by W. S. Merwin
You have already forgotten what I taught you yesterday
Though I expressed it to you as clearly as I could.”
‘What is þat?' quoþ þe wyghe, ‘Iwysse I wot neuer;
If hit be sothe þat зe breue, þe blame is myn awen.’
‘Зet I kende yow of kyssyng,’ quoþ þe clere þenne,
‘Quere-so countenaunce is couþe quikly to clayme: 1490
Þat bicumes vche a knyзt þat cortaysy vses.’
‘Do way,’ quoþ þat derf mon, ‘my dere, þat speche,
For þat durst I not do, lest I deuayed were;
If I were werned, I were wrang, iwysse, зif I profered.’
‘Ma fay,’ quoþ þe meré wyf, ‘зe may not be werned, 1495
Зe ar stif innoghe to constrayne wyth strenkþe, зif yow lykez,
Зif any were so vilanous þat yow devaye wolde.’
‘Зe, be God,’ quoþ Gawayn, ‘good is your speche,
Bot þrete is vnþryuande in þede þer I lende,
And vche gift þat is geuen not with goud wylle. 1500
I am at your comaundement, to kysse quen yow lykez,
Зe may lach quen yow lyst, and leue quen yow þynkkez, in space.’
Þe lady loutez adoun,
And comlyly kysses his face, 1505
Much speche þay þer expoun
Of druryes greme and grace.
‘I woled wyt at yow, wyзe,’ þat worþy þer sayde,
‘And yow wrathed not þerwyth, what were þe skylle
Þat so зong and so зepe as зe at þis tyme, 1510
So cortayse, so knyзtyly, as зe ar knowen oute—
And of alle cheualry to chose, þe chef þyng alosed
Is þe lel layk of luf, þe lettrure of armes;
For to telle of þis teuelyng of þis trwe knyзtez,
Hit is þe tytelet token and tyxt of her werkkez, 1515
How ledes for her lele luf hor lyuez han auntered,
Endured for her drury dulful stoundez,
“Did you?” the knight asked. “I did not understand it.
If what you say is true, I am to blame.”
“I gave you a lesson in kissing,” the lady said.
“Where a favor is offered, it should be claimed promptly
By any knight who pretends to be courteous.”
“My dear,” that brave man said, “do not say such a thing.
I would not dare to risk your denying me.
If you were to refuse me I would be in the wrong.”
“By my faith,” she said merrily, “you could not be refused.
You are strong enough to have your own way, if you want to,
If anyone were so graceless as to refuse you.”
“Indeed,” Gawain said, “you put it plainly.
But force is frowned on in the country I come from,
And any gift not given with good will.
I am at your command, to kiss when you please.
Take hold when you like, and when you are ready let go.”
The lady bends down
And softly kisses his face.
They talk for a long time then
Of love's sorrow and happiness.
“I wish you would tell me, Knight,” that lady said,
“Unless it annoys you, what reason there could be
Why someone as young and dashing as you are now,
And as courteous and knightly as you are known to be—
And in all of chivalry the thing that is most praised,
Along with the art of arms, is the true sport of love,
For the tales of how true knights have engaged in this venture
Are the testimony and text of their achievements,
Telling how some, for their true love, have risked their lives,
Enduring terrible trials because of them,
And after wenged with her walour and voyded her care,
And broзt blysse into boure with bountees hor awen—
And зe ar knyзt comlokest kyd of your elde, 1520
Your worde and your worchip walkez ayquere,
And I haf seten by yourself here sere twyes,
Зet herde I neuer of your hed helde no wordez
Þat euer longed to luf, lasse ne more;
And зe, þat ar so cortays and coynt of your hetes, 1525
Oghe to a зonke þynk зern to schewe
And teche sum tokenez of trweluf craftes.
Why! ar зe lewed, þat alle þe los weldez?
Oþer elles зe demen me to dille your dalyaunce to herken? For schame! 1530
I com hider sengel, and sitte
To lerne at yow sum game;
Dos, techez me of your wytte,
Whil my lorde is fro hame.’
‘In goud fayþe,’ quoþ Gawayn, ‘God yow forзelde! 1535
Gret is þe gode gle, and gomen to me huge,
Þat so worþy as зe wolde wynne hidere,
And pyne yow with so pouer a mon, as play wyth your knyзt
With anyskynnez countenaunce, hit keuerez me ese;
Bot to take þe toruayle to myself to trwluf expoun, 1540
And towche þe temez of tyxt and talez of armez
To yow þat, I wot wel, weldez more slyзt
Of þat art, bi þe half, or a hundreth of seche
As I am, oþer euer schal, in erde þer I leue,
Hit were a folé felefolde, my fre, by my trawþe. 1545
I wolde yowre wylnyng worche at my myзt,
As I am hyзly bihalden, and euermore wylle
Be seruaunt to yourseluen, so saue me Dry3tyn!'
And were avenged by bravery at last and put their pains behind them
And by their own courage brought joy to their ladies' bowers—
And you are famous as the most courtly knight of your time,
Your renown and glory have gone everywhere,
Have let me sit here beside you a second time
And never have I heard a word from your mouth
That might be the language of love, or anything like it.
And you who are so courtly, with such winning ways,
Ought to offer a little instruction to a young thing
And teach her some token of the art of true love.
Do you know nothing, for all your fame?
Or do you think me too dull for your language of love? Shame on you!
I come here alone and sit
To learn the art from you.
Now while my lord is out
Please teach me what you know.”
“In good faith,” Gawain said, “God reward you!
What a joy, and what great pleasure to me
To have someone so noble pay me a visit
And take such pains with so humble a fellow, entertaining
Your knight with such favors—what a comfort to me!
But to take upon myself the task of expounding true love,
Repeating the terms of the text and the tales of adventures
To you who know half again as much of these matters
Or a hundred times more, I am sure, than I do
Or ever will as long as I live in the world,
Would be foolish in more ways than I can say, my lady.
I will do whatever I can to please you,
As I am bound to, and I will remain
Your faithful servant, so may God save me!”
Pus hym frayned pat fre, and fondet hym ofte,
For to haf wonnen hym to wo3e, what-so scho po3t ellex;
Bot he defended hym so fayr þat no faut semed,
Ne non euel on nawþer halue, nawþer þay wysten bot blysse.
Þay laзed and layked longe;
At þe last scho con hym kysse, 1555
Hir leue fayre con scho fonge
And went hir waye, iwysse.
Then ruþes hym þe renk and ryses to þe masse,
And siþen hor diner watz dyзt and derely serued.
Þe lede with þe ladyez layked all
e day, 1560
Bot þe lorde ouer þe londez launced ful ofte,
Swez his vncely swyn, þat swyngez bi þe bonkkez
And bote þe best of his brachez þe bakkez in sunder
Þer he bode in his bay, tel bawemen hit breken,
And madee hym mawgref his hed for to mwe vtter, 1565
So felle flonez þer flete when þe folk gedered.
Bot зet þe styffest to start bi stoundez he made,
Til at þe last he watz so mat he myзt no more renne,
Bot in þe hast þat he myзt he to a hole wynnez
Of a rasse bi a rokk þer rennez þe boerne. 1570
He gete þe bonk at his bak, bigynez to scrape,
Þe froþe femed at his mouth vnfayre bi þe wykez,
Whettez his whyte tuschez; with hym þen irked
Alle þe burnez so bolde þat hym by stoden
To nye hym on-ferum, bot neзe hym non durst for woþe; 1570
He hade hurt so mony byforne
Þat al þuзt þenne ful loþe
So she put him to the test and tried many times
To woo him into wrongdoing, whatever else she had in mind.
But he defended himself so well that nothing seemed wrong
On either side, and there appeared to be nothing between them but bliss.
They stayed long laughing and playing,
And at last she gave him a kiss
As a graceful leavetaking,
And went her way, with this.
Then the knight rouses himself and goes off to Mass
And then his dinner was laid and splendidly served.
All day the knight was entertained by the ladies
While the lord galloped back and forth over the countryside
After this fierce boar that raced up the steep hillsides,
And bit the best of his dogs, breaking their backs in two.
There he stood at bay until the archers dislodged him
For all his defiance, and made him move on again.
Then many arrows flew as the crowd closed in.
Yet again and again he made the bravest give ground
Until at last he was too tired to run any longer,
But he moves as fast as he can to get to a hollow
On a bank by a rock with a brook running beside it.
He gets the bank at his back and starts pawing the ground.
Froth foamed from his mouth, ugly at the corners.
He whets his white tusks. By then all the knights
Who had been so bold to get close to him were not so eager.
They kept their distance and dared not go near him, Too deadly.
He had hurt so many already
That none of them wanted
Be more wyth his tusches torne,
Þat breme watz and braynwod bothe, 1580
Til þe knyзt com hymself, kachande his blonk,
Syз hym byde at þe bay, his burnez bysyde;
He lyзtes luflych adoun, leuez his corsour,
Braydez out a bryзt bront and bigly forth strydez,
Foundez fast þurз þe forth þer þe felle bydez.
Þe wylde watz war of þe wyзe with weppen in honde,
Hef hyзly þe here, so hetterly he fnast
Þat fele ferde for þe freke, lest felle hym þe worre.
Þe swyn settez hym out on þe segge euen,
Þat þe burne and þe bor were boþe vpon hepez 1590
In þe wyзtest of þe water; þe worre hade þat oþer,
For þe mon merkkez hym wel, as þay mette fyrst,
Set sadly þe scharp in þe slot euen,
Hit hym vp to þe hult, þat þe hert schyndered,
And he зarrande hym зelde, and зedoun þe water ful tyt. 1595
A hundreth houndez hym hent,
Þat bremely con hym bite,
Burnez him broзt to bent,
And doggez to dethe endite. 1600
There watz blawyng of prys in mony breme horne,
Heзe halowing on hiзe with haþelez þat myзt;
Brachetes bayed þat best, as bidden þe maysterez
Of þat chargeaunt chace þat were chef huntes.
Þenne a wyзe þat watz wys vpon wodcraftez 1605
To vnlace þis bor lufly bigynnez.
Fyrst he hewes of his hed and on hiзe settez,
And syþen rendez him al roghe bi þe rygge after,
To be torn by his tusks when he
Was enraged and driven mad.
Until the knight of the castle himself comes, spurring his horse,
Sees him standing at bay with the men around him.
Lightly he leaps to the ground, leaving his mount.
He draws a bright sword and strides forward, undaunted,
Splashing ahead through the stream to where the wild beast is waiting.
The creature saw the man with the weapon in his hand.
Every bristle stood straight up and he snorted so fiercely
That the others were afraid the knight would have the worst of it.
The boar makes a rush straight at the man
And he and the knight came crashing together
Where the water ran wildest, and the beast came out worst,
For the man struck him hard as they first met,
Ran the sharp blade straight in above the breastbone,
Stabbing up to the hilt, cutting clear through the heart,
And he buckled snarling and collapsed in the water all at once.
A hundred hounds seized him
In their sharp jaws.
And the men dragged him
Ashore for the dogs to finish.
Then many loud horns were blaring that he was down,
And the men all shouting at the tops of their voices,
The hounds baying their best at their masters' bidding
Who had led the hunt on that terrible chase.
Then a knight who knew how to live in the forest
Began to butcher the boar the right way.
First he hews off his head and sets it up high,
Then roughly rends him clear to the backbone,
Braydez out þe boweles, brennez hom on glede,
With bred blent þerwith his braches rewardez. 1610
Syþen he britnez out þe brawen in bryзt brode cheldez,
And hatz out þe hastlettez, as hiзtly bisemez;
And зet hem halchez al hole þe haluez togeder,
And syþen on a stif stange stoutly hem henges.
Now with þis ilk swyn þay swengen to home; 1615
Þe bores hed watz borne bifore þe burnes seluen
Þat him forferde in þe forþe þurз forse of his honde so stronge.
Til he seз Sir Gawayne
In halle hym þoзt ful longe; 1620
He calde, and he com gayn
His feez þer for to fonge.
Þe lorde ful lowde with lote and laзter myry,
When he seзe Sir Gawayn, with solace he spekez;
Þe goude ladyez were geten, and gedered þe meyny, 1625
He schewez hem þe scheldez, and schapes hem þe tale
Of þe largesse and þe lenþe, þe liþernez alse
Of þe were of þe wylde swyn in wod þer he fled.
Þat oþer knyзt ful comly comended his dedez,
And praysed hit as gret prys þat he proued hade, 1630
For suche a brawne of a best, þe bolde burne sayde,
Ne such sydes of a swyn segh he neuer are.
Þenne hondeled þay þe hoge hed, þe hende mon hit praysed,
And let lodly þerat þe lorde for to here.
‘Now, Gawayn,’ quoþ þe godmon, ‘þis gomen is your awen 1635
Bi fyn forwarde and faste, faythely зe knowe.’
‘Hit is sothe,’ quoþ þe segge, ‘and as siker trwe
Alle my get I schal yow gif agayn, bi my trawþe.’
He hent þe haþel aboute þe halse, and hendely hym kysses,
Pulls out the bowels
and broils them on the coals,
Blends them with bread and rewards the dogs with them.
Then he cuts out the flesh in bright, broad slabs
And carefully lifts out the innards that are for eating,
Then he binds the two halves back together again,
And hangs the whole thing up securely on a heavy pole,
And with this pig they have taken they start toward home,
Holding up the boar's head in front of the hunter
Who had killed him in the water with the strength of his arm,
To whom it seems a long time
Until he sees, in the hall, Sir Gawain
Coming when he calls him
To collect what he may be given.
The lord's voice was loud and he laughed merrily
When he saw Sir Gawain, and his words were happy.
The fair ladies were sent for, and all the others.
He shows them the boar's flesh and tells them its story:
The size and length, and the fierceness besides
Of the wild pig in the woods wanting to escape them.
That other knight gracefully commended his hunting,
Praising the great courage he had displayed.
Such a mound of boar's meat, the bold knight said,
And such sides of wild pig he had never seen.
Then they handled the huge head and the courtly knight praised it
And told the lord how terrifying it looked.
“Now, Gawain,” the good man said, “this kill is your own
By promise and covenant, as of course you know.”
“As you say,” the knight said, “and you have my word
That I shall give you all I have taken, upon my honor.”
He embraced the knight around the neck and kissed him courteously
And eftersones of þe same he serued hym þere. 1640
‘Now ar we euen,’ quoþ þe haþel, ‘in þis euentide
Of alle þe couenauntes þat we knyt, syþen I com hider, bi lawe.’
Þe lorde sayde, ‘Bi saynt Gile,
Зe ar þe best þat I knowe! 1645
Зe ben ryche in a whyle,
Such chaffer and зe drowe.’
Þenne þay teldet tablez trestes alofte,
Kesten cloþez vpon; clere lyзt þenne
Wakned bi woзez, waxen torches; 1650
Seggez sette and serued in sale al aboute;
Much glam and gle glent vp þerinne
Aboute þe fyre vpon flet, and on fele wyse
At þe soper and after, mony aþel songez,
As coundutes of Krystmasse and carolez newe 1655
