d there the king made sorrow out of measure, and took
Sir Gawaine in his arms, and thrice he there swooned. And then when
he awaked, he said: Alas, Sir Gawaine, my sister's son, here now thou
liest; the man in the world that I loved most; and now is my joy gone,
for now, my nephew Sir Gawaine, I will discover me unto your person: in
Sir Launcelot and you I most had my joy, and mine affiance, and now have
I lost my joy of you both; wherefore all mine earthly joy is gone from
me. Mine uncle King Arthur, said Sir Gawaine, wit you well my death-day
is come, and all is through mine own hastiness and wilfulness; for I am
smitten upon the old wound the which Sir Launcelot gave me, on the which
I feel well I must die; and had Sir Launcelot been with you as he was,
this unhappy war had never begun; and of all this am I causer, for Sir
Launcelot and his blood, through their prowess, held all your cankered
enemies in subjection and daunger. And now, said Sir Gawaine, ye
shall miss Sir Launcelot. But alas, I would not accord with him, and
therefore, said Sir Gawaine, I pray you, fair uncle, that I may have
paper, pen, and ink, that I may write to Sir Launcelot a cedle with mine
own hands.

And then when paper and ink was brought, then Gawaine was set up weakly
by King Arthur, for he was shriven a little to-fore; and then he wrote
thus, as the French book maketh mention: Unto Sir Launcelot, flower
of all noble knights that ever I heard of or saw by my days, I, Sir
Gawaine, King Lot's son of Orkney, sister's son unto the noble King
Arthur, send thee greeting, and let thee have knowledge that the tenth
day of May I was smitten upon the old wound that thou gavest me afore
the city of Benwick, and through the same wound that thou gavest me I
am come to my death-day. And I will that all the world wit, that I, Sir
Gawaine, knight of the Table Round, sought my death, and not through thy
deserving, but it was mine own seeking; wherefore I beseech thee, Sir
Launcelot, to return again unto this realm, and see my tomb, and pray
some prayer more or less for my soul. And this same day that I wrote
this cedle, I was hurt to the death in the same wound, the which I had
of thy hand, Sir Launcelot; for of a more nobler man might I not be
slain. Also Sir Launcelot, for all the love that ever was betwixt us,
make no tarrying, but come over the sea in all haste, that thou mayst
with thy noble knights rescue that noble king that made thee knight,
that i