No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Tale of Sir Thopas The Tale of Sir Thopas Page 8

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Original Text	Modern Text
His spere was of fyn ciprees, That bodeth werre, and no-thing pees, The heed ful sharpe y-grounde; His stede was al dappel-gray, It gooth an ambel in the way Ful softely and rounde In londe. Lo, lordes myne, heer is a fit! If ye wol any more of it, To telle it wol I fonde.	His spere was of fyn ciprees, That bodeth werre, and no-thing pees, The heed ful sharpe y-grounde; His stede was al dappel-gray, It gooth an ambel in the way Ful softely and rounde In londe. Lo, lordes myne, heer is a fit! If ye wol any more of it, To telle it wol I fonde.
Now hold your mouth, par charitee, Bothe knight and lady free, And herkneth to my spelle; Of bataille and of chivalry, And of ladyes love-drury Anon I wol yow telle.	Now hold your mouth, par charitee, Bothe knight and lady free, And herkneth to my spelle; Of bataille and of chivalry, And of ladyes love-drury Anon I wol yow telle.
Men speke of romances of prys, Of Horn child and of Ypotys, Of Bevis and sir Gy, Of sir Libeux and Pleyn-damour; But sir Thopas, he bereth the flour Of royal chivalry.	Men speke of romances of prys, Of Horn child and of Ypotys, Of Bevis and sir Gy, Of sir Libeux and Pleyn-damour; But sir Thopas, he bereth the flour Of royal chivalry.
His gode stede al he bistrood, And forth upon his wey he glood As sparkle out of the bronde; Upon his crest he bar a tour, And ther-in stiked a lily-flour, God shilde his cors fro shonde!	His gode stede al he bistrood, And forth upon his wey he glood As sparkle out of the bronde; Upon his crest he bar a tour, And ther-in stiked a lily-flour, God shilde his cors fro shonde!

Original Text	Modern Text
His spere was of fyn ciprees, That bodeth werre, and no-thing pees, The heed ful sharpe y-grounde; His stede was al dappel-gray, It gooth an ambel in the way Ful softely and rounde In londe. Lo, lordes myne, heer is a fit! If ye wol any more of it, To telle it wol I fonde.	His spere was of fyn ciprees, That bodeth werre, and no-thing pees, The heed ful sharpe y-grounde; His stede was al dappel-gray, It gooth an ambel in the way Ful softely and rounde In londe. Lo, lordes myne, heer is a fit! If ye wol any more of it, To telle it wol I fonde.
Now hold your mouth, par charitee, Bothe knight and lady free, And herkneth to my spelle; Of bataille and of chivalry, And of ladyes love-drury Anon I wol yow telle.	Now hold your mouth, par charitee, Bothe knight and lady free, And herkneth to my spelle; Of bataille and of chivalry, And of ladyes love-drury Anon I wol yow telle.
Men speke of romances of prys, Of Horn child and of Ypotys, Of Bevis and sir Gy, Of sir Libeux and Pleyn-damour; But sir Thopas, he bereth the flour Of royal chivalry.	Men speke of romances of prys, Of Horn child and of Ypotys, Of Bevis and sir Gy, Of sir Libeux and Pleyn-damour; But sir Thopas, he bereth the flour Of royal chivalry.
His gode stede al he bistrood, And forth upon his wey he glood As sparkle out of the bronde; Upon his crest he bar a tour, And ther-in stiked a lily-flour, God shilde his cors fro shonde!	His gode stede al he bistrood, And forth upon his wey he glood As sparkle out of the bronde; Upon his crest he bar a tour, And ther-in stiked a lily-flour, God shilde his cors fro shonde!