Listeneth, lordings, in good entent,

And I wol tell you verament

Of mirth and of solÁs,

All of a knight was fair and gent

In battle and in tournamÉnt,

His name was Sir ThopÁs.

Yborn he was in far countree,

In Flanders, all beyond the sea,

At Popering in the place,

His father was a man full free,

And lord he was of that countree,

As it was GoddÉs grace.

Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,

White was his face as paindemaine

His lippÉs red as rose.

His rudde is like scarlÉt in grain,

And I you tell in good certain

He had a seemly nose.

His hair, his beard, was like saffroun,

That to his girdle raught adown,

His shoon of cordewaine;

Of Bruges were his hosen brown;

His robÉ was of ciclatoun,

That costÉ many a jane.

He could hunt at the wildÉ dere,

And ride on hawking for the rivere

With grey 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 bower

They mournÉd for him par amour,

When them were bet to slepe;

But he was chaste and no lechÓur,

And sweet as is the bramble flower,

That beareth the red hepe.

He pricketh through a fair forÉst,

Therein is many a wildÉ beast,

Yea bothÉ buck and hare,

And as he prickÉd North and Est,

I tell it you, him had almest

Betid a sorry care.

There springen herbÉs great and smale,

The liquorice and the setewale,

And many a clove gilofre,

And nutÉmeg to put in ale,

Whether it be moist or stale,

Or for to lain in cofre.

The birdÉs singen, it is no nay,

The sparhawk and the popingay,

That joy it was to hear,

The throstel cock made eke his lay,

The wodÉ dove upon the spray

He sang full loud and clear.

Sir Thopas fell in love-longÍng

All when he heard the throstel sing,

And pricked as he were wood;

His fairÉ steed in his prÍcking

So swattÉ, that men might him wring,

His sidÉs were all blood.

Sir Thopas eke so weary was

For pricking on the softÉ gras,

So fierce was his courÁge,

That down he laid him in that place

To maken his stedÉ som solace,

And gave him good forÁge.

Ah, Seinte Mary, benedicite,

What aileth this love at me

To bindÉ me so sore?

Me dreamÉd all this night pardÉ,

An elf-queen shal my leman be,

And sleep under my gore.

Into his saddle he clomb anon,

And prickÉd over stile and stone

An elf-queen for to espie,

Till he so long had ridden and gone,

That he found in a privee wone

The contree of FaeriÉ.

Wherein he soughtÉ North and South,

And oft he spiÉd with his mouth

In many a forest wild,

For in that contree n'as ther non,

That to him durst ride or gon,

Neither wife ne child.

Till that there came a great geaunt,

His namÉ was Sir Oliphaunt,

A perilous man of deed,

He saidÉ, Childe by Termagaunt,

But if thou prick out of mine haunt,

Anon I slay thy stede

With mace.

Here is the Queen of Faerie,

With harp, and pipe, and symphonie,

Dwelling in this place.

The Childe said, All so mote I thee,

To morrow wol I meten thee,

When I have min armÓur,

And yet I hopÉ par ma fay,

That thou shalt with this launcegay

Abien it full soure;

Thy mawe

Shal I perce, if I may,

Or it be fully prime of the day,

For here thou shalt be slawe.

Sir Thopas drew aback full fast;

This geaunt at him stonÉs cast

Out of a fell staff sling:

But faire escapÉd Childe ThopÁs,

And all it was through Goddes grace,

And through his fair bearÍng.

His merry men commandeth he,

To maken him bothe game and glee,

For needÉs must he fight,

With a geaunt with heades three,

For paramour and jolitee

Of one that shone full bright.

Do come, he said, my minestrales

And gestours for to tellen tales

Anon in mine armÍng,

Of romauncÉs that ben reÁles,

Of popÉs and of cardinÁles,

And eke of love-longÍng.

They fet him first the swetÉ wine,

And mead eke in a maseline,

And regal spicerie,

Of ginger-bread that was full fine,

And liquorice and eke cummine,

With sugar that is trie.

He diddÉ next his whitÉ lere

Of cloth of lakÉ fine and clere

A breche and eke a sherte,

And next his s

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