But for to tellen yow of his array Hise hors weere goode but he ne was nat gay Of fustian he wered a gypoun Al bismotered with his haubergeoun For he was laate comen from his viage And wente for to doon his pilgrymage With hym ther was his sone a yong Squyer A louere and a lusty bachiler With lokkes crulle as they weere leyd in presse Of XX yeer he was of age I gesse Of his stature he was of euene lengthe And wonderly delyuere and of greet strengthe And he hadde been somtyme in chiuachye In Flaundres in Artoys and Picardye And born hym wel as in so litel space In hope to stonden in his lady grace Embrouded was he as it weere a meede Al ful of fresshe floures white 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 sleues longe and wyde Wel koude he sitte on hors and faire ryde He koude songes wel make and endite Iuste and eek daunce and wel portreye and write So hoote he loued that by nyghtertale He slepte namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale Curteys he was lowely and seruysable And carf biforn his fader at the table From MaAnd wel couthe carfe to his lady at the table A yeman he hadde and seruants namo