Whan seyd was al this miracle, every man
When told was all this miracle, every man
As sobre was, that wonder was to se,
So sober fell 'twas wonderful to see,
Til that oure Hooste japen tho bigan,
Until our host in jesting wise began,
And thanne at erst he looked upon me,
And for the first time did he glance at me,
And seyde thus, What man artow, quod he,
Saying, What man are you?- 'twas thus quoth he-
Thow lookest as thou woldest fynde an hare,
You look as if you tried to find a hare,
For ever upon the ground I se thee stare.
For always on the ground I see you stare.
Approche neer, and looke up murily;
Come near me then, and look up merrily.
Now war yow, sires, and lat this man have place.
Now make way, sirs, and let this man have place;
He in the waast is shape as wel as I;
He in the waist is shaped as well as I;
This were a popet in an arm tenbrace
This were a puppet in an arm's embrace
For any womman smal, and fair of face.
For any woman, small and fair of face.
He semeth elvyssh by his contenaunce,
Why, he seems absent, by his countenance,
For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.
And gossips with no one for dalliance.
Sey now somwhat, syn oother folk han sayd,
Since other folk have spoken, it's your turn;
Telle us a tale of myrthe, and that anon.
Tell us a mirthful tale, and that anon.
Hooste, quod I, ne beth nat yvele apayed,
Mine host, said I, don't be, I beg, too stern,
For oother tale certes kan I noon
For of good tales, indeed, sir, have I none,
But of a ryme I lerned longe agoon.
Save a long rhyme I learned in years agone.
Ye, that is good, quod he, now shul we heere
Well, that is good, said he; now shall we hear
Som deyntee thyng, me thynketh by his cheere.
It seems to me, a thing to bring us cheer.
Listeth, lordes, in good entent,
Listen, lords, with good intent,
And I wol telle verrayment
I truly will a tale present
Of myrthe and of solas,
Of mirth and of solace;
Al of a knyght was fair and gent
All of a knight was fair and gent
In bataille and in tourneyment,
In battle and in tournament.
His name was Sir Thopas.
His name was Sir Thopas.
Yborn he was in fer contree,
Born he was in a far country,
In Flaundres, al biyonde the see,
In Flanders, all beyond the sea,
At Poperyng in the place;
And Poperinghe the place;
His fader was a man ful free,
His father was a man full free,
And lord he was of that contree,
And lord he was of that countree,
As it was Goddes grace.
As chanced to be God's grace.
Sir Thopas wax a doghty swayn,
Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,
Whit was his face as payndemayn,
White was his brow as paindemaine,
Hise lippes rede as rose;
His lips red as a rose;
His rode is lyk scarlet in grayn,
His cheeks were like poppies in grain,
And I yow telle, in good certayn,
And I tell you, and will maintain,
He hadde a semely nose.
He had a comely nose.
His heer, his berd, was lyk saffroun,
His hair and beard were like saffron
That to his girdel raughte adoun;
And to his girdle reached adown,
Hise shoon of Cordewane.
His shoes were of cordwain;
Of Brugges were his hosen broun,
From Bruges were come his long hose brown,
His robe was of syklatoun
His rich robe was of ciclatoun-
That coste many a jane.
And cost full many a jane.
He koude hunte at wilde deer,
Well could he hunt the dim wild deer
And ride an haukyng for river,
And ride a-hawking by river,
With grey goshauk on honde,
With grey goshawk on hand;
Therto he was a good archeer,
Therewith he was a good archer,
Of wrastlyng was ther noon his peer,
At wrestling was there none his peer
Ther any ram shal stonde.
Where any ram did stand.
Ful many a mayde, bright in bour,
Full many a maiden, bright in bower,
They moorne for hym, paramour,
Did long for him for paramour
Whan hem were bet to slepe;
When they were best asleep;
But he was chaast and no lechour,
But chaste he was, no lecher sure,
And sweete as is the brembulflour
And sweet as is the bramble-flower
That bereth the rede hepe.
That bears a rich red hepe.
And so bifel upon a day,
And so befell, upon a day,
Frosothe as I yow telle may,
In truth, as I can tell or may,
Sir Thopas wolde out ride;
Sir Thopas out would ride;
He worth upon his steede gray,
He mounted on his stallion grey,
And in his hand a launcegay,
And held in hand a lance, I say,
A long swerd by his side.
With longsword by his side.
The priketh thurgh a fair forest,
He spurred throughout a fair forest
Therinne is many a wilde best,
Wherein was many a dim wild beast,
Ye, both bukke and hare,
Aye, both the buck and hare;
And as he priketh north and est,
And as he spurred on, north and east,
I telle it yow, hym hadde almest
I tell you now he had, in breast,
Bitidde a sory care.
A melancholy care.
Ther spryngen herbes, grete and smale,
There herbs were springing, great and small,
The lycorys and cetewale,
The licorice blue and white setwall,
And many a clowe-gylofre,
And many a gillyflower,
And notemuge to putte in ale,
And nutmeg for to put in ale,
Wheither it be moyste or stale,
All whether it be fresh or stale,
Or for to leye in cofre.
Or lay in chest in bower.
The briddes synge, it is no nay,
The birds they sang, upon that day,
The sparhauk and the papejay
The sparrow-hawk and popinjay,
That joye it was to heere,
Till it was joy to hear;
The thrustelcok made eek hir lay,
The missel thrush he made his lay,
The wodedowve upon a spray
The tender stockdove on the spray,
She sang ful loude and cleere.
She sang full loud and clear.
Sir Thopas fil in love-longynge,
Sir Thopas fell to love-longing
Al whan he herde the thrustel synge,
All when he heard the throstle sing,
And pryked as he were wood;
And spurred as madman would:
His faire steede in his prikynge
His stallion fair, for this spurring,
So swatte that men myghte him wrynge,
Did sweat till men his coat might wring,
His sydes were al blood.
His two flanks were all blood.
Sir Thopas eek so wery was
Sir Thopas grown so weary was
For prikyng on the softe gras,
With spurring on the yielding grass,
So fiers was his corage,
So fierce had been his speed,
That doun he leyde him in that plas
That down he laid him in that place
To make his steede som solas,
To give the stallion some solace
And yaf hym good forage.
And let him find his feed.
O seinte Marie, benedicite,
O holy Mary, ben'cite!
What eyleth this love at me
What ails my heart that love in me
To bynde me so soore?
Should bind me now so sore?
Me dremed al this nyght, pardee,
For dreamed I all last night, pardie,
An elf-queene shal my lemman be,
An elf-queen shall my darling be,
And slepe under my goore.
And sleep beneath my gore.
An elf-queene wol I love, ywis,
An elf-queen will I love, ywis,
For in this world no womman is
For in this world no woman is
Worthy to be my make
Worthy to be my make
In towne;
In town;
Alle othere wommen I forsake,
All other women I forsake,
And to an elf-queene I me take
And to an elf-queen I'll betake
By dale and eek by downe.
Myself, by dale and down!
Into his sadel he clamb anon,
Into his saddle he climbed anon
And priketh over stile and stoon
And spurred then over stile and stone.
An elf-queene for tespye,
An elf-queen for to see,
Til he so longe hadde riden and goon
Till he so far had ridden on
That he foond, in a pryve woon,
He found a secret place and won
The contree of Fairye
The land of Faery
So wilde;
So wild;
For in that contree was ther noon
For in that country was there none
That to him dorste ryde or goon,
That unto him dared come, not one,
Neither wyf ne childe,
Not either wife or child.
Til that ther cam a greet geaunt,
Until there came a great giant,
His name was Sir Olifaunt,
Whose name it was Sir Oliphant,
A perilous man of dede;
A dangerous man indeed;
He seyde Child, by Termagaunt,
He said: O Childe, by Termagant,
But if thou prike out of myn haunt,
Save thou dost spur from out my haunt,
Anon I sle thy steede
Anon I'll slay thy steed
With mace.
With mace.
Heere is the queene of Fayerye,
For here the queen of Faery,
With harpe and pipe and symphonye,
With harp and pipe and harmony,
Dwellyng in this place.
Is dwelling in this place.
The child seyde, Also moote I thee,
The Childe said: As I hope to thrive,
Tomorwe wol I meete with thee,
We'll fight the morn, as I'm alive,
Whan I have myn armoure.
When I have my armour;
And yet I hope, par ma fay,
For well I hope, and par ma fay,
That thou shalt with this launcegay
That thou shalt by this lance well pay,
Abyen it ful sowre.
And suffer strokes full sore;
Thy mawe
Thy maw
Shal I percen if I may
Shall I pierce through, and if I may,
Er it be fully pryme of day,
Ere it be fully prime of day,
For heere thow shalt be slawe.
Thou'lt die of wounds most raw.
Sir Thopas drow abak ful faste,
Sir Thopas drew aback full fast;
This geant at hym stones caste
This giant at him stones did cast
Out of a fel staf-slynge;
Out of a fell staff-sling;
But faire escapeth Child Thopas,
But soon escaped was Childe Thopas,
And al it was thurgh Goddes gras,
And all it was by God's own grace,
And thurgh his fair berynge.
And by his brave bearing.
Yet listeth, lordes, to my tale,
And listen yet, lords, to my tale,
Murier than the nightyngale,
Merrier than the nightingale,
For now I wol yow rowne
Whispered to all and some,
How Sir Thopas, with sydes smale,
How Sir Thopas, with pride grown pale,
Prikyng over hill and dale
Hard spurring over hill and dale,
Is comen agayn to towne.
Came back to his own home.
His murie men comanded he
His merry men commanded he
To make hym bothe game and glee,
To make for him both game and glee,
For nedes moste he fighte
For needs now must he fight
With a geaunt with hevedes three,
With a great giant of heads three,
For paramour and jolitee
For love in the society
Of oon that shoon ful brighte.
Of one who shone full bright.
Do come,: he seyde, my mynstrales,
Do come, he said, my minstrels all,
And geestours, for to tellen tales
And jesters, tell me tales in hall
Anon in myn armynge;
Anon in mine arming;
Of romances that been roiales,
Of old romances right royal,
Of Popes and of Cardinales,
Of pope and king and cardinal,
And eek of love-likynge.
And e'en of love-liking.
They fette hym first the sweete wyn,
They brought him, first, the sweet, sweet wine,
And mede eek in a mazelyn,
And mead within a maselyn,
And roial spicerye,
And royal spicery
And gyngebreed that was ful fyn,
Of gingerbread that was full fine,
And lycorys, and eek comyn,
Cumin and licorice, I opine,
With sugre that is so trye.
And sugar so dainty.
He dide next his white leere
He drew on, next his white skin clear,
Of clooth of lake, fyn and cleere,
Of finest linen, clean and sheer,
A breech, and eek a sherte,
His breeches and a shirt;
And next his sherte an aketoun,
And next the shirt a stuffed acton,
And over that an haubergeoun,
And over that a habergeon
For percynge of his herte.
'Gainst piercing of his heart.
And over that a fyn hawberk,
And over that a fine hauberk
Was al ywroght of Jewes werk,
That was wrought all of Jewish work
Ful strong it was of plate.
And reinforced with plate;
And over that his cote-armour
And over that his coat-of-arms,
As whit as is a lilye flour,
As white as lily-flower that charms,
In which he wol debate.
Wherein he will debate.
His sheeld was al of gold so reed,
His shield was all of gold so red,
And therinne was a bores heed,
And thereon was a wild boar's head
A charbocle bisyde;
A carbuncle beside;
And there he swoor on ale and breed,
And now he swore, by ale and bread,
How that the geaunt shal be deed
That soon this giant shall be dead,
Bityde what bityde!
Betide what may betide!
Hise jambeux were of quyrboilly,
His jambeaux were of cuir-bouilli,
His swerdes shethe of yvory,
His sword sheath was of ivory,
His helm of laton bright,
His helm of latten bright,
His sadel was of rewel-boon,
His saddle was of rewel bone,
His brydel as the sonne shoon,
And as the sun his bridle shone,
Or as the moone light.
Or as the full moonlight.
His spere it was of fyn ciprees,
His spear was of fine cypress wood,
That bodeth werre, and no thyng pees,
That boded war, not brotherhood,
The heed ful sharpe ygrounde;
The head full sharply ground;
His steede was al dappull-gray,
His steed was all a dapple grey
It gooth an ambil in the way
Whose gait was ambling, on the way,
Ful softely and rounde
Full easily and round
In londe.
In land.
Loo, lordes myne, heere is a fit;
Behold, my lords, here is a fit!
If ye wol any moore of it,
If you'll have any more of it,
To telle it wol I fonde.
You have but to command.
Now holde youre mouth, par charitee,
Now hold your peace, par charitee,
Bothe knyght and lady free,
Both knight and lady fair and free,
And herkneth to my spelle;
And hearken to my spell;
Of batailles and of chivalry
Of battle and of chivalry
And of ladyes love-drury
And all of ladies' love-drury
Anon I wol yow telle.
Anon I will you tell.
Men speken of romances of prys,
Romances men recount of price,
Of Hornchild, and of Ypotys,
Of King Horn and of Hypotis,
Of Beves and Sir Gy,
Of Bevis and Sir Guy,
Of Sir Lybeux and Pleyndamour,
Of Sir Libeaux and Plain-d'Amour;
But Sir Thopas, he bereth the flour
But Sir Thopas is flower sure
Of roial chivalry.
Of regal chivalry.
His goode steede al he bistrood,
His good horse all he then bestrode,
And forth upon his wey he glood
And forth upon his way he rode
As sparcle out of the bronde.
Like spark out of a brand;
Upon his creest he bar a tour,
Upon his crest he bore a tower
And therinne stiked a lilie-flour;
Wherein was thrust a lily-flower;
God shilde his cors fro shonde!
God grant he may withstand!
And for he was a knyght auntrous,
He was a knight adventurous,
He nolde slepen in noon hous,
Wherefore he'd sleep within no house,
But liggen in his hoode.
But lay down in his hood;
His brighte helm was his wonger,
His pillow was his helmet bright,
And by hym baiteth his dextrer
And by him browsed his steed all night
Of herbes fyne and goode.
On forage fine and good.
Hym-self drank water of the well,
Himself drank water of the well,
As dide the knyght sir Percyvell
As did the knight Sir Percival,
So worly under wede,
So worthy in his weeds,
Til on a day---
Till on a day...