Here the Host 'stynteth' Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas
Folio 215r
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And ouer that / his cote Armour
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As whit as is / a lilie flour
¶ His sheeld was al / of gold so reed
And ther Inne was / a bores heed
A Charbocle / by his syde
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And there he swoor / on Ale and breed
How þt the geant / shal be deed
¶ Hise Iambeux were / of quyrboily
His swerdes shethe / of Yuory
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His helm / of laton bright
His Sadel was / of Rewel bon
His brydel / as the Sonne shon
¶ His spere was / of fyn Cipres
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That bodeth werre / and no thyng pes
The heed / ful sharpe ygrounde
His Steede was / al dappel gray
It goth an Ambel / in the way
Ful softely / and rounde //
¶ Lo lordes myne / here is a fit
If ye wole / any moore of it
nOw hoold youre moutħ par charitee
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Bothe knyght and lady free
Of bataille / and of chiualry
And of ladyes / loue drury
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¶ Men speken / of Romances of pris
Of Hornchild / and of Ypotys
Of Sire lybeux / and playn damor
But sire Thopas / he bereth the flor
¶ His goode Steede / al he bystrood
And forth vp on his wey he glood
As Sparcle / out of the bronde
Vp on his Creest he bar a tour
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And ther Inne stiked / a lilie flour
God shilde / his cors fro shonde
¶ And for he was / a knyght auntrous
He nolde slepen / in noon hous
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His brighte helm / was his wonger
And by hym / bayteth his destrer
Of herbes / fyne and goode
¶ Hym self / drank water of the weƚƚ
As dide the knyght Sir Percyueƚƚ
¶ Here the hoost stynteth Chaucer of his tale of ~ Thopas / and biddeth hym / telle another tale ~
Namoore of this / for goddes dignytee
Quod oure hoost for thow makest me