Þenne he boȝeȝ to þe berȝe, aboute hit he walkeȝ, 110 Debatande with hymself quat hit be myȝt. Hit hade a hole on þe ende and on ayþer syde, And ouergrowen with gresse in glodes aywhere, And al watȝ holȝ inwith, nobot an olde caue, Or a creuisse of an olde cragge, he couþe hit noȝt deme 115 with spelle. 'We! Lorde,' quod þe gentyle knyȝt, 'Wheþer þis be þe grene chapelle? He<re> myȝt aboute mydnyȝt Þe dele his matynnes telle! 120 'Now iwysse,' quod Wowayn, 'wysty is here; Þis oritore is vgly, with erbeȝ ouergrowen; Wel bisemeȝ þe wyȝe wruxled in grene Dele here his deuocioun on þe deueleȝ wyse. Now I fele hit is þe fende, in my fyue wytteȝ, 125 Þat hatȝ stoken me þis steuen to strye me here. Þis is a chapel of meschaunce, þat chekke hit bytyde! Hit is þe corsedest kyrk þat euer I com inne!' With heȝe helme on his hede, his launce in his honde, He romeȝ vp to þe rokke of þo roȝ woneȝ. 130 Þene herde he, of þat hyȝe hil, in a harde roche, Biȝonde þe broke, in a bonk, a wonder breme noyse. Quat! hit clatered in þe clyff, as hit cleue schulde, As one vpon a gryndelston hade grounden a syþe; What! hit wharred and whette, as water at a mulne; 135 What! hit rusched and ronge, rawþe to here. Þenne 'Bi Godde!' quod Gawayn, 'þat gere a_s_ I trowe Is ryched at þe reuerence me, renk, to mete bi rote. Let God worche, we loo! 140 Hit helppeȝ me not a mote. My lif þaȝ I forgoo, Drede dotȝ me no lote.' Thenne þe knyȝt con calle ful hyȝe: 'Who stiȝtleȝ in þis sted, me steuen to holde? 145 For now is gode Gawayn goande ryȝt here. If any wyȝe oȝt wyl, wynne hider fast, Oþer now oþer neuer, his nedeȝ to spede.' 'Abyde,' quod on on þe bonke abouen ouer his hede, 'And þou schal haf al in hast þat I þe hyȝt ones.' 150 Ȝet he rusched on þat rurde rapely a þrowe, And wyth quettyng awharf, er he wolde lyȝt; And syþen he keuereȝ bi a cragge, and comeȝ of a hole, Whyrlande out of a wro wyth a felle weppen, A Deneȝ ax nwe dyȝt, þe dynt with <t>o ȝelde, 155 With a borelych bytte bende by þe halme, Fyled in a fylor, fowre fote large,— Hit watȝ no lasse bi þat lace þat lemed ful bryȝt,— And þe gome in þe grene gered as fyrst, Boþe þe lyre and þe leggeȝ, lokkeȝ and berde, 160 Saue þat fayre on his fote he foundeȝ on þe erþe, Sette þe stele to þe stone, and stalked bysyde. Whan he wan to þe watter, þer he wade nolde, He hypped ouer on hys ax, and orpedly strydeȝ,