Mister Bee (mister_b33) wrote,
Mister Bee
mister_b33

Fitt 3 Stanza 6


"Madame," quod þe myry mon, "Mary yow 3elde,
"Madam," quoth the merry man, "Mary bless you

For I haf founden, in god fayth, yowre fraunchis nobele,
For I have found, in good faith, your fondness genial

& oþer ful much of oþer folk fongen hor dede3;
& also as much from other folks fulfilling their deeds.

Bot þe daynté þat þay delen for my disert nysen,
But the dignity of their dealings is not for my desert;

Hit is þe worchyp of your-self, þat no3t hot wel conne3."
It is the worship of yourself, well practiced by all."

"Bi Mary," quod þe menskful, "me þynk hit anoþer;
"By Mary," quoth she mannerly, "it is not so methinks.

For were I worth al þe wone of wymmen alyue,
For were I worth all the hordes of women alive

& al þe wele of þe worlde were in my honde,
& all the wealth of the world were in my hand

& I schulde chepen & chose, to cheue me a lorde,
& should I shop & choose to acheive me a lord

For þe costes þat I haf knowen vpun þe kny3t here,
Minding the merits that I have known of this knight here,

Of bewté, & debonerté, & blyþe semblaunt,
Of beauty & debonairity & blithe semblance

& þat I haf er herkkened, & halde hit here trwee,
That I had ere heard tell & now hold here true,

Þer schulde no freke vpon folde bifore yow be chosen."
There should be no husband under heaven to choose over you."

"I-wysse, worþy," quod þe wy3e, "3e haf waled wel better,
"Quite choice," quoth Gawain, "yet you have chosen better.

Bot I am proude of þe prys þat 3e put on me,
But I am proud of the price that you put on me

& soberly your seruaunt my souerayn I holde yow,
& soberly, your servant, I hold you my soveriegn

& yowre kny3t I be-com, & Kryst yow for-3elde."
& am from now on your knight, may Christ give you grace."

Þus þay meled of much-quat, til myd-morn paste,
Thus they parleyed a potpourri of praise, till midmorn passed.

& ay þe lady let lyk, a hym loued mych;
& always the lady let on like she loved him much;

Þe freke ferde with defence, & feted ful fayre.
The fellow defended fluently with the fanciest of footwork.

Þa3 I were burde bry3test, þe burde in mynde hade,
"Not were I the lovliest lass," mused the lady in her mind.

Þe lasse luf in his lode, for lur þat he so3t,
The less love in his load, the less he seeks

        boute hone;
         to lose;

    Þe dunte þat schulde hym deue,
     The swing he should receive

    & nede3 hit most be done;
     By rights he can't refuse.

    Þe lady þenn spek of leue.
     The lady spoke of leave

    He granted hir ful sone.
     & they exchanged adieus.
Tags: project_bravo, sgatgk, stanzas
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