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THE PROLOGUE<1>

 

 WHEN said was this miracle, every man
 

 As sober* was, that wonder was to see,       *serious
 

 Till that our Host to japen* he began,       *talk lightly
 

 And then *at erst* he looked upon me,        *for the
 

 And saide thus; "What man art thou?" quoth he;    first time*
 

 "Thou lookest as thou wouldest find an hare,
 

 For ever on the ground I see thee stare.
 

“Approache near, and look up merrily.
Now ware you, Sirs, and let this man have place.
He in the waist is shapen as well as I; <2>
This were a puppet in an arm t’embrace
For any woman small and fair of face.
He seemeth elvish* by his countenance, *surly, morose
For unto no wight doth he dalliance.

“Say now somewhat, since other folk have said;
Tell us a tale of mirth, and that anon.”
“Hoste,” quoth I, “be not evil apaid,* *dissatisfied
For other tale certes can* I none, *know
Eut of a rhyme I learned yore* agone.” *long
“Yea, that is good,” quoth he; “now shall we hear
Some dainty thing, me thinketh by thy cheer.”* *expression, mien

Notes to the Prologue to Chaucer’s Tale of Sir Thopas

1. This prologue is interesting, for the picture which it gives of Chaucer himself; riding apart from and indifferent to the rest of the pilgrims, with eyes fixed on the ground, and an “elvish”, morose, or rather self-absorbed air; portly, if not actually stout, in body; and evidently a man out of the common, as the closing words of the Host imply.

2. Referring to the poet’s corpulency.

THE TALE
<1>

The First Fit
* . . . . . *part

 

 Listen, lordings, in good intent,
 

 And I will tell you verrament*           *truly
 

 Of mirth and of solas,*               *delight, solace
 

 All of a knight was fair and gent,*         *gentle
 

 In battle and in tournament,
 

 His name was Sir Thopas.
 

Y-born he was in far country,
In Flanders, all beyond the sea,
At Popering <2> in the place;
His father was a man full free,
And lord he was of that country,
As it was Godde’s grace. <3>

Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,
White was his face as paindemain, <4>
His lippes red as rose.
His rode* is like scarlet in grain, *complexion
And I you tell in good certain
He had a seemly nose.