The Squire
With him he had his son, a young Squire,
A lover and a lusty bachelor
His hair was curled as if pressed by a tong;
He might have been twenty I think - quite young.
He was a man of about average height
With an agile body and strength to fight -
And he had spent some time in chivalry
In Flanders, in Artois and in Picardie
And born himself well, though new to the art
Since he hoped so to win his lady's heart.
His clothes, all embroidered, looked like a bed
Planted full of fresh flowers white and red,
He was singing or flauting all the day
And was as fresh as is the month of May.
His gown was short, with sleeves both long and wide.
He sat his horse well and knew how to ride.
He composed his own songs and took great delight
In jousting, in poetry - and he could write.
He made love so hotly that all through the night,
He got no more sleep than a nightingale might.
He was polite and modest and able,
And carved the meat at his fathers table.
He had only a yeoman to serve him
Because, at the time, that met with his whim.
This man wore a cloak and hood coloured green.
A sheaf of arrows bright and keen
He carried in his belt most carefully.
His weapons were all neat and soldierly,
His arrows, well fledged, would fly straight and true
And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.
His hair was short cropped and his face was brown.
In both wood and chase he knew his way round.
On his arm he wore a leather brace,
And by his side hung sword and shield in place
With on the other side a bright dagger
Finely embellished, and sharp as a spear.
A silver bright St. Christopher he wore
And on his green baldric a horn he bore.
That this was a woodsman is my best guess!
A lovyere and a lusty bacheler;
With lokkes crulle, as they were leyd in presse.
Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.
Of his stature he was of evene lengthe,
And wonderly delyvere, and of greet strengthe.
And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachie
In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Pycardie,
And born hym weel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his lady grace.
Embrouded was he, as it were a meede,
Al ful of fresshe floures, whyte and reede;
Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day,
He was as fressh as is the monthe of May.
Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wyde.
Wel koude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde.
He koude songes make, and wel endite,
Juste, and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write.
So hoote he lovede, that by nyghtertale
He slepte namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale.
Curteis he was, lowely, and servysable,
And carf biforn his fader at the table.
A yeman hadde he and servantz namo
At that tyme, for hym liste ride soo;
And he was clad in cote and hood of grene.
A sheef of pecok arwes, bright and kene
Under his belt he bar ful thriftily,
Wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly:
Hise arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe
And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe.
A not heed hadde he, with a broun visage,
Of woodecraft wel koude he al the usage.
Upon his arm he baar a gay bracer,
And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,
And on that oother syde a gay daggere
Harneised wel and sharpe as point of spere.
A Cristopher on his brest of silver sheene.
An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene;
A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.