Chaucer’s Tale of Sir Thopas: The Tale

Listen, lordings, in good intent,And I will tell you verramentOf mirth and of solas,All of a knight was fair and gent,In battle and in tournament,His name was Sir Thopas.

Y-born he was in far country,In Flanders, all beyond the sea,At Popering in the place;His father was a man full free,And lord he was of that country,As it was Godde’s grace.

Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,White was his face as paindemain,His lippes red as rose.His rode is like scarlet in grain,And I you tell in good certainHe had a seemly nose.

His hair, his beard, was like saffroun,That to his girdle reach’d adown,His shoes of cordewane:Of Bruges were his hosen brown;His robe was of ciclatoun,That coste many a jane.

He coulde hunt at the wild deer,And ride on hawking for rivereWith gray goshawk on hand:Thereto he was a good archere,Of wrestling was there none his peer,Where any ram should stand.

Full many a maiden bright in bow’rThey mourned for him par amour,When them were better sleep;But he was chaste, and no lechour,And sweet as is the bramble flow’rThat beareth the red heep.

And so it fell upon a day,For sooth as I you telle may,Sir Thopas would out ride;He worth upon his steede gray,And in his hand a launcegay,A long sword by his side.

He pricked through a fair forest,Wherein is many a wilde beast,Yea, bothe buck and hare;And as he pricked north and east,I tell it you, him had almestBetid a sorry care.

There sprange herbes great and small,The liquorice and the setewall,And many a clove-gilofre,And nutemeg to put in ale,Whether it be moist or stale,Or for to lay in coffer.

The birdes sang, it is no nay,The sperhawk and the popinjay,That joy it was to hear;The throstle-cock made eke his lay,The woode-dove upon the sprayShe sang full loud and clear.

Sir Thopas fell in love-longingAll when he heard the throstle sing,And prick’d as he were wood;His faire steed in his pricking were madSo sweated, that men might him wring,His sides were all blood.

Sir Thopas eke so weary wasFor pricking on the softe grass,So fierce was his corage,That down he laid him in that place,To make his steed some solace,And gave him good forage.

“Ah, Saint Mary, ben’dicite,What aileth thilke love at meTo binde me so sore?Me dreamed all this night, pardie,An elf-queen shall my leman be,And sleep under my gore.

An elf-queen will I love, y-wis,For in this world no woman isWorthy to be my makeIn town;All other women I forsake,And to an elf-queen I me takeBy dale and eke by down.”

Into his saddle he clomb anon,And pricked over stile and stoneAn elf-queen for to spy,Till he so long had ridden and gone,That he found in a privy wonneThe country of Faery,So wild;For in that country was there noneThat to him durste ride or gon,Neither wife nor child.

Till that there came a great giaunt,His name was Sir Oliphaunt,A perilous man of deed;He saide, “Child, by Termagaunt,But if thou prick out of mine haunt,Anon I slay thy steedWith mace.Here is the Queen of Faery,With harp, and pipe, and symphony,Dwelling in this place.”

The Child said, “All so may I the,To-morrow will I meete thee,When I have mine armor;And yet I hope, par ma fay,That thou shalt with this launcegayAbyen it full sore;Thy mawShall I pierce, if I may,Ere it be fully prime of day,For here thou shalt be slaw.”

Sir Thopas drew aback full fast;This giant at him stones castOut of a fell staff sling:But fair escaped Child Thopas,And all it was through Godde’s grace,And through his fair bearing.

Yet listen, lordings, to my tale,Merrier than the nightingale,For now I will you rown,How Sir Thopas, with sides smale,Pricking over hill and dale,Is come again to town.

His merry men commanded heTo make him both game and glee;For needes must he fightWith a giant with heades three,For paramour and jollityOf one that shone full bright.

“Do come,” he saide, “my minstralesAnd gestours for to telle tales.Anon in mine arming,Of romances that be royales,Of popes and of cardinales,And eke of love-longing.”

They fetch’d him first the sweete wine,And mead eke in a maseline,And royal spicery; of maple woodOf ginger-bread that was full fine,And liquorice and eke cumin,With sugar that is trie.

He didde, next his white lere,Of cloth of lake fine and clear,A breech and eke a shirt;And next his shirt an haketon,And over that an habergeon,For piercing of his heart;

And over that a fine hauberk,Was all y-wrought of Jewes’ werk,Full strong it was of plate;And over that his coat-armour,As white as is the lily flow’r,In which he would debate.

His shield was all of gold so redAnd therein was a boare’s head,A charboucle beside;And there he swore on ale and bread,How that the giant should be dead,Betide whatso betide.

His jambeaux were of cuirbouly,His sworde’s sheath of ivory,His helm of latoun bright,His saddle was of rewel bone,His bridle as the sunne shone,Or as the moonelight.

His speare was of fine cypress,That bodeth war, and nothing peace;The head full sharp y-ground.His steede was all dapple gray,It went an amble in the wayFull softely and roundIn land.

Lo, Lordes mine, here is a fytt;If ye will any more of it,To tell it will I fand.