MODERNISED BY Z. A. Z.
PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS.
1.
Now when the Prioress had done, each man
So serious looked, ’twas wonderful to see!
Till our good host to banter us began,
And then at last he cast his eyes on me,
And jeering said, “What man art thou?” quoth he,
“That lookest down as thou wouldst find a hare,
For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.
2.
“Approach me near, 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 poppet in an arm’s embrace,
For any woman, small and fair of face.
He seemeth elf-like by his countenance,
For with no wight holdeth he dalliance.
3.
“Say somewhat now, since other folks have said;
Tell us a tale o’ mirth, and that anon.”
“Host,” quoth I then, “be not so far misled,
For other tales except this know I none;
A little rime I learned in years agone.”
“Ah! that is well,” quoth he; “now we shall hear
Some dainty thing, methinketh, by thy cheer.”
The Rime of Sir Thopas.
Fytte the First. [30]
1.
Listen, lordlings, in good intent,
And I will tell you verament
Of mirth and chivalry,
About a knight on glory bent,
In battle and in tournament;
Sir Thopas named was he.
2.
And he was born in a far countrÉy,
In Flanders, all beyond the sea,
At Popering in the place;
His father was a man full free,
And of that country lord was he,
Enjoyed by holy grace.
3.
Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,
Fair was his face as pain de Maine,
His lips were red as rose;
His ruddy cheeks like scarlet grain;
And I tell you in good certaine,
He had a seemly nose.
4.
His hair and beard like saffron shone,
And to his girdle fell adown;
His shoes of leather bright;
Of Bruges were his hose so brown,
His robe it was of ciclatoun—
He was a costly wight:
5.
Well could he hunt the strong wild deer,
And ride a hawking for his cheer
With grey goshawk on hand;
His archery filled the woods with fear,
In wrestling eke he had no peer,—
No man ’gainst him could stand.
6.
Full many a maiden bright in bower
Was sighing for him par amour
Between her prayers and sleep,
But he was chaste, beyond their power,
And sweet as is the bramble flower
That beareth the red hip.
7.
And so it fell upon a day,
Forsooth, as I now sing and say,
Sir Thopas went to ride;
He rode upon his courser grey,
And in his hand a lance so gay,
A long sword by his side.
8.
He rode along a forest fair,
Many a wild beast dwelling there;
(Mercy in heaven defend!)
And there was also buck and hare;
And as he went, he very near
Met with a sorry end.
9.
And herbs sprang up, or creeping ran;
The liquorice, and valerian,
Clove-gillyflowers, sun-dressed;
And nutmeg, good to put in ale,
Whether it be moist or stale,—
Or to lay sweet in chest,
10.
The birds all sang, as tho’ ’twere May;
The spearhawk, [32] and the popinjay,
It was a joy to hear;
The throstle cock made eke his lay,
The wood-dove sung upon the spray,
With note full loud and clear.
11.
Sir Thopas fell in love-longing
All when he heard the throstle sing,
And spurred his horse like mad,
So that all o’er the blood did spring,
And eke the white foam you might wring:
The steed in foam seemed clad.
12.
Sir Thopas eke so weary was
Of riding on the fine soft grass,
While love burnt in his breast,
That down he laid him in that place
To give his courser some solÁce,
Some forage and some rest.
13.
Saint Mary! benedicite!
What meaneth all this love in me,
That haunts me in the wood?
This night, in dreaming, did I see
An elf queen shall my true love be,
And sleep beneath my hood.
14.
An elf queen will I love, I wis,
For in this world no woman is
Worthy to be my bride;
All other damsels I forsake,
And to an elf queen will I take,
By grove and streamlet’s side.
15.
Into his saddle be clomb anon,
And pricketh over stile and stone,
An elf queen to espy;
Till he so long had ridden and gone,
That he at last upon a morn
The fairy land came nigh.
16.
Therein he sought both far and near,
And oft he spied in daylight clear
Through many a forest wild;
But in that wondrous land I ween,
No living wight by him was seen,
Nor woman, man, nor child.
17.
At last there came a giant gaunt,
And he was named Sir Oliphaunt,
A perilous man of deed:
And he said, “Childe, by Termagaunt,
If thou ride not from this my haunt,
Soon will I slay thy steed
With this victorious mace;
For here’s the lovely Queen of Faery,
With harp and pipe and symphony,
A-dwelling in this place.”
18.
Childe Thopas said right haughtily,
“To-morrow will I combat thee
In armour bright as flower;
And then I promise ‘par ma fay’
That thou shalt feel this javelin gay,
And dread its wondrous power.
To-morrow we shall meet again,
And I will pierce thee, if I may,
Upon the golden prime of day;—
And here you shall be slain.”
19.
Sir Thopas drew aback full fast;
The giant at him huge stones cast,
Which from a staff-sling fly;
But well escaped the Childe ThopÁs,
And it was all through God’s good grace,
And through his bearing high.
20.
Still listen, gentles, to my tale,
Merrier than the nightingale;—
For now I must relate,
How that Sir Thopas rideth o’er
Hill and dale and bright sea-shore,
E’en to his own estate.
21.
His merry men commandeth he
To make for him the game and glee;
For needs he must soon fight
With a giant fierce, with strong heads three,
For paramour and jollity,
And chivalry so bright.
22.
“Come forth,” said he, “my minstrels fair,
And tell me tales right debonair,
While I am clad and armed;
Romances, full of real tales,
Of dames, and popes, and cardinals,
And maids by wizards charmed.”
23.
They bore to him the sweetest wine
In silver cup; the muscadine,
With spices rare of Ind;
Fine gingerbread, in many a slice,
With cummin seed, and liquorice,
And sugar thrice refined.
24.
Then next to his white skin he ware
A cloth of fleecy wool, as fair,
Woven into a shirt;
Next that he put a cassock on,
And over that an habergeon, [35]
To guard right well his heart.
25.
And over that a hauberk went
Of Jews’ work, and most excellent;
Full strong was every plate;
And over that his coat armoÚre,
As white as is the lily flower,
In which he would debate.
26.
His shield was all of gold so red,
And thereon was a wild boar’s head,
A carbuncle beside;
And then he swore on ale and bread,
How that the giant should be dead,
Whatever should betide!
27.
His boots were glazed right curiously,
His sword-sheath was of ivory,
His helm all brassy bright;
His saddle was of jet-black bone,
His bridle like the bright sun shone,
Or like the clear moons light,
28.
His spear was of the cypress tree,
That bodeth battle right and free;
The point full sharp was ground;
His steed it was a dapple grey,
That goeth an amble on the way,
Full softly and full round.
29.
Lo! lordlings mine, here ends one fytte
Of this my tale, a gallant strain;
And if ye will hear more of it,
I’ll soon begin again.
FYTTE THE SECOND.
1.
Now hold your speech for charity,
Both gallant knight and lady free,
And hearken to my song
Of battle and of chivalry,
Of ladies’ love and minstrelsy,
All ambling thus along.
2.
Men speak much of old tales, I know;
Of Hornchild, Ipotis, alsÓ
Of Bevis and Sir Guy;
Of Sire Libeaux, and Pleindamour;
But Sire Thopas, he is the flower
Of real chivalry.
3.
Now was his gallant steed bestrode,
And forth upon his way he rode,
As spark flies from a brand;
Upon his crest he bare a tower,
And therein stuck a lily flower:
Save him from giant hand.
4.
He was a knight in battle bred,
And in no house would seek his bed,
But laid him in the wood;
His pillow was his helmet bright,—
His horse grazed by him all the night
On herbs both fine and good.
5.
And he drank water from the well,
As did the knight Sir Percival,
So worthy under weed;
Till on a day—
[Here Chaucer is interrupted in his Rime.]
EPILOGUE TO RIME.
“No more of this, for Heaven’s high dignity!”
Quoth then our Host, “for, lo! thou makest me
So weary of thy very simpleness,
That all so wisely may the Lord me bless,
My very ears, with thy dull rubbish, ache.
Now such a rime at once let Satan take.
This may be well called ‘doggrel rime,’” quoth he.
“Why so?” quoth I; “why wilt thou not let me
Tell all my tale, like any other man,
Since that it is the best rime that I can?”
“Mass!” quoth our Host, “if that I hear aright,
Thy scraps of rhyming are not worth a mite;
Thou dost nought else but waste away our time:—
Sir, at one word, thou shalt no longer rhyme.”
