / and the recluse o∣pened hit / and asked syre Percyuale what he wold / Madame he sayd I am a knyghte of kynge Arthurs Courte / and my name is syr Percyual de Galys / whanne the reecluse herd his name she had grete Ioye of hym / for mykel she had loued hym to forne ony other knyʒt / for she ouʒt to do so / for she was his aunt / And thenne she commannded the gates to be opened and there he had alle the chere that she myght make hym and alle that was in her power was at his commaundement / Soo on the morne syr Percyual wente to the recluse / and asked her yf she knewe that knyghte with the whyte shelde / Sir said she why wold ye wete / Truly madame said syr Percyual I shalle neuer be wel at ease tyl that I knowe of that knygh∣tes felauship / and that I may fyghte with hym / for I maye not leue hym soo lyghtely / for I haue the shame yet / A Per∣cyual sayd she wold ye fyghte with hym / I see wel ye haue grete wylle to be slayne as your fader was thorugh oultrage∣ousnes / Madame sayd syr Percyual hit semeth by your wor∣des that ye knowe me / ye sayd she / I wel ought to knowe you for I am your aunt / al though I be in a pryory place / For Page  [unnumbered] somme called me somtyme the quene of the waste landes / and I was called the quene of moost rychesse in the world / and it pleasyd me neuer my rychesse soo moche as doth my pouerte Thenne syre Percyual wepte for veray pyte whan that he kne¦we it was his aunt ¶ A fair neuewe said she whanne herd ye tydynges of your moder / Truly sayd he I herd none of her / but I dreme of her moche in my slepe / And therfore I wote not whether she be dede or on lyue / Certes fayr neuew sa¦yd she / your moder is dede / for after your departynge from her / she took suche a sorowe that anone after she was confessid she dyed / Now god haue mercy on her sowle sayd syr Percyual hit sore forthynketh me / but alle we must chaunge the lyf / ¶Now fayre Aunt telle me what is the knyghte / I deme hit be he that bare the reed armes on whytsonday / wete yow well said she / that this is he / for other wyse oughte he not to doo / but to goo in reed armes / and that same knyghte hath no pie∣re / for he worcheth alle by myracle / and he shalle neuer be o∣uercome of none erthely mans hand