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[The Second Fit]
Yet listeth, lordes, to my tale
Murier than the nightyngale,
For now I wol yow rowne
How sir Thopas, with sydes smale,
Prikyng over hill and dale,
Is comen agayn to towne.
Murier than the nightyngale,
For now I wol yow rowne
How sir Thopas, with sydes smale,
Prikyng over hill and dale,
Is comen agayn to towne.
His myrie men comanded he
To make hym bothe game and glee,
For nedes moste he fighte
With a geaunt with hevedes three,
For paramour and jolitee
Of oon that shoon ful brighte.
To make hym bothe game and glee,
For nedes moste he fighte
With a geaunt with hevedes three,
For paramour and jolitee
Of oon that shoon ful brighte.
"Do come," he seyde, "my mynstrales,
And geestours for to tellen tales,
Anon in myn armynge,
Of romances that been roiales,
Of popes and of cardinales,
And eek of love-likynge."
And geestours for to tellen tales,
Anon in myn armynge,
Of romances that been roiales,
Of popes and of cardinales,
And eek of love-likynge."
They fette hym first the sweete wyn,
And mede eek in a matelyn,
And roial spicerye
Of gyngebreed that was ful fyn,
And lycorys, and eek comyn,
With sugre that is trye.
And mede eek in a matelyn,
And roial spicerye
Of gyngebreed that was ful fyn,
And lycorys, and eek comyn,
With sugre that is trye.
He dide next his white leere
Of cloth of lake fyn and cleere,
A breech and eek a sherte;
And next his sherte an aketoun,
And over that an haubergeoun
For percynge of his herte;
Of cloth of lake fyn and cleere,
A breech and eek a sherte;
And next his sherte an aketoun,
And over that an haubergeoun
For percynge of his herte;
And over that a fyn hawberk,
Was al ywroght of Jewes werk,
Was al ywroght of Jewes werk,
Ful strong it was of plate;
And over that his cote-armour
As whit as is a lilye flour,
In which he wol debate.
And over that his cote-armour
As whit as is a lilye flour,
In which he wol debate.
His sheeld was al of gold so reed,
And therinne was a bores heed,
A charbocle bisyde;
And there he swoor on ale and breed
How that the geaunt shal be deed,
Bityde what bityde!
And therinne was a bores heed,
A charbocle bisyde;
And there he swoor on ale and breed
How that the geaunt shal be deed,
Bityde what bityde!
His jambeux were of quyrboilly,
His swerdes shethe of yvory,
His helm of latoun bright;
His sadel was of rewel boon,
His brydel as the sonne shoon,
Or as the moone light.
His swerdes shethe of yvory,
His helm of latoun bright;
His sadel was of rewel boon,
His brydel as the sonne shoon,
Or as the moone light.
His spere was of fyn ciprees,
That bodeth werre, and nothyng pees,
The heed ful sharpe ygrounde;
His steede was al dappull gray,
It gooth an ambil in the way
Ful softely and rounde
In londe.
Loo, lordes myne, heere is a fit!
If ye wol any moore of it,
To telle it wol I fonde.
That bodeth werre, and nothyng pees,
The heed ful sharpe ygrounde;
His steede was al dappull gray,
It gooth an ambil in the way
Ful softely and rounde
In londe.
Loo, lordes myne, heere is a fit!
If ye wol any moore of it,
To telle it wol I fonde.
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