Chaucer Texts

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The Canterbury Tales - Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas
Heere bigynneth Chaucers Tale of Thopas

	Listeth, lordes, in good entent,
	And I wol telle verrayment
	Of myrthe and of solas,
715	Al of a knyght was fair and gent
	In bataille and in tourneyment;
	His name was sire Thopas.
	Yborn he was in fer contree,
	In Flaundres, al biyonde the see,
720	At Poperyng, in the place.
	His fader was a man ful free,
	And lord he was of that contree,
	As it was Goddes grace.
	Sire Thopas wax a doghty swayn;
725	Whit was his face as payndemayn,
	His lippes rede as rose;
	His rode is lyk scarlet in grayn,
	And I yow telle in good certayn
	He hadde a semely nose.
730	His heer, his berd was lyk saffroun,
	That to his girdel raughte adoun;
	His shoon of cordewane.
	Of Brugges were his hosen broun,
	His robe was of syklatoun,
735	That coste many a jane.
	He koude hunte at wilde deer,
	And ride an haukyng for river
	With grey goshauk on honde;
	Therto he was a good archeer;
740	Of wrastlyng was ther noon his peer,
	Ther any ram shal stonde.
	Ful many a mayde, bright in bour,
	They moorne for hym paramour,
	Whan hem were bet to slepe;
745	But he was chaast and no lechour,
	And sweete as is the brembul flour
	That bereth the rede hepe.
	And so bifel upon a day,
	For sothe, as I yow telle may,
750	Sire Thopas wolde out ride.
	He worth upon his steede gray,
	And in his hand a launcegay,
	A long swerd by his side.
	He priketh thurgh a fair forest,
755	Therinne is many a wilde best,
	Ye, bothe bukke and hare;
	And as he priketh north and est,
	I telle it yow, hym hadde almest
	Bitid a sory care.
760	Ther spryngen herbes grete and smale,
	The lycorys and the cetewale,
	And many a clowe-gylofre;
	And notemuge to putte in ale,
	Wheither it be moyste or stale,
765	Or for to leye in cofre.
	The briddes synge, it is no nay,
	The sparhauk and the papejay,
	That joye it was to heere;
	The thrustelcok made eek hir lay,
770	The wodedowve upon the spray
	She sang ful loude and cleere.
	Sire Thopas fil in love-longynge,
	Al whan he herde the thrustel synge,
	And pryked as he were wood.
775	His faire steede in his prikynge
	So swatte that men myghte him wrynge;
	His sydes were al blood.
	Sire Thopas eek so wery was
	For prikyng on the softe gras,
780	So fiers was his corage,
	That doun he leyde him in that plas
	To make his steede som solas,
	And yaf hym good forage.
	"O Seinte Marie, benedicite!
785	What eyleth this love at me
	To bynde me so soore?
	Me dremed al this nyght, pardee,
	An elf-queene shal my lemman be
	And slepe under my goore.
790	"An elf-queene wol I love, ywis,
	For in this world no womman is
	Worthy to be my make
	In towne;
	Alle othere wommen I forsake,
795	And to an elf-queene I me take
	By dale and eek by downe!"
	Into his sadel he clamb anon,
	And priketh over stile and stoon
	An elf-queene for t' espye,
800	Til he so longe hath riden and goon
	That he foond, in a pryve woon,
	The contree of Fairye
	So wilde;
	For in that contree was ther noon
805	That to him durste ride or goon,
	Neither wyf ne childe;
	Til that ther cam a greet geaunt,
	His name was sire Olifaunt,
	A perilous man of dede.
810	He seyde, "Child, by Termagaunt,
	But if thou prike out of myn haunt,
	Anon I sle thy steede
	With mace.
	Heere is the queene of Fayerye,
815	With harpe and pipe and symphonye,
	Dwellynge in this place."
	The child seyde, "Also moote I thee,
	Tomorwe wol I meete with thee,
	Whan I have myn armoure;
820	And yet I hope, par ma fay,
	That thou shalt with this launcegay
	Abyen it ful sowre.
	Thy mawe
	Shal I percen, if I may,
825	Er it be fully pryme of day,
	For heere thow shalt be slawe."
	Sire Thopas drow abak ful faste;
	This geant at hym stones caste
	Out of a fel staf-slynge.
830	But faire escapeth child Thopas,
	And al it was thurgh Goddes gras,
	And thurgh his fair berynge.

[The Second Fit]

	Yet listeth, lordes, to my tale
	Murier than the nightyngale,
835	For now I wol yow rowne
	How sir Thopas, with sydes smale,
	Prikyng over hill and dale,
	Is comen agayn to towne.
	His myrie men comanded he
840	To make hym bothe game and glee,
	For nedes moste he fighte
	With a geaunt with hevedes three,
	For paramour and jolitee
	Of oon that shoon ful brighte.
845	"Do come," he seyde, "my mynstrales,
	And geestours for to tellen tales,
	Anon in myn armynge,
	Of romances that been roiales,
	Of popes and of cardinales,
850	And eek of love-likynge."
	They fette hym first the sweete wyn,
	And mede eek in a mazelyn,
	And roial spicerye
	Of gyngebreed that was ful fyn,
855	And lycorys, and eek comyn,
	With sugre that is trye.
	He dide next his white leere
	Of cloth of lake fyn and cleere,
	A breech and eek a sherte;
860	And next his sherte an aketoun,
	And over that an haubergeoun
	For percynge of his herte;
	And over that a fyn hawberk,
	Was al ywroght of Jewes werk,
865	Ful strong it was of plate;
	And over that his cote-armour
	As whit as is a lilye flour,
	In which he wol debate.
	His sheeld was al of gold so reed,
870	And therinne was a bores heed,
	A charbocle bisyde;
	And there he swoor on ale and breed
	How that the geaunt shal be deed,
	Bityde what bityde!
875	His jambeux were of quyrboilly,
	His swerdes shethe of yvory,
	His helm of latoun bright;
	His sadel was of rewel boon,
	His brydel as the sonne shoon,
880	Or as the moone light.
	His spere was of fyn ciprees,
	That bodeth werre, and nothyng pees,
	The heed ful sharpe ygrounde;
	His steede was al dappull gray,
885	It gooth an ambil in the way
	Ful softely and rounde
	In londe.
	Loo, lordes myne, heere is a fit!
	If ye wol any moore of it,
890	To telle it wol I fonde.

The [Third] Fit

	Now holde youre mouth, par charitee,
	Bothe knyght and lady free,
	And herkneth to my spelle;
	Of bataille and of chivalry,
895	And of ladyes love-drury
	Anon I wol yow telle.
	Men speken of romances of prys,
	Of Horn child and of Ypotys,
	Of Beves and sir Gy,
900	Of sir Lybeux and Pleyndamour --
	But sir Thopas, he bereth the flour
	Of roial chivalry!
	His goode steede al he bistrood,
	And forth upon his wey he glood
905	As sparcle out of the bronde;
	Upon his creest he bar a tour,
	And therinne stiked a lilie flour --
	God shilde his cors fro shonde!
	And for he was a knyght auntrous,
910	He nolde slepen in noon hous,
	But liggen in his hoode;
	His brighte helm was his wonger,
	And by hym baiteth his dextrer
	Of herbes fyne and goode.
915	Hymself drank water of the well,
	As dide the knyght sire Percyvell
	So worly under wede,
	Til on a day --

Heere the Hoost stynteth Chaucer of his Tale of Thopas.

	"Namoore of this, for Goddes dignitee,"
920	Quod oure Hooste, "for thou makest me
	So wery of thy verray lewednesse
	That, also wisly God my soule blesse,
	Myne eres aken of thy drasty speche.
	Now swich a rym the devel I biteche!
925	This may wel be rym dogerel," quod he.
	"Why so?" quod I, "why wiltow lette me
	Moore of my tale than another man,
	Syn that it is the beste rym I kan?"
	"By God," quod he, "for pleynly, at a word,
930	Thy drasty rymyng is nat worth a toord!
	Thou doost noght elles but despendest tyme.
	Sire, at o word, thou shalt no lenger ryme.
	Lat se wher thou kanst tellen aught in geeste,
	Or telle in prose somwhat, at the leeste,
935	In which ther be som murthe or som doctryne."
	"Gladly," quod I, "by Goddes sweete pyne!
	I wol yow telle a litel thyng in prose
	That oghte liken yow, as I suppose,
	Or elles, certes, ye been to daungerous.
940	It is a moral tale vertuous,
	Al be it told somtyme in sondry wyse
	Of sondry folk, as I shal yow devyse.
	"As thus: ye woot that every Evaungelist
	That telleth us the peyne of Jhesu Crist
945	Ne seith nat alle thyng as his felawe dooth;
	But nathelees hir sentence is al sooth,
	And alle acorden as in hire sentence,
	Al be ther in hir tellyng difference.
	For somme of hem seyn moore, and somme seyn lesse,
950	Whan they his pitous passioun expresse --
	I meene of Mark, Mathew, Luc, and John --
	But doutelees hir sentence is al oon.
	Therfore, lordynges alle, I yow biseche,
	If that yow thynke I varie as in my speche,
955	As thus, though that I telle somwhat moore
	Of proverbes than ye han herd bifoore
	Comprehended in this litel tretys heere,
	To enforce with th' effect of my mateere;
	And though I nat the same wordes seye
960	As ye han herd, yet to yow alle I preye
	Blameth me nat; for, as in my sentence,
	Shul ye nowher fynden difference
	Fro the sentence of this tretys lyte
	After the which this murye tale I write.
965	And therfore herkneth what that I shal seye,
	And lat me tellen al my tale, I preye."

Explicit

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