Then bespake him king Arthùre, And sware there by this daye; For a little foule sighte and mislikìnge, Yee shall not say her naye. 80
Peace, lordings, peace; sir Gawaine sayd; Nor make debate and strife; This lothlye ladye I will take, And marry her to my wife.
Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir Gawaine, 85 And a blessinge be thy meede! For as I am thine owne ladyè, Thou never shalt rue this deede.
Then up they took that lothly dame, And home anone they bringe: 90 And there sir Gawaine he her wed, And married her with a ringe.
And when they were in wed-bed laid, And all were done awaye: "Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord 95 Come turne to mee I praye."
Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head, For sorrowe and for care; When, lo! instead of that lothelye dame, Hee sawe a young ladye faire. 100
Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke, Her eyen were blacke as sloe: The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe, And all her necke was snowe.
Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire, 105 Lying upon the sheete: And swore, as he was a true knighte, The spice was never soe sweete.
Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte, Lying there by his side: 110 "The fairest flower is not soe faire: Thou never can'st bee my bride."
I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde, The same whiche thou didst knowe, That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115 Upon the wild more to goe.
Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee, And make thy choice with care; Whether by night, or else by daye, Shall I be foule or faire? 120
"To have thee foule still in the night, When I with thee should playe! I had rather farre, my lady deare, To have thee foule by daye."
What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 125 To drinke the ale and wine; Alas! then I must hide myself, I must not goe with mine?
"My faire ladyè, sir Gawaine sayd, I yield me to thy skille; 130 Because thou art mine owne ladyè Thou shalt have all thy wille."
Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawàine, And the daye that I thee see; For as thou seest mee at this time, 135 Soe shall I ever bee.
My father was an aged knighte, And yet it chanced soe, He tooke to wife a false ladyè, Whiche broughte me to this woe. 140
Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide, In the greene forèst to dwelle; And there to abide in lothlye shape, Most like a fiend of helle.