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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395622" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Canterbury Tales; Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">PROLOGUE TO CHAUCER'S TALE OF SIR THOPAS</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bihoold the murye wordes of the Hoost to Chaucer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whan seyd was al this miracle, every man<br>As sobre was, that wonder was to se,<br>Til that oure Hooste japen tho bigan,<br>And thanne at erst he looked upon me,<br>And seyde thus, 'What man artow,' quod he,<br>'Thow lookest as thou woldest fynde an hare,<br>For ever upon the ground I se thee stare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Approche neer, and looke up murily;<br>Now war yow, sires, and lat this man have place.<br>He in the waast is shape as wel as I;<br>This were a popet in an arm tenbrace<br>For any womman smal, and fair of face.<br>He semeth elvyssh by his contenaunce,<br>For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sey now somwhat, syn oother folk han sayd,<br>Telle us a tale of myrthe, and that anon.'<br>'Hooste,' quod I, 'ne beth nat yvele apayed,<br>For oother tale certes kan I noon<br>But of a ryme I lerned longe agoon.'<br>'Ye, that is good,' quod he, 'now shul we heere<br>Som deyntee thyng, me thynketh by his cheere.'<br>Part 11</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SIR THOPAS</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heere bigynneth Chaucers tale of Thopas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Listeth, lordes, in good entent,<br>And I wol telle verrayment<br>Of myrthe and of solas,<br>Al of a knyght was fair and gent<br>In bataille and in tourneyment,<br>His name was Sir Thopas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yborn he was in fer contree,<br>In Flaundres, al biyonde the see,<br>At Poperyng in the place;<br>His fader was a man ful free,<br>And lord he was of that contree,<br>As it was Goddes grace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sir Thopas wax a doghty swayn,<br>Whit was his face as payndemayn,<br>Hise lippes rede as rose;<br>His rode is lyk scarlet in grayn,<br>And I yow telle, in good certayn,<br>He hadde a semely nose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His heer, his berd, was lyk saffroun,<br>That to his girdel raughte adoun;<br>Hise shoon of Cordewane.<br>Of Brugges were his hosen broun,<br>His robe was of syklatoun<br>That coste many a jane.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He koude hunte at wilde deer,<br>And ride an haukyng for river,<br>With grey goshauk on honde,<br>Therto he was a good archeer,<br>Of wrastlyng was ther noon his peer,<br>Ther any ram shal stonde.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ful many a mayde, bright in bour,<br>They moorne for hym, paramour,<br>Whan hem were bet to slepe;<br>But he was chaast and no lechour,<br>And sweete as is the brembulflour<br>That bereth the rede hepe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so bifel upon a day,<br>Frosothe as I yow telle may,<br>Sir Thopas wolde out ride;<br>He worth upon his steede gray,<br>And in his hand a launcegay,<br>A long swerd by his side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The priketh thurgh a fair forest,<br>Therinne is many a wilde best,<br>Ye, both bukke and hare,<br>And as he priketh north and est,<br>I telle it yow, hym hadde almest<br>Bitidde a sory care.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ther spryngen herbes, grete and smale,<br>The lycorys and cetewale, <br>And many a clowe-gylofre,<br>And notemuge to putte in ale,<br>Wheither it be moyste or stale,<br>Or for to leye in cofre.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The briddes synge, it is no nay,<br>The sparhauk and the papejay<br>That joye it was to heere,<br>The thrustelcok made eek hir lay,<br>The wodedowve upon a spray<br>She sang ful loude and cleere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sir Thopas fil in love-longynge,<br>Al whan he herde the thrustel synge,<br>And pryked as he were wood;<br>His faire steede in his prikynge<br>So swatte that men myghte him wrynge,<br>His sydes were al blood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sir Thopas eek so wery was<br>For prikyng on the softe gras,<br>So fiers was his corage,<br>That doun he leyde him in that plas<br>To make his steede som solas,<br>And yaf hym good forage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O seinte Marie, benedicite,<br>What eyleth this love at me<br>To bynde me so soore?<br>Me dremed al this nyght, pardee,<br>An elf-queene shal my lemman be,<br>And slepe under my goore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An elf-queene wol I love, ywis,<br>For in this world no womman is<br>Worthy to be my make<br>In towne;<br>Alle othere wommen I forsake,<br>And to an elf-queene I me take<br>By dale and eek by downe.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Into his sadel he clamb anon,<br>And priketh over stile and stoon<br>An elf-queene for tespye,<br>Til he so longe hadde riden and goon<br>That he foond, in a pryve woon,<br>The contree of Fairye<br>So wilde;<br>For in that contree was ther noon<br>That to him dorste ryde or goon,<br>Neither wyf ne childe,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Til that ther cam a greet geaunt,<br>His name was Sir Olifaunt,<br>A perilous man of dede;<br>He seyde 'Child, by Termagaunt,<br>But if thou prike out of myn haunt,<br>Anon I sle thy steede<br>With mace.<br>Heere is the queene of Fayerye,<br>With harpe and pipe and symphonye,<br>Dwellyng in this place.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The child seyde, 'Also moote I thee,<br>Tomorwe wol I meete with thee,<br>Whan I have myn armoure.<br>And yet I hope, par ma fay,<br>That thou shalt with this launcegay<br>Abyen it ful sowre.<br>Thy mawe<br>Shal I percen if I may<br>Er it be fully pryme of day,<br>For heere thow shalt be slawe.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sir Thopas drow abak ful faste,<br>This geant at hym stones caste<br>Out of a fel staf-slynge;<br>But faire escapeth Child Thopas,<br>And al it was thurgh Goddes gras,<br>And thurgh his fair berynge.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet listeth, lordes, to my tale,<br>Murier than the nightyngale,<br>For now I wol yow rowne<br>How Sir Thopas, with sydes smale,<br>Prikyng over hill and dale<br>Is comen agayn to towne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His murie men comanded he<br>To make hym bothe game and glee,<br>For nedes moste he fighte<br>With a geaunt with hevedes three,<br>For paramour and jolitee<br>Of oon that shoon ful brighte.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Do come,: he seyde, 'my mynstrales,<br>And geestours, for to tellen tales<br>Anon in myn armynge;<br>Of romances that been roiales,<br>Of Popes and of Cardinales,<br>And eek of love-likynge.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They fette hym first the sweete wyn,<br>And mede eek in a mazelyn,<br>And roial spicerye,<br>And gyngebreed that was ful fyn,<br>And lycorys, and eek comyn,<br>With sugre that is so trye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He dide next his white leere<br>Of clooth of lake, fyn and cleere,<br>A breech, and eek a sherte,<br>And next his sherte an aketoun,<br>And over that an haubergeoun,<br>For percynge of his herte.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And over that a fyn hawberk,<br>Was al ywroght of Jewes werk,<br>Ful strong it was of plate.<br>And over that his cote-armour<br>As whit as is a lilye flour,<br>In which he wol debate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His sheeld was al of gold so reed,<br>And therinne was a bores heed,<br>A charbocle bisyde;<br>And there he swoor on ale and breed,<br>How that 'the geaunt shal be deed<br>Bityde what bityde!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hise jambeux were of quyrboilly,<br>His swerdes shethe of yvory,<br>His helm of laton bright,<br>His sadel was of rewel-boon,<br>His brydel as the sonne shoon,<br>Or as the moone light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His spere it was of fyn ciprees,<br>That bodeth werre, and no thyng pees,<br>The heed ful sharpe ygrounde;<br>His steede was al dappull-gray,<br>It gooth an ambil in the way<br>Ful softely and rounde<br>In londe.<br>Loo, lordes myne, heere is a fit;<br>If ye wol any moore of it,<br>To telle it wol I fonde.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Second Fit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now holde youre mouth, par charitee,<br>Bothe knyght and lady free,<br>And herkneth to my spelle;<br>Of batailles and of chivalry<br>And of ladyes love-drury<br>Anon I wol yow telle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Men speken of romances of prys,<br>Of Hornchild, and of Ypotys,<br>Of Beves and Sir Gy,<br>Of Sir Lybeux and Pleyndamour,<br>But Sir Thopas, he bereth the flour<br>Of roial chivalry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His goode steede al he bistrood,<br>And forth upon his wey he glood<br>As sparcle out of the bronde.<br>Upon his creest he bar a tour,<br>And therinne stiked a lilie-flour;<br>God shilde his cors fro shonde!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And for he was a knyght auntrous,<br>He nolde slepen in noon hous,<br>But liggen in his hoode.<br>His brighte helm was his wonger,<br>And by hym baiteth his dextrer<br>Of herbes fyne and goode.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hym-self drank water of the well,<br>As dide the knyght sir Percyvell<br>So worly under wede,<br>Til on a day------</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heere the Hoost stynteth Chaucer of his Tale of Thopas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Na moore of this, for Goddes dignitee,'<br>Quod oure hooste, 'for thou makest me<br>So wery of thy verray lewednesse,<br>That also wisly God my soule blesse,<br>Min eres aken of thy drasty speche.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now swich a rym the devel I biteche!<br>This may wel be rym dogerel,' quod he.<br>'Why so?' quod I, 'why wiltow lette me<br>Moore of my tale than another man<br>Syn that it is the beste tale I kan?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'By God,' quod he, 'for pleynly at a word<br>Thy drasty rymyng is nat worth a toord,<br>Thou doost noght elles but despendest tyme.<br>Sir, at o word thou shalt no lenger ryme.<br>Lat se wher thou kanst tellen aught in geeste,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or telle in prose somwhat, at the leeste,<br>In which ther be som murthe or som doctryne.'<br>'Gladly,' quod I, 'by Goddes sweete pyne,<br>I wol yow telle a litel thyng in prose,<br>That oghte liken yow as I suppose,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or elles, certes, ye been to daungerous.<br>It is a moral tale vertuous,<br>Al be it take somtyme in sondry wyse<br>Of sondry folk as I shal yow devyse.<br>As thus; ye woot that every Evaungelist</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That telleth us the peyne of Jesu Crist<br>Ne seith nat alle thyng as his felawe dooth,<br>But, nathelees, hir sentence is al sooth,<br>And alle acorden as in hir sentence,<br>Al be her in hir tellyng difference.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For somme of hem seyn moore, and somme seyn lesse,<br>Whan they his pitous passioun expresse;<br>I meene of Marke, Mathew, Luc, and John,<br>But doutelees hir sentence is al oon,<br>Therfore, lordynges alle, I yow biseche</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If that yow thynke I varie as in my speche,<br>As thus, though that I telle somwhat moore<br>Of proverbes, than ye han herd bifoore,<br>Comprehended in this litel tretys heere,<br>To enforce with theffect of my mateere,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And though I nat the same wordes seye<br>As ye han herd, yet to yow alle I preye,<br>Blameth me nat; for, as in my sentence<br>Ye shul nat fynden moche difference<br>Fro the sentence of this tretys lyte</div><div style="margin:10px 0">After the which this murye tale I write.<br>And therfore herkneth what that I shal seye,<br>And lat me tellen al my tale, I preye.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE TALE (in prose).</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(A young man called Melibeus, whose wife Prudence and<br>daughter Sophie (Wisdom) are maltreated by his foes in<br>his absence, is counseled with many wise sayings uttered by<br>his wife tending toward peace and forgiveness, instead of <br>revenge.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Geoffrey+Chaucer">Geoffrey Chaucer</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395622" data-title="The Canterbury Tales; Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas de Geoffrey Chaucer" data-description="PROLOGUE TO CHAUCER'S 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,/An..."></div>
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