Playful Poems Part 2

He'll hate you mortally; be sure of that; Dan Solomon, in teacher's chair that sat, Bade us keep all our tongues close as we can; But, as I said, I'm no text-spinning man, Only, I must say, thus taught me my dame; {26} My son, think on the crow in G.o.d his name; My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend; A wicked tongue is worse than any fiend; My son, a fiend's a thing for to keep down; My son, G.o.d in his great discretion Walled a tongue with teeth, and eke with lips, That man may think, before his speech out slips.

A little speech spoken advisedly Brings none in trouble, speaking generally.

My son, thy tongue thou always shouldst restrain, Save only at such times thou dost thy pain To speak of G.o.d in honour and in prayer; The chiefest virtue, son, is to beware How thou lett'st loose that endless thing, thy tongue; This every soul is taught, when he is young: My son, of muckle speaking ill-advised, And where a little speaking had sufficed, Com'th muckle harm. This was me told and taught, - In muckle speaking, sinning wanteth nought.

Know'st thou for what a tongue that's hasty serveth?

Right as a sword forecutteth and forecarveth An arm in two, my dear son, even so A tongue clean-cutteth friends.h.i.+p at a blow.

A jangler is to G.o.d abominable: Read Solomon, so wise and honourable; Read David in his Psalms, read Seneca; My son, a nod is better than a say; Be deaf, when folk speak matter perilous; Small prate, sound pate,--guardeth the Fleming's house.

My son, if thou no wicked word hast spoken, Thou never needest fear a pate ybroken; But he that hath missaid, I dare well say, His fingers shall find blood thereon, some day.

Thing that is said, is said; it may not back Be called, for all your "Las!" and your "Alack!"

And he is that man's thrall to whom 'twas said; Cometh the bond some day, and will be paid.

My son, beware, and be no author new Of tidings, whether they be false or true: Go wheresoe'er thou wilt, 'mongst high or low, Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow.

CHAUCER'S RIME OF SIR THOPAS MODERNISED BY Z. A. Z.

PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS.

1.

Now when the Prioress had done, each man So serious looked, 'twas wonderful to see!

Till our good host to banter us began, And then at last he cast his eyes on me, And jeering said, "What man art thou?" quoth he, "That lookest down as thou wouldst find a hare, For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.

2.

"Approach me near, and look up merrily!

Now make way, sirs! and let this man have place.

He in the waist is shaped as well as I: This were a poppet in an arm's embrace, For any woman, small and fair of face.

He seemeth elf-like by his countenance, For with no wight holdeth he dalliance.

3.

"Say somewhat now, since other folks have said; Tell us a tale o' mirth, and that anon."

"Host," quoth I then, "be not so far misled, For other tales except this know I none; A little rime I learned in years agone."

"Ah! that is well," quoth he; "now we shall hear Some dainty thing, methinketh, by thy cheer."

THE RIME OF SIR THOPAS.

FYTTE THE FIRST. {30}

1.

Listen, lordlings, in good intent, And I will tell you verament Of mirth and chivalry, About a knight on glory bent, In battle and in tournament; Sir Thopas named was he.

2.

And he was born in a far countrey, In Flanders, all beyond the sea, At Popering in the place; His father was a man full free, And of that country lord was he, Enjoyed by holy grace.

3.

Sir Thopas was a doughty swain, Fair was his face as pain de Maine, His lips were red as rose; His ruddy cheeks like scarlet grain; And I tell you in good certaine, He had a seemly nose.

4.

His hair and beard like saffron shone, And to his girdle fell adown; His shoes of leather bright; Of Bruges were his hose so brown, His robe it was of ciclatoun - He was a costly wight:

5.

Well could he hunt the strong wild deer, And ride a hawking for his cheer With grey goshawk on hand; His archery filled the woods with fear, In wrestling eke he had no peer, - No man 'gainst him could stand.

6.

Full many a maiden bright in bower Was sighing for him par amour Between her prayers and sleep, But he was chaste, beyond their power, And sweet as is the bramble flower That beareth the red hip.

7.

And so it fell upon a day, Forsooth, as I now sing and say, Sir Thopas went to ride; He rode upon his courser grey, And in his hand a lance so gay, A long sword by his side.

8.

He rode along a forest fair, Many a wild beast dwelling there; (Mercy in heaven defend!) And there was also buck and hare; And as he went, he very near Met with a sorry end.

9.

And herbs sprang up, or creeping ran; The liquorice, and valerian, Clove-gillyflowers, sun-dressed; And nutmeg, good to put in ale, Whether it be moist or stale, - Or to lay sweet in chest,

10.

The birds all sang, as tho' 'twere May; The spearhawk, and the popinjay, {32} It was a joy to hear; The throstle c.o.c.k made eke his lay, The wood-dove sung upon the spray, With note full loud and clear.

11.

Sir Thopas fell in love-longing All when he heard the throstle sing, And spurred his horse like mad, So that all o'er the blood did spring, And eke the white foam you might wring: The steed in foam seemed clad.

12.

Sir Thopas eke so weary was Of riding on the fine soft gra.s.s, While love burnt in his breast, That down he laid him in that place To give his courser some solace, Some forage and some rest.

13.

Saint Mary! benedicite!

What meaneth all this love in me, That haunts me in the wood?

This night, in dreaming, did I see An elf queen shall my true love be, And sleep beneath my hood.

14.

An elf queen will I love, I wis, For in this world no woman is Worthy to be my bride; All other damsels I forsake, And to an elf queen will I take, By grove and streamlet's side.

15.

Into his saddle be clomb anon, And p.r.i.c.keth over stile and stone, An elf queen to espy; Till he so long had ridden and gone, That he at last upon a morn The fairy land came nigh.

16.

Therein he sought both far and near, And oft he spied in daylight clear Through many a forest wild; But in that wondrous land I ween, No living wight by him was seen, Nor woman, man, nor child.

17.

At last there came a giant gaunt, And he was named Sir Oliphaunt, A perilous man of deed: And he said, "Childe, by Termagaunt, If thou ride not from this my haunt, Soon will I slay thy steed With this victorious mace; For here's the lovely Queen of Faery, With harp and pipe and symphony, A-dwelling in this place."

18.

Childe Thopas said right haughtily, "To-morrow will I combat thee In armour bright as flower; And then I promise 'par ma fay'

That thou shalt feel this javelin gay, And dread its wondrous power.

To-morrow we shall meet again, And I will pierce thee, if I may, Upon the golden prime of day; - And here you shall be slain."

19.

Sir Thopas drew aback full fast; The giant at him huge stones cast, Which from a staff-sling fly; But well escaped the Childe Thopas, And it was all through G.o.d's good grace, And through his bearing high.