Fare well! she sayd, and be of good chere; I must departe, I may no lenger tary; Ryde on your way, the weder is full clere; Seke your adventure, and loke you not vary Frome your hye order by ony contrary. And therwithall forth on her way she rode, Ryght so did I, which no longer abode, With both my greyhoundes and my varlet, Through the playne and into wyldernes, And so alofte amonge the hylles greate, Tyll it was nyght so thicke of darkenes That of constraynt of very werynes We lyght adowne, under an hyll syde, Unto the day to rest us there that tyde. And whan my page my helmet unlaced, He layde it downe underneth my hede, And to his legge he my stede enbraced To grase about while on the grase he fed; And than also his horse in lyke stede With both our greyhoundes lyeng us nere by; And slouthe our hedes had caught so sodaynly, That all the nyght we slepte in good reste, Tyll agaynst day began to nese and cry My stede Galantyse with a roryng breste, And eke began to stampe full marveylously; Whose hye courage awaked us wonderly, And ryght anone we kast up our eyes, Beholdyng above the fayre crystall skyes. Seynge the cloudes rayed fayre and rede Of Phebus rysinge in the orient, And Aurora her golden bemes sprede About the ayre clerely refulgent, Withouten mysty blacke encombremente, Up I arose and also my page, Makyng us redy for to take our vyage. CAP. XXIX. HOWE HE DEPARTED FROM KYNGE MELYZYUS, WITH HIS GRAYHOUNDES AND ATTENDAUNCE, HIS VARLET, AND MET WITH FALSE REPORTE, THAT CHAUNGED HIS NAME TO GODFREY GOBILYVE. And so forth we rode, tyll we sawe aferre To us came rydyng, on a lytell nagge, A folysshe dwarfe, nothynge for the warre, With a hood, a bell, a foxtayle, and a bagge; In a pyed cote he rode brygge a bragge; And whan that he unto us drewe nye, I behelde his body and his visnamy. His head was greate, beteled was his browes, Hys eyen holow, and his nose croked; His bryes brystled truely lyke a sowes; His chekes here, and God wote he loked Full lyke an ape, here and there he toted With a pyed berde and hangyng lyppes grete, And every tothe as blacke as ony gete. His necke shorte, his sholders stode awry, His breste fatte and bolne in the wast; His armes great, with fyngers crokedly; His legges kewed; he rode to me fast, Full lyke a patron to be shaped in hast. Good even, he sayd, and have good day, If that it lyke you for to ryde merely.