may befall after, and at this time twelvemonth will take from thee another, with whatever weapon thou wilt, and with no wight else alive.”  “By Gog,” quoth the Green Knight, “it pleases me well that I shall receive at thy fist that which I have sought here—­moreover thou hast truly rehearsed the terms of the covenant,—­but thou shalt first pledge me thy word that thou wilt seek me thyself, wheresoever on earth thou believest I may be found, and fetch thee such wages as thou dealest me to-day before this company of doughty ones.”  “Where should I seek thee?” replies Gawayne, “where is thy place?  I know not thee, thy court, or thy name.  I wot not where thou dwellest, but teach me thereto, tell me how thou art called, and I shall endeavour to find thee,—­and that I swear thee for truth and by my sure troth.”  “That is enough in New Year,” says the groom in green, “if I tell thee when I have received the tap.  When thou hast smitten me, then smartly I will teach thee of my house, my home, and my own name, so that thou mayest follow my track and fulfil the covenant between us.  If I spend no speech, then speedest thou the better, for then mayest thou remain in thy own land and seek no further; but cease thy talking[1] (ll. 366-412).  Take now thy grim tool to thee and let us see how thou knockest.”  “Gladly, sir, for sooth,” quoth Gawayne, and his axe he brandishes.

      [Footnote 1:  This, I think, is the true explanation of slokes.]

The Green Knight adjusts himself on the ground, bends slightly his head, lays his long lovely locks over his crown, and lays bare his neck for the blow.  Gawayne then gripped the axe, and, raising it on high, let it fall quickly upon the knight’s neck and severed the head from the body.  The fair head fell from the neck to the earth, and many turned it aside with their feet as it rolled forth.  The blood burst from the body, yet the knight never faltered nor fell; but boldly he started forth on stiff shanks and fiercely rushed forward, seized his head, and lifted it up quickly.  Then he runs to his horse, the bridle he catches, steps into his stirrups and strides aloft.  His head by the hair he holds in his hands, and sits as firmly in his saddle as if no mishap had ailed him, though headless he was (ll. 413-439).  He turned his ugly trunk about—­that ugly body that bled,—­and holding the head in his hand, he directed the face toward the “dearest on the dais.”  The head lifted up its eyelids and looked abroad, and thus much spoke with its mouth as ye may now hear: 

“Loke, Gawayne, thou be prompt to go as thou hast promised, and seek till thou find me according to thy promise made in the hearing of these knights.  Get thee to the Green Chapel, I charge thee, to fetch such a dint as thou hast dealt, to be returned on New Year’s morn.  As the Knight of the Green Chapel I am known to many, wherefore if thou seekest thou canst not fail to find me.  Therefore come, or recreant be