LXXII
“ ’Tis a word,” said that wight, “that worst is of all, But soothly I’m answer’d, and sorely it wounds. Kiss me now comely, to care ere I go, I may but mourn among men, as maid that much loves.” She stoop’d with a sigh and seemlily kiss’d him, Then sever’d from his side, and said as she stood “Now, dear, at departing, do me this solace, Somewhat give me as a gift, thy glove it may be, That I máy thee remember, my mourning to lessen.” “Now, I wis,” said the wight, “I would I had here The liefest thing for thy love that in land I possess; Ye have deservèd in sooth, and seemlily oft, More reward by right than e’er I may reach; But to give you for love—it little avail’d, It becomes not your worth to win at this time A glove for a guerdon, at Gawain’s hand: I am here on an errand in an únknown land, And carry no coffers, with presents of cost; It mislikes me, lady, I love you too dear; We must do as chance deals, so deem not amiss nor pine.” “Nay, Knight of high honoùrs,” Then said that lady fine, “Though I have nought of yours, Yet shall ye have of mine.”