No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Tale of Sir Thopas The Tale of Sir Thopas Page 3

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Original Text	Modern Text
The briddes singe, it is no nay, The sparhauk and the papeiay, That Ioye it was to here; The thrustelcok made eek his lay, The wodedowve upon the spray She sang ful loude and clere.	The briddes singe, it is no nay, The sparhauk and the papeiay, That Ioye it was to here; The thrustelcok made eek his lay, The wodedowve upon the spray She sang ful loude and clere.
Sir Thopas fil in love-longinge Al whan he herde the thrustel singe, And priked as he were wood: His faire stede in his prikinge So swatte that men mighte him wringe, His sydes were al blood.	Sir Thopas fil in love-longinge Al whan he herde the thrustel singe, And priked as he were wood: His faire stede in his prikinge So swatte that men mighte him wringe, His sydes were al blood.
Sir Thopas eek so wery was For prikinge on the softe gras, So fiers was his corage, That doun he leyde him in that plas To make his stede som solas, And yaf him good forage.	Sir Thopas eek so wery was For prikinge on the softe gras, So fiers was his corage, That doun he leyde him in that plas To make his stede som solas, And yaf him good forage.
‘O seinte Marie, benedicite! What eyleth this love at me To binde me so sore? Me dremed al this night, pardee, An elf-queen shal my lemman be, And slepe under my gore.	‘O seinte Marie, benedicite! What eyleth this love at me To binde me so sore? Me dremed al this night, pardee, An elf-queen shal my lemman be, And slepe under my gore.

Original Text	Modern Text
The briddes singe, it is no nay, The sparhauk and the papeiay, That Ioye it was to here; The thrustelcok made eek his lay, The wodedowve upon the spray She sang ful loude and clere.	The briddes singe, it is no nay, The sparhauk and the papeiay, That Ioye it was to here; The thrustelcok made eek his lay, The wodedowve upon the spray She sang ful loude and clere.
Sir Thopas fil in love-longinge Al whan he herde the thrustel singe, And priked as he were wood: His faire stede in his prikinge So swatte that men mighte him wringe, His sydes were al blood.	Sir Thopas fil in love-longinge Al whan he herde the thrustel singe, And priked as he were wood: His faire stede in his prikinge So swatte that men mighte him wringe, His sydes were al blood.
Sir Thopas eek so wery was For prikinge on the softe gras, So fiers was his corage, That doun he leyde him in that plas To make his stede som solas, And yaf him good forage.	Sir Thopas eek so wery was For prikinge on the softe gras, So fiers was his corage, That doun he leyde him in that plas To make his stede som solas, And yaf him good forage.
‘O seinte Marie, benedicite! What eyleth this love at me To binde me so sore? Me dremed al this night, pardee, An elf-queen shal my lemman be, And slepe under my gore.	‘O seinte Marie, benedicite! What eyleth this love at me To binde me so sore? Me dremed al this night, pardee, An elf-queen shal my lemman be, And slepe under my gore.