And found two fingers of fat in the poorest.
Then they slit up the slot, and, seizing the arber,121
With a sharp knife shore it, and sewed it again;
Next they sever’d the legs and stript off the hide,
Broke up the belly, and the bowels took out;
Then gripp’d they the gargilon,122 and graithly departed
The weasand from the wind-hole, and wound out the guts;
Shore off the shoulders with their shárp blàdes,
And máde a líttle hole to líft them, to leave whole sides.
Then rived they the breast and broke it in two,
And again at the gargilon got them to work,
Ripp’d the flesh readily, right to the fork,
Voided out the avanters,123 and featly thereafter
The membranes lanced along by the ribs;
Last, they clove a clear way, close by the backbone,
E’en to the haunch; it was all whole still,
And they heav’d it up whole, then hew’d off the loin,
And the offals that they name the numbles,124 I trow,
by kind;
Along the fork o’ the thigh,
The laps they lance behind;
To hew in two they hie,
By the backbone to unbind.
LIV
Both the head and the hawse125 they hew’d off after,
And sunder’d full swiftly the sides from the chine,
And the corbies’ fee126 they cast in a bush;
Then thirl’d they the thick sides through by the rib,
And slung them up high by slitting the sinews,
Ev’ry man for his fee, as falls him by custom.
On a fell of the fair beast fed they their hounds
With the liver and lights, the leather127 of the paunches,
And bread bathed in blood, blent thereamongst,
And boldly blew prize, while the bratches bay’d;
Then the flesh they took up and fared towards home,
Sounding full stoutly many a strong moot.
What time daylight was done, they had drawn to the gate
Of the comely castle, where the knight them bides
so still,
In bliss, with bright fire beat;
The lord is come theretil;
When Gawain did him meet,
There was but weal at will.
LV
Then commanded the lord to muster his meiny,
And his ladies both to bring with their burds,
Before all the folk, on the floor of the hall;
Anon he sends forth the venison to fetch,
And in gamesome mood Sir Gawain he calls,
Tells him the tally of the táll dèer,
And shows him the sheen grease shorn from the ribs:
“How pleases you this play? Have I praise gotten
And a thank sincere by my skill deservèd?”
“By my faith,” quoth he, “ ’tis the fairest hunting
I have seen this seven year in season of winter.”128
“ ’Tis a gift for Gawain,” the goodman replied,
“For by accord of covenant ye claim it your own.”
“That is sooth,” the Knight said, “and I say you the same;
What I have worthily won these wonës within,
I wis, with as good will, I waive it to you.”
His fair neck he folds in a fond embrace,
And kisses him as comely as he could it avise;
“Here are my winnings, for I won no more,
But all would I grant, if greater they had been.”
“Fair gain!” said the goodman, “gramercy therefor;
Better worth though it were if ye would but discover
Where ye won this same wealth by force of your wits.”
“ ’Twas not in the bargain, nor boots it to know;
Your dues ye have drawn, deem ye no other,
Sir lord.”
They laugh’d and made them blithe
With many a courteous word;
To supper they went forthwith,
Fresh dainties on the board.
LVI
After meat, by the chimney in chamber they sit
And comfort them well with the winsome wine;
And again in their game they agreed on the morn
To fulfil the same foreward as before they had made:
As fortune should chance, their winnings to change—
Aught new that they got, at night when they met.
This covenant they accorded before all the court,
And the beverage was brought, with bourd and with jest.
Then a lovesome leave they took at the last,
For all to their beds must busk them anon.
When the cock had crow’n and cackled but thrice,
Then leapt up the lord, and his lieges each one;
And when mass and morsel they had meetly taken,
Ere dawn’d any day they dress’d to the forest,
to chase;
Loudly with hunt and horns
Through plains they pass’d apace,
Uncoupled, among the thorns,
The hounds so swift to race.
LVII
Soon they cried of a quest at a cárr129 sìde;
The huntsman halloo’d the hounds that gave tongue,
Wroth words he utter’d, and wildly he call’d;
And the hounds that heard him hasten’d at once,
And féll as fást on the tráil, forty together;
Then such a deafening din of those dogs in concert
Arose, that the rocks rung all about.
Hunters them hearten’d with horn and with mouth,
And all in a throng they thrust on together,
Between a flash130 in that frith and a fearsome crag;
On a knoll, by a cliff, at the carr side,
Where the ruggèd rock in a rough knar131 tumbled,
They fared to the finding; the huntsmen them follow’d,
And made a cast of that knar and the knot132 beside it,
Till they wist full well that the wild one was there,
When the bloodhounds bay’d the beast to announce.
Then they beat on the bushes, and bade him break cover,
And he sought, with disaster, the searchers athwart him;
’Twas a wonder of a swine that swung out upon them,
Long sunder’d from the sounder,133 and sínce grown to age,
A fierce boar and fell, and fearsome for bigness.
When this grim one grunted, ’twas grievous to many,
For three at a thrust he threw to the ground,
Then sped forth good speed, nor spited them more.
They all hollo’ed “Hi!” and “Hey! hey!” shouted,
Hórns to mouth hád, the hunt to recall.
Many were the merry mouths of men and of hounds
That busk’d after boar, with boast and with clamour,
to kill.
Full oft he bides the bay
And maims the mute134 pell-mell;
He hurts the hounds and they
Piteously yowl and yell.
LVIII
So after the boar the bowmen hied them,
Aim’d
