I

WHEN Sir Gawain was led to his bridal-bed, By Arthur’s knights in scorn God-sped:— How think you he felt? O the bride within Was yellow and dry as a snake’s old skin; Loathly as sin! Scarcely faceable, Quite unembraceable; With a hog’s bristle on a hag’s chin!— Gentle Gawain felt as should we, Little of Love’s soft fire knew he: But he was the Knight of Courtesy.