The Tale

That down he laid him in that place, To makë his steed some solace, And gave him good foráge. “Ah, Saint Marý, ben’dicite , What aileth thilkë love at me To bindë me so sore? Me dreamed all this night, pardie, An elf-queen shall my leman be, And sleep under my gore. An elf-queen will I love, y-wis, 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 me take By dale and eke by down.” Into his saddle he clomb anon, And pricked over stile and stone An elf-queen for to spy, Till he so long had ridden and gone, That he found in a privy wonne The country of Faerý, So wild; For in that country was there none That to him durstë ride or gon, Neither wife nor child. Till that there came a great giaunt, His namë was Sir Oliphaunt, A perilous man of deed; He saidë, “Child, by Termagaunt, But if thou prick out of mine haunt, Anon I slay thy steed With mace. Here is the Queen of Faëry, With harp, and pipe, and symphony, Dwelling in this place.” The Child said, “All so may I thé, To-morrow will I meetë thee, When I have mine armór; And yet I hope, par ma fay , That thou shalt with this launcëgay Abyen it full sore; Thy maw Shall I pierce, if I may, Ere it be fully prime of day, For here thou shalt be slaw.” Sir Thopas drew aback full fast; This giant at him stonës cast Out of a fell staff sling: But fair escaped Child Thopas, And all it was through Goddë’s grace, And through his fair bearíng. Yet listen, lordings, to my tale, Merrier than the nightingale, For now I will you rown, How Sir Thopas, with sidës smale, Pricking over hill and dale, Is come again to town. His merry men commanded he To makë him both game and glee; For needës must he fight With a giánt with headës three, For paramour and jollity Of one that shone full bright. “Do come,” he saidë, “my minstráles And gestours for to tellë tales. Anon in mine armíng, Of rómances that be royáls, Of popës and of cardinals, And eke of love-longíng.” They fetch’d him first the sweetë wine, And mead eke in a maseline, And royal spicery; Of ginger-bread that was full fine, And liquorice and eke cumin, With sugar that is trie. He diddë, next his whitë lere, Of cloth of lakë fine and clear, A breech and eke a shirt; And next