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The First Fit
Listeth, lordes, in good entent,
And I wol telle verrayment
Of myrthe and of solas,
Al of a knyght was fair and gent
In bataille and in tourneyment;
His name was sire Thopas.
And I wol telle verrayment
Of myrthe and of solas,
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,
At Poperyng, in the place.
His fader was a man ful free,
And lord he was of that contree,
As it was Goddes grace.
In Flaundres, al biyonde the see,
At Poperyng, in the place.
His fader was a man ful free,
And lord he was of that contree,
As it was Goddes grace.
Sire Thopas wax a doghty swayn;
Whit was his face as payndemayn ,
His lippes rede as rose;
His rode is lyk scarlet in grayn,
And I yow telle in good certayn
He hadde a semely nose.
Whit was his face as payndemayn ,
His lippes rede as rose;
His rode is lyk scarlet in grayn,
And I yow telle in good certayn
He hadde a semely nose.
His heer, his berd was lyk saffroun,
That to his girdel raughte adoun;
His shoon of cordewane.
Of Brugges were his hosen broun,
His robe was of syklatoun,
That coste many a jane.
That to his girdel raughte adoun;
His shoon of cordewane.
Of Brugges were his hosen broun,
His robe was of syklatoun,
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;
Of wrastlyng was ther noon his peer,
Ther any ram shal stonde.
And ride an haukyng for river
With grey goshauk on honde;
Therto he was a good archeer;
Of wrastlyng was ther noon his peer,
Ther any ram shal stonde.
Ful many a mayde, bright in hour,
They moorne for hym paramour,
Whan hem were bet to slepe;
But he was chaast and no lechour,
And sweete as is the brembul flour
That bereth the rede hepe.
They moorne for hym paramour,
Whan hem were bet to slepe;
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,
Sire Thopas wolde out ride.
He worth upon his steede gray,
And in his hand a launcegay,
A long swerd by his side.
For sothe, as I yow telle may,
Sire Thopas wolde out ride.
He worth upon his steede gray,
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A long swerd by his side.
He priketh thurgh a fair forest,
Therinne is many a wilde best,
Ye, bothe bukke and hare;
And as he priketh north and est,
I telle it yow, hym hadde almest
Bitid a sory care.
Therinne is many a wilde best,
Ye, bothe bukke and hare;
And as he priketh north and est,
I telle it yow, hym hadde almest
Bitid a sory care.
Ther spryngen herbes grete and smale,
The lycorys and the cetewale,
And many a clowe-gylofre;
And notemuge to putte in ale,
Wheither it be moyste or stale,
Or for to leye in cofre.
The lycorys and the cetewale,
And many a clowe-gylofre;
And notemuge to putte in ale,
Wheither it be moyste or stale,
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 hit lay,
The wodedowve upon the spray
She sang ful loude and cleere.
The sparhauk and the papejay,
That joye it was to heere;
The thrustelcok made eek hit lay,
The wodedowve upon the spray
She sang ful loude and cleere.
Sire Thopas fil in love-longynge,
Al whan he herde the thrustel synge,
And pryked as he were wood.
His faire steede in his prikynge
So swatte that men myghte him wrynge;
His sydes were al blood.
Al whan he herde the thrustel synge,
And pryked as he were wood.
His faire steede in his prikynge
So swatte that men myghte him wrynge;
His sydes were al blood.
Sire Thopas eek so wery was
For prikyng on the softe gras,
So fiers was his corage,
That doun he leyde him in that plas
To make his steede som solas,
And yaf hym good forage.
For prikyng on the softe gras,
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!
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.
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.
"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,
And to an elf-queene I me take
By dale and eek by downe!"
For in this world no womman is
Worthy to be my make
In towne;
Alle othere wommen I forsake,
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,
Til he so longe hath riden and goon
That he foond, in a pryve woon,
The contree of Fairye
So wilde;
For in that contree was ther noon
That to him durste ride or goon,
Neither wyf ne childe;
And priketh over stile and stoon
An elf-queene for t'espye,
Til he so longe hath riden and goon
That he foond, in a pryve woon,
The contree of Fairye
So wilde;
For in that contree was ther noon
That to him durste ride or goon,
Neither wyf ne childe;
Til that ther cam a greet geaunt,
His name was sire Olifaunt,
A perilous man of dede.
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,
With harpe and pipe and symphonye,
Dwellynge in this place."
His name was sire Olifaunt,
A perilous man of dede.
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,
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;
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,
Er it be fully pryme of day,
For heere thow shalt be slawe."
Tomorwe wol I meete with thee,
Whan I have myn armoure;
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,
Er it be fully pryme of day,
For heere thow shalt be slawe."
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Sire Thopas drow abak ful faste;
This geant at hym stones caste
Out of a fel staf-slynge.
But faire escapeth child Thopas,
And al it was thurgh Goddes gras,
And thurgh his fair berynge.
This geant at hym stones caste
Out of a fel staf-slynge.
But faire escapeth child Thopas,
And al it was thurgh Goddes gras,
And thurgh his fair berynge.
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