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CANTERBURY TALES

SIR THOPAS

by Geoffrey Chaucer

SIR 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