In mocking and hatred spake she, 'Wilt still ride upon thy way?' Quoth Gawain, 'I will take my journey e'en in such wise as thou shalt say.' She quoth, 'Wilt abide my counsel? It shall reach thee I ween too late!' 435 Quoth he, 'Yet for that will I serve thee, tho' o'er-long I thy rede shall wait!' Quoth she, 'Then a fool I think thee, for unless thou shalt leave this mind, Then sorrow instead of gladness and repentance for joy thou'lt find!' Then he quoth, of her love desirous, 'Yet thy servant I still abide, If joy be my lot or sorrow, be thy love and thy will my guide. 440 Since thy love laid its spell upon me in thy bidding my law I see, And ahorse or afoot I'll follow, I care not where'er it be!' So stood he beside the lady, and awhile he beheld the mare, Who to joust with such steed had ridden his gold were o'er-keen to spare! For the stirrups of hemp were twisted, and ne'er had this gallant knight 445 Such saddle, I ween, bestridden, it would serve him but ill for fight. For e'en as he looked upon it, he thought, 'If on _that_ I ride, The girths sure will break asunder, nor the saddle my weight abide!' And so weak was the steed and ill-shapen, had one dared on its back to leap Of a sooth would the back have broken--On foot he the road must keep! 450 And in this guise he took his journey: the horse by the rein he held, And his spear and his shield he carried; and the lady his grief beheld, And she mocked him with ringing laughter, fain was she to work him woe-- Then his shield on the mare he fastened, and she spake, 'In such guise wouldst go, And carry thy wares thro' my kingdom? A strange lot is mine, I ween, 455 Since _footman_, and _leech_, and _merchant_ in turn hath my comrade been! Of the toll hadst thou best beware thee, or else, as thou goest thy way, It may chance they who take the toll here on thy merchandise hands may lay! And tho' sharp, I ween, was her mocking yet her words was he fain to hear, Nor rued he the bitter speeches that rang sweet to his longing ear. 460 And as ever his eyes beheld her his sorrow it fled away, For fair was she to his thinking as blossoms in month of May! A delight of the eyes, and heart-sorrow, his gain and his loss was she, And languishing joy did she quicken--Her freeman and captive he!