The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

Listen carefully, please, to me

And I will tell the company

A funny little story.

At some time in history

There was a knight and gent

Good at battle and at tournament.

What was his name?

Sir Thopas.

He lived in a far, no, distant country

Not very near the sea.

He dwelled in a city called Hamelin

Famous for its porcelain.

His father was a rich man, and grand.

In fact he ruled the entire land.

What was his name?

I don’t know.

Now Sir Thopas was a brave knight.

His hair was black, his face was bright.

His lips were red as a carnation.

But then so was his complexion.

I could have said, red as a rose,

But I will confine that to his nose.

How big was his nose?

Enormous.

His hair was as yellow as mustard paste,

And he wore it right down to his waist.

His shoes were from the Vendôme

And his clothes were made in Rome.

They were so expensive

That his father looked pensive.

How much did they cost?

Thousands.

He could hunt for wild rabbit

And had acquired the habit

Of hawking for game.

He could wrestle and tame

The most ferocious ox.

He could whip the bollocks

Off any contestant.

He was no maiden aunt.

There were many young virgins

Happy to slake his urgings

When they should have been asleep.

But he did not so much as peep

At them. He was chaste as a lily

And stayed so willy-nilly.

So it befell that on one morning

Just as the light was dawning

Sir Thopas rode out on his steed

In hope of doing daring deeds.

He held his lancet like a lord,

And by his side there hung a sword.

He made his way through forests dark

Where wolves howl and wild dogs bark.

He himself was after game,

Which once more I rhyme with tame.

But listen while I tell you more

Of how Sir Thopas almost swore

With vexation.

Around him sprang weeds of every sort,

The flea-bane and the meadow-wort.

Here were the rose and primrose pale,

And nutmeg seeds to put in ale

Whether it be fresh or stale

Or only good as slops in pail.

The birds were singing sweetly enough,

Among the nightingales a chough.

Was that a chaffinch on the wing,

Or was it a dove just chattering?

He heard a swallow sing on high,

And then a parrot perched near by.

What a lot of noise!

And when he heard the birdies sing

He was filled with love longing.

He spurred on his horse

Over briar and gorse

Until the beast was sweating.

It looked like it had been rutting

With a mare.

Thopas himself was exhausted.

He got down from his quadruped

And lay stretched on the ground.

The horse was free at one bound.

It wriggled its arse

And chewed on the grass.

Fodder was solace.

‘Woe is me,’ Thopas lamented,

‘Why am I so demented

For love? I dreamed last night

That I had caught a bright

Elf-queen under the sheets.

What sexual feats

I accomplished!

‘If my dreams could come true

What deeds would I do.

I really need a fairy queen,

No mortal girl is worth a bean.

All other women I forsake,

A fairy girl is all I’ll take

In country or in town.’

Then up on to his steed

He jumped, in need

Of action with a fairy queen.

He rode along each hill and dale

Looking for that certain female.

Then quite by chance he found

A secret spot of magic ground,

The kingdom of the fairies.

In truth it was a little scary

And wild. And desolate.

He was not surprised to see a giant

Whose name was Oliphiant.

He had a mace

Which he aimed at the face

Of Thopas, saying, ‘Get out

Or I will give your horse a clout.

The queen of fairy

Lives in this aery

Abode. It is not for you.

Your horse is unwelcome, too.’

Sir Thopas turned red as rhubarb pie

And said in angry voice ‘I defy

You, Oliphiant, and I swear

To aim my lance here where

It hurts. Come out at break of day

And I will show you my way

Of dealing with giants.’

It was a good show of defiance.

Then Thopas rode away quite fast

As Oliphiant prepared to cast

Stones at him from a leather sling.

Yet our fair knight had cause to sing

When all the missiles missed their aim

And were not fit to kill or maim

The valiant warrior.

He was none the sorrier.

So gather round and hear the rest.

The giant came off second best

And Thopas, of high renown,

Decided to return to town.

He rideth over hill and dale

To reach the ending of my tale.

It will not fail

To amuse you.

His merry men commanded he

To cheer him up with game and glee.

‘Let there be a pageant

In which I fight a ferocious giant.

Then let the fairy queen appear

And proclaim herself to be my dear

Paramour.

I ask no more.

‘Then let the minstrels blow their trumpets

And the drummers use their drum kits,

And the singers sing their tales

Of kings and queens and noble males

Like me. Of chivalry the flower,

I’ll be the hero of the hour.’

They brought him wine, they brought him spices

They brought him cream and several ices,

They brought him gingerbread and mead,

They brought him damson jam on which to feed.

He had a sweet tooth.

Then he decked himself in vestments fair.

Sir Thopas always knew what to wear

In terms of shirts and other finery.

In armour he was inclined to be

Conservative. Just simple chain mail,

With a double brooch and ornamental nail,

Was enough to protect him.

He had a bright helmet,

He had a bright spear,

There was no warrior his peer.

He had a fine shield

To make his enemies yield

And even flee the field.

His legs were cased in leather,

On his helmet was a feather.

It was hard to know whether

He was more handsome than rich

Or, if so, which was which

In his gorgeous display.

He outshone the day.

His spear was made of fine cypress

But it boded war, not peace.

His bridle shone like snow in sun

And as for saddle, there was none

So polished in the world.

His banner was unfurled

To taunt all foes to take him on.

And that is it.

That is the end of the second fit.

If you want to hear more,

I will oblige. No need to implore.

Now say no more, I will continue

To tell how Thopas and his retinue

Fought against elves and giants

And cannibals and monsters and tyrants.

There is no end.

You have heard of Arthur and of Lancelot

But this knight could prance a lot

Better on his noble steed.

He was a good knight indeed.

Sir Thopas took the lead

In chivalry.

So off he trotted on his charger

This knight looked larger

Than life. Upon his helmet

There rose a lily

Which looked sweet but silly.

The road ahead was hilly

But he continued willy-nilly –