How that the giant should be dead, Whatever should betide!

27.

His boots were glazed right curiously, His sword-sheath was of ivory, His helm all brassy bright; His saddle was of jet-black bone, His bridle like the bright sun shone, Or like the clear moons light,

28.

His spear was of the cypress tree, That bodeth battle right and free; The point full sharp was ground; His steed it was a dapple grey, That goeth an amble on the way, Full softly and full round.

29.

Lo! lordlings mine, here ends one fytte Of this my tale, a gallant strain; And if ye will hear more of it, I’ll soon begin again.

FYTTE THE SECOND.

1.

Now hold your speech for charity, Both gallant knight and lady free, And hearken to my song Of battle and of chivalry, Of ladies’ love and minstrelsy, All ambling thus along.

2.

Men speak much of old tales, I know; Of Hornchild, Ipotis, alsó Of Bevis and Sir Guy; Of Sire Libeaux, and Pleindamour; But Sire Thopas, he is the flower Of real chivalry.

3.

Now was his gallant steed bestrode, And forth upon his way he rode, As spark flies from a brand; Upon his crest he bare a tower, And therein stuck a lily flower:  Save him from giant hand.

4.

He was a knight in battle bred, And in no house would seek his bed, But laid him in the wood; His pillow was his helmet bright,— His horse grazed by him all the night On herbs both fine and good.

5.

And he drank water from the well, As did the knight Sir Percival, So worthy under weed; Till on a day—

[Here Chaucer is interrupted in his Rime.]

EPILOGUE TO RIME.

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