The poem is written in a Northwestern dialect, which is the ancestor of the South Lancashire folk-speech of today. Characteristic features of it are present plurals in -en (we thinken), second person singulars in -s (thou says), preterites like geet and leet, and the o-sound before nasals in mon, mony, hommer, bront (brand), etc. The reader must be cautioned, however, against supposing that Sir Gawain is a dialect poem in the usual acceptation of the term, written by a rustic bard for a rustic audience. In the fourteenth century there was as yet no standard literary English, and each writer wrote as he spoke, in the dialect of the district to which he was native; for all its dialect, Sir Gawain is as courtly, both in matter and style, as the best of French romances. There is nothing rustic or provincial about it.

The alliterative metre in which the poem is written had evidently come down in an unbroken tradition from Old English times, and was a living thing in the Northwest. In all parts of England except the North and Central West it seems to have been extinct, and even two centuries earlier in Layamon it appears badly broken down. The “Gawain” poet uses it with a sure sense of its varied rhythms. A few brief notes on the metre will, I hope, enable anyone to read it readily and with pleasure.

Alliteration. Normally there are four stresses in a line (two in each half-line or “verse”) of which three alliterate, i.e. are syllables beginning with the same letter. Occasionally there are only two alliterating syllables, one in each verse. Note that:

Rhythm. In theory there is no limit to the number of unstressed syllables in a line, and we find not infrequently, especially in the first verse or half-line, four or even five such syllables between two adjacent stresses. To a reader accustomed to our modern syllabic metres such an accumulation of unstressed syllables might be strange and difficult, and in this version I have avoided any sequence of more than three.

The two chief rhythms in a verse are the “rising” × × / × × /, and the “falling” (×) / × × / ×; sometimes the same rhythm runs through a whole line, e.g.:

(rising) When the siége and the assáult | were ceásed at Tróy
(falling) Dríving to the dáis | no dánger affráy’d him,

but the half-line is the unit. Occasional variants of the rhythms in the second verse are:

A third rhythm, rare except in the second verse, is the “rising-falling” or circumflex × ×/\×, e.g.:

| with a wróth clàmour

or

| by the búrn sìde

It makes a charming variation from the other two.

Long lines. Many lines have three stresses in the first verse. These I have usually simplified; when retained they have the stresses marked, unless the punctuation shows the caesura, e.g.:

And mány a bírd unblíthe on the bare twigs sitting.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Fit I

I

When the siege and the assault were ceasèd at Troy,
When the burg had been broken, and burnt to ashes,
The wight that the trains of treason there laid
Was tried for his treachery, the truest on earth:3
It was Éneas4 the Athel5 and his high kindred
Who kingdoms then conquered, and princes became
Of all the wealth, well-nigh, in the West Isles.
Sóon as the róyal Rómulus to Rome made his way,
That burg with great pomp then builded he first
And named it his own name, as now it is called:
Ticius6 in Tuscany townships founded,
Langobard in Lombardy lifted up homes,
And far o’er the French flood Felix Brutus
On many a bank full broad, Britain he set,
well fain.
War and woe and wonder
On that fair land have lain,
And oft both bliss and blunder,7
Time and time again.

II

Now when Britain had been built by Brutus the prince,
Bold men there bred, that lov’d battle and strife
And at times a many wrought teen and trouble;
More wonders, I wis, on this wold have befallen
Than on any other I wot of, since those ancient days.
But of all that here built, that of Britain were kings,
Áy was Árthur the noblest, as I have heard tell;
And so an adventure I essay to show you,
Which many men reckon a main marvel,
All wonders o’ertopping that of the Table are told.
If ye’ll listen to my lay but a little while,
I shall tell ’t you this tide, as in town I heard it,
with tongue.
Well is it writ for you
In story brave and strong,
Linkèd8 with letters true;
In land has so been long

III

The King lay at Camelot at Christmastide,
With many a lovesome lord, leal men of the best,
All the royal brethren of the Round Table,
Amid revel full rich and reckless mirths.
There true knights tourney’d, by times, full many,
Jousted right jollily these gentle peers,
Then came to the court their carols9 to dance.
For the feast went on full fifteen days,
With all the meat and mirth that men could avise—
Such gladsome glee glorious to hear,
Merry din by day, and dancing o’ nights,
That all was happiness in hall and in chamber
Among lords and ladies: ’twas the liege king’s pleasure.
With all the weal of the world they wonèd together—
Knights noblest known under Christ himself,
And the loveliest ladies that life ever had,
And he the comeliest King, that the court ruled,
And these fair folk all, in the flower of their age,
so free,
On earth the happiest ay,
And the proudest Prince was he;
Ye might not find today
So brave a company.

IV

The year was yet young, ’twas the day of New Year,
And double (as is due) on the dais was served;
Soon as the King with his knights had come into hall
And the chauntry in the chapel was chanted to an end,
Loud cry was uprais’d by common and clerk,
Who kept Noel anew and named it full oft;
Then hied in the courtiers handsel10 to offer,
Gaily cried Yule-gifts and gave them by hand,
All busily debating about the event—
Ladies laugh’d loud11 although they had lost,
And the winners were not wroth, well may ye trow.
So made they their mirth till meal-time was come,
And when they had wash’d, then went they to table,
And were rangèd by rank, as the rule is in hall.
Queen Guenore full gay was graith’d12 in the midst
On the royal dais, royally array’d
With sendal at the sides, and a ceiling above her,
Tapestries full rich of the red Tars13
Embroider’d and beaten with the bravest gems
That might be provèd priceless, with pennies to buy,
for ay;
Loveliest she look’d of all
With glancing eyes and gray,
The dearest dame in hall,
Might each man soothly say.

V

But Arthur would not eat till all had been served,
He was somewhat childgear’d,14 and gay of his youth,
Life sat on him light, and the less he lovèd
Either too long to lie or too long to sit;
So busied him young blood, and his eager brain.
And another mood moved him: for much did he love
All noble renown, and ne’er would he eat
At such a dear season till someone had told him
Some story of chivalry, stirring and strange,
Some main marvel, that he might believe in,
Of high knightérrantry, or other adventure,
Or till someone besought him of a sickar15 knight
To join him in jousting and jeopardy of arms,
Stake life for life, and each allow other
As fortune should favour advantage to have.
So custom’d the King, where court he e’er held,
On each festive feast-day,16 with his free meiny
in Hall.
Therefore so proud of cheer
Stalwart he stands in stall;
Gaily at that New Year
Much mirth he makes with all.

VI

Thus in stall did he stand, the stalwart Arthur,
And lightly of trifles he talk’d at the table.
Beside Queen Guenore Sir Gawain17 was graith’d,
And Agravain Hard-hand at her other side sat,
That were nephews to the King, and knights full noble;
Bishop Baldwin was above, at the end of the board,
And Urien’s son, Ewain, ate with his Grace.
These were dight on the dais and daintily served,
And many a sickar man sat at the sideboards.
Then came in the course with a crack of the trumpets,
Many banners full bright a-hanging thereby:
The kettledrums next and the noble pipes
Wild notes and shrill with their warbles awaken’d,
So that every heart leapt high at their touches.
Came dainties therewith and dishes full pleasant,
Fresh meats in plenty, on platters so many
That ’twas pain to find place, the people before,
To set all the silver with sews18 thereupon,
on cloth.
A man might serve himself
As list him, nothing loth;
Each two had dishes twelve,
Good beer and bright wine both

VII

Now shall I of their service say you no more,
For well may ye weet, no wánt was among them.
Another note full new was sounded anon,
That the folk might have leave to fall to their vittails.
But the noise of that note had nó while ceas’d
Or the first course in the court full kindly been serv’d,
When there flúng in, on foal, a fearsome master,
His stature the tallest and stoutest on earth,
His body to the waist so broad and so burly,
And his loins and his limbs so long and so great,
Half giant at first they judg’d he might be,
But a man he was truly, the mightiest of mould
And the finest of figure that on foal might ride.
For of back and of breast his body was big,
Yet his waist and his womb were worthily small,
And his members, each one, match’d them in measure,
full clean.
All wonder’d at his hue,
And eke his lordly mien;
He seem’d bold knight and true,
But glow’d all over green.

VIII

All wondrous in green was this wight, and his weeds:
A close-fitting coat19 that clung on his body,
A merry mantle over it, meetly adorn’d
With fair-trimmed fur, a lining full fine
Of blythe ermine bright; and a hood with it bound,
Caught back from his locks and laid on his shoulders;
Neat hose well-haul’d, of that hue all of green,
That closed on his calf, and clean spurs under
Of bright gold, on silk bands, barrèd full richly,
And pointed shoes under shanks, that shone in the stirrup
All his vésture vérily was of verdant sheen,
Both the bars of his belt, and the bright jewels
That were richly arranged o’er the radiant array
Of silken stuffs, on himself and his saddle.
It were tedious to tell of the trifles one half
That were broider’d thereon, of the birds and the flies,
All in gay hues of green, with gold in the midst.
The pendants of his poitrel20 and the proud crupper,
The molains,21 the metal, aumáil’d22 were of green,
The stirrups that he stood in stain’d of the same,
The saddlebows in suit, and the splendid pommels—
All glimmer’d and gleam’d with the green jewels;
And the foal that he fared on, of fine green too,
certain;
A green horse great and strong,
A stiff steed to restrain,
With broider’d bridle-thong,
He match’d the man, ’tis plain.

IX

All gaily in green this gallant was gear’d,
And the hair of his head with his horse was in suit;
Fair waving locks that enfolded his shoulders,
A great beard like a bush o’er his breast falling,
Which with the athel hair that hung from his head
Was bobb’d all about, the elbows above,
That the half of his arms it halchèd23 thereunder,
Like a King’s capados24 that clings on him close.
The mane of his horse full meetly it match’d,
Well crispèd and comb’d, with knots very many
Folden with fildor25 the fair green amongst—
A harl of the hair with a harl of the gold:
His tail and his topping were twinèd in suit,
Bounden were both with a bright green band,
And dubb’d with rich stones to the dock’s end;
On his head was a wharl-knot wound with a ribbon,
Where many bells full bright of brent gold rung.
Such a foal upon field, such a rider on foal,
No eye in that hall had beheld ere that hour,
Pardie!
He look’d as levin,26 bright,
Said all that did him see;
Them thought that no man might
Endure his dints to dree.27

X

Yet had he no helmet nor hawberk either,
No pisan28 nor plate, not a piece of armour,
No shield nor no shaft to shove with or strike;
But he held in one hand a cluster of holly
That is greatest in green when groves are bare,
And an axe in the other, huge beyond measure,
A terrible tool to tell of in speech:
The head of this axe had an ellyard’s length,
The grain29 of green steel with gold was enchasèd,
The bit burnisht bright, with a broad edge on it
As well shapen to sheer as a sharp razor.
The stale to this steel was a timber full stout
That with iron was wound to the wánd’s ènd
And engravèd in green with gracious devices:
A lace round it lapp’d that lock’d at the head,
And was halchèd full often the handle about,
With many a choice tassel attachèd thereto
On buttons of bright green broider’d full rich.
This áthel híes him ín and the hall enters,
Driving to the dais: no danger he fear’d.
He gave none greeting but gazed ay before him,
And no word did he utter, but “where is” (quoth he)
“The governor of this gyng?30 full glad should I be
Of that same to have sight, and with him would speak
reasón.”
On knights he cast his e’en
And swagger’d up and down,
Then stopp’d, and studied keen
Who there had most renown.