“Thou art not Gawain,” he said, “who is held so valiant, that never feared he man by hill or vale, but _thou_ shrinkest for fear ere thou feelest hurt. Such cowardice did I never hear of Gawain! Neither did _I_ flinch from thy blow, or make strife in King Arthur’s hall. My head fell to my feet, and yet I fled not, but thou didst wax faint of heart ere any harm befell. Wherefore must I be deemed the braver knight.” Quoth Gawain, “I shrank once, but so will I no more, though an _my_ head fall on the stones I cannot replace it. But haste, Sir Knight, by thy faith, and bring me to the point, deal me my destiny, and do it out of hand, for I will stand thee a stroke and move no more till thine axe have hit me—my troth on it.” “Have at thee, then,” quoth the other, and heaved aloft the axe with fierce mien, as if he were mad. He struck at him fiercely but wounded him not, withholding his hand ere it might strike him. Gawain abode the stroke, and flinched in no limb, but stood still as a stone or the stump of a tree that is fast rooted in the rocky ground with a hundred roots. Then spake gaily the man in green, “So now thou hast thine heart whole it behoves me to smite. Hold aside thy hood that Arthur gave thee, and keep thy neck thus bent lest it cover it again.” Then Gawain said angrily, “Why talk on thus? Thou dost threaten too long. I hope thy heart misgives thee.” How the Green Knight dealt the blow “For sooth,” quoth the other, “so fiercely thou speakest I will no longer let thine errand wait its reward.” Then he braced himself to strike, frowning with lips and brow, ’twas no marvel that he who hoped for no rescue misliked him. He lifted the axe lightly and let it fall with the edge of the blade on the bare neck. Though he struck swiftly it hurt him no more than on the one side where it severed the skin. The sharp blade cut into the flesh so that the blood ran over his shoulder to the ground. And when the knight saw the blood staining the snow, he sprang forth, swift-foot, more than a spear’s length, seized his helmet and set it on his head, cast his shield over his shoulder, drew out his bright sword, and spake boldly (never since he was born was he half so blithe), “Stop, Sir Knight, bid me no more blows. I have stood a stroke here without flinching, and if thou give me another, I shall requite thee, and give thee as good again. By the covenant made betwixt us in Arthur’s hall but one blow falls to me here. Halt, therefore.” Of the three covenants