text2="A Knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,That fro the tyme that he first biganTo riden out, he loved chivalrie,Trouthe and honóur, fredom and curteisie.Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,And thereto hadde he riden, no man ferre,As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse,And evere honóured for his worthynesse.At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne;Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonneAboven alle nacions in Pruce.In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce,—No cristen man so ofte of his degree.In Gernade at the seege eek hadde he beOf Algezir, and riden in Belmarye.At Lyeys was he, and at Satalye,Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete SeeAt many a noble armee hadde he be.At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,And foughten for oure feith at TramysseneIn lyste thries, and ay slayn his foo.This ilke worthy knyght hadde been alsoSomtyme with the lord of PalatyeAgayn another hethen in Turkye;And evermoore he hadde a sovereyn prys.And though that he were worthy, he was wys,And of his port as meeke as is a mayde.He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde,In al his lyf, unto no maner wight.He was a verray, parfit, gentil knyght.But for to tellen yow of his array,His hors weren goode, but he was nat gay;Of fustian he wered a gyponAl bismótered with his habergeon;For he was late y-come from his viage,And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.With hym ther was his sone, a yong Squiér,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 statúre he was of evene lengthe,And wonderly delyvere and of greet strengthe.And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachieIn 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 meedeAl ful of fresshe floures whyte and reede.Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day;He was as fressh as is the month 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 nyghtertaleHe sleep namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale.Curteis he was, lowely and servysáble,And carf biforn his fader at the table.A Yeman hadde he and servántz namoAt that tyme, for hym liste ride soo;And he was clad in cote and hood of grene.A sheef of pecock arwes bright and kene,Under his belt he bar ful thriftily—Wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly;His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe—And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe.A not-heed hadde he, with a broun viságe.Of woodecraft wel koude he al the uságe.Upon his arm he baar a gay bracér,And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,And on that oother syde a gay daggere,Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere;A Cristophere on his brest of silver sheene.An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene.A forster was he, soothly as I gesse.";
