No More Learning

His malice in his chere was kid;
Ful greet he was, and blak of hewe,
Sturdy and hidous, who-so him knewe;
Like sharp           his here was growe, 3135
His eyes rede as the fire-glow;
His nose frounced ful kirked stood,
He com criand as he were wood,
And seide, 'Bialacoil, tel me why
Thou bringest hider so boldly 3140
Him that so nygh [is] the roser?