"J.R.R. Tolkien - Sir Gawain And The Green Knight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tolkien J.R.R)

Bothe wyth bulle3 and berez, and borez otherquyle,
And etayne3, that hym anelede of the he3e felle;

Nade he ben du3ty and dryyghe, and Dryyghtyn had serued,
Douteles he hade ben ded and dreped ful ofte.
For werre wrathed hym not so much that wynter nas wors,
When the colde cler water fro the cloude3 schadde,
And fres er hit falle my3t to the fale erthe;
Ner slayn wyth the slete he sleped in his yrnes
Mo ny3te3 then innoghe in naked rokkez,
Ther as claterande fro the crest the colde borne renne3,
And henged he3e ouer his hede in hard iisse-ikkles.
Thus in peryl and payne and plytes ful harde
Bi contray cayre3 this kny3t, tyl Krystmasse euen,
al one;
The kny3t wel that tyde
To Mary made his mone,
That ho hym red to ryde
And wysse hym to sum wone.
Bi a mounte on the morne meryly he rydes
Into a forest ful dep, that ferly wat3 wylde,
Hi3e hille3 on vche a halue, and holtwodez vnder
Of hore oke3 ful hoge a hundreth togeder;
The hasel and the ha3thorne were harled al samen,
With ro3e raged mosse rayled aywhere,
With mony brydde3 vnblythe vpon bare twyges,
That pitosly ther piped for pyne of the colde.
The gome vpon Gryngolet glyde3 hem vnder,
Thur3 mony misy and myre, mon al hym one,
Carande for his costes, lest he ne keuer schulde
To se the seruyse of that syre, that on that self ny3t
Of a burde wat3 borne oure baret to quelle;
And therfore sykyng he sayde, "I beseche the, lorde,
And Mary, that is myldest moder so dere,
Of sum herber ther he3ly I myyght here masse,
Ande thy matyne3 to-morne, mekely I ask,
And therto prestly I pray my pater and aue
and crede."
He rode in his prayere,
And cryed for his mysdede,

He sayned hym in sythes sere,
And sayde "Cros Kryst me spede!"
NADE he sayned hymself, segge, bot thrye,
Er he wat3 war in the wod of a won in a mote,
Abof a launde, on a lawe, loken vnder bo3e3
Of mony borelych bole aboute bi the diches:
A castel the comlokest that euer kny3t ayghte,
Pyched on a prayere, a park al aboute,
With a pyked palays pyned ful thik,