In olde dayes of the King Arthour Of which that Britains speken great honour, All was this land fulfillèd of fairie; The elf-queen with her jolly company, Dancèd full oft in many a greene mead; This was the old opinion, as I read; I speak of many hundred year ago; But now can no man see none elves mo. For now the greate charity and prayers Of limitours, and other holy freres, That seeken every land, and every stream, As thick as motes in the sunne-beam, Blessing halls, chambers, kitchenes, and bowers, Cities, and boroughs, castles high, and towers, Thorpes and barnes, sheepnes, and daieries, That maketh that there be no faieries.
This is one of the prettiest pieces of verse in the Canterbury Tales. Dryden has expanded and excelled it.
In days of old when Arthur filled the throne, Whose acts and fame to foreign lands were blown, The king of elfs, and little fairy queen, Gambolled on heaths, and danced on every green, And where the jolly troop had led the round The grass unbidden rose, and marked the ground: Nor darkling did they dance; the silver light } Of Phoebe served to guide their steps aright, } And, with their tripping pleased, prolonged the night. } Her beams they followed where at full she played, } Nor longer than she shed her horns they stayed, } From thence with airy flight to foreign lands conveyed. } Above the rest our Britain held they dear, } More solemnly they kept their sabbaths here, } And made more spacious rings, and revelled half the year. } I speak of ancient times, for now the swain, } Returning late, may pass the woods in vain, } And never hope to see the nightly train. }
For priests with prayers and other godly gear, Have made the merry goblins disappear; And where they played their merry pranks before Have sprinkled holy water on the floor; And friars that through the wealthy regions run Thick as the motes that twinkle in the sun, Resort to farmers rich, and bless their halls, And exorcise the beds, and cross the walls: This makes the fairy choirs forsake the place When once 'tis hallowed with the rites of grace.
He sometimes carries his innovations further, and the splendour of his paraphrase entirely eclipses the primitive idea. Chaucer says, in the tale of the Nun's Priest, that