CANTERBURY TALES
by Geoffry Chaucer
The Tale of Sir Thopas
Bihoold the murye Wordes of the Hoost to Chaucer. Whan seyd was al this miracle, every man
As sobre was, that wonder was to se,
Til that oure Hooste japen tho bigan,
And thanne at erst he looked upon me,
5 And seyde thus, "What man artow," quod he,
"Thow lookest as thou woldest fynde an hare,
For ever upon the ground I se thee stare.Approche neer, and looke up murily;
Now war yow, sires, and lat this man have place.
10 He in the waast is shape as wel as I;
This were a popet in an arm tenbrace
For any womman smal, and fair of face.
He semeth elvyssh by his contenaunce,
For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.15 Sey now somwhat, syn oother folk han sayd,
Telle us a tale of myrthe, and that anon."
"Hooste," quod I, "ne beth nat yvele apayed,
For oother tale certes kan I noon
But of a ryme I lerned longe agoon."
20 "Ye, that is good," quod he, "now shul we heere
Som deyntee thyng, me thynketh by his cheere."The Merry Words of the Host to Chaucer When told was all this miracle, every man
So sober fell 'twas wonderful to see,
Until our host in jesting wise began,
And for the first time did he glance at me,
Saying, "What man are you?"- 'twas thus quoth he-
"You look as if you tried to find a hare,
For always on the ground I see you stare."Come near me then, and look up merrily.
Now make way, sirs, and let this man have place;
He in the waist is shaped as well as I;
This were a puppet in an arm's embrace
For any woman, small and fair of face.
Why, he seems absent, by his countenance,
And gossips with no one for dalliance."Since other folk have spoken, it's your turn;
Tell us a mirthful tale, and that anon."
"Mine host," said I, "don't be, I beg, too stern,
For of good tales, indeed, sir, have I none,
Save a long rhyme I learned in years agone."
"Well, that is good," said he; "now shall we hear
It seems to me, a thing to bring us cheer."
Heere bigynneth Chaucers Tale of Thopas. The First Fit
Listeth, lordes, in good entent,
And I wol telle verrayment
Of myrthe and of solas,
25 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,
30 At Poperyng in the place;
His fader was a man ful free,
And lord he was of that contree,
As it was Goddes grace.Sir Thopas wax a doghty swayn,
35 Whit was his face as payndemayn,
Hise lippes rede as rose;
His rode is lyk scarlet in grayn,
And I yow telle, in good certayn,
He hadde a semely nose.40 His heer, his berd, was lyk saffroun,
That to his girdel raughte adoun;
Hise shoon of Cordewane.
Of Brugges were his hosen broun,
His robe was of syklatoun
45 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,
50 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;
55 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,
60 Sir 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,
65 Therinne is many a wilde best,
Ye, both bukke and hare,
And as he priketh north and est,
I telle it yow, hym hadde almest
Bitidde a sory care.70 Ther spryngen herbes, grete and smale,
The lycorys and cetewale,
And many a clowe-gylofre,
And notemuge to putte in ale,
Wheither it be moyste or stale,
75 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,
80 The wodedowve upon a spray
She sang ful loude and cleere.Sir Thopas fil in love-longynge,
Al whan he herde the thrustel synge,
And pryked as he were wood;
85 His faire steede in his prikynge
So swatte that men myghte him wrynge,
His sydes were al blood.Sir Thopas eek so wery was
For prikyng on the softe gras,
90 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,
95 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.100 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,
105 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,
110 Til he so longe hadde riden and goon
That he foond, in a pryve woon,
The contree of Fairye
So wilde;
For in that contree was ther noon
115 That to him dorste ryde or goon,
Neither wyf ne childe,Til that ther cam a greet geaunt,
His name was Sir Olifaunt,
A perilous man of dede;
120 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,
125 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.
130 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
135 Er it be fully pryme of day,
For heere thow shalt be slawe."Sir Thopas drow abak ful faste,
This geant at hym stones caste
Out of a fel staf-slynge;
140 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,
145 For now I wol yow rowne
How Sir Thopas, with sydes smale,
Prikyng over hill and dale
Is comen agayn to towne.His murie men comanded he
150 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.155 "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,
160 And eek of love-likynge."They fette hym first the sweete wyn,
And mede eek in a mazelyn,
And roial spicerye,
And gyngebreed that was ful fyn,
165 And lycorys, and eek comyn,
With sugre that is so trye.He dide next his white leere
Of clooth of lake, fyn and cleere,
A breech, and eek a sherte,
170 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,
175 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,
180 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!"185 Hise jambeux were of quyrboilly,
His swerdes shethe of yvory,
His helm of laton bright,
His sadel was of rewel-boon,
His brydel as the sonne shoon,
190 Or as the moone light.His spere it was of fyn ciprees,
That bodeth werre, and no thyng pees,
The heed ful sharpe ygrounde;
His steede was al dappull-gray,
195 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,
200 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 batailles and of chivalry
205 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,
210 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
215 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,
220 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.225 Hym-self drank water of the well,
As dide the knyght sir Percyvell
So worly under wede,
Til on a day ----Heere the Hoost stynteth Chaucer of his Tale of Thopas.
Here begins Chaucer's Tale of Thopas The First Fit
Listen, lords, with good intent,
I truly will a tale present
Of mirth and of solace;
All of a knight was fair and gent
In battle and in tournament.
His name was Sir Thopas.Born he was in a far country,
In Flanders, all beyond the sea,
And Poperinghe the place;
His father was a man full free,
And lord he was of that countree,
As chanced to be God's grace.Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,
White was his brow as paindemaine,
His lips red as a rose;
His cheeks were like poppies in grain,
And I tell you, and will maintain,
He had a comely nose.His hair and beard were like saffron
And to his girdle reached adown,
His shoes were of cordwain;
From Bruges were come his long hose brown,
His rich robe was of ciclatoun-
And cost full many a jane.Well could he hunt the dim wild deer
And ride a-hawking by river,
With grey goshawk on hand;
Therewith he was a good archer,
At wrestling was there none his peer
Where any ram did stand.Full many a maiden, bright in bower,
Did long for him for paramour
When they were best asleep;
But chaste he was, no lecher sure,
And sweet as is the bramble-flower
That bears a rich red hepe.And so befell, upon a day,
In truth, as I can tell or may,
Sir Thopas out would ride;
He mounted on his stallion grey,
And held in hand a lance, I say,
With longsword by his side.He spurred throughout a fair forest
Wherein was many a dim wild beast,
Aye, both the buck and hare;
And as he spurred on, north and east,
I tell you now he had, in breast,
A melancholy care.There herbs were springing, great and small,
The licorice blue and white setwall,
And many a gillyflower,
And nutmeg for to put in ale,
All whether it be fresh or stale,
Or lay in chest in bower.The birds they sang, upon that day,
The sparrow-hawk and popinjay,
Till it was joy to hear;
The missel thrush he made his lay,
The tender stockdove on the spray,
She sang full loud and clear.Sir Thopas fell to love-longing
All when he heard the throstle sing,
And spurred as madman would:
His stallion fair, for this spurring,
Did sweat till men his coat might wring,
His two flanks were all blood.Sir Thopas grown so weary was
With spurring on the yielding grass,
So fierce had been his speed,
That down he laid him in that place
To give the stallion some solace
And let him find his feed."O holy Mary, ben'cite!
What ails my heart that love in me
Should bind me now so sore?
For dreamed I all last night, pardie,
An elf-queen shall my darling be,
And sleep beneath my gore."An elf-queen will I love, ywis,
For in this world no woman is
Worthy to be my make
In town;
All other women I forsake,
And to an elf-queen I'll betake
Myself, by dale and down!"Into his saddle he climbed anon
And spurred then over stile and stone.
An elf-queen for to see,
Till he so far had ridden on
He found a secret place and won
The land of Faery
So wild;
For in that country was there none
That unto him dared come, not one,
Not either wife or child.Until there came a great giant,
Whose name it was Sir Oliphant,
A dangerous man indeed;
He said: "O Childe, by Termagant,
Save thou dost spur from out my haunt,
Anon I'll slay thy steed
With mace.
For here the queen of Faery,
With harp and pipe and harmony,
Is dwelling in this place."The Childe said: "As I hope to thrive,
We'll fight the morn, as I'm alive,
When I have my armour;
For well I hope, and par ma fay,
That thou shalt by this lance well pay,
And suffer strokes full sore;
Thy maw
Shall I pierce through, and if I may,
Ere it be fully prime of day,
Thou'lt die of wounds most raw."Sir Thopas drew aback full fast;
This giant at him stones did cast
Out of a fell staff-sling;
But soon escaped was Childe Thopas,
And all it was by God's own grace,
And by his brave bearing.The Second Fit
And listen yet, lords, to my tale,
Merrier than the nightingale,
Whispered to all and some,
How Sir Thopas, with pride grown pale,
Hard spurring over hill and dale,
Came back to his own home.His merry men commanded he
To make for him both game and glee,
For needs now must he fight
With a great giant of heads three,
For love in the society
Of one who shone full bright."Do come," he said, "my minstrels all,
And jesters, tell me tales in hall
Anon in mine arming;
Of old romances right royal,
Of pope and king and cardinal,
And e'en of love-liking."They brought him, first, the sweet, sweet wine,
And mead within a maselyn,
And royal spicery
Of gingerbread that was full fine,
Cumin and licorice, I opine,
And sugar so dainty.He drew on, next his white skin clear,
Of finest linen, clean and sheer,
His breeches and a shirt;
And next the shirt a stuffed acton,
And over that a habergeon
'Gainst piercing of his heart.And over that a fine hauberk
That was wrought all of Jewish work
And reinforced with plate;
And over that his coat-of-arms,
As white as lily-flower that charms,
Wherein he will debate.His shield was all of gold so red,
And thereon was a wild boar's head
A carbuncle beside;
And now he swore, by ale and bread,
That soon "this giant shall be dead,
Betide what may betide!"His jambeaux were of cuir-bouilli,
His sword sheath was of ivory,
His helm of latten bright,
His saddle was of rewel bone,
And as the sun his bridle shone,
Or as the full moonlight.His spear was of fine cypress wood,
That boded war, not brotherhood,
The head full sharply ground;
His steed was all a dapple grey
Whose gait was ambling, on the way,
Full easily and round
In land.
Behold, my lords, here is a fit!
If you'll have any more of it,
You have but to command.The Third Fit
Now hold your peace, par charitee,
Both knight and lady fair and free,
And hearken to my spell;
Of battle and of chivalry
And all of ladies' love-drury
Anon I will you tell.Romances men recount of price,
Of King Horn and of Hypotis,
Of Bevis and Sir Guy,
Of Sir Libeaux and Plain-d'Amour;
But Sir Thopas is flower sure
Of regal chivalry.His good horse all he then bestrode,
And forth upon his way he rode
Like spark out of a brand;
Upon his crest he bore a tower
Wherein was thrust a lily-flower;
God grant he may withstand!He was a knight adventurous,
Wherefore he'd sleep within no house,
But lay down in his hood;
His pillow was his helmet bright,
And by him browsed his steed all night
On forage fine and good.Himself drank water of the well,
As did the knight Sir Percival,
So worthy in his weeds,
Till on a day...Here the host halted Chaucer in his Tale of Thopas
Continue on to the Tale of Melibee
Return to the Table of Contents
Return to List of Authors and Books
